#character fic

“Oh, look!” She heard her mother behind her. “Do you know what these are?” She crouched down next to the girl, who only shook her head. The woman took one of the flowers and showed it to her. “It’s a dahlia.” 

“Dahlia?” The girl asked. “Like me?” 

“Yes, my love, like you.” Her mother said, placing the flower behind the girl’s pointy ear. 

“They’re pretty!” She exclaimed.

The woman smiled. “Just like you.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s why I named you after them. They’re my favorite.” 

They spend the rest of the day like that. Eating sweets, looking at the flowers and the animals and insects found in the park. They laugh, and play, chasing butterflies, and when they go back home, Dahlia is the happiest little girl in the world. 

Years from now, that memory will feel like a dream, of a time before the Urge. But she knows the truth now. She knows what happens after. 

A week after the picnic, a hunger will strike the girl. A hunger for blood, for violence - for murder. And in the wake of that hunger, her mother will find herself as one of Dahlia’s first victims, alongside her siblings. 

As she sits there, in the pile of mangled corpses she had created, a voice echoes in her head. 

‘Young master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.’ 

Dahlia looks at the kitchen knife in her hand and at her blood soaked dress. For now, the child is satisfied, but it will soon fade, and the need to kill will come back again, and again and again. 

. 

Motherless, she wondered and wondered, until she found herself in a brothel, and her killing spree continued. Night after night, men would come to her bed, lured by her song, only to meet their grisly end. 

Of course, she did not stop there. Ever so often, she’d slip out of the dodgy building, and murder anyone unlucky enough to cross paths with her. 

She couldn’t help it. The Urge to kill was an itch, a pain that was only alleviated by a bloody dagger. But it never stopped. She was always aching, forever hungry for a slaughter, and in her recklessness, she made a mistake.  

Dahlia’s victims were usually the poorer members of Baldur’s Gate. People who would not be missed. But one night, when a patriar came to her room, she couldn’t help herself. The lord laid a single finger on her before her dagger slashed his neck, the blood spilling on her. 

He was a man who would be missed. And when they found the culprit, Dahlia would never kill again. 

No. It couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let it happen. But how would she get rid of the corpse without calling attention, especially when the room downstairs was filled with people. Unlike the others, he hadn’t gone down quietly. The walls of the brothel were thin and soon, her boss would come check in, and that would be her end. 

Dahlia was only sixteen when the voice she heard as a child, after her first murder, materialized in front of her, like an angel in disguise. 

“Ah, my lady, the time for your home coming has come at last.” The goblin-like creature said, excited. “I awaited long for this most blessedly bloody day.” 

The young tiefling frowned, unsure of who the creature was. But his voice…his voice was familiar. 

“Who are you?” She asked. 

“Sceleritas Fel, my lady.” He tipped his hat and bowed his head. “Your Butler, forever at your service, for as long as you need me.” 

“Butler?” She shook her head. How did a poor girl from a brothel have a mystical butler? “I do not understand. Why are you here?” 

“I am here to help, young Master.” She opened her mouth again, but he raised a hand before she could say something “I understand you must have many questions, and they shall be answered in due time. But first” he looked to the cadaver next to her, a gleam in his eye “we must clean this mess.” 

She nodded but then hesitated, when she heard the sound of the stairs creaking. 

“We don’t have time.” She whispered to her butler. “The boss is coming, and there’s too many people downstairs to sneak out. What do I do?”

“Do not fret, my lady. Listen to your heart. What does it tell you to do?” 

She closed her eyes, the pounding of her heart mixing with the sound of footsteps. She wanted to leave, to run, but with some many on the way, how could -

Dahlia’s thoughts seemed to stop, as the smell of blood once again filled her nostrils. Killing the patriar hadn’t been enough to satisfy her Urge, but a new opportunity was presenting itself. 

She looked at the butler. “It tells me to kill him. To make a blood bath of all of those downstairs.” 

“Good, good.” Sceleritas said, smiling. “But that small thing you call a dagger won’t help you.” He pointed towards the weapon embedded in the dead man’s chest. “Here, use this. A gift from your Father.” 

The butler produced a blood red, asymmetrical, curved blade, with a golden handle. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and when she held it, she could feel the blade sing, begging for blood. 

The blade didn’t wait long, as her boss soon opened the door, the orchestra of screams from Dahlia’s victims soon filling the silence of the night. 

By the time she was done, Dahlia was soaked from head to toe in blood. Her pitch black hair now had the same shade of red as her dagger. 

“Ah, young Master, what a beautiful display.” The butler said, guiding her outside. As the night’s air kissed Dahlia’s face, she looked down at her dagger. With the blood, she could see her reflection in it, and for a moment, she did not recognize herself. This bloodthirst killer, was that who she truly was? Who she always had been? 

The sound of fire made her turn around, and she gasped as she saw the brothel burning. 

“There, there, no evidence to be found now.” Sceleritas said, wiping his hands, pleased with himself. “Now, what would my lady like to do?” 

Once again, she looked at her reflection in the bloodied dagger, and she knew then, that Dahlia had also died. Not in the brothel, but long ago, along the rest of her family. 

She looked to Sceleritas. “I would like to meet my father.” 

. 

The Dark Urge was the name Bhaal, her Father, had chosen for her. That was the name that His followers called her, as she stalked the halls of the Temple. 

