mendessi

He knows he's hurt you in ways unimaginable and broken your trust, whether the two of you were actually together or not.

His spine straightens when you finally say something from the bathroom. You're standing in front of the mirror, fixing your hair the way that Nancy taught you.

"Just act normal," you tell him, "Like everything is fine."

He's frozen in his seat in front of the fireplace, quickly shuffling for a reply. He's not quick enough, and you speak again.

"Henry wants to come between us, so we won't let him."

"Okay," is all he can manage to say.

Steve learned this last night during his outing with Henry and the guys. Every man there cheated on his wife last night, including Steve, by technicality.

These men didn't truly care for their wives; they were simply trophies. Steve does care for you. Danny cares for Grace. Henry sat by and watched, and when Steve didn't partake, the energy shifted.

"Surely, Grace wouldn't mind," Henry said to him. "If she does, she'll learn not to."

"He doesn't get it yet," Rich added, "Our wives will always be there. These fine things won't."

Rich's hands trail up and down the waist of the woman in his lap, and Steve's stomach drops. Should he not participate, it could jeopardize his standing with Henry, with all the men, really.

"Obviously you love Grace. But sometimes we need change. We're men after all." Matt added. He'd had his tongue shoved down a woman's throat practically the second they entered the bar.

The weight of the case sitting on Steve's shoulders pushed him to act, to get in the good graces of the men around him.

Believe his heart wasn't in it. He felt sick as the brunette with a hideous shade of red lipstick kissed up his neck and jaw. He nearly gagged when her tongue slipped past his lips.

The guilt was suffocating as he stepped into your room that early morning. He begged that you were sleeping, that he wouldn't have to face you, but he knew you'd be up waiting for him.

The look on your face when you drew your hands back made his stomach turn. He knows he beyond fucked up. If he had told you prior, he knew you would have accepted it and been okay with it. Anything to save the case.

Henry has arranged for breakfast in the backyard, overlooking the water. Steve is tense walking to the table until your hand finds his. He squeezes your hand three times, and you clench your jaw.

The smile that falls on your lips convinces even Steve as Henry kisses both of your cheeks.

As you look around the table, every single one of the women sits quietly. It's easy to tell they're upset about last night's events. You won't show that you're bothered.

Yours and Steve's intertwined hands rest in your lap when you sit down. He revels in the touch, knowing that the second you're away from people, you'll pull away.

You're sat at Henry's left, Martin to his right.

"How did you sleep, Grace?" Henry asks.

"Great," you nod, "The room is beautiful."

"I'd like to invite you to a viewing this afternoon," he says, lowering his voice.

"A viewing?"

He nods slowly, "You and Danny, both of course. Meet me on the dock at one after lunch."

☆

The second you and Steve are back in your room, your hand is gone from his, and it's silent. Your back is to him when he reaches for you again, but he stops himself.

"Can you talk to me, please?" Steve pleads.

"What do you want me to say?" You keep your back to him, keeping yourself busy with making the bed.

"I'm sorry," he repeats for what feels like the millionth time. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"You did what you had to do. I accept your apology, I do. I just-" you shrug your shoulders, losing the words.

How do you admit that it hurts more than it should? How do you tell him that seeing him come like that made you sick to your stomach?

"I meant everything I said yesterday," he says. He steps toward you but stops himself from going any further. "I swear to you."

You take a beat.

"I did too," you reply. "Especially when I said that it was the last time."

Things clearly wouldn't work between you two in the long run. There was no point in continuing whatever it was going on between you.

"Don't say that," his voice dips into the soft tone you love.

"Do you see why I set boundaries? Why my lines mattered?" Your voice slightly wavers, but you catch it. "This is what happens when they blur."

"I know, baby, I know," he finally gains the courage to step toward you, resting his hands on your shoulders to turn your body to him.

"Don't call me that." You shake your head and try to pull from his grip, but he doesn't let you.

"You care for me," he says, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "You said it yesterday."

"Of course I do." You allow yourself to look up at him. "You said the same thing."

"I do," he gambles his luck and leans down, pressing his lips to your temple. "More than I want to admit."

You can't help but lean into his touch.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." he kisses your cheek. He's moving for your lips when you stop him.

Your hands wrap around his wrists and pull them from your body. "You don't get to kiss me and make it all better. It's gonna take more than that."

"I'm going to make it up to you, I swear."

"Mhm."

☆

The two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch. He's sitting upright, you're laid out with your bare feet tucked under his thigh.

Silence has filled the room as you await Henry's so-called viewing. There'd been a delay after lunch, so you and Steve were stuck in your room until further notice.

"Why do you think he only invited us?" You ask finally, setting the book you're reading down.

"Because he's obsessed with you," Steve keeps his nose buried in his copy of The Secret History.

"I think he's intrigued by me, but I wouldn't say obsessed," you argue.

Steve takes a deep breath and closes the book, letting it rest in his lap. "I'm a profiler."

"So am I."

His tone slightly bothers you, returning to the same bite you familiarized yourself with upon first meeting him.

"We can agree to disagree." he opens his book back up, not even to the same page he had been previously reading.

You sit up, pulling your feet from under his leg, and take the book from his hands. "No, we're not agreeing to disagree."

He laughs breathily, "That's not how that works."

You pause, scanning his face. His jaw ticks and his fingers go white against his knees.

"You're jealous."

"I am not," his tone goes up slightly, and then he sighs, leaning back against the couch with his arms crossed. "I'm worried. That his intrigue is turning to obsession. I don't want you in danger."

A sigh leaves your lips, and you move closer to him, sitting on your knees. "We're in danger every day that we're near him."

He turns his head to look at you, and you let your eyes fall to his lips. It takes everything in you to not lean in for a kiss. The painful reminder of how he came home last night pulls you back into reality.

"I know," he nods.

A knock on the door pulls your attention from each other, and Steve rises to answer it while you slip back into your annoyingly uncomfortable heels.

"Henry is ready for you," you hear Martin say.

Steve's hand finds your lower back, his fingertips brushing the skin showing from your open-back dress as you walk to the dock. Henry awaits you there, his silhouette alone enough to send a chill down your spine.

You reach for Steve's hand, lacing your fingers together. Something in the air shifts and leaves a heavy feeling in your chest. You can't help but feel a sense of dread as you board the boat.

You all take your seats while Martin drives the boat. You sit as close to Steve as possible, one arm around your shoulders, the other holding your hand in his lap. He traces soothing patterns into your open-faced palm while Henry talks loudly over the engine.

"I'm so grateful you made time to join me," he shouts.

"Where are we going?" You finally get the courage to ask.

"To my private holding island," Henry replies, and you tuck the information right where it needs to go. "I hold many of my pieces here for viewing before an auction. Or while I wait for a private sale. I have a piece I'd love your opinion on."

You look up at Steve, who meets your gaze and give him your best convincing smile. He knows you well, knows that it's not genuine. He can feel your shoulders tense under his touch and know that you're having a bad feeling about what's to come.

All he can do is lean down and give you a quick, soft kiss to reassure you. Surely, you'd excuse it because right now you're Grace and Danny.

"Your love is quite fascinating to me," Henry says, and you both turn your heads to look at him. "Beautiful and fascinating."

"What do you mean?" You turn Grace up to one hundred.

Henry's stare might be one of the most terrifying things you'll ever experience. The way his eyes shift, watching every tiny movement of Steve's hands on you, searching both of your faces for fault.

You stop yourself from jumping to conclusions immediately. It does no good for you to catastrophize what meaning this boat ride to a private island could have.

Henry could have found you out and realized you're not actually Daniel and Grace Anderson. He could be taking you to this private holding island to kill you.

One brief moment of catastrophizing later, and you shift back to reality. One thing you've learned since going undercover is that while, yes, you can plan to an extent, most days move moment by moment.

"The bond you two seem to exhibit is something special," he replies, keeping his still stature, "Something extremely hard to find."

The way Henry talks makes you want to roll your eyes. There is no way this man could actually be this prim and proper. His vocabulary made you want to hit him with a dictionary.

"The stars aligned for us," Steve says with a charming smile.

"So it seems," Henry's smile is unsettling.

From Henry's house on Cape Cod, you try to memorize directions to the island. However, you're positive it would take Robin less than ten seconds to find it.

The island is bigger than you expected, based on other islands around Cape Cod, but of course Henry would have the luxury.

There's a decent sized modern house that greets you when you dock at the front of the island.

Steve's arms are around your thighs as he lifts you off the boat and onto the dock. You feel your fingers twitch with adrenaline or nerves and take Steve's hand instinctively.

You and Steve have no idea what waits for you on the other side of that door.

When you step inside, you're not surprised at how sterile everything seems. A single leather sectional sits in the corner of the living room, but other than that, there is no furniture.

It's similar to the gallery back home in the way that different sculptures are placed around the house. So he meant that it was a literal holding island.

"All of these pieces are in the process of being sold, waiting to be finalized, or picked up," Henry says as he approaches a glass case with different artifacts in it.

"What makes these pieces different than the ones at the gallery?" Steve asks. He leans in to get a closer look at the artifacts inside the glass, and there's a slight panic in you when you think he might let your hand go. He, instead, pulls you with him.

"These are my most valuable items. The gallery is safe, but some of these artifacts are valued at a minimum of $1,000,000." Henry's eyes follow Steve's every move.

Steve and Henry fall into conversation about the artifacts in the case, while you look around the house. It's easy to play it off as looking at the other items in the room, but really you're looking for your way out should anything go wrong.

"What I need from Grace today, and I'm embarrassed to admit, is that I need your assistance in verifying the authenticity of a piece." Henry pulls your attention from the door.

"Why me?" You realize your tone may not be one he pleases, so you adjust and continue, "I mean, you must have other people more reliable than me."

"Martin, bring it in." Henry turns to Martin, who replies with a curt nod before disappearing into the other room. "I can't figure it out. The people I trust to verify pieces can't figure it out. I think you can."

You do well in hiding the utter confusion rushing through your brain. Why on Earth would he put trust in you to verify an apparently ancient piece?

Martin wheels in a table and unveils a gorgeous and worn statue of a woman. You do a circle around it, Steve's fingertips dragging against your skin as you pull away from him.

Something you've grown accustomed to when being The Andersons is how clingy he is. He constantly has to have a hand on you, not that you mind in the slightest.

"It looks Roman, but it's not." You turn to Henry after looking at the shape of the nose. "It's beautiful."

"Is it authentic?" Henry watches you closely.

You place your hands on your hips and do another circle around the statue, looking at the details. Steve's awareness is on high alert as he watches Henry watch you. He hates how closely he observes you.

You take a deep breath and then shake your head, turning to face him. "Henry, I'm not knowledgeable enough for this."

"Try." He presses. His eyes narrow subtly, and you nod, turning to face the statue again.

He's testing you.

For what, you don't know, but you hate the pressure it puts on you.

After another lap, you glance at Steve, who gives you a nod. He's reading the room, too.

"It's authentic," you finally say, "These black specs are volcanic ash, used as a temper. This piece is maybe roughly around 2,500 years old. "

"How?" Henry steps toward the statue, closer to you, and Steve has to stop himself from getting between you.

"I mean, look at it," you fold your arms over your chest. Steve notes your know-it-all tone and fights a smile. "The ash, the wear on it. The style. It might be 29 B.C"

"But that's-"

"Before the Roman Empire, yes." You cut him off.

Henry pauses, his eyes following you as you find yourself back at Steve's side, or rather tucked into it. His fingers trace lines up and down your spine.

"This is my favorite piece I've ever obtained, Grace," Henry finally says.

"It's a stunning piece," you agree. You'd hate to see the price tag on it.

You look up at Steve, who's already looking down at you. You tried to get a read on him quickly, but what Henry says next makes your head snap in his direction.

"I'd like you to keep it," Henry says.

"I'm sorry?"

"Hold on to it for me, if it'll make you feel better," Henry smiles, and you're thankful to be leaning against Steve, or your knees might buckle.

"I can't accept Henry, I'm sorry," you let him take your hand in his. The gesture is not only far too grand, but you wouldn't accept a water bottle from Henry if you were dying of thirst and it were the last one on Earth.

"Grace, consider it a term of our partnership. I want you to know I value your gift. You and Daniel have been a great service to me in realizing the unacceptable behavior of others at the house."

What. The. Fuck.

Your head spins as you give Henry a smile, "What do you mean?"

"The others are sleazy." Understatement. "They don't know I know, but they think they've started to cross me."

"You and Daniel have been so kind since we've known each other. I can tell you have good hearts. I can tell you have a hunger for the game." Henry begins a slow circle around you and Steve. "I'd like to place you two in oversight of The Upside Down, my youth club back home."

Your lips part in surprise, "Wow, that's extremely generous of you."

"I need you two to make sure there's no... funny business going on in my club. I need you to especially keep an eye on Rich and Matt and report back to me if anything suspicious occurs." Henry completes his circle and stops in front of you and Steve.

"You can trust us," Steve says, holding out his hand. Henry's lips twitch upward into a smirk as he takes Steve's hand into his with a firm shake.

"I'd like to show you some of my recent finds." Henry turns and falls in step with Martin, leading you down a hallway.

He stops at a door and places his hand onto a scanner. The walls on either side of the stairs he leads you down are smooth stone. You can tell you're underground when the temperature drops.

You have a death grip on Steve's hand as he scans his hand at another door. Finally, you're at the top of a long hallway lined with glass windows. The windows are covered by curtains, but you can see from this point that very few have the curtains drawn.

"Grace, what I'd like from you today is your opinion on which ones to keep for my auction next month and which to let go," Henry turns to face you. Martin's eyes are on you as well, and your brows furrow. "Put your good eye to use."

Henry and Martin step to the side, but you're stuck in your place, dissecting the situation. Something in your gut tells you it's not art you're about to see.

Your knuckles turn white in Steve's hand, but he covers them with his other hand as you finally take your first step down the hall. You don't hesitate or falter in your steps, showing Henry that nothing scares you.

When you approach the first window, it takes everything in you to stay upright.

You've seen gruesome crime scenes, brutal deaths, and have had your fair share of happy endings on different cases over the past few months as an agent. But nothing has struck you like the sight in this 8 ft x 10 ft room.

A bed, a toilet, a desk with some books and sat in the middle of the small room, is a girl.

She looks no older than sixteen, with dark bags under her eyes, when she turns to look at you and Steve through the glass. She looks at you with pure exhaustion strewn over her face.

You hold your composure as you move down the hallway, taking time to memorize every girl's face you see. Steve's hands are sweating around yours, but he doesn't let go. Henry and Martin stay at the top of the hallway, letting you observe.

The last room with a drawn curtain knocks the air clean from your lungs, and you have to swallow the bile that rises up in your throat. You recognize the girl in the room.

The second she sees you, she starts pounding on the glass, but you and Steve don't move.

Chrissy Cunningham.

The college girl you recognize from a missing person poster, the one listed as CCun0682 on Henry's site. The girl who has ten offers that you can remember and a bid starting at $75,000.

You're frozen, watching as she pounds the glass, unable to move. Flashbacks of your sister enter your vision, and you have to ground yourself back into reality before you slip.

You've seen countless dead bodies, countless crime scenes, but seeing these girls in front of you, alive and breathing, and unable to do anything to help them is a different kind of helplessness you'd never felt before.

Steve pulls your chin to look up at him. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes say everything.

Focus.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, and you finally let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You shift into a version of Grace you hadn't met yet, one Henry hadn't met yet either.

"I've seen enough," you tell him as you approach him at the other end of the hall, "Letting go of any of them wouldn't be wise."

"Why?" Henry asks.

He values anything that comes out of your mouth, so you need to be strategic in what you say next. Whatever you say needs to ensure the safety of these girls til the auction, so they can be saved when it gets raided.

"The girl at the end, she's feisty," you hum, "If I'm correct, her bid starts at seventy-five, yes?"

"Correct," Henry nods. "Not the usual bid for someone her age, but like you said, she's feisty."

"Correct," you counter, "She has ten offers. Bring her to the auction, and who's to say you can't get two hundred? Especially if they see how feisty she is at the viewing beforehand."

"Two hundred?" Henry's eyes light up.

"Trust me, Henry," you rest your hand on his arm and soften your eyes, "Let me help you."

He shares a look with Martin and then nods.

"Thank you, Grace."

On the boat ride back to the house, you find yourself throwing up over the edge of the boat. Steve has your hair pulled into his hand, rubbing your back gently.

"I know, baby," Steve says into your ear with a soft kiss to your temple. Henry and Martin watch you closely with suspicious looks.

"Is she okay?" Martin asks.

The last thing you need is them thinking you're throwing up because of the things you just saw, which you, in fact, were.

"She's prone to migraines," Steve answers quickly.

When you're done throwing up, Steve takes the sunglasses off his face and slides them onto yours. You close your eyes, leaning into his side with your arms crossed.

You throw up again the second you're back in your room. You attempt to lock yourself in the bathroom but Steve is on your tail, your hair in his hands again immediately.

"I want to go home," you say through your tears. Steve shuts the door behind you, locking it.

"Shh," he shushes you, kneeling at your side. "I know, honey. We just have to get through tonight, then we'll go home."

"I can't." You cry.

It feels like being run over with a bus over and over again. It's impossible to fathom the idea of those girls sitting on that island so close yet so far away. It kills you knowing exactly where they are and that you can't do anything to help them without blowing the entire case.

You think of your sister, sitting in the cabin all alone in the woods, when she went missing. You imagine the helplessness she must have felt waiting for help to come. Those girls must feel the same exact way.

You remember what your sister looked like the day your dad brought you to that cabin.

The way you're hunched over the toilet is a painful reminder of why you never think about that day and why it took years of therapy to sort through the trauma of it.

