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#colp fanfiction
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Quid Pro Quo 39 - Fin
She wanted to stay in Paris; Vincent Karm wanted to reinvent his image. A mere business arrangement in the form of “I do” and a set of rings. The last thing either of them expected was for the line to blur, for the lie and façade to fall somewhere along the way, and leave them facing an unspoken truth. 
Also on AO3 here. 
The water was so blue, even this early in the morning.  Up here, all she could hear were the distant calls of one bird to another, a rustle of leaves, the quiet hum of the pool filter.  Nothing unexpected.  Nothing remarkable.
A quiet morning.
Most of them were.
Sophia didn’t stir at the sound of approaching footfalls, not even bothering to take her eyes off the sight before her to check who her companion was.  She felt lips against her temple and hot porcelain brushed against her hands.  An offering.
If he was up, then…
“Is–”
“Still asleep.  Eugene is out with Esteban.  You’re sure you’re up for this?” 
The words didn’t so much carry doubt as they did the gravity of one who understood all parts that made up the whole.
She took her eyes off of the distant sea, off of the lush greenery below, and settled her gaze on her husband.  
A year and a half had done a lot to him.
To her.
To them.
Sophia brushed her free hand against the streak of gray that she refused to let him color.  The stubborn patch that only seemed to grow until they were no longer apart.  According to Eugene, it developed only after he’d begun to finally wake up, after their first and only video call to explain why she wasn’t there with him.
Her fault.
So much of this, her fault.
“I have to be,” Sophia said.  “If not for me, then for you.  For the girls who only exist in their families’ memories.  I’ll be fine.”
“What about that ridiculous stipulation about you leaving the country way back when?  Doesn’t that void whatever they’re offering?”
“It would have, I guess, if the case wasn’t as high profile as it is.  I testify as the final nail in the coffin, I get honorary citizenship; that was the deal.”
Her husband turned his head slightly, nose brushing against her inner wrist.  Everything was fleeting lately.  Just when they were finally getting used to things, the ground shifted.
“They should have given it to you years ago,” Vincent muttered.  “You went headfirst into danger in a hostage situation and single-handedly stopped the flood before it progressed into other sections of the city.  I will never understand de Valois’ poor policy.”
She pulled her hand away and settled into his arms, his chest warm against her back and the sun even warmer on her face.  
None of it had gone as anticipated.
She’d snuck into the hotel room.  Laid out the pictures.  Felt the weight of the pistol in her hand.  Heaviest thing in the world for something so small.  Knocked Morean out with a lamp.  Tied him to a chair.  Made him name every single girl.  A shot in each foot and hand was hardly enough to cover it.  When she finally reached the end, she chickened out.  Instead, Sophia knocked him out again and high-tailed it to the airport with nothing but her passport and phone.
The police had all the evidence they needed to convict.
But Hugo had pieced everything together and now she had no choice but to come forward publicly.
“They could have let you testify remotely,” Vincent mumbled into his cup.  “It’s a long flight.”
When she looked up at him, she didn’t miss the flick of his gaze nor the slight tilt of his head, listening for a moment.
“We’ll be back before you know it.  Assuming you want to, of course.  Once this is over, it puts France back on the table.”
They were only here because of her.  Because she fled and because Vincent needed a quiet place to recover and because…
“We have a city at the foot of the mountain if I really feel the need to be immersed in a busier atmosphere.  To say nothing of the other cities that are much closer and just as if not more cosmopolitan.  We’ll always have Paris, Sophia, but if we stay there, then Paris will always have us, too.  I’m not one for prison.”
He’d gotten a tad more vague ever since Morean’s poisoning.  Sometimes it was simply romantic ramblings.  Other times, like now…
She took a sip, the familiar velvety cinnamon rolling over her tongue.
“This is–”
“Of course.”
Always one step ahead of her.  Anticipatory.  That hadn’t changed, at least.
“And you promise if–”
“If I don’t feel well, you’ll be the first to know, Vincent.”
He settled against her a little tighter.  She couldn’t blame him.  He hadn’t been here for this part.  And despite all of his well-explained tirades and mumblings about not getting any younger, all of this seemed to shake off the fog that settled when he was too still.
“Do you think we have a few minutes?” he asked.  “I want to show you something.”
Sophia took Vincent’s wrist in her hand, titled it so his watch stared up at her, and nodded. 
“Probably stolen minutes,” Sophia replied. 
They untangled themselves and Vincent led her back through the house, up to the top floor; his office, with an expansive view of the hillside.  He paused for a moment but seemed to think better and closed the door almost all the way, leaving a crack.  
The space was far more modern and minimalist compared to the settings she usually saw him in.  A fireplace, a few chairs, the desk free of both dust and computer, the shelves only housing recent books that piqued his fancy.  Vincent padded over to his desk and pulled out a large envelope from a drawer.  Sophia’s brows knitted slightly.
"You missed one thing when you went through this all that time ago," he said. "Most of the weight comes from a lengthy…dissolution of our marriage I had drawn up for when the pre-nuptial agreement ends."
Her heart sank and she wished the flutter in her abdomen had come at a better time.  That was still years away but he was expecting her to…? He was going to end this? After everything they'd been through?
Confusion and hurt bloomed across her face just as panic crossed his own, his eyes wide and mouth ajar.
"No,  mon cherie, it is…for the sake of transparency, I wanted to tell you before we went back.  I love you and I can't emphasize enough how proud I am to be married to you. Not just because you're the woman who saved Paris but because you push past self preservation for those you care about, even those you barely know. You're hungry, not for ambition, but to make a better world. Events would have transpired very differently if you weren't involved at all and in spite of everything I've ever done, you love me anyway."