In the years to come, she and her butler ended hundreds of lives. She finessed her methods, and the twisted creativity of her murders only pleased her Father. When not on the streets, hunting, the Dark Urge fills her time with other activities. 

She takes some of her victims back to the Temple, drawing out their death for as long as she can, so that she might study them. It is not unusual to find her and the butler deep into someone’s entrails, while they beg for sweet mercy, for the agony to end and the Dark Urge revels in it. 

She takes everything from them. Their lives, their voice, their bodies - sometimes she even takes her own pleasure from them. But mostly, she gives them pain. As much pain as she feels. 

If she must feel the pain of the urge, so will her victims. 

But killing is not the only thing that calms the Dark Urge. In her time, she has found that music is the only way to still her restless thoughts. 

She chooses the violin as her instrument of choice. As the sound of the strings fill her ears, her mind quietens. There is nothing and no one but her and her music. And with it, the Dark Urge finds her own voice, singing along to the melancholic sound her violin makes. 

It is in these moments of quiet solitude that she wonders if part of Dahlia still lives. 

. 

The partnership with the Banite proved fruitful, their assault on Mephistopheles vault being a success. Their plans are slowly becoming a reality. 

He intrigues her. He treats her with the due deference that someone of her position is owed, but he also challenges her. When everyone else had either treated her as small,or as the Chosen of Bhaal, a being above their station, Enver Gortash treated her as an equal, as partners. 

She entertained him, of course. One day, he and everyone else would all be dead, as her Father intended, but until then, the Dark Urge saw no problem in indulging. 

She was in his stronghold, at a balcony, playing the violin, singing along with it. The moon hang in the sky, and she closed her eyes, feeling the breeze on her face. 

She did not hear when he entered, only realizing his presence when he said “I did not know you could play.” 

The Chosen of Bane stood a few meters away from her, a smirk on his face. She put her violin down as she spoke with him. “You’ll find that killing is just one of my many talents.” 

His smirk grew. “Really? And pray tell, what are the others?”

It was her turn to smirk as she beckoned him to follow her, as they entered his close quarters. 

That was not the first time they had fucked, but it had been different than the others. When the two lay together, it was hard and painful, and usually ended with the both of them aching, adorned with new scratches, marks and scars. 

This time, however, something was different. Maybe they had both been in good moods, as their plans were coming to fruition. Maybe it was a special day that both had forgotten, but not their bodies. Or maybe, it was just what they were needing. Instead of the rough fucking they were used to doing, Gortash and the Dark Urge’s sex that night had been…tender. Caring. They caressed each other's bodies, and instead of scars, she littered her partner’s body with kisses, as he touched her in a way that made her melt. 

If the two of them had been different people, she could almost say it was loving. But he was the Chosen of Bane and she was the Chosen of Bhaal, and the two were a plethora of things, but loving was not one of them. Maybe in another life….but not this one. 

Still, once they were both satisfied, they laid in bed, holding the other close. 

“Dark Urge, they call you.” Gortash scoffed. “The siren, I would say, is more fitting, with how you lured me with your song.” 

She raised her head from his chest, supporting herself with her elbows as she looked at his face. “You should consider yourself lucky, little Banite.” She said. “You’re the only one who my urge doesn’t want to kill.” The Dark Urge moved closer to him, her breath in his face. “But call me that again, and that will soon change.” 

He looked into her eyes. “Is that a threat?” 

“No.” She whispered, a smirking appearing on her lips. “It’s a promise.” 

He laughed, entangling his hand on her hair. “Then come, my siren, and take me.” He said, as he brought her close and kissed her.

. 

Then come, my siren, and take me. 

Then come, my siren.

My siren. 

Siren. 

The word echoed in her brain like a forgotten song. The voice, the voice of someone calling her siren, ringed in her ear for days, and she did not know what it meant. 

But when the cleric asked her name, ‘Siren’ was what she responded. 

. 

Moonrise Towers. 

The name alone gave her shudders and deep down, Siren had a feeling she would learn more about her past there. 

Once inside, her suspicions had been confirmed. Upon looking at Ketheric, her mind began to clear. She had been to Moonrise before, long ago. She had stalked these halls before, not as some lowly True Soul, but as something else. Gods, who had she been?

Now, as led her party through the tower, eyes would turn to her, sparkling in recognition. Many remembered her ad with them, small pieces of information were gathered. 

The skeleton dog wagged its tail when he recognized her. The cat Steelcalw hated her, claiming to have once been kicked by Siren. The gnolls called her a ‘lord’ and revered her. And the blasted Warden of the prison spoke how once she came there but never left.

‘Your name, your place was kept from us last time, but you were to be shown the utmost respect.’

.

It was when they arrived in Baldur’s Gate that part of her memories returned and the truth had been uncovered. 

Siren was the Child of Murder, created by Bhaal himself. She, alongside the Chosen of Bane, Gortash, had developed the plot of the Absolute, and on the day that her tyranny was to begin, her blood-kin, Orin, attacked her. She left her for death, if it wasn’t for Kressa Bonedaughter’s cruel experiments that brought Siren back to half life. 

Her desire for revenge grew ten times more. Everything had been stolen for her: her name, her power, her heritage. Orin would die, and Siren would…

Well, she was unsure of what she would do as Siren had no wish of becoming Bhaal’s chosen again. 