"You have to," he lowers his voice to a whisper, his words sharp, "Listen to me. You need to get it together."

He cups your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him, his tone shifting sharply. He knows you well enough to know it's the only way he's going to ground you.

"Get it together," he repeats, looking into your eyes. "The only way we make it through this case is if we shut down until it's over. It feels impossible, I know. Baby, trust me, I know. We need to focus on what we can control right now and cry about it later."

You slowly nod your head and lean against the wall, covering your face with your hands. You feel stupid for breaking down like this in front of him, in front of Henry.

Steve takes your hands into his and kisses your palms. "It's okay, sweetheart." That's a new one.

He slowly rises to his feet and turns the handle of the shower. He runs his hand under it until he's satisfied with the temperature.

"Rinse off and get ready for dinner, yeah?" He leans down, planting a kiss on the top of your head as if second nature.

The realization that no matter how much you want him to and tell him to stay away, to not touch you, to respect your lines, it's become borderline impossible.

You and Steve are connected and bonded in ways nobody else on the planet could ever comprehend.

You spend more time than you should, letting your skin turn red under the heat of the water. You stare at yourself in the mirror with a sigh, hardly recognizing the person staring back at you.

You knew going into the FBI would be unimaginably hard, but not even a year into the job of your dreams had you questioning your sanity.

There's a soft knock at the door.

"You alright in there, Hollywood?" Steve's voice is quiet on the other side.

"I'm fine," you tug the towel tighter around your body and swing the door open. You attempt to sidestep him, but he moves in front of you. "Come on, I'm not in the mood."

"Talk to me." his fingertips trace up and down your arms. The way the water glistens on your skin is not lost on him, but he keeps his eyes on yours.

Your jaw clenches, thinking of everything you want to say. Nothing you want to say can be said, with the worry of Henry having bugs in the room, so you just shake your head.

He lets you pass, and you dig through your suitcase for an outfit for dinner.

You and Steve bump into Marianne and Rich in the hallway on your way down to dinner, and the way you snap back into Grace so easily is impressive to even you.

"Are you two ready for tonight?" Rich asks with a laugh.

"What do you mean?" Steve asks, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. He hates the way Rich looks at you when Marianne can't see him.

"Henry's Game," Marianne replies with a deep sigh.

"What game?" you ask.

"Henry hides something on the property and gives everyone clues at dinner. Then everyone takes these magic shrooms he has imported and has to find it," Rich explains it like it's his favorite night of the year. You half believe that it is.

"It's miserable," Marianne groans as Rich pulls her away with the most obnoxious laughter you've ever heard.

Steve pulls you to the side and leans down to whisper in your ear, "We can't participate."

"I know," your stomach has far past dropped, thinking about how you and Steve are going to get out of this. "There's nothing we can tell him to get out of this."

"One of us needs to stay sober to make sure we stay safe." he's got a slight panic in his tone, and you don't blame him.

"I'd rather we both stay sober." You pull back slightly to look up at him. The worry in his hazel eyes makes your heart pound.

"That's not happening, we both know it." his hands rest on your hips, and you're grateful for the small gesture.

"He likes me, right? Maybe I'll just ask if you can't play, and say you have a heart condition or something. I'll think of something to say," your words are hushed, but quick. You need to quickly figure something out before you're both fucked playing whatever Henry's Game is.

"Absolutely not. I'm not letting you play-"

"You're 'not letting me'?" You cut him off. "You're not my boss-"

"I don't care. You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you take any sort of drug he gives you," Steve cuts you off this time.

Before you can reply, two voices sound from around the corner, and Steve slips into Danny effortlessly, pulling your hips to his as he pulls you into an open-mouth kiss that makes you gasp.

"Apologies," Martin says as he rounds the corner. "Henry is waiting."

"Sorry," Steve has officially mastered Danny's laugh, and it's so unsettling. "You gotta stop finding us like this."

Martin replies with a laugh, "I remember being young and in love, freshly married. I don't blame you."

"You're married?" You ask him.

"Widowed," he answers sadly.

"I'm so sorry," you reply. You ask no further questions.

Dinner runs as expected, Rich running the entire conversation and Henry doing his best to hide his annoyance about it. Matt, Nathan, and their wives are oddly quiet.

The brothers show several signs of anxiety and maybe even fear, and you can't help but wonder if they had another conversation with Henry.

"I hope everyone is well fed," Henry starts once everyone's plates have been cleared, "You all know the last night spent on the island is my favorite. You know I love my game. Have you two heard of my game?"

"Rich just told us about it in the hallway," you reply with your best smile, but it's hard to disguise the worry.

"You don't seem excited." Henry's smile drops into a frown, and you immediately look to Steve.

"It sounds really fun, Henry. So fun," Steve starts, and you take his hand under the table. "It's just that Grace can't participate."

"Danny," you squeeze his hand.

There is no way in hell Steve is going to do this alone. "I want to participate. I really do."

"Why can't Grace participate?" Henry's jaw ticks.

Steve better have a good reason, or Henry might take back everything he said tonight.

"It's okay, Henry, really. I can participate."

"Grace," Steve squeezes your hand this time.

"Is something wrong, Grace?" Henry's tone makes your heart jump.

"Not at all-"

"Grace is pregnant." Steve cuts you off, and your head snaps to him so quickly you're convinced you pulled something.

The silence at the table is deafening.

Slow clapping begins from down the table, and you look to Marianne, who has a huge smile on her face.

"Congratulations, you two," Marianne says, laying on the sarcasm thick.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as you remember how just two days prior you told her that Grace and Danny had no plans of starting a family anytime soon.

"I just found out yesterday," you turn to Henry. You can feel the heat in your cheeks, your palm sweating into Steve's. "We're extremely surprised."

"That explains the sickness, doesn't it. This is wonderful news," Henry finally says with a laugh. His eyes crinkle at the sides, and you're convinced he's being genuine. "I'm so very happy for you. I know some doctors back home. I want you seeing only the best."

Your mouth feels bone dry in your reply, "That's really kind of you, Henry. Thank you."

"Is she playing or not?" Matt questions from the other end of the table.

"What a stupid question," Henry scoffs and rolls his eyes, standing from the table. "Of course she's not."

"That's not fair," Matt counters.

"Oh, shut up," Steve snaps in his direction, his free hand finds your knee, his thumb brushing circles into your skin.

Matt moves to stand from his chair, but Samantha pulls him back down.

Henry stares at Matt until he finally looks away, then clears his throat, "You have one hour to prepare."

The door slams behind you and Steve when you enter your room.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You're seething.

"There is no way in hell you're actually pissed at me right now." Steve whips around to face you, immediately coming into your space.

"Do you understand the Pandora's box you just opened?" Your heart races.

"One of us needed to stay sober." He lowers his voice, pulling you into the bathroom. He shuts the door behind you and leans against it. "I did what needed to be done."

"You were protecting me," you say through gritted teeth, stepping towards him.

"Because that's what partners do," he meets you in the middle, crowding you against the bathroom sink.

"How do you expect me to play pregnant? Did you think about that?" You push your hands into his chest to create space between you. "We should've talked about it, you can't just make decisions like that for me."

"We'll be done with the case before anyone finds out." He places his hands on his hips, respecting your request for space. "You're early enough along that it's reasonable for you to not be showing. I'll play the Game, you do some digging while everyone is out of the house."

You take a deep breath and weigh his words. Something about Steve is that he already had this scenario played out in his head. He knew that he couldn't give you time to weigh the outcome, or you would've said no, because he knew that you would've tried to protect him. He couldn't let that happen.

He knew that once you listened to his reasoning, you would calm down and accept that it's a decent plan.

"I heard Rich at dinner talking about how all the cameras on the island get shut off for the Game because there can't be evidence of what happens tonight. It gets messy." Steve keeps his voice quiet after reaching behind you to turn both sinks on.

"I don't want you to play," you whisper, looking up at him. "Let's just go home. We can say I'm not feeling well."

"We leave tomorrow. Let's ride this out, okay? We've got a job to do," he cups your cheeks and your hands wrap around his wrists.

"I have a bad feeling about this. Please? Can we go?" You're practically begging at this point. Your breath is ragged, and your hands are slightly shaking.

The idea of him leaving you alone in this massive house to go play Henry's demented game instills so much anxiety in you that you get another urge to vomit. You want him to stay with you in the room, or better yet, let you go play the game. The knowledge of him being in harm's way is something you can't bear.

"Hey," he says softly, "You've never been one to run away. I've always admired that about you."

"But-"

"No buts, Hollywood," he shakes his head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, "You're the last person on the team to be scared of anything. Our plan is set. We follow through, yes?"

You take a deep breath as you search his eyes for any sign he wants to back out, and finally nod when you can't.

"Yes."

☆

You sit with Steve as he takes his dose of shrooms. Well, you sit practically on top of him. He's on the cushioned patio chair, and you might as well be sitting in his lap. He has your feet pulled into his lap, and your knees are tucked to your chest, so you're sitting as close to him as possible. You have one hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly with your fingernails.

"I'm okay, baby," he whispers, his fingers drawing lines up and down your calf as he plants a kiss on your cheek. You wish his voice would put you at ease, but it doesn't.

The rest of Henry's guests are also sitting around the fire pit, taking their doses as well. You're surprised when even Martin takes a dose. The only people who don't are you and Henry.

Henry stands up and claps his hands together.

"Somewhere on this property, I've hidden a silver box. In that box is something extremely relevant to the auction next month. Find it, and you have a head start against your competitors," Henry tells the group. Your eyebrows furrow as you watch the reactions of everyone around you.

By the looks of it, this box is ridiculously important.

"No clues will be given this year because our dear Grace isn't participating, so no cheating will be permitted," Henry smiles a devilish smile. "Off you go."

You stand up first so that Steve can follow. He rests his hands on your hips as you clutch his shirt between your fingers.

"I'm gonna be okay, honey," he leans down and kisses you softly, "I promise."

"I'm still mad at you," you mutter against his lips.

"Tell me about it," he smiles and kisses both of your hands before pulling away.

He turns one last time with a small wave before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking toward the trees near the dock. Before you can take your next breath, all the lights on the island shut off.

"They play in the dark?" You turn to Henry.

"Makes it more fun," Henry says with a smile.

"So what now?" Your hands flex at your side as he pours himself a glass of wine.

Realistically, it's your first time one-on-one with Henry, and you should use it to your best advantage, but your heart has been pounding since dinner, and you're having trouble shaking the anxiety you feel.

"We wait." he sits in his chair and leans back. "You can always wait in your room, of course. The Game usually doesn't finish til early morning."

You sit across from him and pull your legs under you comfortably. You should stay where he is and do some digging on him.

"Do you have something to ask me, Grace?" Your heart skips a beat when his words pull you from your thoughts. "You seem like you have a lot on your mind."

You laugh lightly and uncap your water bottle. "The Game just sounds fun. I'm bummed to be missing out."

"It is quite fun, but you might find it more fun to watch," Henry tells you, sipping from his wine glass.

A few moments of silence pass while you plan your next series of questions.

Finally, you say, "I really appreciate you putting so much trust into Danny and me. And I hope you don't think that us... having a baby will interfere with our work."

"Accidents happen all the time," Henry says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I would never doubt your capabilities, Grace. I see a lot of value in you and Daniel and think you two will work wonderfully together at the club."

Accidents?

The comment rubs you the wrong way, whether you and Steve are lying about being with child or not.

"Since we're alone," you do a performative glance around you, "When you say the others are trying to cross you, what do you mean?"

Henry leans in close, and you successfully fight the urge to pull away from him.

"The Upside Down is in Rich's name, but I am in fact the owner. Rich and Marianne are essentially broke and owe me lots of money. It's recently come to my attention that he's trying to snatch the club out from under me with Matt's help."

You nod slowly as the gears start turning slowly in your head. How can you puncture Henry's trust in Rich even more?

"Between you and me, I don't think they're trustworthy at all," you say, leaning back comfortably. "I was chatting with Marianne the other night, and she seems to hold some sort of grudge against you for issues between her and Rich."

Henry laughs so loudly it almost makes you jump, "Oh, darling, they had issues before coming to work for me. I only shed light on them. It's a miracle they've lasted this long."

"I think Rich is jealous of your success, Henry."

Henry's head tilts, and you panic for a split second, thinking you've said the wrong thing.

"I think you may be right," he nods, tone turning serious, "I think that's why he's jealous of you and Daniel. You and Daniel are so young and already so successful. Daniel was telling us about it during our trip to the mainland," Henry starts, and the way his eyes narrow tells you that he's coming to a realization of something.

"Well, Danny and I have worked hard to build what we have," you give him a sweet smile.

"That's the thing, my dear Grace," he laces his fingers together as he nods slowly, "You two are young, wealthy, and so in love. And so successful. I made Rich. He had nothing when he came to me, and I gave it all to him."

Bingo.

"That would make a lot of sense as to why he's trying to cross you," you sigh softly as if you're sad for him, "It's so disappointing when you help the most ungrateful people."

"You continuously prove yourself to me, Grace."

"Matt and Nathan? How are they?" You pry a little deeper.

"Don't get me started on those incompetent idiots," he scoffs, finishing the wine in his glass. He lifts the bottle to refill, but it's empty. "I intend to have them handled soon."

"Want me to grab another bottle?" you ask.

"You're too kind." he shakes his head as he stands. "I'm going to do my first lap to check on our players. We'll circle back soon. I do enjoy our time together."

Henry disappears into the dark, and you sit for a moment processing the new information. It settles quicker than expected, and you stand up, remembering that there are no active cameras on the island at the moment.

This is the perfect time to snoop. Carefully, of course.

You rise from your seat and slip off your heels so that you can move quietly around the house. It's insanely dark, the only thing lighting the hallways is the moonlight shining in through the windows.

You don't even know what you're snooping for, but you find yourself in Rich and Marianne's room. You quietly go through the drawers, thankful that they actually unpacked. You and Steve have kept everything neatly folded in your suitcases all weekend in the event that you'd have to flee quickly.

You turn around with a sigh of annoyance that you don't find anything, but then your eye catches on something sticking out from under the mattress.

Bare feet pad across the room, and you pull out a worn notebook and take it toward the window to try and get a better look. It's clearly a journal, Marianne's from what you can tell by the clear female handwriting.

The first few pages are a continuous list of different names, ages, and locations. Your heart is in your stomach as you read over it again and again before finally flipping through the rest of the pages.

There are notable gaps between some of the pages, and you realize it's because they're sectioned off. Matt, Nathan, and even their partners have pages. Matt and Nathan each have several pages of notes.

The newest pages are yours and Steve's, or rather Danny and Grace's.

There aren't many notes on Steve, just small things about the business he and you own. Your page, however, is already full and continues on to the next.

Grace Anderson, twenty something, married to Daniel. Graduated from Yale. A bit pretentious...

"Pretentious?" You roll your eyes as you flip over to the newest notes.

Grace and Danny are always whispering. She told me she doesn't want a family any time soon and is now conveniently pregnant the night of Henry's Game. They're suspicious. I don't trust them.

You slam the notebook shut and double-check that the room is exactly how you found it. The notebook stays tucked under your arm as you rush down the hall to your and Steve's room. You hide the notebook in the hidden sleeve of your suitcase that only you and Steve know about.

The window is open, a soft ocean breeze blowing through, sending a chill down your spine. You're startled by the sound of hushed voices, making you duck. You stay crouched down as you make your way toward the window to hear better.

"He's demonic." It takes a minute to pinpoint whose voice it is, but the whiny pitch tells you it's Jenn, Matt's partner. "I don't want to play anymore. I want to go home."

“We can’t go home,” Samantha whispers. “Henry is planning something. I don’t think we’re going home.” 

Where are Matt and Nathan? 

A sob sounds from Jenn’s lips, “Why does he like her so much? Why does she get to be safe?”

“Shut up,” Samantha hushes her. “She could be anywhere. The others are supposed to handle them.”

“I see her now,” Jenn cries. “She’s in the trees. She's coming."

God, that girl is having the worst trip of her life. 

Their voices fade, and you sit still for a moment just in case. I can see why Henry likes his Game so much and why everyone else hates it. It all comes down to Henry treating everybody’s life like a sport. 

“It’s all a game to him,” Marianne had said to you. 

Several minutes pass, and you finally decide to look out the open window to see if you can find Steve. You squint into the darkness, looking for any movement. 

You sigh in frustration, wondering what time it even is. You decide to quietly exit the room and gasp when your chest collides with someone else’s. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly, but before you can even look up to see who it is, the air is taken from your lungs as you’re thrown to the ground. You attempt to push yourself away, but they’re on top of you within a second, hands wrapped around your throat. 

“It’s not fair,” the man rasps, and through the dark you can make out the features of Matt, “You can’t just show up and take everything from us.”

Your nails dig into his cheeks, which only inclines him to lift your head and slam it into the ground. Your vision blurs, but you refuse to go out this way. Steve wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you died at the hands of this man. 

Every ounce of training kicks in, and you lift your knee as hard as you can into his crotch. Luckily, he’s not fully competent thanks to the shrooms, so he falls almost instantly. 

You crawl on top of him despite the dizziness threatening to take over and throw your fist into his nose three times, one after the other. He’s knocked clean unconscious, blood dripping from his nose. 

You shake the pain from your knuckles as you stand up and lean against the wall. You reach into your hair, wincing at the sharp pain at the back of your skull. Blood coats your fingers when you pull them from your hair. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

You immediately assume the worst. If Matt had come for you, then Nathan is going for Steve. Based on the conversation you overheard between Jenn and Samantha, the others are out for you and Steve. 

You take one step and fall to your knees against the wall.

No, no, no.

You manage to pull yourself a few feet down the hall before your vision goes completely black.