As he spoke, he rounded the desk and stopped in front of her.  He looked down at the envelope and before he could speak again, Sophia snatched it out of his hands and threw it into the fireplace without so much as considering its contents again, ending his new-found hesitation.  She reached for the switch and the hearth flickered to life instantly; she shut the doors to both trap the smoke and prevent either of them from reaching in easily.  
The look on his face was so worth it, Sophia thought.
"Then let my love be enough to tell you that I want to remain your wife for as long as you'll have me."
The smile that crossed Vincent’s lips was gentle but the ghost of a devious quirk at the corner of his mouth and narrowed eyes told a different story.
"Oh, I'll have you,  madame,"  Vincent's voice dropped, soft and almost sinister, if not for the teasing lilt in his words that sent a rush of warmth throughout her body. "I believe the better question is–”
 A muffled fussing came from his breast pocket followed by a louder cry that they didn’t need the monitor for, the source just across the hall.  Sophia pressed her lips to Vincent’s quickly, softly.
“Whether our little one will wake or not,” he finished, the timber of his voice indicating those were not the words he initially considered.
“I did say we had stolen minutes,” Sophia replied.
“You’re never wrong,  ma cherie.”
“Sometimes I am.  But never about this.”
With a final kiss and a brush of their noses, they parted, the quiet shattered but taking none of the peace with it.  They had fought for it, earned it, and it was, at long last, theirs.
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the-most-faithful · 3 months
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IF HARRY HAD BEEN A FEMALE WHAT WOULD SNAPE HAVE DONE TO HER?
This accusation is gaining more and more traction and is truly worrying. I was hoping it was a niche thing, a kind of dark humor brought forward. But there are people who seriously think that if Harry had been a girl similar to Lily Snape would have had "unwanted attention for her".
I won't say it any other way, because just the thought of it gives me shivers of disgust. As is often the case this is an obviously false accusation made by Snaters but it really is crossing the line.
As always a necessary premise, it is clear that we are talking about an invented story, fictional characters, but the themes are real and the reactions too. Attacking a character with false accusations, inventing the worst theories in order to demonize him is not only disrespectful but also immature. You may not like the character, you can't discuss your tastes, but inventing false accusations makes no sense.
I don't like James and Sirius for various reasons, but I would never dream of accusing them of horrible things that never happened in canon (the actions in the books are enough) So let's get one thing straight: Snape doesn't treat Harry badly just because of his appearance. I wrote an entire chapter on this, I'll leave it here (https://www.wattpad.com/1331630987-colpe-e-meriti-piton-trattava-male-harry) Snape is certainly prejudiced towards the boy, he thinks he is a photocopy of his father, but it doesn't all boil down to that. If Harry had been a female, perhaps similar to Lily, this would have affected Snape more, he would have been more melancholic, he would probably have found it difficult to have her in class.
But he would never, ever try to attack her. Snape is not a ped***ile. This is a terrible accusation. Not that I'm surprised, so far I've heard and read the worst things: "Snape was a stalker" "Snape was obsessed" "Snape was a multiple murderer" "Snape was a ra*er." But all these accusations are FALSE.
There is not a single doubt, proof, or idea of this in canon. If you want to write or read dark fanfiction in which the characters are horrible multiple murderers with disgusting inclinations towards some characters, do it (putting warning tags) but don't confuse the canon with fanfiction.
Snape has never shown particular attention towards any student, he is not a creepy character who wanders around the corridors following little girls. The really irritating thing about this point is that it's obviously not provable so even a "defense" is useless.
The people who make this false accusation have no basis, they simply throw it there like a firecracker and then go away leaving the smell of burning behind them. It has no meaning, it leads to nothing except feeding the sick and distorted imagination of those who, not appreciating a character, must destroy him completely. The Marauder Stans (the toxic ones) over the years are turning into the worst kind of bullies, just like their favorites, they invent false accusations, spread hatred in the fandom and try to destroy a character just because of their dislike.
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denouemwnt · 6 years
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the masquerade
you can also read it in AO3!
pairing: vincent karm x mc/reader
warnings: nope
summary: You are in Paris again for a masquerade and you come back to a familiar face who stole your heart two years ago.
request: Ooooh, could you do a Vincent/MC fic where they’re at a masquerade and may or may not know each other?
words: 1715
(you can see my masterlist here!)
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You would be lying if you said you didn't miss the famous city of love. You had a lot of opportunities to come back to France, but after everything you lived here, it was for the best to stay a couple of years away. A lot of memories came to mind when your plane arrived in Paris. The death of your best friend, Kat, working at the City of Love for Raphael, the flooding that you thought it was impossible to stop it and a certain someone that you still regret not telling your feelings to.
You take a deep breath and look at the mansion, where a lot of people are entering with their fancy attire and rich faces covered by masks. You weren’t one of them, that was obvious. The invitation just got in your hands because you met the hostess of the party in one of your business trips to London, you had no idea she actually lived in Paris.
After checking in your camera phone if at least your appearance is fine, you exit the limo that your friend insisted you to use. Even being successful with your career, you prefer living a simpler life than you could afford. You just don’t match with this luxury life.
When you entered the mansion, no one you know gets in your sight. Well, everyone is wearing masks, so you just probably didn’t recognize someone. From all Paris, you can’t be the only one of the group of the people you know here. Of course, you miss everyone, they were present in an unforgettable period of your life and you just hope at least one of them is here.
You find the table you were supposed to sit but instead of talking with the people you have no idea who they are, you decided to find the place where you can get something to drink. A waiter with glasses of champagne caught your attention and you happily get one.
“After two years, it is good to have you back in Paris again.” Your body simply froze when you heard his voice behind you. From all the people you knew in this damn city, why Vincent? The only thing you hear is the fast rhythm of your heartbeat. You look at the champagne and drink it all at once. He is Vincent Karm, of course, he would get invited, but you weren’t prepared to get face to face with him at this party. 