In her time traveling with her companions, the Urge to kill had continued, and kill she did, the poor tieflings and the druids never standing a chance against her blade. But once again, Siren had faced the same problem. The ache she felt was only momentarily satisfied, and no matter how many enemies they slaughtered, she was never full. 

That was until Siren noticed a strange development. 

After the massacre of the grove, Withers said something that stayed with Siren. He said that “Thy wheel turns ever to the dark.” 

She didn’t understand why that resonated within her but it had. His words spoke to a part of her that she believed long lost, and with it, it drove her into attempting to do good. 

Siren began resisting her urge and instead of killing, she tried to help.

And in helping others, she found a comfort in her soul. Every ‘thank you’, every ‘you’re a kind soul’ dulled the ache of the Urge even more than the smell of blood had. 

So as she thought of the next steps, she wondered: could she make a path for herself? One where she didn’t obey her Father’s orders, one where she would live? 

.

It was in Bloomridge Park that she came to a conclusion. 

Passing by a bush of flowers, the smell of it caught Siren’s attention. She stopped, and knelt beside it, plucking a flower in her hand. 

“I see you also have a favorite.” Shadowheart said. “What are those?” 

Siren looked at it, and closed her eyes, a memory sparking in her brain. 

‘“It’s a dahlia.” 

“Dahlia?” The girl asked. “Like me?” 

“Yes, my love, like you.” Her mother said, placing the flower behind the girl’s pointy ear. 

“They’re pretty!” She exclaimed.

The woman smiled. “Just like you.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s why I named you after them. They’re my favorite.” ‘ 

Siren looked to Shadowheart. “They were my mother’s favorites. Dahlias.” She stood up. “Dahlia. It’s my name”

The cleric frowned. “I thought your name was Siren.” 

“My mother…she named me Dahlia after her favorite flowers.” Siren shook her head. “I had forgotten about it.” She looked at the flower again, a flood of images from a long forgotten past returning to her at once. “I forgot so much…”

Shadowheart placed a hand on her shoulder in support. “But you also took back so much. And you’ll get even more after we defeat Orin.” 

“Yes.” Siren whispered. “I know what I have to do now.” 

. 

Dahlia. The Dark Urge. Siren. 

A child, a murderer and a savior. All three, so incredibly different and yet, they were all one and the same. 

By denying her father, Siren had lost her life and in doing so, she gained a second chance. A chance to carve a different path for herself, one of which, instead of enslaving the world, she saved it. 

She could never be the girl she once was, but she would also never be the bloodthirsty assassin again. She could now truly be who she wanted to be. 

Siren.

And as a new dawn came, with her lover by her side, she awoke, not as a conqueror, but as the Savior of Baldur’s Gate. 

For the first time in a long, long time, Siren smiled as she wondered what adventure she would get in next, now that she had a world of possibility and freedom at her feet. 

“So, Odinson, how’s New Asgard since I was last there? Valkyrie promised me a holiday and Korg owes me a remashf!” you direct to the blonde laid out across from you, taking a mouthful of your favourite dessert. The God of Thunder’s reply was cut short however, by the sound of the two super soldiers charging into the common area, Bucky’s head firmly under his friend’s arm before he escaped and threw himself behind your sofa.

“Rescue me Y/N he’s got it in for me!” was the not so manly cry that came over your shoulder as the two of you fell about laughing, ignorant to the companion who had skidded to a stop in front of you.

Only Steve’s attempt at quiet retreating footsteps brought you to your senses, as you once again had to watch the back of your partner as he left. With a dramatic huff of distress, you flopped down against the sofa and into Bucky’s lap where he had settled himself.

“Will somebody PLEASE enlighten me on what I or somebody else has done to the lovely cuddly Steve bloody Rogers before I disintegrate?!”

Having had all afternoon and now a fresh incident to muse on, Natasha ventured her newest conspiracy on the subject with a cackle that had her nearly knocking poor Sam’s beer out of his hand. “Of all the people I never took Mr Freedom Fossil himself to be a jealous person!” This cleared the situation up for absolutely nobody, the entire room now looking to the redhead in varying states of confusion, with frowns and raised eyebrows inviting her to elaborate. “What top did you wear to training today Y/N?” “I don’t know? I’ve just about gained back the ability to breathe after you knocked me on my ass six times!” Rolling her eyes, your friend leaned forward to gesture at your current attire, “it was the Spiderman one from Peter’s birthday, and the other day? When he missed you and Wanda at lunch? The Falcon hoodie Wilson had made after Bucky made another jab at redwing.”

It took Sam, Bruce, Clint and even Thor beginning to guffaw at your expense for your own eyes to go wide with realisation. “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME – I’m being avoided because I’ve essentially collected Avengers team merch?!” Content in getting to the bottom of the mystery, Nat perched next to Wanda to open a new bottle while the others tittered into their food or cushions before moving onto the next game to be had. Bucky had gone a deep shade of pink in his attempts to stop himself from bursting into even bigger peals of laughter at his oldest friend’s antics whilst gesturing wildly that you should follow him to maybe shake some sense into his broad shoulders and hard head.

Leaving your very unhelpful friends to their revelry, you found your feet taking you back to Steve’s old room where he’d once taken to hiding during some of Tony’s more rambunctious parties. Sure enough, the door was ajar, allowing you sight across to where the man stood leaning against the windowpane looking out to the city below. Closing the door behind you both, you padded lightly into the room until you could wrap your arms around Steve’s waist to rest your head against his muscular back. Feeling him tense and then relax into your touch reassured you that you wouldn’t be immediately ejected from the room.