☆

The walls of the room are pink from the sunrise when you open your eyes. Red and blue lights flicker against the wallpaper from outside. You have a splitting headache as you sit up and look around the room. Steve is nowhere to be found, and your heart immediately begins to race.

You practically cling to the walls while you try to regain your balance. Marianne is the first person you encounter.

"What's going on?" you ask.

Marianne, to your surprise, reaches out to you, "You should lie down."

"Where is everyone? Is it over?" you question as she gently tries to lead you back to your room.

"There's police here," her voice is calm as she nudges you in the other direction.

"What? Why? Where's Henry?" If something is happening, you and Steve need to be present.

"They found someone in the water." Marianne sits you on the bed and rests her hands on your shoulders. "Hey, I need you to stay calm."

Your heart sinks.

"Who?" It comes out more as a demand.

"They don't know," she shrugs. "But Matt and Danny are the only ones unaccounted for."

"No." You're on your feet in an instant, making way for the door. It takes everything in Marianne to keep you in the room as you fight against her. "Let me go, Marianne. I need to see. Let me go!"

"You don't want to see that if it's him, Grace. I'm telling you to stay here." Marianne says sternly. "Stay here. I'll see what I can find out, and I'll come back. But stay here and do not look out the window."

She leaves the room, leaving you exactly where you are. And you stay sitting on the bed. Terrified that if you move, everything will become real.

The walls shift from pink to golden, and eventually the red and blue lights disappear with the daylight.

Enough time passes that you've shuffled every nightmareish scenario in your head. You prepare yourself for Marianne to come back and tell you that it was Steve they found in the water.

Bile threatens to rise in your throat, images of the police lights flashing against the dingy wallpaper in your childhood kitchen the day your sister went missing.

The feeling is all too familiar. It's unbelievably painful and familiar, and the idea of you leaving this island without Steve feels like a hundred knife wounds to the chest.

Steve, the coworker who you couldn't stand. The coworker who would stop at nothing to get under your skin and you under his. The one to who you'd grown undeniably bonded to over the past two months of working on this case. Steve, the absolute sweetheart that buys you your first birthday cake since childhood just to try and brighten what’s already a difficult day for you.

Steve Harrington, the one that you're not entirely sure you could continue denying your feelings for. It takes the possibility of him being dead to realize it.

Existential dread settles at the realization that you may be leaving without him. The realization that you might have to tell your entire team that you failed and that Steve is not coming back. Having to tell Dustin that he's not coming back.

The door to your room opens, and you're unsure of how long it has been. You keep your head down, face covered with your hands, waiting for Marianne to deliver the news.

"Hey, hey. I'm here, baby. I’m so sorry."

When you look up, your eyes meet Steve's. The big hazel eyes that you now look for in a crowded room for comfort. The eyes you've grown to love.

Your heart hasn't had a normal beat since last night, and at this point it feels like it might just stop all together.

"Steve," his name is a whisper off your lips.

He's here in front of you, alive and breathing, hair wet and sticking to his forehead. Your bottom lip quivers as your eyes scan his face for any injuries, and you reach for his cheeks with shaking hands.

"I know," he nods, his hands resting over yours. "I'm okay, baby. How's your head, hm?"

A sob escapes your lips as relief washes over you, and you throw your arms around his neck, letting him engulf you. His clothes are still damp, but you don't care.

"I thought it was you," you cry. Sobs rack your chest but you don’t care that you’re letting the facade break.

"Matt, he came for me. Told me he got to you first, that you put up a fight. We fought and fell into the water-" he stops and shakes his head, "I did what I had to. I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder, letting you cry, rubbing your back softly. He’s just as grateful to have you in his arms after Matt implied he’d taken care of you.

"I thought I lost you. Are you okay?"

"You can't get rid of me that easily," he attempts to get a laugh from you, but only catches a glare. "Is your head okay? Henry said Matt attacked you."

"It's fine. I think I just have a concussion. Can we go home now? Please," you pull away to look at his face again, just soaking in the fact that he's there in front of you.

He nods and cups your cheeks, leaning in to kiss you softly, and you let him.

"Oh, before I forget," he says quietly when he pulls away. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small silver box.

"You found it," you gasp. "What is it?"

He opens the box, and inside sits a flash drive.

Holy shit.

"We hit the jackpot, baby."

previous | next

"I'm good." Max opts for cereal, claiming the one time she did accept eggs from Steve, they were too salty. " She didn't come down this morning?"

"Not that I've seen," Steve looks at the clock. It's nearly eleven a.m., and you're usually up and at 'em by eight. "Should we be worried?"

"What's today?" Max suddenly drops the cereal box, and it tips over, spilling cereal onto the counter.

"Christ, Max-" Steve tracks her as she rushes to the calendar on the fridge. "Slow down."

"Fuck," she groans, running a hand through her hair.

"What? What is it?" Steve is confused by the sudden panic from his partner's little sister.

"Today," Max sighs, looking at the date, "It's a hard day for her. Like... really hard."

"Okay..." Steve raises his eyebrows, waiting for the rest, with his hands on his hips.

"She didn't tell you?" she asks, and Steve shakes his head, turning the stove off.

"It's the anniversary of her bio dad getting arrested, and when they found her sister," Max says quietly, followed by a short pause, "It's also her birthday."

"Hold on," Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to take in the new information. He had no clue that you and Max were adopted. "Back track, please."

"You didn't know about...? Fuck, she's gonna kill me," Max huffs, leaning against the counter. "She doesn't like to talk about it. And every year, she just kind of shuts down."

Things slowly click into place for Steve. All the times you've joked about childhood trauma and it being the reason for your eidetic memory, and the times you've shut him down for trying to dig deeper, begin to make a lot more sense.

"Should we, I don't know, do something? Check on her, maybe?" Steve asks.

"No offense, but I think you might be the last person she'd want to see," Max grabs her bowl of cereal and stalks off to her room.

He's with Max on that one, actually. It'd been a week since Steve had you quite literally wrapped around his fingers on the couch, and you barely had spent any time in a room together since.

The only time you'd actually seen each other was when Steve came back from his solo meeting with Henry, which was entirely uneventful. He sent Steve home with a bouquet of flowers for you after spending $300 on lunch at the most expensive restaurant in town.

Robin was in the midst of continuing chats with both Henry and his assistant, but things had kind of come to a plateau in terms of progress. Henry was unfortunately giving Grace time to heal after getting drugged at the luncheon.

Steve ponders for an hour debating whether he should check on you. When he finally goes to knock on your door, Max is stepping out.

"How is she?" he lowers his voice in case you can hear him through the door.

"Nearly catatonic," Max says. She's attempting to make a joke because today, for as long as she's lived, has been hard for her as well. Every year on this day, watching every joyous piece of her sister shed and break down to this unrecognizable version of herself is heartbreaking.

"I want to see her," Steve says, attempting to side-step Max.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Max stands her ground, blocking the door. "I don't think she'd want you to see her like that."

"Please," his plea is quiet. The idea of you suffering alone with the endless grief of today, on your birthday of all days, hurts him in a way he didn't know possible.

Max narrows her eyes at him and folds her arms, "What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing," he answers too quickly. "Nothing, Max. I just want to check on a friend."

"Your death wish," she holds her hands up in surrender and steps to the side. "Good luck. I'll start planning your funeral."

Steve twists the doorknob slowly after taking a deep breath and enters your room. Where the curtains are usually drawn and sunlight streams, they are closed, and the room is dark.

"Hollywood," Steve says quietly, approaching your bed. He can see the shape of your body under the duvet, but you don't move. He calls you by your name.

"Not now, Steve." Your voice is hoarse like you've been crying, and his heart shatters. "Please."

"It's almost one, you can't lie in bed all day," he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on your arm. You're facing the opposite wall, duvet pulled to your chin. "Let's go for a walk or go get lunch. You gotta be hungry by now."

"I want to stay here," you say quietly.

"Can I stay with you?" He asks.

He's trying so hard, treading so lightly, to get through to you. To do anything he can to make you feel better on what he can only imagine is the worst day of the year for you.

The silence is loud for a second too long, and he's about to give up when you finally breathe, "Okay."

Steve lifts the duvet and climbs into bed more slowly than necessary, trying to not to disturb the peace. He faces you even though your back is to him and hesitates for what feels like forever before reaching out to touch you.

His fingers trail up and down your back in a mindless pattern, just anything to let you know he's there.

You finally roll over to face him, your hands pressed together under your cheek against the pillow.

"Max told me," he whispers.

"I should've told you," you reply.

He shakes his head in response, "You didn't want to, and I respect that."

He reaches up, brushing your hair from your face, and you close your eyes. He rests his hand on your cheek, feeling damp skin from tears that you had been crying all morning.

You take his hand into yours, holding it against your chest. He squeezes your hand three times.

"I was six when my big sister went missing," you begin, "She was missing for a few months, and there was no trace of her. Eventually, I um... I kind of went missing, too."

Steve listens intently, giving you his full and undivided attention. He constantly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, using his other hand to trace lines against your shoulder.

"My dad took me to some old cabin he found in the woods, said he had a surprise for my birthday. My sister was there." Your throat tightens. "She was already gone and had been for a while. She'd been missing for two months at that point."

"Some hikers happened to be passing by, heard me crying, and found me after my dad left for God knows what. He got arrested, and my mom was so heartbroken that she died." Your composure in telling the story is one he's rarely seen in anybody.

"I'm so sorry," he says quietly.

"It was probably for the best. She tried her hardest, but she wasn't the same after it all, so..." You take a deep breath, "Today just kind of is the most brutal reminder."

"If you want to stay in bed all day, I'll stay here with you. If you want to go for a walk, I'll go with you. If you want to drive to the mountains and scream at the edge of a cliff, I'm there. Whatever you need."

You look up at Steve, eyes glossy from your tears, and rest your forehead against his.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Of course," he nods.

He doesn't stop you when you softly press your lips to his, your hands intertwined between your chests. If it's what you need, he'll give it to you.

You're fast asleep on his chest an hour later, but Steve can't find it in him to move you. His breathing has been synced with yours for as long as he can remember, his arms wrapped around you.

He'd managed to fall asleep for a bit as well and was surprised when he woke up to find you in the same position.

It's achingly intimate, yet he finds himself wishing you two could stay like that forever.

He traces the bridge of your nose with a featherlight touch of his pointer finger, then draws the line of your jaw, admiring how beautifully peaceful you look when you sleep.

Max enters the room some time later and stops in her tracks at the sight of you in his arms.

"What the fuck?" she mouths.

Steve draws an imaginary zipper across his lips, locks it, and then throws the key.

Max puts her hands on her hips, staring Steve down for a moment before throwing her hands up in defeat and exiting the room.

You hum lightly, stretching your limbs like a cat as you slowly come out of your sleep. The sun is starting to set, casting a pink glow across the room through the cracks of the curtains. Steve has been staring at the wall, watching it change colors, holding you close to his chest.

His heartbeat is the first thing you hear when you wake up.

"Hey," he says when you finally open your eyes.

"Hi," you look up at him, "Sorry."

You move to untangle your limbs, but he tightens his hold on you.

"Don't be sorry."

You let yourself settle against his chest again and take a deep breath, "Thank you."

"Always."

Steve convinces you to get out of bed for dinner. He offers to go get takeout, and you agree to wait for him in the living room rather than in bed.

Max is shocked to see you on the couch, but she happily takes a seat next to you. She leans into your side, resting her head on your shoulder.

"Hi, bear," you stroke her hair.

"You and Steve, then?" Max finally asks.

"I don't know what's happening," you admit.

"I really like him if it makes a difference," she tells you.

You've never kept a guy around that Max didn't like. One time, you stopped seeing a guy because Max didn't like his eyebrows.

"I know you do," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Steve was really good with Max. He was good with Dustin, too; it was just one of his many redeeming qualities. You could tell that Max was growing closer to Steve by the day; it was impossible not to with the three of you living together.

"Max, can you give me a hand?" Steve calls from the foyer.

"Yeah, just a sec," she calls back and then turns back to you, lowering her voice, "Just be careful, please. That's all I'm asking."

There's rustling in the kitchen and hushed whispers, but you find yourself zoning off into space, images from your childhood blurring your vision.

"Hungry?" Steve asks. entering the living room. "Don't say no, because I don't care, you're coming to eat."

He pulls you by your hands off the couch and leads you toward the kitchen. Right before you enter, he cover your eyes with your hands.

"Steve, what are you doing?" You stumble a bit with the sudden loss of vision, but he stabilizes you.

"Just trust me," he says, and you can hear his smile.

Trust him, you do. More than you should, it feels like sometimes.

"Ready?" He guides you to the barstool and sits you down, and you hear Max laughing.

"What are you guys plotting?" A laugh manages to work its way out.

Steve uncovers your eyes, and Max stands in front of you with a paper party hat on top of her head and a party blower in her mouth. Confetti is sprinkled messily on the counter where a birthday cake sits with a single 2 candle in the center.

"Happy birthday!" Max holds her arms in the air. You can tell a part of her is worried about the reaction it'll receive. "It was his idea, not mine. I told him you hate today."

You look up to Steve, who also dons a paper party hat on top of his head.

"It's just stuff from the market, so... no big deal," he's also trying to gauge your reaction.

Tears brim in your eyes unwillingly, and you cover them with your hands.

"No, no, it's okay," Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side, "If you hate it, we'll trash it."

"I told you," you hear Max whisper.

"No, I don't," you say, brushing your tears as you look up at him, "I don't, I promise. It's just really sweet. You didn't have to."

"I think you deserve to be celebrated," Steve brushes a stray tear away.

"You guys make me sick," Max fake gags and rounds the countertop to place a paper hat on top of your head, "But he's right."

Max kisses your cheek as Steve starts lighting the 2 candle on the cake, "This was the only candle left. So I guess you're two."

They sing you happy birthday, and you shed a few more silent tears with a smile on your face.

You, Max, and Steve sit around the island in the kitchen, eating Chinese takeout. You finish the night with the dry birthday cake from the supermarket that the three of you tear apart with forks right out of the packaging.

Max turns in for the night around midnight, and you and Steve stay up cleaning up the mess in the kitchen after a cake fight broke out.

"Steve?" You lean against the counter, throwing the kitchen towel over your shoulder.

"Hollywood?" He laughs, reaching to brush some icing from your cheek.

"This was maybe the best birthday I've ever had," you tell him. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he smiles, a deep feeling of accomplishment coming over him.

The only thing he cared about today was being there for you and doing anything he could to make you feel better. Seeing you smile and laugh and be out of bed was the best feeling in the world at the moment.

"You're a good friend," you tell him.

"Friend?" He snakes his arms around your waist, lifting you up onto the counter. He puts himself between your thighs, and your breath hitches.

"Yes, friend." You try to hide your smile. "I'm serious, Steve."

"You sound it," he lets the tip of his nose brush against yours, a small smirk on his lips.

"Steve," you scold him, resting your hands on his chest. "Max is home."

"She's asleep," he says, placing a slow kiss where your jaw meets your neck.

"Can we go to bed?" You push him back gently, and he scans your face with a quick nod.

He helps you off the counter and walks you to your room, your hand in his.

"Are you staying?" You ask.

"Lines, remember?" He replies.

"Right," you nod.

"Good night," he says, kissing your forehead before leaving for his room down the hall.

✩

Steve doesn't touch you for weeks.

You spend nearly every second of every day together, sitting on the couch, in the office doing case research, meals together, etc., but he constantly keeps his distance and his hands to himself.

Robin comes and goes with new messages between Danny and Henry. There's still a lull in progress on the case because Henry has yet to invite the Andersons to anything.

You half wish that he would just so you'd have a reason to touch him.

The landline rings, and you rush to answer it. You rarely get calls to the Anderson land line, but when you do, you always answer as such.

"Anderson residence."

"Hey, baby, it's me," Steve's voice is on the other line.

Steve had left earlier in the day to check on Dustin at home. He'd made it a weekly thing to check in on him if Dustin didn't stop by.

"Hi, honey." Your heart drops slightly, "Everything okay? Where are you? It's late."

Any call taken on the landline had to be taken as Danny and Grace, just in case anybody was listening.

"Don't freak out, everything's fine." His voice is soft, which is a warning enough that whatever he's about to say is going to freak you out, "My car broke down at the old house, and I was hoping you could come pick me up."

He's too calm, and whatever he's saying makes absolutely no sense. "Yeah, no problem. I'll leave now."

"Hey," he says before he hangs up.

"Yeah?"

"Love you," he tells you.

"Love you," you reply.

Saying it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

Once you hang up, you replay the phone call in your head.

Steve left to check on Dusin, so the old house must mean his house. A broken-down car could just be a means to get you out of the house.

Luckily for your memory, you can remember exactly where Steve's house is based on the one time that you went with Robin to drop him off after a Free Friday.

You grab the BMW keys and make the 25-minute drive to Steve's.

The lights are on when you get out of the car and make your way up the front porch steps. Before you can knock, Steve steps out and rests his hands on his hips with a sigh.

"Hey," he keeps his voice low.

"What? Steve, you're freaking me the fuck out," you look up at him, worry in your eyes.

"All of the kids are here," he starts, "I really need you to keep your cool, alright? Please?"

"What's going on?"

"They got busted smoking and drinking. Dustin called me, so I went to pick them up."

You release a breath of relief. That's not so bad. It could be worse. You did things like that as a teenager.

"Okay," you nod with a sigh of temporary relief. "I mean, that's not so bad, right?"

"They were at The Upside Down," he finally breaks the news.

"Henry's club?" Your heart skips the next few beats, and you feel like you might pass out.

"Breathe," he says, resting his hands on your arms, and you close your eyes for a moment. "I need you to stay calm."

"How the fuck am I supposed to be calm?" You somehow manage to keep your voice in a hushed whisper. "Steve, they can't ever go back there, you told them that, right?"