“Vincent Karm.” You smile at the always well-dressed man, hiding the side that is screaming inside you. “It is good to see you too after all these years.” He looks taller than you remembered and more handsome than ever.
He is dressed in a different black and green suit matching a black mask covering half of his face, his eyes and his mouth being the only parts of him you can see. And when you realize, you are lost in the tones of green in his iris. 
“You look stunning, Y/N.” He takes your hand in his. ”Exquisite as always, ma chérie.” Vincent brings it closer to his mouth and you can feel his breath against your skin, making your heart beats faster than already were, what you thought that was impossible. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he looks deeply into your eyes for long seconds. Oh, he is enjoying this for sure. Vincent must know the effect he has on you, playing with your feelings like this. He finally kisses your hand, caressing your skin before leaving it. You recompose yourself, calming your agitated breath.
“And you look handsome as always, Mr. Karm.” You hoped that you would get him by surprise complimenting this way, but he just smirked at you, studying your face carefully. You hear that a calm song stars playing in the background and you see couples dancing in the middle of the ballroom. “May I have this dance?” You extend your hand to him, failing to hide your playful smile.
He chuckles and nod, leading you to the center, where the other couples were. Vincent started leading the both of you around the ballroom and you followed him, dancing to the beat of the sound, moving your bodies in sync. You felt him getting closer to you, feeling his chest against yours. You weren’t the only one, his heart was beating fast too, you could feel it. He just could hide it so perfectly.
You try to look at everything around you but Vincent. You can feel his eyes on your face, trying to make you look at him while you are dancing. You are dying to say how you felt these years away from Paris, how many times you wanted to stop everything you were doing to catch the next flight just to see him. You were a fool to think that being away from him again would be better for you, that your feelings for him weren’t real. It is your chance to do it and if you don’t do it now, you know that later you won’t have the courage. It should be something so simple. You love him and that’s it. When you are with Vincent you just feel like you can finally be happy. And then you look at him again, smiling, a bright and contagious one that makes Vincent smile back at you. It is now or never.
“Why don’t we take a walk in the garden, Ms. L/N?” You were about to talk to him, but he does it first. Vincent is serious now, you can see that something is bothering him. You have never seen that expression on him, and that left you worried. You nod and he offers his arm and your hand holds it, feeling his tense muscles covered by the suit.
Both of you leave the crowded room to arrive in the beautiful garden of the mansion, filled with an amazing smell coming from the colorful flowers and large trees. You and Vincent walk around it, still connected to each other, admiring the different plants.
“There’s something that I have been wanting to tell you for some... years.” You chuckle to yourself, how were you able to keep this in your heart for so many time? “Until that party, I threw after the flooding ended, I was going to stay in Paris, I didn’t want to leave like I did the other time.” You look at his face, Vincent is looking directly at you and then you noticed that you stopped walking.
“You needed to tell me something important that day, but you never did it. I remember how anxious you were, darling, with your hand trembling when you tried to talk to me.” He smiled when the memory of that party came to his head, he was about to tell you how he felt on that day.
You wanted to tell him everything he makes you feel and why you didn’t stay in Paris, but there’s only one thing you want right now, that you have been dying to do. You got closer to him, in slow steps. Vincent noticed what was about to happen and his hands went to your face, taking your mask gently from you, showing your features. And so you do the same on him, finally seeing him. His hands go to your waist and he lowers his head, quickly closing the space between the two of you with a passionate kiss that both of you have been wanting for years. You hold firmly the piece of the suit which covers his shoulder, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. When air is needed, Vincent pulls away, reluctantly, placing his forehead against yours.
“I love you, Vincent.” You whisper, feeling so nervous but relieved to tell him this after years. “I’m sorry for being away for so long. I thought that my feelings for you would disappear if I got away, but I was wrong. I have fallen for you hard, Mr. Karm.” You open your eyes to see his green eyes staring at yours.
“When I said that you intrigued me, Y/N, it wasn’t a part of the game you thought I was playing.” He takes your hand in his, caressing your skin, making you feel shivers down your spine with his touch. “You are a brilliant woman and everything is so captivating about yourself.” He never felt this nervous before, you could clearly see it “I... I love you, Y/N.”
And with that, he pulls your body closer to his one more time to capture your bottom lip in his. You feel his tongue in your mouth as the kiss gets more heated. Your hands go to his chest, feeling the fast beating of his heart as his hands go lower, to your hips. You smile between the kiss, making him break it. Vincent looks at you without needing him to ask for you to understand what he means.
“I’m just happy... and also, we looked like teenagers making out.” You make him chuckle. Vincent kisses the curve of your neck gently and grabs the masks that were forgotten on the ground, helping you put yours. After wearing it, he holds your hand.
“Let’s go back to the party, ma chérie, unless you want to go to a more private place. We indeed stayed away from each other for a long time.” He flashes his playful smirk at you while you get back to the ballroom. And there is the Vincent Karm you know and love.
“We can have a party of our own later, what do you think, Mr. Karm?” You try to get in his game.
“Good idea, my dear. I suppose I will have to wait for the afterparty.” He winks at you and kisses your cheek before you get back to the masquerade. Vincent is finally letting himself be happy after so many things he lived. He, years ago, couldn’t tell that the person he would fall in love would be an American journalist that saved his city many, many times, one even from his own hands. Now he can let everything to the past and lives the present next to his loved one, after so many obstacles between the two of you.
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You can go to my masterlist to read more of my vincent karm series and my other stories!
Feedback is always welcome ❤️
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La tempête parfaite
Post Season 2.  The MC, Paige Turner, is forced to do an interview of Vincent for City of Love: Paris.  She flies to his vacation home in Vermont and some bad weather hits.
Rating: T for mild kissing and references to sex.
Special thanks to @boughtmywayintopopculture being a co-writer for this piece and helping me along in both the editing and writing processes!