“Stevie…?” “Hi sweetheart.” “If I take the sweater off will you come and eat something and give your girlfriend a damn cuddle?” you smirked into his shirt, pulling away to look at him. A small sigh emitted from the tall man as he turned to face you, cheeks dusted with a blush you’d rarely seen and almost missed in the darkened bedroom. He allowed you to pull him to the corridor but before you could go any further together he stopped abruptly, bringing you closer.

“Why don’t you wear my things?” his voice uncharacteristically quiet against your hair. “I think you’ll find the t-shirt under this was actually yours at one time Rogers…” “You know what I mean Y/N.” “The Cap stuff?? I think Bucky stole the first training tee you gifted me on that date to the fair but most importantly,” hoping to push your point home with a finger jabbed to his chest, “my lack of America merch might have something to do with the fact I have the real deal in my bed?” At this the captain went an even deeper shade of red and nuzzled further into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple then cheek then your neck in apology.

“Guess I just like knowin’ your m’girl” he mumbles against your skin, leaving you blushing a matching shade.

“Always Stevie. Never in doubt. Though I always thought petty jealously to be more Tony’s thing than yours, green is not your colour babe.” Pressing a soft kiss to his pouting lips you push him away and down the corridor. “Eat, hydrate, apologise for being a drama queen. I’ll be there in a second.”

Once he was out of sight in the direction of the friends who would surely not let him live it down anytime soon, you slide down the hallway to stop in front of one James Barnes’ room. Natasha was great for training or partying, but Bucky held onto your combined stash of lazy night-in attire for such an evening as this. Rummaging through the back of the wardrobe (taking a mental note to at least get the man a potted plant for the place) you emerged triumphant with the object of your search.

Steve was about to get up and hunt you out again when the sudden noise of wolf whistling from the team around him drew the attention to the doorway. Striding as dramatically as possible into the living room, you’ve become enveloped from head to toe in the bright fluffy Captain America onesie Clint and Laura had presented you with at your first Christmas with a big old crush on the super soldier. With the hood up it even sported a fetching soft version of your love’s helmet, that dipped to your eye level.

When you struck your best power pose before dropping into the (truly terrible for your knees) superhero landing, laughter and eager applause filled the room. Pulling yourself back up to your feet, you sweep into bows directed at each corner of the room, beaming at the bemused blonde now seated next to his buddies before taking the opportunity to launch yourself into Steve’s lap.

“Captain Rogers.”

“Miss Y/L/N.”

“Reporting for love, kisses, and a little ribbing for being an idiot sir?”

The Counsellor that her supervisor at Boston University had arranged for her to visit as part of a scheme they had in place for students wasn’t a massive emotional help, she found, but the practical advice was something she took on board. She continued to use most of it to this day. She always found real-world solutions easier to get her head around. The rest of the stuff? Not so much. Thoughts and feelings she could happily avoid until the cows came home. 

So, if she had a bad week, if she was feeling stressed and tired, she knew she could ultimately choose to write it off and start the next one afresh without the pressure from anything that might have preceded it. What might be an issue on one day, shouldn’t be an issue the next, she would tell herself.

“Hey,” Andy leans casually into her office doorway. “Jack wants a word in five minutes. It’s with everyone.” 

Grace immediately checks the watch on her wrist. “Right. OK.” 

She continues to type furiously on her keyboard, faster than he thinks he has ever seen somebody type before. He lingers a second longer before stepping fully inside her office. 

“You, er, didn’t reply to any of my messages.” He says quietly, careful that no one outside in the hallway could hear him. 

She continues typing away, avoiding his eye contact, but he knew she had heard him. 

“I’ve just been busy is all.” She answers back equally as quiet. 

“Sure.” He nods, unconvinced. 

When he realises she isn’t going to give him anything else to work with, he half-heartedly turns to walk out of her office. 

“It’s just in the boardroom when you’re ready.” 

Then he’s gone and she can feel herself breathe easy again. 

The meeting wasn’t for anything important, which left Grace feeling a little miffed. Instead, while pretending to listen, she made mental notes for a couple of emails that had been backing up since the day before. Jack just liked to check in with the team from one week to the next even if there was nothing of note to pass on. It was the easiest way of keeping tabs on everyone and their case load, and perhaps reassign resources if he got the impression something wasn’t working out the way he would like it to. 

Much to Andy’s frustration, Grace chose to sit a few seats down from him at the table, not making any effort to register him as she walked behind the back of his chair. She knew it likely came across as childish but she didn’t really care much in that moment. She just needed the distance, both physically and emotionally, and one usually aided the other. 

“Has that file arrived from Court by any chance?” Grace asked Lydia, finally on the way back to her office. 

“No, not yet.” Lydia replied apologetically. “I chased it with Alex first thing but apparently they’re dealing with a hefty backlog at the moment.” 

“What file?” Andy interrupts as he sides up to them both at the reception desk. 

“Oh, it’s just an old testimony for the Roberts case. Jack recommended I dig it out. Said he had a memory of his ex-wife making a similar accusation from years back.” Grace explained. 

“Oh, yeh, that’s a good idea.” He agrees. “Is it urgent? We can always head down there this afternoon? I know someone else there who could help.” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” Grace waves him off. “I’ve got a couple of other avenues to try first so it’s not an issue if I don’t get it today.” 

