#greg walsh

As do the big romantic gestures. When it feels this big, it feels like he has to do something with it.

But he’s British, and even if he knew what that something should be, every cell in his body is screaming in protest. He’s working against muscle memory, against thirty years of conditioning and the knowledge that any sort of Scene would be improper.

Epiphany number two – and he’s obviously been living in this country too long, if he’s going to start realizing everything by epiphany instead of through careful deliberation – hits him in his office as Diana St. Tropez is congratulating him on a job well done.

He has completely missed the point of The Duchess’ Mule.

If Lord Hestershire getting Governess Nancy’s uncle out of debtor’s prison wasn’t a grand romantic gesture, what was it? He’d done it quietly, without making a show of it, but he’d done it for her, for love of her, and wasn’t that what it all came down to?

“It was a team effort,” he tells Diana, and before she can keep talking, he inhales sharply and goes on. “Actually, Carol is the one who deserves our thanks. She was instrumental in getting Lyon to talk.”

“I'll thank her publicly when I—”

“Actually,” he says again, his heart hammering against his chest. “She’s been invaluable since she started, and I do believe it’s time she was officially a member of the team. A paid member.”

Diana laughs. “You know there’s no room in the budget for—”

“Make room.” He’s trying to furrow his brow the way his father used to do to show he Means Business. He hopes she doesn’t notice that his knuckles are white – well, whiter – from clutching the desk edge so hard.

“She steals from petty cash!” she protests. “I simply don’t see the value in…”

He doesn’t hear what she says next, because he’s suddenly struck with epiphany number three. He knows what to do. He doesn’t know if it will make a difference but he knows, whether it works or not, that it’s worth trying. Whether it works or not, he’ll have done something.

“In fact,” he says, and he thinks he may be interrupting her but he’s not paying enough attention to anything outside his head to be sure. “Find room, or I quit.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the buzz of the fluorescents.

“You what?”

He doubts himself for a second then – this is more uncomfortable than breaking up with Cat ever would have been – but then he thinks of Carol, of how much she does for them and how much she deserves to be paid for the difference she makes in the office.

And he thinks of Katie. Katie, who knows him so well she got him a binder for his birthday, who has gone from his underling to his partner because she worked hard and demanded the opportunity to show it, who can catch a pistachio no matter how he throws it at her, who made herself sick rather than compromise her morals, and who has refused to put on blinders just because it was safe and easy and has, instead, broken the story of the year.

Twice now.

“You heard me. Give Carol a paid position, or you’ll be looking for a new Executive Producer.”

Diana St. Tropez raises an eyebrow at him and stares him down.

He will not blink first.

The screen goes blank and he’s left alone in his office.  It’s anticlimactic, to say the least. He doesn’t know if she’s giving Carol the job or not. He doesn’t know if he has a job or not. When he hears Diana’s voice again, it’s distant, from a monitor in the bullpen. His team, his family, is celebrating their win, and Diana is telling them about Pelt.

He hangs back, waiting to see what happens.

Except…he’s short. He can’t see much of anything. He hears it though. Hears her break the news about Pelt, hears her welcome Chuck back, hears her say the magic words…”I think it’s time you got a paying job.”  He breathes a sigh of relief and leans back against the desk.

“One of your superiors threatened to quit.”

And he waits.

He feels a strange sense of calm just now. There’s a chance it won’t matter. She may not recognize it for what it is, or even realize it was him who did it. Maybe she will, but he’ll have done it too late. Maybe, for as much as it took out of him, it’s still not enough for her American ideals of romance.

But he’s done what he could, more than he thought he could. He has come to meet her halfway, and all that’s left is to see what she does next.

He barely registers the crowd begin to disperse, but he sees her coming towards him. Her smile is reserved, but it still sets his nerves on fire. He stands to meet her, matching the expression.

“You did that, didn’t you? You threatened to quit to get my mom a job.”

There are stars in her eyes and awe in her voice, and he wants her to look at him that way forever. He wants to hold her and never let go. He wants, he wants, he wants, and it’s overwhelming how much.

He needs to tell her he loves her.

“One does what one can,” he says.

It doesn’t matter what he expects from her because she is constantly surprising him. He doesn’t even have time to put his drink down before she’s wrapping her arms around him and kissing him, which is a shame because he can't get her close enough with one hand tangled in her hair and the other still clutching a glass, awkwardly using his forearm to pull her into him. But she’s kissing him, and he can taste the champagne on her lips, and he knows he will do everything he can to get her to do this again and again and again.