Paige held her eyes closed for a moment, desperately hoping she was hallucinating.  However, when she opened her eyes the slip of paper left on her desk with her latest assignment still read the same: Vincent Karm, CEO Karm International, EPD: ASAP.  Not only did they want her to do an interview with Vincent but, they had the expected publish date set to as soon as possible?!
This is ridiculous! Paige thought to herself as she balled up the paper in her hands and flung it into the waste bin.  As if working for my ex isn’t awkward enou- Paige’s eyes narrowed Raphael! He had to have something to do with this!
Shouldering her bag, Paige left her cubicle and stormed into her boss’s office.
“Where is Raphael?”  Paige demanded closing the door behind her and taking a seat.
“Well, hello to you too Ms. Turner.  Please, do sit down.  I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Her boss replied sarcastically as he tried to adjust his combover so the bald spot was concealed; he wasn’t fooling anyone.
Paige just glared at the man expectantly, waiting for him to answer her question.
With a dramatic eye roll her boss explained, “Raphael is not in the office.  He is in Italy where he will be working with the City of Love: Rome office for the next two weeks.  And yes, before you ask, he had everything to do with your latest assignment,” he held up his palm to stop her from interjecting as he continued. “Don’t blame Raphael though, it was the only way.”
“The only way what?!” Paige asked not only angry but curious now as well.
“The only way Karm would agree to an interview.  He asked for you specifically when Raphael reached out to him.  He said it was either you or no interview; he only expects the best quality writer, not some subpar newbie.  His words not mine, not that everyone here doesn’t know you are our best writer.”  He replied relaxing down in his chair and folding his hands together over his abdomen.  “Listen, Paige, Raphael wants this article.  He is the boss and what he says goes.  I got your flight all set -”
“My flight?! Why do I need a flight to do an interview in Paris?!” She interrupted, jumping out of her seat.
“Well, here is the thing.  Vincent is currently vacationing in Vermont.  He was gracious enough to start the interview this week and supply you lodging at his cabin.  Which works out great because we don’t have to worry about covering hotel expenses now.” He said as he straightened in his seat.
“Vermont?!  I have to fly all the way to America to do this interview and you think I am just going to share a room with Vincent Karm for however long this takes?!”  She spat gesturing wildly with her hands which often happened when she was upset.
“You won’t be sharing a room with him.  He rents out his cabin as a bed and breakfast when he isn’t there.  When he is, he likes his privacy and has the place to himself.  You will have your own room.  If you share a room with Vincent Karm, that is none of my business and all on you.”  He said as he started typing on his computer, clearly losing interest in this conversation.
“I cannot believe this… I’m taking the day off and going home.” Paige stated as she grabbed her bag off of the floor, turning towards the door.
“Paige, like I said before you are our best writer.  However, if you don’t plan on making this interview happen, don’t bother showing up tomorrow.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her hand hovered inches above the door handle.  Through gritted teeth she asked, “When is the flight?”
“Thursday, 8:45 am.” He answered, a certain smugness in is voice.
With that Paige opened the door and stormed out of his office going only to her desk to collect her coat, scarf, and gloves before heading towards the exit.  Before she reached the exit, she turned on her heels and walked back to her desk, reached into her waste bin and pulled out the crumpled ball she had thrown in there earlier, shoving it into her bag before heading back to her apartment.
Rain pelted the window of the plane as Paige scrolled aimlessly through her social media feed before she had to put her phone on airplane mode.  She was desperately trying to distract herself from the thought of having to spend a minimum of three days with Vincent Karm.  She didn’t hate the man, she didn’t even dislike him; he just made her feel uncomfortable.  She hated feeling awkward in her own skin.  Vincent had that effect on her, along with some other effects she’d prefer not to think about.  They definitely had a history together and Paige didn’t know what to make of it.  They worked together once.  She didn’t like to think about the events of Kat, her best friend’s, death.  But, truth be told, without Vincent’s help her killer may have never been caught.  
I shouldn’t have kissed him.  Why did I initiate that kiss… I was just caught up in the moment.  I mean, yeah, it was good.  Okay, it was a lot better than good but, still it was a mistake.  I just made everything awkward for myself.  In my defense I didn’t invite him up!  Even though I wanted to…
Paige’s internal fight was interrupted when the stewardess came to offer her a pillow and a blanket for her flight.  Her bosses may have been too cheap to get her a hotel room but at least they splurged and booked her a first class ticket.  
Paige gratefully accepted both luxuries she was offered and made herself comfortable.  She felt her eyes grow heavy, as she hardly slept due to anxiety and last minute packing.  The last thing she remembered thinking to herself before she was lulled into a dreamless sleep was, This change in timezone is going to be the death of me.
When she awoke her mouth was so dry it felt like her tongue was sandpaper.
I wonder if this is how Whiskey feels all the time, she thought idly as her mind wandered to her cat who she left in Leo’s care.
She stretched her arms above her head and rolled her head side to side hoping to alleviate the twinge she felt in her neck.
She still had 4 hours left in her flight but she was surprised by how long she was actually asleep for. She stood up to open the overhead compartment where her carry-on was stored.  She pulled out her laptop and pressed the call button before sitting back down.  Before her computer had even booted up completely, an attendant showed up. She politely asked for a bottle of water.  She drank half the bottle then she opened up the document she was working on.
By the time the plane had landed she had a basic outline for what she wanted to get out of the interview and had played roughly seven games of solitaire.  She lost every time.
She gazed up at the enormous cabin in front of her.  It looked as if it was right out of a travel magazine that featured log cabins in the woods, only double the size.  
No wonder this place can be used as a B&B when he’s not here.  It’s huge! She thought as she hitched her duffle back higher up on her shoulder.