“I’ll make sure they deliver it as soon as possible, Grace. I’m so sorry.” Lydia adds. 

“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate you trying.” Grace says, smiling as she backs away from the desk and the both of them. 

“If it arrives later on, shall I redirect it to the Marriott for you?” 

She turns back to face them again, glancing alternately between Lydia and Andy and catching Andy’s slightly perplexed expression in the process. 

“I…yes, please, that would be a big help actually. Thank you.” She turns again to walk the last few steps into her office and closes the door behind her. 

The Marriott wasn’t the fanciest hotel in town but it was still well-regarded. It was connected to a swanky cocktail bar and a restaurant that was owned in partnership with some minor celebrity chef Grace had never heard of before. More importantly, though, it had availability at short notice and that was Grace’s only requirement when googling for hotel rooms earlier that morning. 

After checking herself in and thanking the concierge for bringing her overnight bag to the suite, she was already one glass of wine down and half her way through a second, much larger one. 

She had toed off her shoes and socks and enjoyed the soothing feel of the soft, teal carpet underneath her toes. She had set up her laptop to continue some work that she had left incomplete while trying to make a quick getaway from the office, and was now considering running the deepest bubble bath she could manage while enjoying what was left of the bottle currently eyeing her from the room’s mini bar. 

The view was beautiful, all of Boston lit up and glowing beneath her. Why would you live anywhere else? She certainly had never considered it and thankfully neither had Dan when they had decided all those years ago to remain in the city and raise their new family. 

As she looked across the skyline, she could just make out the small red-brick in the middle distance, a six-floor nondescript block that she and Dan had first moved into when Olivia was barely weeks old. She remembered it feeling really cramped and one of the neighbours constantly complaining about their crying baby but nevertheless she kept a loving sense of affection for the place. Even more so as she regarded the high rises that had been slowly caging it in in the years since they had moved further out of the centre. 

The telephone in her room rings a moment later, shaking her from her reverie.

“Good evening, Mrs Atherton. We have a message waiting for you at the front desk.” Came a polite voice on the other end of the line. 

Confused, she hangs up. She puts her shoes back on and ventures out of the warmth of her room into the rather chilly hallway. As the lift descended to the ground floor, she wondered what was awaiting her at the bottom and dearly hoped it was nothing more complicated than the case files she had requested. She had no more room in her brain for anything other than work right now. Gnawing proof that, yet again, Dan had perhaps been right all along. 

She moved through the quiet lobby and appeared in front of the desk and the sharp-dressed man who looked like he could be an extra on Mad Men. 

“He’s just in the bar.” He said, politely directing Grace to the ornate double doors on the other side of the open space. 

She glances around but she can’t immediately recognise anyone or anything that might be waiting for her. 

“I’m sorry, who is waiting?” She asks, aware that she is coming across as slightly moronic in apparently not getting the obvious thing he was trying hard to make obvious. It was beyond her at this point. 

“I’m sorry, he didn’t give a name. Just said to tell you there was a message he needed to give to you.” He smiles and she knows she won’t get anything else that’s useful from him. 

She nodded her thanks to him even though she didn’t really mean it and walked towards the bar’s reception. The lady on the door seemed to be expecting her and simply waves her straight through without taking her name or room number first. 

She wasn’t one for surprises, never had been even as a child, so she’d need to be careful not to come across as indignant when she finally finds the person waiting for her. 

Looking around for a second to find a face she might recognise, she sighs when she’s greeted by a smiling Andy making himself comfortable at a small table in the corner. Of course. He holds a glass up to her and she sees the same thing in front of him, only half drunk. 

“Seriously? You couldn’t have just given your damn name?” She says not making any effort to hide her irritation as she approaches his table. The whole bar is quiet save for a couple trying to enjoy a romantic evening and another man, likely on business, reading the financials. “I was fine in my room.” 

The place smells faintly of rose and incense and the lights are far too low for this time of the evening. It was still early, right? She had lost all track of time since she had arrived. 

“It’s amazing what 20 bucks can get you these days.” He jokes, rather smugly. “Plus, I didn’t want you to have another reason to avoid speaking to me. I’m not stupid, Gracie.” 

“Listen, I have a lot of work I need to get through so I really can’t-” 

“-Just sit down for a minute, OK?” He interrupts before she finds another excuse to avoid him. He isn’t averse to pleading if he absolutely has to. “Have a drink with me. Please?” 

She warily regards the glass he is holding up towards her, enticing her with a warm hint of smoky whisky. It was likely the best one in a bar that has about a hundred different varieties and they were just the ones currently on show. 

“Why are you being so friendly all of a sudden?” she asks. 

“What are you talking about, I’m always friendly.” He huffs a laugh at her take on the drink he is holding out to her but pauses when she makes no effort to take it from his hand. “We’re still friends, aren’t we? At least I would hope so.”

He at least looked sincere, and she decides she doesn’t have the energy to argue with him. She yields and sits down on the plush black velvet armchair on the other side of the table across from him. He mouths a gracious ‘thank you’ before taking a sip of his drink. She sips her own and can’t pretend it doesn’t feel consoling in some small way. 

“I’ve had two glasses of wine already so this can only be the one drink.” 

“Wow, that bad, huh?” He teases. “Jack’s working you too hard.” 

She toys with the glass in her hands and takes a slow breath to try and calm her nerves. Jazz music plays out lowly from the speakers hiding somewhere in the background and she suddenly feels like a cliché. 