"It's a conversation that will need to be rehad in the morning," he says, "They're all pretty out of it."

You run your fingers through your hair and take a deep breath. "Did you call the others?"

"Jane asked me not to," he says. "They're all gonna crash here. I'll stay with them, but I just wanted you to know."

"Fucking Christ," you cover your face with your hands and ground yourself. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, no, get some rest. I just didn't want you to find this out tomorrow. I'll handle them tonight, you can handle Max tomorrow." He tells you. "Please drive home safely."

You stay up practically the entire night on the off chance that Steve comes home with Max.

He finds you asleep on the couch and kneels down to wake you up as gently as possible.

You sit up with a gasp, and his hand is immediately in your hair to calm you down.

"Max is upstairs sleeping it off," he tells you quietly. "Robin just called on the walkie, and they're heading over for a debrief, so we need to get ready."

You look him up and down, and he looks exhausted, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his hair a mess.

"Did you sleep?"

"Not really, you?"

"Barely," you reply, standing up from the couch.

Sitting in the saferoom feels like sitting in hell. Steve looks exhausted, you look exhausted, Robin looks exhausted. Eddie, Nancy, Hopper, and Joyce all look exhausted. It'd been a brutal night for everyone.

"Last night was eventful," Hopper finally says.

"Wheeler, Munson, you're up."

"We intercepted a few abductions last night at The Upside Down," Nancy starts. "We saw a few of Henry's scouts outside talking to some teenagers, and we acted quickly and managed to get them home safely."

Your chest feels like a weight is sitting on it. Knowing that all of your kids had been there last night.

"The issue is, they know we're on to them now," Eddie says, "They're going to be moving very carefully for the next month or two."

"Buckley," Hopper nods to Robin, and she stands, laying out folders in front of you and Steve.

"Huge development, I've been up all night sorting it out," Robin says, "Grace and Danny have been invited to Henry's beach house in Cape Cod because Henry has a 'job' for them. I think this is his final test of trust."

"Before what?" Steve asks.

"Before his auction next month," Robin answers. "Every year, he has an action for pieces in the gallery. He uses it as a cover for the girls. It's our last chance to save them."

"Okay," you sit up, opening the file, "What's our next move?"

"You tell us," Hopper folds his hands on the table, and all eyes are on you.

You review the first few pages of files and sigh. "We'll go to the beach house and see what happens from there."

"That's it?"

"What else can we do?" You don't mean to catch an attitude, but the lack of sleep is catching up to you. "We go to the beach house, we collect evidence, we move on to the auction next month. What else can we do?"

Steve kicks your shin gently under the table. Your eyes meet his, and he lifts his eyebrows in warning.

"Hollywood," Hopper's tone is sharp.

"No, why are you only asking me? Ask Steve. Or Nancy or Eddie. Why is it only on me to figure out our next move?" You stand up from the table, tossing the folder down onto the table. "We do what we've been doing."

You storm out of the safe room, running your fingers through your hair. with a sigh of frustration.

"Calm down," Steve's voice immediately lowers your heart rate as his presence surrounds you. His arms are around you, pulling your back into his chest. "You're fine. It's gonna be fine. We'll just keep doing what we've been doing."

You turn around, wrapping your arms around his torso. He cradles your head with one hand, running his fingers through your hair, "I shouldn't have snapped like that."

"He always puts a lot of pressure on you." Steve's voice is calm, and you close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat. "It's because he knows you're smart."

"I just don't know what else to do." Your voice wavers, and your composure threatens to split. "We're doing everything right, and it still feels like not enough."

He cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with tears in your eyes, "You said it yourself, we're doing everything right. It's all we can do, baby."

You let your head drop against his chest as the tears start flowing, "I just want it to be over."

Having his arms around you again after what feels like forever is the only thing you crave right now.

"I know," he nods, pulling you back into his chest.

✩

You and Steve fly to Henry's beach house in Cape Cod.

You two aren't the only couple there when you arrive. The wife whom Steve spoke to at the luncheon is there with her husband and the two brothers responsible for drugging you are also present.

Henry is waiting for you at the dock when you step off the boat. With one glance around, you're disgusted by the display of wealth. If anyone were going to have a house only accessible by boat on Cape Cod, it would be Henry.

"Oh, my dear Grace, I am so pleased you made it," Henry greets you with a kiss on each cheek and a smile wider than you've ever seen.

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," you reply, pitching your voice slightly higher. "Thank you so much for having us."

"So good to see you," Steve says, shaking Henry's hand.

"I will have Martin show you to your room," he gestures to the assistant, whose name you now finally know. "I can't wait to see you for dinner."

Different housemaids take your luggage off the boat, and Steve takes your hand in his as you follow Martin. His grip tightens slightly as you pass Matt and Nathan. They look away immediately when Steve looks at them.

"It's okay," you speak softly to him, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb. "Relax."

"It's not," he replies, his jaw tensing.

"Thank you, Martin," you tell him as you stop outside your room on the second floor.

"Of course, Mrs. Anderson. Always a pleasure," Martin unlocks the door and leaves you and Steve.

The housemaids put your luggage in the room and leave you be. Once you enter, you take a deep breath and look around the room. It's a huge suite overlooking the water with an en suite bathroom. A couch sits in front of a fireplace with beautiful woodwork. The curtains are drawn, and windows are open, a cool sea breeze making the air smell like salt.

One bed sits in the middle of the room.

"I'll take the couch," Steve says, watching the realization flicker in your eyes.

"Steve," you turn to him, and he shakes his head.

"It's fine."

The sun seems to change position in the sky more slowly than usual, and you and Steve have barely said a word to each other since you arrived. He unpacked your suitcases and then let himself get half lost in a book from the coffee table.

You, on the other hand, have been sitting in the chair in front of the window that overlooks the water. You've been watching every person who walks by carefully and with intent. Mostly housemaids pass by, preparing for the welcome dinner Henry is hosting.

You catch two new women arriving who greet the brothers. You always watch the woman that Steve is familiar with pass by with her husband in a heated argument that you can't quite hear.

Most importantly, Henry passes by with Martin, talking about their plans for after dinner. Something or another about taking all the guys to the mainland as per tradition.

"What do you think the job is that Henry apparently has for us?" You ask.

"I guess we'll figure it out before the weekend ends," he says, but his voice is so quiet you barely catch it.

"Everything okay?" You turn your body in the chair to face him.

"Dandy," he nods, keeping his attention on the book. His tone is flat, and his pointer finger taps the spine of the book in an almost impatient manner. It makes you tick.

"Can you fix your attitude?" You stand up from the chair and cross the room to stand in front of him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he avoids your gaze, keeping his eyes on the book.

You grab the book from his hands and toss it onto the chair next to the couch. "Don't do that."

"Hey, what the hell, Hollywood?" He sits up, holding his hands up in frustration.

"What is your problem today?" You put your hands on your hips and stare down at him.

He leans back in the chair with a heavy breath and crosses his arms over his chest, not giving you an answer.

"So we're back to this then? Silence?" You scoff and roll your eyes, walking away from him, "You are such an asshole sometimes."

"Oh, I'm an asshole?" He's on his feet in an instant, trailing behind you.

"Do I need to repeat it?" You say.

"You are such a god damned brat sometimes, you know that?" He's in your space, and you whip around to face him.

"It is so hot and cold with you, I will never understand it." You put your finger on his chest. "I thought we were fine."

"We are fine," he drops his voice.

You drop your hand with another roll of your eyes, one he sees this time, and turn away from him. He grabs your wrist and pulls you back to his chest.

"Why do you do this, hm?" His nose is an inch from yours, his voice low.

"Do what?" Your words are sharp and concise. Your eyes never leave his, a power play at hand between the two of you.

"You're so... you. The lines-" He breathes. "I should stay away, I know I should, but you make it so fucking impossible."

"Lines are there for a reason."

"You and your fucking lines. I can't stand it," his free hand reaches up to cup your jaw.

"I know. You tell me all the time." You tilt your head up at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. The last time he said that, he had you riding his fingers approximately ten minutes later.

"You always have to have the last word," he sneers.

"I'll let you have it just this once," you poke the bear. He stays silent. "No, really, go ahead. Have the last word, you want it so bad-"

He cuts you off, bringing your lips to his. He usually waits for you to lean into him, but somebody needed to put you in your place.

He kisses you with hunger, his tongue wasting no time finding yours, pulling a gasp from you.

"You never know when to stop," he mutters against your lips, backing you toward the bed. "Too smart for your own good."

"We can't do this here," you tell him, as your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fall onto your back, and he's on top of you before you can take your next breath, his lips finding yours again. "We're working."

"I don't care," he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and the whine you let out is pitiful.

Heat is already pooling between your thighs when he uses his knee to part them, "It's a bad-"

"Bad idea, I know." He's leaving wet kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, placing himself right between your legs. The sundress you're wearing is riding up your thighs.

"Boundaries-"

"Already crossed them," he hums against the soft skin of your neck, inhaling your scent. You smell like sea salt and olive tree, and it has his cock twitching in his pants.

You have half the mind to fight with him when he trails his hand up your inner thigh, dipping under your dress. He tugs your panties aside, dragging his middle finger through your folds, and your breath hitches.

"Hm," the corner of his mouth twitches upward, "You are just a needy little thing, aren't you?"

"Shut up." Your cheeks are hot and flushed, and you hate that he has this effect on you.

"Oh, should I stop?" He circles your clit, and your eyes fight to flutter shut, but you're determined to hold his gaze.

"N-no, "is all you can muster up.

"That's what I thought," he laughs breathily and continues stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your lips part in a gasp that he swallows, never taking his eyes off yours. A soft moan escapes, and you hate how your body betrays you. You shouldn't want him as badly as you do.

"You look so pretty like this," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth as a whimper leaves your lips.

He slowly presses one finger into your heat, and your back arches off the bed, your chest becoming flush with his.

"I've been wanting to take this dress off you since we left this morning," he tells you, and you can only moan when he stretches you open with a second finger, immediately curling the digits.

"That window is wide open, so you may want to keep it down," he draws you into an open-mouth kiss as his fingers drag in and out of your cunt at an agonizingly slow pace.

"More," you finally manage to exhale.

"Ask nicely," he taunts, stopping the movement of his fingers. "I'm not the only one with an attitude today."

He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it. Your walls flutter around his fingers, and you release a shaky breath.

"Please."

"Fine," he kisses you once more, then fully removes his fingers, making you whimper at the emptiness. He sits back on his knees and looks you over once, his jaw ticking.

"You're being mean," you pout. You sit up, but his hand is on your chest, pushing you back down gently.

His fingers slide around your neck, untying the sundress you have on. Once it's untied, he easily tugs it off your body, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

Instinctively, you cover your breasts with your hands, feeling exposed. It's not the first time he's touched you, but it's the first time he's seen so much of you, and a part of you feels hyperaware of it.

"You're such a pain in my ass," he mutters under his breath, leaning down to pepper kiss down the valley of your breasts. He lets you keep your hands where they are, not wanting to push his luck.

His fingers tuck into the waistband of your underwear, and he pulls them down your legs. Your thighs press together, and he rests his hands on your knees.

"You're so shy all of a sudden," he teases, "Had so much to say just a few minutes ago."

"Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna make your mouth useful?" You find the confidence and let your knees drop.

The last word is always yours.

He grips your thighs, pulling you down the bed, letting himself fall into the mattress. He wastes no time; his tongue immediately is on your clit in long, lazy licks that have you breathless.

The pads of his fingers are pressed so deeply into the plush of your thighs, you're almost positive they'll bruise. Your hands are tangled in his hair, back off of the mattress, your breathy moans going straight out the window.

You somehow have a split second to hope nobody is near enough to hear, but you also can't find it in you to care that much. How could you when Steve's lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking with the most satisfying pressure?

He dips two fingers back into your dripping cunt, and you can't stop the sound that pulls from your throat. He pulls you closer to his face and drapes your legs over his shoulders, humming when your hips roll involuntarily. The vibrations tighten the thread already threatening to snap.

The stroke of his fingers and the way he just devours you like it's the first and last time he'll ever get to do so, has your vision blurring. He eats like he wants to, pleasures you like it's all he was put on this God-given earth to do.

He doesn't care that he's still fully clothed, cock hard and straining against his pants. He cares that he's finally tasting you, that he's knuckles deep in you, that he's the one who has you seeing stars.

The day he finally gets to bury his cock in you would be the best day of his life, should he ever get the privilege, but this is just enough for him for now.

"I'm- I'm gonna-" you lift your head to look at him, and he's already looked at you.

He pulls his fingers from you and drops his head, his tongue fucking into your pussy, his nose nudging your clit with every thrust of it. He watches your brows knit together, and you can feel him fucking smirk against your cunt.

"Baby, please," the pet name is off your lips before you can stop it, "Fuck, right there."

He pulls off your clit with a pop and stops moving his fingers, making you whine. He looks up at you, his face wet with your slick.

"I thought I was an asshole. I'm 'baby' now?" You glare at him, your fingers tightening in his hair. He just smirks at you. "Should I stop? I can stop."

"No," you lift your hips slightly, tugging him closer to your pussy. "Please."

Nobody has ever gone down on you like this.

Steve Harrington between your legs will be something you dream about for the rest of your life. He's ruined you for anybody else, and he hasn't even properly fucked you yet.

When Steve feels your walls clench around his tongue, he knows you're close. He replaces his tongue with his fingers once more and goes back to sucking on your clit.

He moans, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers, and you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling his face impossibly closer. The thread snaps, and your vision turns to stars as you turn your head, biting into the pillow to stifle the sounds ripping through your throat as your body shudders. He closes his eyes as your thighs shut around his head, a low moan in the deep of his throat resonating.

He'd stay right here forever if given the chance.

Steve continues the tantalizing stroke of his fingers until your legs stop shaking and your walls stop fluttering around them.

You're breathless, arm draped over your face, cheeks flushed. You tense when he drags his tongue through your folds, cleaning you up. He places a kiss on your mound when he's finished.

He kisses up your stomach and chest, stopping at your lips. He slowly uncovers your face, and you look up at him with tired eyes.

"Taste," he tells you.

Your brows furrow in confusion, unsure of what he means, until he lifts his fingers to your mouth, resting them against your lips.

You hesitate but gently take his hand into yours and pull his fingers into your mouth. His wedding band is cold against your tongue. You swirl your tongue around the digits, catching his eyes darken as he watches you.

"Perfect," he nods slowly, watching you intently. "See how good you taste?"

You let your teeth gently scrape his fingers when he pulls them from your lips.

He pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to you, and you tug it on sheepishly to cover up. You're not shy in the way your eyes scan the dark hair across his chest or the softness of his stomach.

You notice the bulge in his pants, and guilt washes over you. "Can I help?"

He shakes his head and pulls you to his chest, falling backward on the bed. You two face each other, faces inches apart.

"This has to be the last time," you say.

"I know," he nods.

You stare at each other in silence for a few moments.

"I have a problem," he finally says.

"Hm?" It's quiet, your brain barely forming full thoughts post orgasm.

"I'm really starting to care about you," he whispers.

You lift your head to look down at him and scan his face. His eyes are soft and stare at you with purpose. You let your finger trace the bridge of his nose as you think about what to say.

"I'm really starting to care about you, too," you reply at the same volume. The air feels thick, and your throat tightens.

"I think we both know that wasn't the last time," he tells you.

You don't have an answer for him because you know he's right.

There's something so undeniably irresistible about him, no matter how hard you try. No matter how irresponsible it is, you can't help it.

It's hard to reimagine the time just a few months ago when the two of you could barely stand in the same room together without getting into an argument.

"You can't stand me," you remind him.

"I can't," he agrees. "It only makes me want you more."

"Idiot," you roll your eyes and push off of his chest.

"Hey," he grabs your arm and pulls you to straddle him. Your bare cunt rests right atop his clothed cock. The friction makes you gasp. He moves to sit up, and you swallow the moan threatening to come out. You're dripping all over again.

"I can't stand you." He repeats, his hand finding itself in your hair. "I can't stand what a know-it-all you are. I can't stand how good you are at your job."

He kisses your jaw.

"I can't stand how good you are at being Grace."

He kisses your chin.

"I can't stand how you sound when you're about to cum."

His hand drops to your throat, thumb and pointer finger digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure.

"I can't stand what a good sister you are. How brave you are. How good you are. How you make it entirely impossible to hate you when I want to so badly. Believe me, I tried."

"Are you done?" You murmur.

"You're gonna ruin me, you know that?" He nips your jaw. "You are ruining me."

He pulls you into another kiss that is so punishing it draws a whimper from you.

There's a knock on the door that makes you jump, "Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, dinner is in thirty minutes."

Steve groans, letting his head rest against your chest as he calls out, "Thank you, Martin!"

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, climbing off his lap.

"Wait," he grabs your wrist and pulls you back for a kiss.

It's soft and quick, but it's enough to leave you wanting more.

✩

Steve and you sit across from the woman he mingled with at the luncheon and her husband, whose names you learn are Rich and Marianne.

They unfortunately seem like decent people, but you know, everyone sat at this table is some of the worst in the world.

The brothers, Matt and Nathan, are sitting closer to Henry and seem to be in a deeper conversation with him. The women who greeted them are at their sides, and you learn their names are Jenn and Samantha. You tuck every piece of information into deep corners of your mind, never to be forgotten.

Steve holds your hand on top of the table, ensuring to flash the expensive wedding bands wrapped around your fingers.

You'd gotten so used to wearing them, they'd become such an afterthought. A lot of times, it'd feel like they become a part of you.

"We've been friends with Henry since he joined the business," Marianne says, "Rich used to mentor him."

"Now he's outgrown me," Rich laughs, but there's a subtle bitterness laced through it. Jealousy.