As she walked up the driveway, a fresh layer of snow crunched beneath her boots and she heard barking coming from inside.  She felt her stomach sink as she heard the cab pull away, fighting back the urge to chase after it despite the driver’s lack of social skills and noxious B.O.  She had tried so hard to just avoid Vincent for the past couple of months but, all of that ended here as she reached the front door.  She grabbed the bronze knocker and tapped it two times on the door.  The barking, which had subsided, picked up again.  A smile played on her lips as she remembered how much Vincent adored his four-legged companion.  So much so, he had portraits of him in multiple locations.  She mentally chastised herself when she realized what she was doing.  She had been avoiding Karm for a reason.  She was here for one purpose and one purpose only: get the interview done and leave.
The door opened and she was pleasantly surprised when she saw who opened the door.  The red-haired man smiled enthusiastically at her as he gestured for her to come inside from the cold.
“Eugene!  I’m so glad to see you!” Paige expressed genuinely as she embraced Vincent’s employee.
“I was so happy to learn that you were coming!” Eugene replied clapping his hands together. “Vincent is just freshening up before dinner.  Let me show you to your room, Ms. Turner.”
“Thank you, Eugene.  I would appreciate that, it’s been a long day.” She stated as she shed off her winter coat and scarf and placed them in Eugene’s outstretched hands.
As Eugene hung up her belongings,Paige heard Esteban before she saw him slowly making his way towards her.  He gave little snorts as he tried to get to know her scent.  
“Esteban, assis.” Eugene said in a firm voice to the pug, who immediately sat down.  “ You can pet him if you’d like.  I don’t believe you’ve met Esteban before.  He is Vincent’s pride and joy.  He is also quite well behaved, when he feels like it.” The man stated with a soft laugh.
“So, you’re Esteban.” Paige said as she crouched down to the pug’s level and began to scratch behind his ears. “I’ve heard good things about you.” she told the dog as he opened his mouth allowing his tongue to hang out as he panted, clearly enjoying the attention.
After a moment of acquainting herself with the pug, she followed Eugene to her room.  The room was spacious yet cozy.  A queen sized bed with a antique looking quilt was at the center of the room.  In the corner, an arm chair was placed next to a bookshelf.
“There is no wifi here but you can plug your laptop directly into the internet via the telephone jack by the desk.  If you need assistance, I would be happy to help.”  Eugene explained.  
While inconvenient, Paige was not completely unfamiliar with the technological throwback.  She glanced at the clock;  Eugene told her to take her time making herself feel at home and he would come get her in a half hour for dinner.  Taking advantage of the time she had; Paige began to unpack.  She grabbed her laptop and placed it on the desk, letting out a relieved sigh that she remembered to pack her chargers with the correct adapters for American outlets. She just finished connecting her computer to the internet when she heard a knock at the door.
She didn’t realize that it had been a half hour already but, she figured Eugene must have finished dinner early.
“Come in Eugene!” Paige called still on her hands and knees under the desk, making sure the cable connecting her computer to the wall was secure.
She heard the door open and the sound of dress shoes on the wood floor, muffled once they reached the ornate area rug.
“Actually, I figured I would let Eugene finish up in the kitchen and that I would fetch you myself instead.”
Vincent’s voice deep and smooth was a shock when she had not been expecting it.  Paige, in her surprise, tried to stand up quickly but ended up hitting her head on the underside of the desk.
“Ouch!” Paige yelped as she held the back of her head as she got to her feet and turned to face Vincent.
“Are you okay? Would you like me to get you some ice?” Vincent asked, his eyes wide with concern.
His sincerity shocked Paige.  She figured he would laugh at her expense for being so clumsy, especially after she had denied his advances after their kiss.
“No, I’m fine.” Paige stated tersely.  “Thank you though...” she added after a minute, recognizing that she had no reason to be rude to the man.  It wasn’t his fault that she felt so awkward, after all.  
Although, it is your fault for being so damn attractive.  Must you look so good in a three piece suit?!  
“If you’re sure, Ms. Turner.” Vincent stated his eyes still searching to make sure she was in fact okay.  “Well, I wanted to welcome you and tell you to make yourself at home.  I apologize for being unavailable when you first arrived.”
“I got to meet Esteban in your absence, he’s quite adorable.”  Paige stated.
A small hint of a smile played on Vincent’s lips so briefly that Paige wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her, or a side effect of bashing her head so hard.
“Thank you for saying so, Ms. Turner.  I am very fond of my canine companion.”  Vincent responded.  A smirk formed and Paige knew the smile she had caught was real.  “Dinner is ready if you are.  You must be famished after your flight.”
“I am, thank you.” She sighed at her shortness with him.  This trip was going to be very painful if she didn’t learn to get over her awkwardness with Vincent.
Thankfully dinner went by without a hitch and, despite the pounding in her head after her incident with the desk, she actually… enjoyed herself.
Vincent was unwilling to talk business at the dinner table and after dinner her jetlag was catching up with her.  The two mutually decided that they would begin getting to work the next day.
Paige had changed in to her pajamas and was about to get into her bed when she heard the soft rap of knuckles against her door.
“Yes?” She called out while she took a makeup wipe to her face.
“Is it okay if I open the door?” Vincent’s voice resonated through the door.
“Umm, just a second...” Paige answered hastily tossing the used makeup wipe in the trash and hopping into bed and pulling up the covers.  She wasn’t prepared to have Vincent Karm see her in the flannel short shorts she was wearing to bed.   “Okay, all set.” she announced as she ran her hands over her hair, rolling her eyes at herself. When did she begin to care so much about how she looked in Vincent’s presence?
The door opened barely more than a crack and Vincent stuck his head in the opening.  “I just wanted to see if you needed anything before bed.” Vincent spoke softly.
Paige was about to answer when a tan blur came hurtling onto the bed to her.  Esteban circled twice then plopped down with a grunt.  
Vincent gaped for a second at the scene that just unraveled.