“She’s called Amanda.” He starts, when no one speaks for a minute. “We’ve known each other a little while, sort of seeing each other on and off until last year. I guess I was feeling some type of way after…the other night, so I called her up and she came over.” 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” 

“But I want to. It wasn’t anything…serious. After you left, I asked her to go and she did, so.” He tried to find the words. “Nothing happened. I just needed you to know that.” 

He stares his glass down. He had come straight from work, his tie loosened around his collar and his hair looking like he’d ran his hands through it several times so it lost some of its usual rigidity. Rarely did he let anyone see him look anything less than professional and for the first time since she could remember, he looked more than a little tired. She felt partly responsible and that realisation made her feel bad. 

She swallowed down another sip of her drink. 

“Is she into yoga?” 

“Huh?” 

“Amanda. She looks like she keeps herself trim.” 

“I…don’t know actually. Probably. I’ve never asked.” 

Grace grins to herself and he tilts his head at her in mock-annoyance. 

“What? What did I say?” He asks. 

“Nothing.” She chuckles to herself. “So, you have a thing for blondes, then.” 

He sucks in a deep breath as he thinks about his answer to that. Nothing he can say will likely work and she’ll probably have a cutting jab for him regardless. 

“In my personal experience, they’re not as complicated as brunettes.” 

She purses her lips and he thinks he can spy something akin to understanding on her face. 

“But they’re also only half the fun.” He regards her again but she gives nothing back. “So, now that I’ve been honest, it’s your turn. You want to tell me what you’re doing here?” 

She turns the glass in her hands again. Not really, she thinks to herself, but he’s here and he’s trying and she’s had a bit too much to drink already so any conversation would sound like a good idea right about now. She sort of did want to talk about it but also didn’t at the same time, if that made any sense.

“It’s a long story,” she settles for a benign answer. 

“Try me.” 

He doesn’t look away from her. He has a kind of intense stare, one that looks like he could either become your best friend or uncover the darkest secret you have, that makes him such a formidable lawyer. And human being. 

“We’re just having a night apart, that’s all. It’s nothing big.” 

Andy nods and looks down at his glass. “I’m sorry, Gracie. I didn’t mean to cause you any problems.” 

“Don’t be.” She tries to shake it off. “It’s nothing to do with you. I just had a lot of stuff on with this Roberts thing and I thought a night away would help me concentrate better, so…” 

She shrugs and for the second time that day, he doesn’t quite believe her. 

“Is it helping? Being away?” 

She can’t in all good conscience answer him entirely truthfully. 

“What about the kids?” He asks again, looking to change the subject slightly in the hope that she might open up to him a little more. He meant it after all; he wanted to be her friend if she’d let him. 

“Liv’s at her friend’s birthday sleepover tonight and Sam is at home with Dan. Hopefully doing his homework but there’s also a baseball game on so, I guess we’ll have to see about that tomorrow.” 

Each passing second feels a little bit lighter on them both. Deep down, she’s appreciative that he’s come to visit her. She finds something about him more comforting than she’d like to admit. Hopefully, clearing the air will be one less thing she has to worry about in the morning. 

“I like Sam.” He grins and she just laughs. “He’s a cute kid. Star Wars and Baseball, right? What else do you need in life?” 

“I’d settle for a basic interest in his school work for one thing.” 

“Ah, he’ll be fine.” 

“Tell that to me when they’re grown up and in therapy.” 

“I’m being serious! They’re great kids. They have you as a mom. Everything that you do for them, to give them what they want, I’m sure they appreciate that. They can tell their friends their mom is a hotshot lawyer in Boston and that’s fucking awesome in any language.” He enthuses. 

“Yeh, well, money and a decent career aren’t enough to mask the feeling of being messed up by your parents.” She murmurs, sorrowfully, before registering who she is sat in front of and immediately regrets being so candid. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all of this.” 

“It’s why I’m here. I meant it when I said we’re still friends, right? You can talk to me, Gracie.” He leans forward in his chair. “He didn’t want you to take this job, did he?” 

She breathes in sharply almost like she’s about to start being defensive but nothing seems to comes out. 

“That’s not…” She sighs, defeated, giving up before she can think of an appropriate defence. 

The couple sat a few tables over from her and Andy start laughing at something one of them has on their phone. The man reaches his arm around the lady. 

“It’s not that,” She starts again, turning her attention back to him, rethinking her angle. “It’s just been a big change for us, is all, what with the job and everything.” 

“It’s a great opportunity Gracie. You shouldn’t feel guilty for taking it.” 

“It’s hard, though. It’s hard to explain.” She speaks carefully. “When we’ve been the same for years and it’s been comfortable and we’ve managed, any change, big or small, is going to be something we have to work at to get the balance and the routine back again.” 

“But this is also what you’ve wanted for a long time. I remember you saying you wouldn’t be happy unless you were at one of the Big Three.” Andy states causing her to feel flustered with his argument because, obviously, he’s spot on.

“Yesss,” she concedes. “But that was a long time ago.” 

“That’s irrelevant.” He shrugs. “You hate routine, you always have. If I was you, I’d do exactly the same thing and grab this with both hands. God knows, you’ve fuckin’ earned it.” 

“It’s easy to say that when you’re not married and you don’t have kids.” 