"It is so nice to have a new face around," Marianne says, "Danny is such a lovely guy. When I heard what happened at the luncheon, I just felt so awful for you, Grace."

The sentence is a whole bunch of words and a whole lot of nothing.

You smile regardless, "Accidents happen. I don't blame anyone. Danny is just very overprotective sometimes, aren't you, honey?"

"It's impossible not to be with her, you get it, don't you, Rich?" Steve winks at Rich, and he laughs loudly.

"You could say that," he chortles.

You watch Marriane's smile falter just a smidge as Rich slinks his arm around her shoulders. She upholds the front of the happy couple more than he does.

"The thing about this business is it consumes you," Rich starts, lifting his wine glass. "It's impossible to not feel guilt."

You glance at Steve, who is listening intently to whatever story Rich is about to go on about. Knowing he has that conversation covered, you turn your focus to Henry, who is already looking at you.

You give him a slight nod of your head and a charming smile. He returns it, and you turn your focus back to Rich, but keep your ears on Henry's conversation.

It's taken years to master, but it's such a useful skill.

"Well, you two know the auction is coming up. Everyone is to present something worthy for me to sell. You'll get your cut, obviously. There's just one problem," Henry says.

"What is that?" Matt's voice is nervous.

"You two have been lacking." Henry's voice is sharp. "You lacked last year, too. You either up your game this year or you're done. The Andersons would be eager and thrilled to take your place."

"The Andersons?" Nathan says. "Henry, that's- respectfully- ridiculous."

"My Grace has a great eye. Her Daniel has business degrees you two couldn't even dream of. They're an unmatched duo. You two need to figure something out before you severely disappoint me." Henry stands from the table, but you make sure to not look. "I would hate for you to figure out what it looks like when I'm disappointed."

The women sat next to Nathan and Matt shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"It's my favorite part of the trip," Henry addresses the entire table.

"Thank God," Rich says, leaning back in his chair.

You look around at the other women, slightly confused.

"Oh, Grace," Henry says, "Every year to start the trip, I take the guys to the Mainland for a night out. Don't worry, Daniel won't be back too late."

You laugh lightly, looking to Steve, who has tightened his grip on your hand, "That sounds fun."

"Let's regroup in 30," Henry says.

Dinner is dismissed, and you and Steve find yourselves back in your room.

"I don't want to leave you," Steve says. He's been pacing for twenty minutes.

"I'll be fine, Steve. I'm going to get closer to Marrianne to see what she can give me."

"I don't like this one bit," he says, taking his hands in yours.

"Think of the intel you can get," you say quietly, as he kisses your knuckles.

He finally sighs and nods, running a hand through his hair.

"It'll be fine," you offer a reassuring smile.

Thirty minutes later, you're standing on the dock with the rest of the wives, sending their husbands off for a night on the Mainland, god, whatever that means.

"Have fun, okay?" You tell Steve as he rests his hands on your hips.

"Fun," he scoffs and dips his head to whisper in your ear, "Be safe. Please."

"You too," you nod and kiss his cheek.

He kisses you deeply, lifting you up off the ground slightly. When he sets you down, he kisses you quickly three times and then kisses your hand before Rich pulls him away to the boat.

Anxiety settles low in your chest as you wave him goodbye.

Marrianne invites you to the fire pit in the back for a glass of wine. She tells you she's not much of a fan of Samantha and Jenn, which makes you want to have a conversation with them as well.

"I'm trying to cut back on alcohol," you tell her when she offers you a second glass.

"Are you two trying?" She asks, and you nearly spit the water that you're drinking out.

You just shrug with a laugh, "We've talked about it. But we've only been married a few months."

"It's good to cut back early, though," she nods, taking a long sip.

"Do you have any kids?" You question.

"God no," she chuckles, "How could you in this line of business? I'd feel too guilty. But don't let that stop you. Many of Henry's buyers and sellers have kids."

"I guess you're right," you hum, twirling the plastic straw around the rim of your cup.

"You and Danny remind me so much of Rich and me when we were your age." She tells you, resting a hand on your arm. "The way you two look at each other, it's so beautiful."

"Oh, stop." You don't know what to say, so you just lean into her touch with a laugh.

"I mean it, watching you two together is so sweet. I just hope it lasts longer than Rich and I did." Her smile is honest; she doesn't mean any harm by her comment, but it lands strangely.

She notes the look on your face and takes your hand in hers.

"Honey, this business will rip your marriage apart. The only reason Rich and I are still together is that it'd be too hard to find someone else to put up with the secrets." She bursts into drunken laughter, and you laugh as well, but your heart is not in it. "Henry will make sure of it too, if he cares enough."

"What do you mean?" You tread carefully; she may be drunk, but she's been in the game long enough to know when to be cautious.

"He likes to test the trust of our relationships," she lowers her voice and looks around to make sure nobody's near.

"Test how?" You question.

"It's all a game to him," her smile drops, and sadness fills her eyes, "We were fine, Rich and me. Til we got into business with Henry."

You shake your head, "I think we'll be fine. Danny wouldn't."

"So did I," she stares at you with bloodshot eyes. "Take it as a warning, sweetheart."

You're unsure of who you're supposed to be playing. Grace is undoubtedly a part of you now, but there are times like these when you're unsure how to respond.

Marriane is clearly unhappy with her marriage and her husband's business with Henry, but feels too stuck to leave. You'd feel sorry for her if she didn't put herself in this situation.

When you look at her, you see a sad excuse of a middle-aged woman, drinking her sorrows away, regretting the life choices that put her in this house.

You keep her company for another hour or so, focusing on building her trust before turning in for the night.

Sitting in bed with a book becomes tiresome while you wait for Steve to come back. The clock is nearing three a.m and you're fighting the sleep that threatens to consume you.

A part of you can't wait for Steve to come back. You want to climb into bed with him and let him hold you like he had on your birthday. You feel eager to erase the lines you drew and fully let him in, no matter what the consequences are.

You tell yourself that it's the only way you'll get through the rest of the case. He's truly the only other person in the world who can comprehend the struggle of what you're going through.

You just wanted him, and knowing he felt the same way had your heart skipping beats.

He enters the room quietly, assuming you're sleeping a quarter past three in the morning.

"Hey," you shut the book and move to sit on the edge of the bed. "How did it go?"

He looks beyond tired in the lamplight. He keeps his head down, his hair no longer holding its style. You've always quite liked it when it's down and messy, especially in the mornings when he's just woken up.

He doesn't answer you, and your heart drops as he tosses his jacket on the back of the couch.

"What is it?" You stand up to approach him, "Did something happen?"

He shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. As you get closer, you smell the alcohol. Knowing that Henry and the other guys are probably responsible gets you a little heated, and you have to take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

"Let's get you to bed, yeah?" You reach for him, "We can talk about it tomorrow."

You're close enough to him now to catch a whiff of something else and immediately draw your hands back. It's not sea salt and olive tree, not your scent.

It's someone else's.

Your heart sinks as you look up at him. Really look up at him.

He's got red marks on his neck, not full-blown hickeys, but you can tell someone else's mouth has been on him. The faintest smudge of red lipstick is on his jaw, and you know it's because he tried rubbing it off.

He watches the realization land, and it makes his chest ache.

"I'm sorry," it's barely above a whisper.

Tears well in your eyes, as anger bubbles in your chest. Your fingers tremble slightly as you take a step backward.

"Why?"

Are you Grace, are you yourself? Either way, it fucking stings.

"Henry's final act of trust," he barely has the energy to explain exactly what happened, but he knows from this point forward, you're dissecting every sentence.

"It's fine."

You turn and walk back to the bed, pulling the duvet back.

"Don't do that," he says as he approaches you, and you turn quickly, holding your hand out to stop him.

"You did what you had to do. It's fine," you fist the duvet in your hands, avoiding eye contact.

You swallow the feelings of hurt and do what you do best, which is begin your emotional shut down so it doesn't hurt as bad.

"What was I supposed to do?" he pleads.

"I don't know, maybe act like a married fucking man?" You raise your voice slightly and then stop yourself.

Do you have a right to be mad? Grace and Danny are married, yes, but you and Steve are not. Steve was working and doing what he could to get intel on the extremely vital case you're on. You and Steve aren't even a couple at the end of the day.

You wish it didn't hurt as badly as it does.

"I'm sorry," he pleads as he reaches for you again, and you turn to look at him. The look in your eyes is enough to stop him in his tracks.

"Don't."

Is he Danny or is he himself?

He's sick to his stomach with the betrayal of what he's done. He can only imagine the ways this hurts you, no matter how hard you try to pretend it doesn't.

"We didn't... I mean, I didn't sleep with her," he attempts.

"Maybe you should've. Maybe it would've made it worth it," you crawl into bed and shut the lamp off, not giving him the chance to say anything else.

previous | next

"What happened between you?" Max presses.

"Nothing happened, Max." You reply.

"I just thought you guys were getting along better," She says.

"We are," you lie. She catches on, knowing you too well.

Every night, you fall asleep in a massive bed that feels so empty, and you can't help but wish he were lying next to you with his hand resting on your hip, brushing circles into your skin.

Every night, you're met with memories of his lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth, his kiss full of color.

And you hate yourself for how much you crave it.

"Hollywood, this is Robin, come in," the walkie-talkie sitting on your dresser sounds on, and you quickly walk over to get it.

"Go for Hollywood," you reply.

"I'm heading over to Basecamp for a debrief. Are you and Harrington around?" She asks. Basecamp meaning the Anderson Mansion, and debrief meaning she has new intel.

"Go for Harrington," Steve's voice sounds on the walkie, and your fingers flex around the device in your hand. "We're here."

You and Steve exit your rooms at the same time and awkwardly walk to the office to enter the saferoom. He pulls the copy of The Great Gatsby and holds the door open for you.

"How's Max?" Steve asks you as you sit in your respective chairs. "Haven't seen her all week."

"She's fine," you reply. "She stays at Hopper's a lot. She and Jane are getting close, I guess."

You felt a lot better about letting her be out of the house so much, knowing she was in the care of people who would never let her get hurt.

"Good, good." He nods his head and twirls a pen between his fingers.

The silence is loud for the next ten minutes while you wait for Robin's arrival.

She sets a stack of files on the counter and sits in the chair she would normally sit in at the office.

"Who pissed in your cereal?" She asks Steve, then turns toward you, "And yours?"

"Nobody," you sit up in your chair, "What do you have?"

You're antsy and eager to see what she has to give you. You've had no contact with Henry since your meeting last Thursday, and you know Robin has been busy at work setting things up for your next one.

"Grace and Danny are set to attend Henry's luncheon this Saturday at noon sharp. His goal in introducing you to their buyers is for you to get to know them and what their interests are," Robin shudders, "So that you can start scouting for them. I think this is your first step in earning his trust."

You read over the documents of their chat carefully while she keeps talking.

<Dealer001>: There's a club closer to downtown that Henry owns. A lot of the buyers hang around that area.

<DAndy>: It's a good pool, I'm assuming. Grace is personable. She'll make your buyers happy.

<Dealer001>: I do believe it.

"You two have some studying to do," Robin says.

"The luncheon is tomorrow," Steve says.

"Better get to reading, dingus," Robin stands up.

"What club is he talking about?" You ask.

"I did some digging, it's that new teen club called The Upside Down. It's for like 14-18-year-olds to hang out and dance. There's no alcohol there legally, obviously, but there have been reports of kids getting drugged every now and then." Robin explains, "Henry owns it."

"He owns a fucking teen club?" You sit up in your seat.

"He doesn't officially own it, but yeah, he owns it. Someone else bought it, but through my research, all signs point to him being the true owner." She crosses her arms.

You nod slowly, reading over a few more pages.

"He's testing us," you say. "He wants to see how we fare against his buyers. They're probably all sharks."

"Well, they haven't met us yet," Steve says, opening his copy of the files. "I'm gonna go on a run, but thanks for the debrief, Robin."

"Don't get hit by a car," she says as he exits the saferoom.

You release a deep breath when the door finally clicks shut.

"Alright, what the hell is going on? You two couldn't be more obvious," Robin looks down at you like a mother scolding her child.

"Do you swear it stays between us?" You ask.

"Pinky swear," she holds her pinky up, and you latch yours onto hers.

"We kissed." You say, and she stares at you blankly. "We kissed like... not as the Andersons."

"What?!" Her eyes widen, and she gasps. "I mean, you two kissing as the Andersons, I knew that was gonna happen. It was inevitable, no matter how hard you guys tried to prevent it. But what do you mean, not as the Andersons?!"

"We just- I don't know!" You tug at your hair and cover your face as your cheeks heat up, "We kissed at the gallery for the first time as Grace and Danny. And then we had just gotten back from meeting Henry, and we were just... talking. Then we were kissing. But I stopped it, because it was a mistake."

Robin laughs. Then laughs more. And more until she's bent over with her hands on her knees, wheezing.

"I'm sorry. It's just- you and Steve?! You two hate each other and have since you've met. This is just bananas!" Robin says through her laughter. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'll stop."

"I don't know what happened. It's been so awkward ever since, Rob, I don't know how to fix it," you sigh. "Things were going good. Like, it was getting normal, and I feel like I ruined it."

"Wait, what do you mean you ruined it?" Her eyes widen, "You kissed him?"

All you can do is cover your face to hide your shame. Not shame from kissing him, but shame from the fact that you can't stop thinking about it.

"Look, Steve is... Steve. He was such a player in high school, he had this whole 'King Steve' thing going on- whatever, it doesn't matter. My point is, you just have to let it go. Steve is only giving you space because he thinks that's what you want. You just have to act like things are normal, and they will be."

Robin's advice sits with you the entire day while you sit tucked away in the office upstairs, going over the files that Robin left with you.

Without meaning to, you fall asleep in the chair by the window. The sun is far past set when you wake up to a knock on the door.

"Come in," you say.

Max pokes her head through the door and then enters the room, "I was wondering where you were."

"How was your sleepover?" You ask, standing up from the chair. You stretch your tense limbs with a soft sigh.

"It was good. I was coming to grab you for dinner," Max says.

"Did you order in?" You ask.

"Steve cooked," she replies.

When you enter the kitchen, Steve stands at the stove with an apron tied around his waist. He's got a pair of tongs in his hand and a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder.

A kid you've never met before, rocking a mullet paired with a black eye, sits at the countertop.

"Hey, rise and shine, sleepyhead," Steve says. "This is Dustin. Dustin meet Hollywood."

"I'm Dustin," he holds his hand out.

"Nice to meet you," you say, shaking his hand.

"Hollywood?"

"It's kind of like a call sign." You shrug.

"So you two are really playing married?" Dustin asks, eyeing the rings on your finger.

"It's the weirdest thing ever," Max says as she picks a fry off the tray in front of Steve, earning a playful glare from him, "I don't know if Steve told you, but they absolutely can't stand each other."

"Max," you shoot her a look.

"Yeah, he shared his thoughts," Dustin laughs.

"We're having burgers tonight," Steve turns around, ignoring anything that was just said, and points to Dustin and Max, "You two can set the table."

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you cover your mouth with your hand.

Max and Dustin's laughter is cut short by a groan, but despite it, they begin grabbing dishes from the cabinets and carrying them to the dining room.

"That's Dustin, then?" You stand next to Steve at the stove, keeping your voice low. "He's a polite kid."

"That's him," he says with a small smile. "He's a handful, but I love him."

Dinner with Max, Dustin, and Steve is the most you've laughed in months. The way he and Steve banter is like nothing you've seen before. So much of them reminds you so much of you and Max.

It's also nice to see that Max has made a good friend like Dustin. You've only ever really met Lucas, so it's nice to see somebody new.

Seeing Steve with Dustin is seeing a whole new side to him. There's a different spirit to him when he's around someone he cares about.

Dustin, to Steve's surprise, asks to spend the night, so you make up one of the guest bedrooms for him, while he and Max wander off to the game room.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Steve's voice makes you jump. "Sorry."

"I think so," you say, turning your back to him as you finish scribbling the last of your notes later that night.

"Me too," he nods. There's no good response you can think of, so you just nod back and look at your notes. He watches you for a moment like he might have something else to say, but decides against it. "Good night."

The next morning, you're up early, rummaging through the closet trying to find something to wear to the luncheon. Your nerves are shot and already at one hundred, and the day hasn't even started. Nancy and Eddie got called to a local case since they couldn't be present at this one, so she had no time to help you with an outfit.

A knock raps at the bedroom door, and you call for them to come in loud enough that hopefully they hear it.

"Hey," Max sits in the middle of the closet.

"Hey, bear," you smile at her, "What's up? I thought you were going to Jane's today."

"She wanted to hang out with Mike," she says with a sigh.

"Mike is Nancy's brother, right?" You ask.

"They're kind of dating," Max replies.

"Like you and Lucas?"

"Yeah, I guess so," her cheeks flush red, and you smile.

"You don't think it's weird that I coincidentally made friends with all of your coworkers' kids?" Max asks.

You ponder for a moment, flipping through the rack, "I mean, a little. But you guys are all zoned to the same district, so maybe not? I really like that you've made friends with them. Their... keepers are good people."

"Their 'keepers'?" She snickers.

"I don't know," you laugh lightly, "Their guardians, I guess. The relationships are weird to me. Like Dustin and Steve, for one."

"That one is complicated," Max nods, "But did you know Jane was adopted like us?"

"No, I didn't."

"You should wear that one," Max says. "It's a luncheon, right?"

Your hand is on a black sleeveless mini dress with a slight V-neck. It looks shorter than you would prefer, but overall might be a good fit for the luncheon.

"Who told you it's a luncheon?" You quickly change into the dress.

"Steve."

"Steve isn't supposed to tell you things about the case," you huff.