“Esteban!” he chastised the dog.  “I am so very sorry!  He is never like this with anyone…” Realizing the dog was paying him no attention, he questioned whether he should enter the room and physically remove the dog.
Paige let out a soft giggle.  After the long day she had the pug’s presence was welcome.
“It’s okay, Mr. K-” Paige began but was cut off.
“Please, call me Vincent.” He stated firmly, a trace of something Paige couldn’t identify in his voice; almost sadness.
“Okay, Vincent, but you have to call me Paige then.” She replied hoping that the room was dark enough that he couldn’t see the blush rising to her cheeks.   “And If it’s okay with you, I’d actually prefer that he stay.” she continued.
She laid a hand on the sleeping pug’s back.  Having Esteban there sharing a bed with her was nice.  It helped her feel more at home, as she was used to sharing her bed with Whiskey.  
“If you insist.  Did you need anything else?” Vincent asked, still perplexed over the odd behavior of his four legged companion.
“No, I have everything that I need,” She answered while trying to stifle a yawn.  “Goodnight, Vincent” she stated signaling he was free to go and that she was ready for bed.
He gave her a quick nod and pulled the door closed until the the latch clicked.
Vincent stared at the doorknob, mentally berating himself for being so hesitant and reserved.  His confident facade had faded and he half-wondered if this was how Raphael felt all the time.  It was uncomfortable to say the least.
He requested her in hopes of finding out whether or not the tightness he experienced in his chest was still there when he saw her.  A mere thought of her made his heart jump as he recalled how challenging she had been, protective of those she loved and cared for.  
Several months and an ocean apart had done nothing for the overwhelming intensity of what he felt for the woman on the other side of the door.
Who is here to do a job.  He reminded himself.  
It broke his heart to hear her call him what everyone else did, by his surname.  She used to call him Vincent and he never once asked her to do so.  That he had to ask her, after everything they had gone through, hurt and twisted in his gut like a knife.
He had seen the faint color in her cheeks when she asked for him to call her by her first name, in turn.  He should have just suffered through the annoyance of being called Mr. Karm if it meant she was comfortable.  
He found himself envious of his own dog, both because he wished he could be so open with affection and because Esteban was the one sleeping next to her.  Keeping her warm and safe.
He suddenly found himself longing to be the one next to her.  Vincent wondered what it would be like to wake up with his arms around her, her head on his chest as she slept.  To see her face at peace, something she deserved after the past few years.
She couldn’t know what he felt for her; he couldn’t allow her to find out.  Not yet, at least.  She was here to do what Raphael asked her to do. He couldn’t scare her off by letting her know that months, even years if he counted his time in prison, had done nothing to soothe the ache in his chest that came with every thought of her.
“Goodnight, Paige.” Vincent said softly to the door before heading to his own room to get ready for bed himself.
When Paige awoke she felt surprisingly refreshed.  While she was normally an early riser, waking up well before sunrise, the time on her phone revealed that it was almost noon.   She looked down at the bed to find that Esteban was no longer with her.  Eugene or Vincent must have retrieved him earlier in the morning to let him out and give him his breakfast.
She freshened herself up and dressed before she left her room to go find Vincent.  She wanted to get on with her job.  The faster she finished her article, the faster she could leave.  Then, maybe, she could fall asleep thinking of something other than Vincent Karm in bed only a few doors down from her.
Paige found Vincent in the living room, his eyes glued to his laptop, wired much the same way as hers for internet.  He was holding what smelled like coffee, steam wafting from the ceramic mug.
“Ah, you’re finally awake.”  He glanced at her before he took a sip from his mug, eyes scanning the screen again.
“That’s twice now, that I’ve left you waiting for me while I was unconscious.” Paige said, taking the offered cup and plate of food from Eugene, who silently slipped in and out of the room with ease.  She mouthed a thank you to the manservant as he left the room.
“Yes, well, hopefully this isn’t as...traumatic as the previous time.”  He said softly; if anyone from her time in Paris was aware of her suffering from her friend’s death, it was Vincent.
“I wouldn’t call that whole night traumatic.” She replied.
She kept her gaze firmly planted on her plate of food as she realized what she just said.  She stabbed a piece of egg with more force than she expected, the metal making a sound against the porcelain.
She was afraid.  Afraid to face whatever happened between them months ago, afraid of the feelings she harbored for the man who once tried to take over Paris.  The gut wrenching frustration with herself from earlier in the week came back but she was determined to push it aside.  She was here for one thing: his side of the events of the floods.
You were supposed to get here, do the interview, and leave.  No flirting. No awkwardness. But no, you had to go and screw that up, Paige.  Damn him.  Damn him for being...attractive and caring and a hell of a good kisser beneath that devilish persona.
Paige cleared her throat after a sip of coffee; it was probably one of the best homebrews she had, second only to Kat’s.  And the food was delicious, even for simple breakfast fare.
“What time did you want to start?  Is there a place you’re most comfortable?” She asked, eyes darting up just to see Vincent’s back to her, that he had shifted to face his computer again.
Thank goodness.  That meant she had a little time to hide the creeping flush across her cheeks.
“I was actually hoping we could take a walk.  Vermont this time of year is simply beautiful.”  He stated as he closed his laptop and turned to face her.  “If that is okay with you of course.” He added and something flickered in his eyes; hope.  
She was being hard on him, she realized; it was only fair for her to concede.  Plus, he was agreeing to do this interview.  Vincent, while used to being in the limelight, remained very private.  This interview was meant to be candid; he agreed to open up, to the readers yes, but primarily to Paige.  
“Sure, that would be fine.  I’ll go put on something warmer and grab my recorder.” She told him as she turned to head to the kitchen to place her dishes in the sink.