He flinches at her tone. Not for any reason linked to disappointment or regret at not having either of those things but more because he recognises the constraints that she’s been under for the last few years of her life. He doesn’t have to ask for anyone’s permission to do anything and he can’t conceive giving up that freedom for, well, anything. 

Almost anything, perhaps. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” he asks. 

She looks at him relatively blankly then looks down at the glass in her hands. She shakes her head. 

“I don’t know, honestly.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s never really felt like I’ve been doing the thing I was supposed to do, y’know? Like, why would I put myself through the agony of Law School and all of the debt if I wasn’t going to hope to work for a company like Rothmans at the end of it?” 

“There’s your answer, then” 

“Yeh, but…I guess it would just be easier if Dan felt it was the same thing for him as well. That maybe he wanted it, too, in some way.” She shrugs half-heartedly. 

Andy motions to the barman to indicate another round even though she hasn’t finished the current drink yet. She was feeling too maudlin to reject it, though. Might as well carry on as she had started. 

“I’m just sick of always having to feel guilty about doing something for myself. And it’s not even like it’s solely for me either. I’m not being selfish, ‘cos it benefits him as well, right? Or at least I thought it did.” 

“When did you think it changed?” He asks. “That he decided everything was just fine as it was?” 

“I think being parents was a big part of it, and I get that. I mean, we were 21 when we had Liv,” she says. “And I would never in a million years regret that. It wasn’t the best timing, for either of us, but we both knew we wanted this and we were so happy when she arrived.” 

She smiles fondly at the wonderful memory of the midwife handing her their tiny child and the feeling of nothing but love filling her and making her whole for the first time in a long time. Nothing had ever made her feel like that. It was matched only when Sam arrived five years later. 

“I promised her as I held her for the first time that I would do whatever I could to give her the life I didn’t have. I know it’s taken me long enough but I finally feel like I’m doing that. For all of us.” 

“Then you definitely shouldn’t feel guilty for that. Not at all.” He encourages her gently. “The way I see it, you work for a few years, you make a name for yourself here, and you can do whatever the fuck you want to. You call the shots. You can have whatever you want. That’s what you worked hard for. Trust me, Gracie, it is that easy when you have a firm like Rothmans on your CV, and Dan is a fucking idiot if he can’t see that for himself.” 

She isn’t sure how to take that. She feels strangely grateful for the boost although it’s not ideal under the circumstances. It’s always easy to have an opinion on someone else’s life when you didn’t have to live it yourself. 

“That’s easy for you to say.” She chuckles trying to lighten the mood a little, aware she’s poured something out to him she hadn’t intended to and perhaps put thoughts in his head that weren’t entirely accurate. “You always knew where you wanted to be. You got your Masters; you got the job offers and the acclaim. I mean, did you know how famous you were when you left Uni? Everyone was practically in awe of you, knowing they’d be able to say that they knew you back before you were the Andrew Barber.” 

She held her hands up for emphasis and he laughs heartily. 

“You weren’t in awe of me, though, right?” He asks. “As I remember it, there was definitely some contempt in my seminars.” 

“Oh, that’s harsh,” she objects. “It wasn’t anything like contempt. You just seemed like you wanted to show off from time to time and that got me. Yeh, I admit I found it annoying buuut…I knew you were a good guy, deep down. You were really intelligent and passionate and always thoughtful about what you were doing. I even enjoyed some of your classes when you weren’t trying to put on an act or flirt with the other students.” 

“That wasn’t flirting.” He smiles. “You knew when I was flirting.” 

He watches as she blushes ever so slightly and his heart feels a bit lighter. She swirls the last of her drink around in her glass, the ice cube clinking at the sides.

“Besides, if I was genuinely interested, I would have just told them their essay needed better citations.” He smirks at her over the rim of his glass as he watches the sudden realisation dawn on her. 

“I fuckin’ knew there was nothing wrong with that paper.” She says, mildly affronted before she starts laughing again. She balls the napkin up in her hand before flinging it weakly across the table towards him. 

He dodges it. “How else was I going to get you to talk to me?” 

“Son of bitch.” She shook her head but she wasn’t angry at him, not really. “That mark stayed on my record, you know that, right? That pissed me off for years.” 

“Oh, stop it. You did alright in the end, Miss Valedictorian.” He says and then nods slowly when she seems surprised that he knew that little known fact. “Besides, I couldn’t think of anything else that might have worked. You were always kind of…aloof, y’know? I always got the feeling that it would take a lot to impress you.” 

“I bet I soon proved you wrong, though.” 

“No, not at all.” He chuckles. “Actually, I realised that I didn’t need to impress you at all, at least not with grand gestures or anything like that. I think that’s what made me like you so much in the first place, that you were genuine and normal. I think you just liked me for me. I never really had that before.” 

There’s a comfortable silence as they regard each other fondly. There was a lot being said without any words coming from either of them. It was like they were seeing some of their most important aspects of their history in the other person’s face. Like they were on the same page. 

“I did like you, Andy.” She offers after a beat. “It was just bad timing.” 

“Yeh.” He says, knowingly. “It’s funny to say but I don’t think of the work when I think of my time at BU. I just have these memories of you and…the times we were together. You’re a beautiful memory, Gracie. I don’t really have many of those.” 

He watches her as she looks down at her lap, possibly avoiding him. She tugs gently at her hoop earring and wraps her hand around the back of her neck when she can’t think of anything else to do, leaning her arm on the armrest in the process until she feels comfortable again. 