Max stands to help zip up the back of the dress, "Steve isn't supposed to do a lot of things, like kiss my sister."

Your chest feels hot, "He told you about that?"

"No, but you just did," Max says with a smug smile. "Well, tell me more."

"We have to kiss sometimes because we're... married." You turn to face the mirror, smoothing the dress out. It's more fitted around your waist and loose around your thighs, which you like.

"Well, you're not married," Max stands behind you, looking at you in the mirror. "And you definitely didn't just kiss because you're married. I know my sister."

"Okay, fine," you huff. "We kissed outside of being the Andersons. Just once, and it was a mistake, and it won't happen again."

"It shouldn't happen again. Because if things get messy between you two, then they get messy with me and Dustin and the rest of the party." She crosses her arms. Yeah, she's your sister, alright. You may not share blood, but the traits you share are endless.

"I know," is all you say.

Steve is waiting for you downstairs at eleven a.m sharp. He looks good, and it pisses you off. You two somehow managed to match, wearing all black. He's wearing a loose-fitted short-sleeved black button-up tucked into black trousers and a belt.

"Ready?" He asks.

"Mhm," you nod, walking past him to the front door. He quickens his step to beat you to the door to open it.

He stops you from opening the car door, too. He slides the keys into your hand, "Wanna drive?"

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "Fine."

You drive to Henry's house, following the directions that Steve had printed out that morning. He's kind of horrible at giving them, but you make it work.

His house is somehow bigger than yours, with so much land that you can't even see where it ends. The mansion sits atop a hill, with empty farmland stretching for acres.

Every inch of the land is gated. When you pull up to the gate, an armed guard is waiting in a security booth.

"Name?" He asks.

"Grace Anderson," you tell him.

"Him?" He leans down, looking past you and at Steve.

"Danny Anderson," Steve replies.

He checks his list over and then opens the gate for you.

"This is insane," Steve mutters as you drive up the driveway.

A large fountain sits in front of the house with some of the most intricate marbling you've ever seen. When you park, a man opens the door for you and Steve and takes the keys to valet it.

"Head right in," the man says.

Steve waits on the other side of the car with his hand extended for you to take. You both keep your sunglasses on as you walk through the house toward the backyard, guided by the multiple housemaids.

When you step into the backyard, you have to clench your jaw to keep it from hanging open. A gorgeous pool is the centerpiece of the backyard. There's a miniature version of the garden that sits in the gallery. Cocktail tables line the fence, more people than you expected scattered across the yard, drinks in their hands.

"Oh, look who made it," Henry greets you with a smile and a hug that you return gracefully, even though it makes you want to barf up the breakfast you didn't eat this morning. He shakes Steve's hand with a smile. "Aren't you two just absolutely darling?"

"Thanks for having us. Your home is beautiful." Steve says.

"Please make yourselves comfortable. Do mingle with as many people as possible, and let me know who you connect with. Lunch will be served within the next hour."

You and Steve grab a drink from the open outdoor bar, even though you have no intentions of drinking them. His hand never leaves yours.

He pulls you to a table, kind of toward the corner, so you can observe for a few minutes before diving in.

He pulls you into his side and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. His hand rests comfortably on your waist as he leans to talk quietly to you. You keep your eyes on everyone in the space while he speaks.

"What's our move?" He asks, his breath against your ear. "I'm thinking we go for the group of men at the table nearest the garden. They seem tipsy already, so they might be easy. The one in the middle is talking too much for the others' liking."

"I'm with you," you nod, grateful for the sunglasses that make it easy to stare.

He kisses your temple and then your cheek and then takes your hand to guide you over to the group of men.

"Ah, you must be the newbies Henry told us about," the man in the middle says, "My name is Jack."

He holds his hand out, and Steve shakes it, "Danny."

"You are?" He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to it that sends shivers down your spine.

"Grace," you answer with a smile that doesn't falter.

The other two men introduce themselves in the same slimy way that Jack did, as Nick and Peter. Three businessmen based out of New York City, all owning a string of clubs up and down Manhattan.

You and Steve smchooze the three men, telling them about your time at Yale and about Danny's wealthy parents, as well as about Danny's business that you're currently the CFO of.

You earn yourselves an invite to Jack's house in Martha's Vineyard by the end of the conversation, but you don't learn enough about their interests to scout for them.

Respectfully, everyone is standoffish toward you and Steve because you're newbies whom nobody has met before.

"This fucking sucks, we're getting nothing," Steve has you back at your table in the corner. His arms are around your waist, yours around his neck, and he's whispering in your ear. To anybody else, you just look like a couple who can't keep their hands off each other.

"It's okay. Maybe we should split? Let me try on my own and see what I can do," you tell him, and his hands tense for a moment.

He pulls back just for a moment to look down at you, "Absolutely not, I'm not sending you anywhere alone."

"I'll be fine. Keep eyes on me, I'll keep eyes on you," you tell him, "Go charm that wife over there." You nod to a woman standing alone in the garden.

He freezes for a moment, studying your face before he finally sighs, "Call for me if you need me."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Henry standing in the entryway of the house, watching you.

Steve constantly having a hand on you has become second nature. It feels entirely natural when you stand on your toes to kiss him softly, and he returns it a bit more eagerly than you expected. You slide your hands to cup his cheeks and kiss him quickly three times, before tapping his cheek.

"I'll be fine. Go," you say quietly.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek quickly, earning a laugh from you before he grabs his glass and heads off toward the woman in the corner.

You wait patiently, keeping eyes on Steve as he chats with the woman across the garden. He's so irritatingly good at his job that you have to fight the pool of jealousy threatening to settle in your chest.

Finally, somebody bites the bait.

A tall man who looks to be only a little older than you and Steve approaches. He's handsome, but not as handsome as the man you came with.

"First time?" He asks, setting his glass on the table.

"That obvious?" you laugh.

"I'd remember a face like that," he says, extending his hand. You give him a firm handshake. "What's your name?"

"Grace," you reply. It's beginning to feel more natural coming off your lips, but you don't think you'll ever get used to it.

"Nathan," he introduces himself. "What brings you to the Creel house?"

"Henry invited me," you answer. You use your shades to push your hair back so he can see your eyes. Keeping your eyes and smile soft, you push your weight to your right foot, just enough that your shoulder brushes his.

It's intentional, calculated, and it works.

Another man bites the bait and appears at your other side. You keep your posture straight and your shoulders back. You're not intimidated in the slightest.

"This is my business partner, Matthew," Nathan says.

"Grace," you extend your hand first, looking him in the eye.

"You can call me Matt," he says.

Looking between the two, you realize quickly that they're not just partners, they're brothers.

"Henry invited her," Nathan says.

A bell dings, and Henry now stands on the stairs overlooking the garden. "Let lunch be served."

From behind him, a line of women and a few men enter the backyard. They're all your age, if not younger.

Your fingers tense around the stem of your glass as you look across the yard at Steve. He still has his sunglasses on, so it's hard to read what he's feeling. From what you can see, he's not thrilled about the two men on either side of you.

Almost every guest immediately chooses people from the line and pulls them into conversations. They're all immediately touchy and slimy, and it makes you nauseous.

Just. Like. Sharks.

Nathan and Matthew stay at your side. You pull your sunglasses back over your eyes to hide how disgusted you are.

"She's a good one," Nathan nods to a redhead standing at the edge of the pool. Your jaw tenses, but you stay calm as she reminds you of your sister at home.

You down the glass in your hand. How could you get through the rest of this luncheon without at least a little liquid courage?

"What are your thoughts, Grace?" He asks.

"She's quite beautiful," you nod. You mean it.

"Should we pull her?" Matt looks to Nathan. "My brother has a thing for redheads."

"Brother?" You act surprised.

"You couldn't tell?" Nathan chuckles, leaning in closer. It's at this point that you know he's wrapped around your finger.

"Who here would you pull and for what? Give me the lay of the land," you smile, resting your hand on his arm.

"The redhead is nice, but she looks too frail for my liking," he says. "I like to have a bit of fun, I need someone who can keep up."

"I see," you nod. "What about her?"

A blonde woman stands with Jack from earlier.

"I like who I have in front of me," Matt says.

"Oh, I'm not- sorry... I'm not-" your words falter, and your vision blurs slightly.

"You feeling okay?" Nathan asks. You look up at him, the corners of his lips tugging upward.

It starts in your fingertips, creeping up your arms as they become heavy. Your time is short; that's all you know as you lay eyes on Steve across the lawn.

"Excuse me," you breathe out, pushing past Nathan. He grips your arm, and you pull away. "I need-"

"What do you need? Let us help." Nathan's hands are on your arms, holding you up as your balance gives and you stumble.

"My Danny-" your head feels so heavy as your vision grows blurrier. "Why would you- my Danny-"

Forming a coherent sentence is the most difficult thing in the world. All you know is you need Steve, but even in your impaired state, you know what to call him by.

"My Danny?" Nathan looks to Matt, his eyes wide. "Who is Danny?"

"Let go," you try to push him away. "Danny-"

"Get your hands off my wife," Steve's voice is distant behind you, but you feel his presence. Everything sounds so far away. He lands two clean punches, one for Nathan and one for Matt. The two are on the ground, blood trickling from their noses.

You manage to hold yourself upright until his arms are around your waist.

"If you ever touch my wife again, I will kill you with my bare hands, understand?" Steve seethes. "Say you understand!"

"What's going on?" Henry arrives at the sound of commotion.

"Grace- she-" Steve is breathless as he looks at you, worry etched into his face.

"Let's take this inside," Henry says after taking one look at you. "Now."

Matt and Nathan are quick to their feet. Henry's assistant hands each of them a handkerchief, and Steve has to practically carry you back inside.

"Grace is very important to me," Henry says to the brothers. His calmness is terrifying.

"We had no idea who she was," Matt exclaims. "I swear, Henry. I swear."

"Apologize to Daniel," Henry tells the two men.

"We're sorry. We had no idea she was married or that you were here or her importance-"

"Shut the fuck up," Steve cuts him off, pulling himself together to the best of his ability. "Henry, this is- I mean, I don't even have the words."

"I understand your frustration. I assure you it won't happen again." Henry says. "Our partnership is valuable to me, and I deeply apologize."

"I don't feel good," you slur. "Can we go home?"

"I know, baby. We'll go home." He pushes your hair from your face, his eyes on yours, trying to gauge how far gone you are. You can barely keep your eyes open.

"My assistant will reach out tomorrow. Get her home safely." Henry nods.

Henry's assistant helps Steve get you into the car. "She's going to vomit a lot, just a warning. Just keep her hydrated, she's going to have a hell of a hangover."

Steve buckles your seatbelt and presses a hand to your forehead when the assistant closes the door, "Steeeeve?"

"I'm here, baby, I'm here." He nods, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"I don't feel good," you repeat, this time quieter.

Everything is a blur, and the speed at which Steve drives down the driveway is breakneck. He reaches into the glove box, pulling out his walkie.

"Someone- anyone. We have a problem," Steve keeps one hand on the wheel.

"Go for Byers," Joyce's voice is staticky on the walkie.

"Hollywood's been drugged," he says frantically.

"Copy," Joyce says. "Meet at Basecamp."

"What happened to her?!" Max exclaims when Steve enters the house.

She had been sitting at the kitchen table, catching up on homework, when Steve carried you in bridal style. She's at your side in a split second.

"Max, go to your room," Steve pleads. She shouldn't have to see you like this. "She's gonna be fine."

Max, surprisingly, listens to Steve and disappears into her room. He carries you to your room and places you in your bed. "I feel sick."

He's quick to grab the bin and a towel from the bathroom just in time as you double over the edge of the bed, bile rising up your throat.

Steve pulls your hair into his hand, holding it back for you. "I'm here. I'm right here. Get it all out."

Tears stream down your face as you gasp for breath, letting your head finally drop against the pillow when you feel like you can't throw up anymore. It's been at least thirty minutes of continuous vomiting, and you've grown impossibly tired.

Steve gently cleans you up with the damp towel, taking in every distressed feature of yours. The feeling that settles deep in his chest when he tucks your hair behind your ear is near painful. One he hadn't felt in years, and it hits him so hard he nearly loses his breath.

You reach for his hand, your eyes fluttering shut, sleep coming over you, "Stay."

He squeezes your hand three times.

✩

Steve is asleep in a chair next to your bed when you finally wake up hours later. The lamp on the nightstand is dimly lit, but it's enough to send a sharp pain through your head. At this point, he had put one of his shirts on you just in case you threw up again to avoid ruining the dress you had on.

You groan softly, attempting to reach for the switch.

"Hey, hey," Steve shuts the lamp off quickly and kneels down next to the bed, "Lay back down. What do you need?"

"Water," you whisper, voice hoarse.

The only light left is from the moon, which shines in fragments through the sheer curtains. You can't help but notice how beautiful Steve looks in the soft glow.

He lifts the glass of water he had waiting on the nightstand and brings the straw to your lips. "How do you feel?"

You release a shaky breath, covering your face with your hands as you lean back onto the pillow, "God, I fucked up."

"What are you talking about?" He keeps his voice low, mindful of the migraine he's sure you're having.

You sniffle, trying to not cry, but the tears spill against your will, "I should've known. I'm sorry, Steve, I messed up today."

"Listen to me," he takes your wrists into his hands, pulling them from your face, "You didn't mess anything up. It's not your fault at all."

He gently wipes your tears from your cheeks and lets his thumbs linger.

"I almost blew it," he whispers.

"What do you mean?" There's a gaping hole in your memory, you realize.

"I didn't look at you for five minutes, and when I did, you were so out of it. You could barely walk, you could barely talk. I could've blown everything because they hurt you." His thumb brushes against your cheek. "I broke both of their noses."

"Was Henry mad?" you ask.

"Henry actually..." Steve ponders for a moment, shuffling through the memory, "He was really apologetic. He told the brothers that you were important to him."

Important to him? You've barely worked out a solid partnership, so what could make you so important to him?

"Did you really break their noses?" you question. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he nods.

"One punch each," he replies.

You sit up quicker than you should and sling your arms around Steve's neck, pulling him into a hug. The wave of dizziness passes as he pulls your chest flush with his, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Of course," he lets his eyes close, a breath of relief leaving his lips.

✩

The hangover is brutally lingering the next morning when you're sitting in the safe room with the rest of the team.

Joyce had brought in medics to figure out exactly what your drink was spiked with and to make sure it was nothing more serious than what it was.

They'd kindly set you up with an IV to rehydrate you after all of the vomiting you'd done.

"We've come to the decision to pull you two out," Joyce says.

"What?" You and Steve are in sync.

"Why?" Nancy is just as pissed.

"After yesterday's incident, it's what's best. What if it had been worse than a date rape drug? What if Steve had fully blown their cover? They could be dead," Hopper rises from his chair, commanding the calamity of the room.

Everyone silences.

"This case is not worth your lives," Joyce rises too.

"We can't just give up," you argue. "Do not take us off this case, please."

There's so much work to be done, and you and Steve had barely scratched the surface. You two could crack the case, you know it in your bones.

"We knew the risks coming in; we signed up for it. Let us finish this, please." You plead. Your head pounds when you stand up, and Robin grabs your arm to steady you as you sway.

"Henry likes us. He especially likes her. If there's any shot at saving the victims, it's with her." Steve nods his head toward you.

"If I may..." Robin pipes up. "I only saw it right before heading over here, but Henry is interested in a meeting with just Steve."

"What?" Joyce asks.

Robin was calculated in bringing this up in front of the entire team. Had she brought it up only in front of Joyce or Hopper, they'd shut the idea down, but she knew what she was doing.

"He understands that Grace may be wary of visiting the Creel house after what happened, so he wants to extend a personal apology to Danny."

"It could be a trap," Hopper says.

"It's not," Steve says. "Henry is borderline obsessed with Grace, and he wants to do whatever he can to keep us in his company."

"Steve is right," you say.

"Look at you two, working together," Eddie's smile is wide as he looks between you and Steve.

"I think Robin may be right. He might be developing some sort of infatuation with her, and we should be using that to our benefit, not dropping out of the case." Nancy finally says something, and you're grateful it's that.

"Henry was pissed that the brothers drugged her," Steve shakes his head, "He was calm, but he was too calm. It was kind of terrifying. What'd I give to know what happened to the brothers once we left."

"I am begging you," you insist, sitting back down, too tired to keep standing, "Please let us see this through."

✩

Steve keeps you company in the upstairs office that night, mindlessly flipping through one of the books from the shelf. He seems to be seeking your time a lot since you got home from the luncheon yesterday.

Two chairs sit in front of a large window overlooking the pool in the backyard. Steve occupies one, and you occupy the other. A table with two glasses of wine sits between you.

"Theoretically, where do you think he's keeping them?" Steve asks you.

"My guess is somewhere on that huge plot of land," you reply. You've been flipping back and forth between files you'd already looked over one million times. Reading between the lines had never felt so difficult in your life. "When is your meeting with him?"

"Robin is setting it up," he replies quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Hangover is finally gone," you shut the folder with a deep breath. "I can't look at this anymore."

"Do you want to watch a movie?" He asks. You cross one leg over the other and lift your brows when you look at him. "What?"

"Steve, you don't have to babysit me." You set the file on the table next to you and stand up.

"I'm not," he says defensively.

"Ever since we got home from the luncheon, you've barely left my side," you cross your arms. He shakes his head, opening his mouth like he's going to say something, but then closes it. "You're asking me to watch a movie. When have you ever had any interest in watching a movie with me? Or spending any sort of time with me outside of work."

"Come on, that's not true," he stresses.

"Up until recently, I'm not sure I'd even consider us friends," you laugh, poking fun at him.

"So we're friends now?"

"You kind of saved my life a little, so I guess I owe you friendship," you reply.