Once she was finished changing she met Vincent by the front door.  He was throwing an emerald scarf over his dress coat.  He was dressed impeccably as always despite the fact that they were going for a walk through the snow.  Paige noticed his choice in footwear; a pair of black leather Hermès boots.  If her time with TJ had taught her anything, it had taught her just how much he probably spent on those boots.  
“All set?” She asked as she began to realize for the first time this trip they would be completely alone together.
“Ready when you are.” Vincent answered simply.
The pair exited the cabin together the snow made soft crunching noises beneath their boots.  
It was pretty mild in temperature, at least for winter in North East America.  Paige had checked the weather forecast before her plane had taken off the day before and there was talk of a storm.  With the weather as temperate as it was, it didn’t seem possible for more than a light flurry.  Paige took her recorder out and pressed the red button.  She began asking some basic questions as she would with anyone to ease them into the more in-depth material she was looking for.
She continued to ask him questions; he pointed to various parts of the property while he answered.  Paige nearly had everything she needed for now.  She would work with what she got from the interview once she got back to her room.  After that, she would figure out where the gaps where and see what she needed to add.  At that moment, only one question was left for her to ask.
���What motivated you to even help save the city?” Paige began, looking over at Vincent when she asked the question. “ You clearly were trying to push boundaries the night I was arrested, considering you basically summoned me to your cell.  What possessed you to break out of prison to help?”
He inhaled, a little sharper than he probably meant to.  “One of those answers I can’t give.”
“On the record, then.” She specified.
“I couldn’t stand the idea of some base destroyer taking the city from me, from anyone.  Paris is the city of love, of light.  Of hope.  It was, and is, a refuge for artists, for musicians, for those who felt they didn’t belong elsewhere.”
He continued his train of thought and she waited until he finished before she turned off her recorder.
“And off the record?” She asked, her heart beating in her chest like a drum.  He clearly had something to hide and she would find out what.
His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, hesitating in his words.  A first for Vincent Karm.
“I couldn’t stand seeing you in agony, after that night.  I told myself I would find a way to help so you would never have to feel that pain again.” He replied with nothing but sincerity.
This was not something she had either expected or prepared for.  A silence lingered between the pair as she was at a loss for how to respond to this earnest expression.  
“So, why Vermont?” She asked for the sole purpose of changing the subject and breaking the awkward silence.  
“Honestly?” He asked as she looked at him expectantly, urging him to tell her.  “I have a weakness for maple syrup.”
Shocked by the utter simplicity of his answer Paige began to laugh, trying to cover her mouth to stifle herself.
“What?” Vincent said with a grin, amused by her laughter.  It had been awhile since he had seen her so at ease and carefree.  “Nothing compares to freshly tapped maple syrup!”
“Oh, so Vincent Karm has a sweet tooth, huh?” She asked teasingly, finally managing to get her laughter under control.
“That shouldn’t surprise you, considering the company I’m currently keeping.” He replied smoothly with a small grin making eye contact with her.
Yet again, the slightly awkward tension returned.  She knew her cheeks were turning pink but, whether it was from the cold or his compliment she couldn’t be sure.
Is he flirting with me? She thought as she hoped her blush wasn’t obvious.
“You know what my favorite part of winter is?” She asked as she stopped in her tracks to stick her gloved hands in the snow.
“What?” Vincent asked in reply, eyebrows raising slightly.
“This.” She stated as she pelted him with a snowball.  
His eyes widened as he realized what had just happened, that maybe he should have seen coming.  
“Paige…” He began.
“Yes?” She replied with a laugh.
“This is war.” He stated calmly as he bent down, forming a snowball of his own.
The snowballed arched, hitting Paige square in the shoulder, causing her to squeal in surprise.  It became an all out brawl, snowballs thrown back and forth between the pair.  Vincent’s deep chuckle mixed with Paige’s girlish laughter and shrieks of delight.
Paige felt a snowball hit her on the back of her neck and icy fragments were sent down the collar of her jacket.  She yelped against the cold on her flesh.
“Oh, you’re going down, Karm!” she cried as she dashed toward him.
As she neared the man, she stepped on a patch of ice hidden under a layer of snow.  She felt herself slipping and reached out for Vincent to steady herself.  She grabbed hold of Vincent’s arm but only managed to pull him down with her.  When they fell, he took the brunt of the impact, only to have her land on him.  They both stilled for a moment, realizing just how close their faces were to each other.
Paige felt her mouth go dry as Vincent took her hand placing it over his chest.  She felt his heart beating rapidly through his jacket and coat.  Her eyes locked on his, realizing this gesture was very unvincentlike.  It was unlike him to put himself in such a vulnerable position when he was so used to being in control.
Unable to maintain eye contact, her eyes drifted down to his lips, not that that was much better.  She knew he wanted to kiss her but she couldn’t let that happen.
“I want to but… I… I can’t do this again.” her voice barely above audible.
“Kiss me or be hurt again?” he asked, his voiced pained.
What if there isn’t a difference between the two.  There wasn’t with Raphael.  Paige thought to herself.  She was both scared that they had been so close to kissing and disappointed that she couldn’t allow herself to let it happen.
“...I don’t know.  But, when I do, I’ll tell you.” She replied her voice still soft.
She shifted off him and stood, brushing excess snow off of her before offering Vincent her hand.  It was the least she could do, considering she was the reason he fell in the first place.
They made it back to the cabin cold and wet from all the snow that they threw at each other.  The heat of the indoors warmed their cold skin as they both remove their outerwear.  
Paige excused herself to her room with the excuse of wanting to get some of her ideas down while they were still fresh.  As soon as she got to her room, she turned on her computer and set herself down to write.  All she could think about was Vincent, and not the things she needed for her piece.  
Like his emerald eyes and his lips, small but soft.  Or how she had never truly seen him smile until now.  Or laugh without a darker meaning behind his words.  This was a different side of him, the man beneath the metaphors and sinister intent.  A man who owned a house in Vermont strictly because of his taste for maple syrup.