“…And I did love you.” He says quietly, deliberately, so she can’t misunderstand him. “I know I never said it at the time or when it mattered and it likely won’t mean anything now, but I mean it.” 

“It’s all water under the bridge.” She responds, equally as quiet. 

“Is it?” He asks with purpose. “Because I can’t shake the feeling that it’s like no time has passed at all. There’s so much about you now that is still the same as when I knew you all those years ago. The same passion, the same moral sense of duty, the same…smile. You’re still Gracie Thompson.” 

“Atherton. It’s Atherton, Andy.” 

“Some things don’t change, Gracie.” He says warmly in a tone she recognises but wishes she didn’t. “Like how I feel about you.” 

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly aware of where she is. She wonders if anyone around them is listening right now and judging her. Judging her for having this conversation with a man who evidently wasn’t her husband.

“I try not to regret things, it always seems like a waste of energy, but…” He says, thoughtfully, before that burning intensity in his eyes returns and she unexpectedly feels exposed in front of him. “I hate that I never told you how sorry I was. For everything. I hate that I just left when you needed me. I know I can never take that back, but-” 

“-Andy, don’t-” 

“-I’m just so sorry, Gracie. I wish I could go back and be there for you. When you asked for me to come and I didn’t. It breaks my heart to think about what you were going through with your mom and that I just left you there…” 

He shakes his head like he’s trying to rid himself of guilt that had been building up inside him all these years. 

It was unexpected, that he felt this way. She hears him sniff away a tear and the jagged breath that usually follows when you’re trying not to cry, a feeling she knew all too well. 

She didn’t quite have it in her to alleviate him of the pain he was now feeling. Not for any cruel reason, like she thought he deserved to feel that way or anything, because she had been there, too, and it was not pleasant. She just didn’t know what to say to him because she never knew what to say to herself in these moments either. 

He straightens up a little in his armchair, like he was becoming aware of how public this setting was. He wished they could be somewhere else right now. Anywhere else. 

“I didn’t think you would remember.” She says, finally, and he feels the punch to his gut. 

“Of course, I remember. I’ve never forgotten. It’s the one thing I regret the most.” He shakes his head again. “I’ve…missed you. That’s all I can say. Finding you again after all these years just felt fortuitous in some way, that maybe I could make everything right between us.” 

Confusion and alcohol start to cloud her brain. 

“You got me this job?” She asks. 

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t get him to do anything. Jack isn’t like that.” He defends himself when he realises how it must now look to her. “Honestly, your record and your career speaks for itself. That’s why he offered you the position.”

“Right.” She said rather coldly. “OK. Well, thanks for clearing that up.” 

She rubs at her forehead, sobering up faster than she’d like to, and places the empty glass down on the table in front of them. It clashes loudly with the glass tabletop but no one notices or turns to look at where the sound comes from. 

“I really need to go. It’s getting late and I need to collect Liv early in the morning.” 

She makes a move to leave the table and he doesn’t know what to do to stop her. 

“Gracie…” 

“Thanks for the drink, Andy. I’ll see you on Monday.” 

She walks away and doesn’t look back. She doesn’t look back at any point from the bar to the lobby, to the elevators and all the way back up to her floor to her room. Although now her room didn’t feel as safe as it did hours before when she didn’t know he was in the same building. 

She at least made it back before the tears started, but the release doesn’t make her feel any better. Not even with the door firmly shut and eleven floors separating them both. 

Her laptop was open and showing a screensaver of her and Dan, her various work papers piled to the side. She snaps down the lid and leans on the table, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Yet another broken night of sleep ahead when she needed it the least, she groans. 

She knows she should switch the light off. She knows she could pull back the covers and crawl as far underneath as possible, just like she did when she was a kid in the vain hope of washing away the day so she might be able to get up and start again in the morning. Maybe pretend it had all been a dream or some kind of waking nightmare. She knows she needs to push this all to the back of her mind and concentrate on the things that she can control. She knows it’s all pointless now. 

She knows who’s knocking at her door. 

She swallows and feels the pounding in her chest get heavier. Nothing could prepare her for the eyes staring back at her when she eventually cracks the door open moments later. 

Without a single word, Andy pushes himself inside forcing her back a few steps, and closes the door behind him. She waits for him to speak but no words come out. Just his blue eyes gazing back at her, so bright and alive even in the apparent darkness of their surroundings. 

He slowly takes the last few steps towards her and closes their gap. She feels oddly calm now and sober as he looks down at her. She watches his eyes flick between hers and her lips, and his hand reaches up to gently caress the side of her face. He traces his thumb tenderly across her bottom lip like he’s thinking of some sweet memory from years gone by and refamiliarizing himself with her all over again. 

A brief recollection of standing in his office late at night flashes in her mind and without even registering what he’s doing to her, she feels 19 all over again.

When he decides he’s had enough of wasting time, he kisses her. A whisper-like kiss at first, soft and sweet with the faint air of expensive whisky melting between them both. When she doesn’t pull away, he presses their lips together a little harder and she feels his hands connect softly with her face again, his tongue lightly swiping across her bottom lip in the hope that she’ll allow him what he so desperately wants. 

And so, she does. 

Even after so many years apart, Andy helped her forget about everything. Family, her work, studies…everything seemed to melt away with him. If she had been stronger, perhaps more awake, she would have stopped what happened next, but he was right. 

Some things never change.