You move to leave the office, and he stands, "Where are you going?"

"Are we watching a movie or not?"

Max had gone over to Jane's once again, feeling overwhelmed with the aftermath of yesterday, so you and Steve were in an empty house.

He made some popcorn and found some candy that Max had stashed, and laid everything out on the coffee table. You put on 10 Things I Hate About You and don't leave any room for him to complain.

"This is my favorite part," you say as Kat and Patrick run through the paintball field.

You hardly recognize, but you and Steve had been inching closer and closer throughout the movie.

"Come on, she can't forgive him after that," he exclaims, his hands out in frustration toward the television.

"Keep watching," you laugh at how engaged he is in the movie.

Eventually, your head is resting on his shoulder, and you let out a yawn.

"Don't give up on me now, it's almost over," he says, sitting up to look at you.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," you hum, sitting up.

"How are you feeling?" His eyes soften as he scans your features.

You let out a breathy laugh, "Steve, it's been over twenty-four hours, I'm fine. I promise."

"But like mentally? It's kind of traumatic, no?" he asks.

"No," you answer too quickly and then shake your head. "I mean, yes. Of course it is. But it's also not the worst thing I've gone through, I guess, so..."

"What happened?" he asks, softly. You can't help but love when he shifts to that soft tone of his.

"Can we not talk about it?"

"Why do you always shut me down when I ask you about it?"

"Why are you pressing me on it, Steve? It's not something I want to share. I want to leave it alone," you raise your voice at him. It happens unintentionally, and he's taken aback. You stand up, bringing your voice back down, "I'm going to bed."

Steve's hand wraps around your wrist, and he stops you, "Stay."

You release an agitated breath as you look down at him. He clenches his jaw, looking up at you.

"Let go," you breathe.

He stays still for a moment, then tugs you between his legs, where he sits on the edge of the couch.

"Steve," you bite.

He lets go of your wrist but doesn't say anything. He lets his hands trail up the sides of your bare thighs, stopping where your sleep shorts end.

Steve takes your wrist again, kissing the inside of it, "What are you doing?"

He looks up at you through his lashes, placing one more kiss on the inside of your wrist.

You gasp as he yanks you forward, pulling you into his lap, one leg on each side of his hips. Heat immediately pools between your legs, and you keep your hands pressed into the couch on either side of his head.

"I told you we can't," you whisper. He pushes your hair back with his hand, kissing up your neck and jaw, nipping at your skin here and there.

His hand wraps around your neck, fingers gripping your jaw gently, "It's a bad idea." He quotes you.

"Horrible," you nod, looking into his eyes.

"I can't help it," he confesses, "I can't stand you."

"I know," you nod again, "I can't stand you."

"I know," he laughs breathily, and you let your forehead rest against his.

"The lines are blurring," you say quietly, closing your eyes.

"So let them."

He waits just like he did the first night he kissed you, outside of being Grace and Danny. He waits for you to lean in and close the gap. He's fully aware of the imaginary lines you've drawn in your head and doesn't want to be the one to cross them. If they're crossed, it's because you cross them.

"Let them," he repeats.

You close the gap, pressing your lips to his as your hands find his hair. His grip on your jaw tightens ever so slightly, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. His tongue is delving into your mouth within the next second, swallowing the soft, needy whine that leaves your lips.

His hands find your waist, gripping your hips gently before sliding under your shirt. He's so delicate with you, like he's afraid that any wrong move will stop what's happening.

He cups your breasts into his hands, and you pull his hair slightly at the sudden pleasure shooting to your core. You're thankful you're not wearing a bra when he brushes his thumbs over the peak of your nipples. He whines this time.

"Let me touch you, please, baby," he whines against your lips, before peppering kisses to the corner of your mouth. He trails kisses down your neck, biting the plush of your breast through your shirt. You unintentionally (intentionally) grind your hips down, sighing at the press of the bulge in his sweats against your core.

"We- we shouldn't," is all you can say, "Bad idea."

"Horrible idea," he nods, but his hand is trailing up your thigh, pushing your sleep shorts to the side, thumb brushing over your clothed clit.

You whimper softly at the contact, cupping his cheeks, pulling his lips back to yours.

"This wet, and I've barely touched you," he mutters against your lips.

"Shut up," you tug his bottom lip between your teeth, a warning.

Maybe it's because you haven't been touched in nearly a year and a half, or maybe it's because Steve is so painfully attractive, or maybe it's the fact that you two have been faking a relationship. Whatever it is, it has you soaking through your panties.

He tugs your panties to the side, and his thumb quickly (maybe too quickly) finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive nerves. Your forehead falls against his shoulder, breathy moans leaving your lips.

"Look at me," he says. When you don't, lost in the feeling of his thumb circling your clit faster, he tugs your hair into his free hand and pulls your head back to look at him.

The coil in your belly tightens, threatening to snap, and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he locks eyes with you.

"Close?" he hums, and you nod breathlessly. "Good."

"Fuck, Steve, just like that-" Your forehead is against his once more, your thighs tensing around his hips, your dripping cunt clenching around nothing.

You cry out, moaning loudly as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, consuming your entire being.

"That's it, baby. See how easy that was?" Steve cups your jaw, making you look at him again. "Look how pretty you are. So fucking pretty for me. So needy for me."

He dips one finger into your cunt, and you clench at the sudden feeling, "What are you doing?"

"You can give me one more, can't you? I know you can," his voice is low, looking at where his finger is disappearing into your dripping heat.

"Steve," you beg, sinking down onto his finger. "Please-"

"Just dripping for me. Soaked my sweats, look at you," his eyes are filled with hunger when he looks back up at your face. Sure enough, his sweats are soaked not only from your cum, but surely from his precum as well. The tent in his pants is so hard to ignore, and you reach to feel it, but he shakes his head no.

Cheeks flushed, glossy eyes, small red splotches where his teeth nipped your skin, you're the most beautiful thing he's seen in the world right now.

"I want to touch you," you moan. He dips another finger into you, and your head falls back at the burn of his fingers stretching you open. "Steve, please."

"Let me take care of you," he says, kissing your neck, sucking the sweet spot just below your ear. His other hand reaches back under your shirt, fondling your left breast. "You're so soft, baby. So soft and so fucking tight."

It feels slightly unfair that you've orgasmed once and haven't returned any sort of favor to him, not that he actually cares deep down. You using his fingers to get off is enough.

He curls his fingers upward, and your hips buck forward involuntarily. His fingers brush a spot in you nobody has touched, and every stroke of his fingers feels electric.

"Take what you need," he nods, looking up at you as you slowly roll your hips, the palm of his hand brushing against your clit, his fingers finding that same deep spot inside you. "That's it. You're doing so good, using my fingers to get off."

Your hips move up and down his fingers, and he shifts from looking at your face to looking at his fingers keep disappearing inside of you. Your head is back, eyes closed as you concentrate on chasing your second orgasm.

"Steve," your breath is ragged, your head falls back on his shoulder as you fuck yourself on his fingers.

"I can feel how close you are," he moans, feeling the walls of your cunt tighten around his fingers, "Keep going. You're so fucking pretty using me like this."

You pull his lips back to yours in a kiss that's sloppy and breathy as the coil in your lower belly tightens.

"I wanna see you when you cum," he pulls away from your kiss, cupping your jaw with a rougher touch than he's ever had, but you don't mind. His eyes on yours send you over the edge.

He curls his fingers with one last stroke, and your legs nearly give out, trembling through your second orgasm of the night. He keeps stroking his fingers until your walls stop fluttering around them, and you finally collapse against his chest, breathing heavily.

"Perfect," he murmurs against your hair, slowly pulling his fingers from you.

You pull back to look at him, his fingers glossy with your slick. He looks you dead in your face, pulling his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. You stare at him silently for a second, your lips parted in surprise.

Then you lean forward and kiss him, your tongue immediately finding his to taste yourself on him with a quiet moan at the obscenity of it.

When you pull away, you look down at the mess you've made, and your cheeks flush once more, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he smiles a smile so genuine it makes your chest tighten. It's so rare to see him wear a smile that reaches his eyes. You don't take it for granted.

"Did you..." Your eyebrows knit together at the wet spot on his sweats. It could one hundred percent just be all of you, but something tells you it's not.

"Yeah," there's no shame or embarrassment. He laughs.

You laugh too.

"We can't do this again," you tell him, sliding off his lap, the high of your orgasm slowly fading as you realize what you've done, what line you just crossed.

"Don't do that," he says, taking your hand in his. "Please."

"Do what?"

"You shut down after something happens between us," he tells you.

"There's a science to this, Steve. We're walking on extremely thin ice, and we need to be careful," you pull your hand from his.

"Science? What science? What are you even talking about?" He's rambling now, trying to understand what you're talking about to the best of his ability.

"We can't stand each other," you gesture between you and him, "Us pretending to be married is fucking everything up. The lines are blurring, and we're forgetting what's real and what's not."

"Fuck the lines!" He blurts, "You can sit here and say that being the Andersons has shifted the chemistry in our brain, fine, I believe you. But I refuse to believe that you aren't feeling what I'm feeling."

You slowly stand, wrapping your arms around yourself, "I am."

"Okay," he stands too, towering over you.

"Steve," you can only find it in you to say his name.

"What?" he furrows his brows, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.

"I don't think it's us," you say honestly. "I think we're too roped into being them."

"Don't."

"This case will close, and we'll go back to disliking each other. Like it's always been."

"Hey, don't do that," he reaches for you, but you take a step back. "That's not true. You know it's not."

"It is."

You turn on your heel and make your way to your bedroom, leaving him standing there in the living room.

Your chest tightens, and you have to fight the tears that threaten to spill.

This has gone so incredibly south for the two of you.

previous | next

When you woke up the next morning with the mess of files you had made cleaned up (and missing, you might add) as well as bundled up in a blanket, you knew something had shifted.

The smell of coffee draws your gaze to the kitchen, where Steve is standing with his back to you. His bare back. You watch the muscles in his shoulders move as he reaches for a mug from the shelf and have to force your stare away.

Max certainly hadn't been the one to tuck you in with a blanket, considering she had been staying at her friend's house. The only plausible answer was standing in the kitchen.

You pad over to the kitchen, adjusting the straps of your tank top, rubbing the sleep from your eyes all in one go.

"Hey, have you seen my-" You stop in your tracks, seeing your files spread out all over the countertop.

"Oh, hey," he glances at you, then pulls a second mug from the cabinet. "Sorry about that, I was just looking over your notes."

You take one of the pages into your hand, noticing that Steve's messy handwriting now accompanies yours.

"And adding your own? You have your own copies, you know?" You ask. "Did you sleep at all?"

He pours a mug and tops it with sugar and cream, stirring it with a spoon. You watch him decide it's not the right color and add a bit more cream. It turns a light tan, and he decides it's good enough before sliding it to you.

"Thank you," you eye the mug, noting it's exactly the way you take your coffee.

"I slept a bit, but I was going through your notes-"

"You didn't ask me if you could do that."

Another glance at the page, and you have to nearly squint to read his messy handwriting.

"I should've. But you were asleep, so..." he sips from his mug and then sets it on the counter, resting his palms against the edge. "This is good stuff, Hollywood. I mean... you've thought of everything."

"Well, it's kind of my job." You furrow your brows at him, taking a seat on the barstool. It's hard to accept the compliment coming from his lips when he usually prefers terms like "know-it-all" or "pretentious".

"Yes." He nods once. "Anyways, what I'm getting at is that I want to work together."

"That's what we already do, Steve." Or try to.

"I mean that-" he lets his head drop, taking a deep breath, and you once again watch the muscles tense in his shoulders before he looks up at you again. "I know I'm difficult, alright? But we have to win this case. You've thought of absolutely everything from theories to dialogue to what you make me for breakfast in the morning.

"We need to convince this guy that we're actually the disgusting humans you've painted us in your head. I want to sell it. We need to sell it."

"Joyce gave us the handbook. I'm just adding to it. These things have to be fleshed out. No cracks. No slip-ups." You tell him.

He has sleep in his eyes like he's still waking up. His hair isn't styled yet, and you find yourself loving how messy it is. You almost wish he'd let you run your fingers-

Stop.

Not this.

He hates you. And you hate him.

"We can do this." He says in almost a pleading manner.

"I know we can."

Your heart isn't in your reply. A part of you believes this could work, that everything will go according to plan, and you'll rescue the girls before anything worse can happen to them.

Then there's the part of you that believes that either you or Steve could slip up. Get a single minor detail wrong that derails the entire mission, putting you and the people you love in danger.

✩

The next few days are spent working more closely with Steve than you ever had before.

You were set to meet with Henry tomorrow. You'd been in several arguments over the past few days, three of them happening within the last hour.

"Danny just wouldn't say that," he says to you, his hands placed on his hips.

Today, he's wearing a pair of glasses that had you feeling slightly weak in the knees until he opened his arrogant mouth.

"Steve wouldn't say that. Danny would." You toss the folder to him, and he opens it to the page you had been fighting over.

"'I've got a fortune to withhold to support my wife. She's got expensive taste.' Blah blah blah. I get it. I just think it's a lame excuse for trafficking kids." His tone isn't one you enjoy, but one thing he never does with you is raise his voice.

"Well, why does anybody traffic kids, Steve? Money."

"Yeah." He stops like he had more to say, then rubs his chin, "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"I know," you smile, earning a glare from him as he plops back into his chair.

✩

"What's for dinner? Woah-" Max halts, seeing yours and Steve's mess all over the kitchen counter.

"Hey, kiddo." Steve looks up from the papers in front of him with a pen in his mouth.

"Hey, Steve. I asked Dustin if he wanted to swing by for dinner, but he seemed pretty pissed," Max tells him.

"Dustin?" You inquire.

"He's my friend from school. Steve is his-"

"Guardian of sorts."

"Wait, what?" This was news to you. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"To be fair, I only just found out," Steve puts his hands up in defense. He gives you a look as if I'll tell you later. You leave it for now.

"Steve, do you want to join us for dinner?" Max asks.

Steve ponders, looking over at you as he starts gathering the case files. "If it's cool with your sister."

"Of course it is," it comes out too quickly, but nobody seems to notice.

Steve assists by chopping the onions and garlic for a chicken dinner he saw on The Cooking Channel once. He doesn't exactly remember what it was or what it's called, but he remembers the "gist" of it, and that's enough for you and Max.

Max does her part by boiling the rice, and you're grateful she's so good at it. For some reason, whenever you do it, it either comes out crunchy or like mush.

You're in charge of the chicken, and Steve stands next to you, telling you what seasonings to add.

Cooking is something you're well-practiced in, and Max knows it, but you stand there and let him tell you anyway. His shoulder brushes yours every once in a while, and your fingers tighten around the knife you're using to cube the chicken each time. Steve absolutely notices, but keeps it to himself.

It took you a moment to realize, but both of your wedding bands are sitting on the edge of the kitchen sink next to each other. Something about the visual makes your heart unwillingly swim. Max catches it too, and a smile tugs at her lips. You shoot her a look that only makes her smile widen.

Steve and Max set the annoyingly large dining table while you finish the last touches, and then Steve helps you carry everything to the table.

"Should we toast to family?" Steve asks, raising his beer.

"Don't push it."

As he sets his glass down, the glimmer of his wedding band catches your eye. Yours was exactly where you left it on the edge of the kitchen sink, but he was quick to put his back on.

"This is nice, you know," Max says, pushing her empty plate away from her.

"What?" You ask.

"You two not hating each other," she says with a smile that reaches her eyes.

"Oh, we still hate each other," Steve says, but for once it sounds like he may actually be joking.

The three of you sat around the dinner table for another hour, just talking about anything and everything. Max and Steve get into an argument about whether the Midwest or the West Coast is better, to which Steve eventually yields.

It feels normal. Like maybe the three of you in a far-off parallel universe are actually a family.

Sleep is difficult to find after the three of you tag-team cleaning the kitchen. Your mind races a million miles an hour thinking about how you'll be meeting Henry tomorrow.

As you step into the kitchen around two a.m, you're surprised to find Steve sitting at the island in low lamplight, a few pages sprawled in front of him. He's shirtless again, with dark hair across his chest and down his soft stomach. You have to force your eyes away before he notices.

"What are you doing up?" he asks. His voice is low, thick with sleep, and your chest tightens.

"I could ask you the same thing." You reach for a glass that's just a few inches out of reach. Before you can move to climb onto the counter, Steve's presence fills your space. His chest is so close to your back that if you breathed any differently, he'd be pressed against you.

He reaches above you and retrieves the glass, handing it to you. In the process, your fingers brush his.

You brush some hair behind your ear nervously, clearing your throat as you move to the fridge to fill it up. He leans against the counter and watches you carefully.

"I was just going over the notes one last time," he says before admitting, "I'm nervous."

"Me too," you reply before taking a long sip of water.

"We'll be okay," he nods. "I just keep telling myself that."

Another moment of silence passes.

"So, you're a 'guardian of sorts'?" You say after a few beats.

"Dustin's a troubled kid, you know? When he found out we were all packing up and leaving Indiana, he didn't take it too well."

"'We?'" you tilt your head.

Steve takes a deep breath and folds his arms. It takes everything in you to keep eye contact.

"Joyce has another kid, Will. Nancy has a brother, Mike. Hopper has a kid named Jane. They're friends with Lucas and Dustin. They're all close friends. And they've been through some fucked up shit together, we couldn't just separate them all. It would've done more harm than good."

"Lucas Sinclair? Max's boyfriend?" Your jaw drops. "Why did nobody tell me?"

"I don't think any of us realized until recently that Max was making friends with our kids. But, if anything, it's a good thing. She doesn't have to keep anything a secret." He shrugs, like it's no big deal.

Our kids.

"I mean..." your words trail off as you process the information, "I guess it's nice she's surrounded by kids that understand our jobs."

"That's the best way to look at it," he nods. "The move was hard on all of them, but they've adjusted. Max will too with their help."

"How did you all end up here then? What happened to make you all move here at the same time and end up on the same team? It sounds impossible," you question.

He pauses like he's debating whether or not he should tell you. It happens for a split second, and you watch his microexpressions in the dim glow of the lamp.

"Story for another day, Hollywood," he tsks and then tucks the files back into the folder, "We've got a big day tomorrow. Should probably get some rest."

"Steve?" He turns to look at you, "Thanks for being so good to Max."

✩

"She's a good kid. You're doing a good job with her."

Nancy arrived in the morning to help you dissect the massive, fully stocked closet in the bedroom that was supposed to be shared by the Andersons. The closet, Grace's closet, was the size of your bedroom at your real home.

"How are things here? I'm surprised the house hasn't imploded yet," Nancy said, going through the hangers.

"Decent, I suppose," you say, from the other side of the closet, "I think we've accepted our lives and others depend on our ability to work together."

"That's good, I guess." Nancy pulls a flowy blue dress from the rack and turns around to show you, "What about this?"

"I don't know if a dress is too much. But then it feels like anything less isn't enough," you sigh and pull a pair of light wash jeans off the rack to show her.

"White feels wealthy," she says, and turns to only shuffle through white items of clothing. "I know you and Steve got off on the wrong foot, but he's not a bad guy. He's one of the few good ones, actually."

"I never did anything to him; he just decided to hate me right off the bat," you keep your back to her, finding a white button-up to pair with the jeans.

"He's a complex guy, I'll admit. I think you both just misunderstood each other," she turns with a pair of the most gorgeous black heels you've ever seen.

"Those are beautiful, oh my god," you meet her in the middle of the closet and take them from her hands.

"These with a simpler outfit like jeans and a white button could imply quiet luxury. Maybe the black purse with it," Nancy says.

"I think you're right," you nod.

She helps you with your makeup and hair, leaving you sitting in the mirror with your thoughts. She and Eddie had to go prepare to sit outside the gallery. Joyce, Hopper and Robin come over for an extremely brief meeting going over final details for your first official meeting of the unsub.

There's a rap at your door, and you stand up, gathering everything you need to put in your purse. "Come in."

Steve enters the room, and you have to do a double-take at him. He's wearing a pair of black trousers and a white T-shirt tucked in. He's got a cardigan draped around his shoulders, the sleeves tied around his chest. He's wearing loafers, and that's what sends you into laughter.

"Alright, alright," his jaw clenches, and you have to fight to keep your laughter in.

"No, you look good. Really, you do. Like you're on your way to class at Harvard," you pull the bag over your shoulder and cross the room.

Steve pauses, glances over you once, like he usually does in the office when you arrive. Ignoring him, you double-check that your wallet is filled only with pieces of your alias. Credit cards, IDs, and even an old student ID from Yale.

"Can you even walk in those things?" He tilts his head, eyeing the expensive heels you have on.

"Let's just hope we don't have to make a run for it on our first day, yeah?" You sling the purse over your shoulder.

Four cars sit in the driveway at the Anderson house, and Steve chooses the BMW to drive, one that is apparently a newer model of the one he drives he tells you. d

"Can I drive?" You ask.

"Danny drives," he says, opening the passenger door for you.

"It's not specified who drives," you reply.

"Why would the trophy wife drive?" The bite returns.

"Let's get one thing clear," you step into his space, "Grace has a degree from Yale and is the CFO of Danny's company. She's not a fucking trophy wife."

"Get in the car," his voice is low as you two stare each other down, sizing each other up. He's much taller than you, but that doesn't stop you from holding your own.

Just when you think you two might be heading in the direction of being cordial, you take three steps back.

"Asshole," you mutter before climbing into the car.

Nothing frustrates you more than the entire car ride spent in silence. The two of you had done so well in working together, coexisting in the same house, all for it to be thrown away.

He was one of the most impossible men you've ever encountered in your life. The switch of his mood was so unpredictable that it nearly gave you whiplash.

"We're early," Steve says when he parks the BMW outside the gallery. It was a nice, yet unsuspecting building. You'd never guess the horrors going on within the four walls. You spot the old van parked down the street, the one you know Nancy and Eddie are in.

"To be early is to be on time," you say, your eyes scanning the outside of the building.

"Let's give it five, then head in," he says. "Anything you want to go over before we go in?"

"Can you remember that you're supposed to actually like me, maybe?" Your tone is harsh, but it's the same one he's used to giving you.

"What's your problem today, hm?" He retorts, turning to face you.

"You've been a dick all morning. Actually, scratch that, you've been a dick since I got here, Steve-"

"It's not like you've been all that pleasant, either." He cuts you off.

"I didn't even do anything," you argue, "What switched overnight? I thought we were fine."

"We are fine."

He leaves it at that, not giving you time to respond. He gets out of the car and walks around the front of the car to open the door for you.

The two of you walk to the front of the gallery, where a man steps out, large and dressed in all black. This must be who Robin had been in contact with, Henry's assistant of sorts.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, we're pleased to have you at the Creel Art Center." he bows his head in a polite greeting and then opens the door for you. "We appreciate your timely arrival."

"Thank you for having us," Steve answers. It's so him and so not. The way he switches into the persona of Danny is instantaneous. He's done his research, thank god.

"We're excited to explore a potential partnership," you say.

The man glances at you and then looks down at his pager, "He'll be down shortly. Feel free to take a look around."

Steve's hand finds your lower back and guides you to an eye-catching statue that sits directly in front of a large window, basking in the sunlight. It isn't one you recall being listed on his website.

It's a gorgeous statue, a crouching Venus, that much you know. There's no plaque detailing anything about its origin, but by the looks of it, it's ancient.

"It's nice," Steve says. You do your best not to tense at the way his thumb brushes circles into your back.

"It's a style that dates back to Roman times," you tell him.

"Very good."

The two of you turn around as your unsub, Henry Creel, walks down the marble stairs of the gallery. You don't realize it, but your hands are slightly shaking, adrenaline pumping through your veins, and you put on your best smile.

Steve slides his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together, squeezing three times, letting you know he's right there.

"I bought this at an auction fairly recently," he begins, circling the statue. Just the way he speaks makes your skin crawl. "Tell me, Grace. Do you believe this piece to be ancient?"

"I do," you answer confidently.

"The seller was selling it for a much lower price than what it's worth. But I have an eye for pieces like this. You see, this seller had somebody tell him that this piece wasn't ancient.

"Something unique about this painting is that it came with a provenance. Its history of ownership is documented for the past century, and every seller before him believed it was ancient. So why did this seller believe it not to be?"

Henry stops circling the statue and looks to you and Steve.

"I'm not sure," you say. "I knew right away that it's ancient. It looks either first or second century."

"Second." He nods with a smile that makes your skin crawl. "Because of my good eye, I paid $15,000. This piece here is worth a minimum of $300,000."

"You're a very lucky man," you tell him with a smile.

"You have a good eye, Mrs. Anderon." he steps toward you and lifts your hand into his, kissing the top of it. The urge to recoil is beyond anything you can comprehend. Steve's hand tenses around yours, and you brush the back of his hand with your thumb.

"I've always loved art. All kinds of it," you turn to Steve, "I've converted Danny into being an appreciater of the arts as well, right darling?"

"She tries, that's for sure," he laughs. "My eye isn't as good as hers."

"Don't be modest," you chastise him playfully.

He glances at Steve, then back at you, "A partnership between us might be valuable. I could use your eye."

"I believe that to be true," you nod, knowing he's not talking about the art.

"Surely you'll be of value as well, Daniel." Henry holds his hand out, and Steve shakes it. Steve's act as Danny doesn't falter; the smile stays plastered to his face.

"He will," you smile, resting your hand against Steve's chest, leaning into his side a bit more. Your hands stay laced between you. His thumb brushes circles into the back of your hand, either to soothe himself or to soothe you.

Henry looks behind you, surely at his assistant, before looking back at you, "I do hope you cleared your evening. I'd love to host you in the garden for wine."

"Oh, that's very kind of you," Steve says. "We'd love to."

You eye each piece as Henry leads you through the gallery. Some of them you recognize from the gallery's website; the ones you know are attached to the names of missing girls in your town. It makes you sick.

The garden is strikingly beautiful, tucked away behind the gallery. There's an assortment of flowers and greenery that is so vast, you're not sure how far it extends. A small pond sits directly in the middle, and in front of it, a table lined with glasses and an assortment of wine bottles.

Henry takes his seat, and Steve pulls out the chair for you before taking his. Steve takes your hand in his and rests your intertwined fingers in his lap.

"This is beautiful," you say honestly, and then turn to Steve. "We should do something like this at home."

"I spent years perfecting this garden," Henry uncorks a wine bottle and then pours glasses for the three of you. His assistant looms in the corner, you notice. You also pinpoint every potential exit in case of an emergency. "Tell me about you. Where did you meet? How long have you been together?"

You and Steve both go to speak at the same time, and he squeezes your hand. You both laugh it off, and you look to him to let him talk.

"We always knew each other from home, back in Connecticut, but never really shared the same friend group. Somehow, we both ended up at Yale, studying different things, but it was nice to have someone from home. We started hanging out, and finally, I asked her on a proper date."

"He proposed in a garden quite like this one, actually," you note as you look around, "Somewhere in Southern Italy."

"We only just eloped a few months ago, back to Italy. But it's been almost four years," Steve says.

"You two are young," Henry says. He leaves it at that. You dissect the tone and his microexpressions. He thinks you're too young to enter his line of business.

"I can assure you we're more than qualified," Steve beats you to it. He's always been good at reading people.

"And why are you interested in my line of business? Surely, you know the art we deal here is... special."

"We're aware," you lean back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other. You swirl the wine in the glass and then take a long sip, never breaking eye contact. "Why are you interested in your line of business?"

"There is nothing more beautiful than humanity, isn't that right? Especially within certain ages," Steve's grip tightens on your hand. "Humanity is the most delicate and destructive thing on the planet. What we do here proves that in and of itself."

Your blood boils, but you stay calm. That's his reasoning for trafficking humans? Not just humans, kids.

"Of course, the paychecks are nice as well." Henry says it with a laugh, like he's brushing off everything he just said. You and Steve laugh as well.

You spend another hour indulging in different wines that Henry presents to you. He walks you through each one, telling you where it's from and when it was bottled in extreme detail.

You're halfway through the gallery on your way out when Henry's assistant pulls him away.

"I do want to walk you out, just give me a moment to handle this. Do feel free to look around the gallery," he tells you before hastily walking away.

"Come on," Steve whispers.

"What?" You barely have time to answer before pulls you in the direction they walked.

"I wanna know what was so urgent," he says quietly, pulling you behind him. You have to somehow walk on your toes with your heels off the ground to avoid the clacking sound.

Steve grips your hips and pushes you gently into the wall, "There are cameras."

You look over his shoulder as his arms slide around your waist, "What are you doing?"

"Do you trust me?" He looks down at you, your faces inches apart.

Steve may be one of the most difficult men on the planet, and he may not like you very much, but at the end of the day, he wouldn't let anything happen to you. You know deep down that he'd never let you get hurt.

"I do," you reply.

You can hear Henry and the assistant's voice, whose name you wish you knew, echoing from down the hall. You're far enough that it would be a coincidence if they found you there, but luckily enough, sound carries through the gallery with ease so you can hear every word.

Steve pulls your body flush with his, keeping you caged against the wall. He buries your face in your neck, and his lips brush against your skin.

"Be my ears," he says quietly. The pads of his fingers dig into your waist, and he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses from your collarbone to your ear. A gasp leaves your lips as you clutch his shirt between your fingers.

"I don't care what his excuse is. He's had plenty of time," Henry sounds upset. You don't have to strain to hear him as much as you figured you would. "Tell him he needs to bring in something of value, or we're going to have a problem."

"He knows you're upset, sir," the assistant says, "He wants to scout the club for you. He thinks he can make it up to you."

"Club is off limits to him until further notice," Henry says, and the sound of footsteps approaches. "Warn him that he'll be replaced if he can't meet my demands."

"They're coming," you tell him quietly.

Steve wraps his fingers through your belt loops and pulls your hips into his. He peppers kisses from your collarbone all the way to your jaw. You slip back into the persona of Grace and let yourself giggle with each kiss.

He cups your jaw with one hand, and before you can react, his lips are on yours in a kiss so needy that it nearly makes your knees buckle. His lips move against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth effortlessly. Your hands are in his hair, his are all over you, leaving you breathless. His lips are surprisingly soft, his kiss hungry like he'd been waiting for it all night.

If you didn't know any better, you'd believe he meant it.

"Find the Andersons for me," you vaguely hear, but your mind is so wrapped around Steve's mouth against yours that you barely process it.

"Apologies," the assistant says as he rounds the corner, "They're here."

You and Steve pull away from each other like two teenagers caught by their parents. "No, no. We're sorry."

You laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "We should head out."

Your cheeks burn not from embarrassment, because your intention was to get "caught", but from the heat pooling in your lower belly.

"Before you go," Henry appears as if out of thin air next to the assistant, "I'm hosting a client luncheon next week and would love it if you joined. I think you two should meet some of our buyers."

"We'd be honored," Steve says.

"I'll be lucky to have you," Henry nods. He shakes both of your hands one last time and walks you to the front of the gallery.

You and Steve descend the steps hand in hand, and just because you know Henry is watching, Steve presses a kiss to your head as you walk.

The car ride home is painfully silent, the air so thick you can feel it.

Max is gone when you and Steve arrive back at the house, a sticky note left on the fridge reading "Sleepover at Jane's. See you after school tomorrow. -Max"

"Good job today," Steve says, pulling two glasses from the cabinet. He drops a teabag into each and fills a kettle with water.

"You too," you say, opening your notebook to jot down things from the meeting.

Another silence befalls you.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line-"

"No, not at all," you cut him off. "It's fine. We're married, remember?" You raise your hand, the light reflecting off your wedding band.

"Right," he nods and pours the steaming water into the mug and slides it over to you. "Honey?"

"Yeah?" You look up from your notebook.

"Do you want honey?" He slides the honey bottle to you, and your cheeks flush red, forgetting you don't have to be Grace right now. You swear you can see the corner of his lip threatening to tug into a smile.

"Thank you," you answer.

Steve rounds the corner and takes the seat next to you, his knee bumping yours. He looks over your shoulders are you scribble notes down.

"What are you feeling?" He asks, his brows furrowed. He's slightly leaning into you, trying to get a better read on your writing.

"I'm feeling like he gave us absolutely nothing," you huff, tossing the pen down.

"It's gonna take time for him to earn our trust. We're meeting buyers next week, that's a great thing. And..." he trails off, shaking his head, with a hand through his hair.

"And what?"

"He likes you." Steve says, and you roll your eyes, "He does. He thinks 'you have a good eye,' or whatever. He sees value in you."

"He sees it in you, too," you reply, "You have the business mindset of it all."

"He connected with you over the art," he says, looking at you. Your faces are once again too close for comfort. "How did you know that stuff anyway? Joyce's handbook doesn't say anything about Grace being an art lover."

You take a deep breath, propping your head up on your hand, your elbow resting on the counter, "Mine and Max's parents used to take us to the museum when they'd open new exhibits. Max never really cared for it, but I loved it. I studied a little bit of art history in school, too, so... yeah. Just me."

"How's your memory so good?" He asks. He's got sleep in his voice, exhausted from the long day.

You shrug and twirl the teaspoon around the mug, "Childhood trauma."

It's meant to be a joke, an honest one, but it doesn't earn a laugh.

"What do you mean?" His tone is soft, one he's never used with you before.

"We don't have to get into that," you laugh lightly, diverting your eyes from his.

"Hey," he says, his knee brushes yours once more.

"Hm?" You look back at him.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, and he's suddenly closer than before. You can feel his breath against your lips, but he waits. He waits for you to lean into him, not wanting to cross the imaginary line he drew for himself, one he already crossed once today.

The hesitation is dense. So many different feelings overwhelm you, and you know this is a mistake.

Steve is your coworker.

That you're currently forced to reside with at the moment in the same house as your sixteen year old sister. Not to mention, you two don't even like each other.

There was always the unspoken rule from the get-go: don't let the lines blur. And on the first day of pretending to be married, you're letting the lines blur.

But he's here in front of you, and his hands have been on you all day, and his lips were so soft... and he's your coworker.

The racing thoughts don't impede your mind long enough for you to consider the consequences when you close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his.

His hand is in your hair within a second, beckoning you closer to him. Your hands fist the shirt he's wearing for the second time today, and you pull him closer to you.

His tongue glides into your mouth, and you can't help but gasp at the feeling. It shouldn't feel as good as it does.

Steve's free hand slides up the outside of your thigh, pulling you to stand between his legs, where he sits on the barstool. Even sitting down, you're just as tall as he is.

He fights the urge to tease you about how much he knows you liked the kiss from earlier. He just focuses on you.

Your arms are around his neck as your mouths move together intoxicatingly.

"This is a bad idea," you mumble against his lips.

"Very bad idea," he agrees, tugging your bottom lip in between his teeth.

"We can't. We should stop," you breathlessly reply in between kisses.

He simply shakes his head, his head dipping to your neck, his teeth nipping at the soft skin.

"You smell so good," he mutters against your skin.

The air becomes hot, and you become painfully aware of your surroundings, suddenly pulling away. You cross your arms, leaning against the counter, looking at the ground.

He still has a hand on your waist, squeezing three times, to let you know he's there, a trait he's picked up over the day.

"We can't."

It's the last thing you say before you turn on your heel and disappear into your bedroom for the night.

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