That’s why he wanted me to do this interview.  Who else but the person he helped to capture an image other than the one he’s known for?
Paige opened her work document and set about transcribing her audio files.  
Vincent watched Paige disappear into her room before noticing Esteban in an armchair, the pug watching him in turn.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Vincent muttered.  
Esteban gave a whine, his tail wagging lazily from side to side.
“She needs her space, you can cuddle with her later.”  Vincent walked over and scratched the dog behind his ear.  
His clothes still held the chill from outside but that chill had followed them inside and clung to the air.  Had he been too forward?  He knew she still hurt from Raphael, from going too fast too quickly only to find out his jealous streak ran far deeper than she originally thought.
It hurt, to hear her words.  That she would deny herself what she wanted.  What they both wanted.  But she needed to decide that for herself, in time.
He hadn’t forgotten how her light brown hair smelled, how beautiful the freckles across her nose were, or how endearing the flush across her cheeks could be.  But for her to be so close, in that moment, and not be able to…
Vincent let out a breath through his nose and cast his gaze back down the hall.  She would be busy for the rest of the day and it was probably best if he let her be.
A shower would do him good.  He needed a clearer head.  Maybe hot water would at least remove the chill he couldn’t seem to get rid of.
He left a trail of clothes behind him after he closed his bedroom door and made his way to the bathroom.  The tile was warm under his feet; heated floors were a necessity in such a climate.
He hissed when he entered the shower, finding the water to be too hot.  Or, maybe he was just too cold.
It wasn’t like him to be so...open with his intentions, at least with most people.  Then again, Paige wasn’t “most people” and she often demanded for him to be straight with her.  She did from the start.  She had earned that much from him, certainly.  
She earned my bloody heart without even trying.  Vincent thought darkly.
Vincent began washing his hair, his thoughts of earlier coming back.  She reached for him rather than flail helplessly and he hadn’t wanted her to fall; he was hoping they wouldn’t fall at all.
He expected to catch her, to hold her against him for the briefest of moments before letting her go.  He fell with her instead.  It wouldn’t do for her to hurt herself or, worse, have a concussion.  It was purely instinctive for him to hold her so he took most of the impact.  He doubted he would have done it a few years ago.  
He thought of Paige again, her laugh as she threw a snowball at him, her hazel eyes glancing down at his lips, her weight on him.  He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to press his lips to her neck, to her warm skin, and show her that the pain she seemed to anticipate would never come.  Not if he could help it.  
He swallowed hard as he rinsed his hair.  He thought back to the night they first kissed.  She straddled him, grabbed him by his tie, and kissed him hard and long and sudden.  Very few had ever gained the upper hand with him so easily.  He was used to women throwing themselves at him but this...was something else entirely.  It was, for the first time in a long time, genuine in its passion.
Or so he hoped.
He remembered how close they were that night, how close they had been just under an hour ago.
Vincent finished the rest of his normal routine before he shut off the water and dried off.  He wrapped the towel around his waist as he went to peruse his closet for a clean set of clothes.  Once he was dressed, he returned to the living room to pick up where he left off on his emails.
Paige ate dinner quickly, barely making eye contact with anyone before dashing back into her room.  She felt awkward, watched, and she didn’t mean to be so closed off; the relationship of an interview went both ways.  But every time she even thought about approaching Vincent again, fear gripped her gut and she was left resorting to small talk and no eye contact.
The following morning, she curled up on the couch in the living room.  Esteban was on her bed down the hall last she knew, enthusiastically chewing a well-loved banana toy.  Eugene and Vincent were discussing something near the study; the conversation darted between English and French, and she distantly wondered if they did that in Paris as well.
Paige skimmed what she had so far of the interview, catching snippets about weather and generators and gasoline.  She glanced out the window to see Eugene placing several orange gasoline containers in the trunk of the black sedan warming up.  She switched to her internet browser to check the forecast; the storm had two paths, it seemed, but the pattern was unpredictable and no one wanted to make a call, it seemed.
She went back to working on the interview, forcing her eyes to focus on the screen as she heard soft footsteps pass by on the way to the kitchen.  He had paused and it took everything in her to not turn her head and look at him.  To get up from the couch and brush her lips over his, to give in to everything they both wanted.
She still didn’t have an answer for him.
The wind started to pick up just as an emergency weather alert went off on her phone.  The notification stated the storm predicted to hit tomorrow evening had gained strength and had shifted directly towards the area where they were staying.  
Paige felt nerves begin to stir in her stomach as she looked out the window realizing how little she could make out through the falling snow.  She worried about Eugene, who had left a little under an hour ago with four bright orange jugs to get gas for the generators in the event the cabin lost power.  It was getting dark and the wind was whipping the snow around creating large drifts outside of the windows in Paige’s room.  
Esteban, who was curled up at the foot of her bed for most of the afternoon had woken up from a nap.  His ears went back as he let out a few soft whines; he was clearly not a fan of the storm.
You and me both little guy. Paige thought as she rubbed the dog behind the ears and reciting calming incantations in efforts to soothe him.
The lights flickered briefly before the power went out all together.  
Paige gave a yelp in surprise as the sudden shift to darkness.  She felt Esteban shift beneath her touch.  Paige pulled her phone out of her pocket the light providing only enough illumination to see directly in front of her and nothing else.
“It’s okay Esteban.  You’re a good boy; everything is okay.” She whispered.
“Paige?”  Vincents voice echoed down the hallway.  “Are you alright?”
Vincent arrived in the doorway holding a flashlight, which was a lot more useful than her phone.
“Yes, just a little startled that’s all.  I thought the generators were supposed to kick in only a few seconds after the power went out…” She began but trailed off.
“They are.  They must have had even less gas than Eugene and I had expected.” He replied.
“Shouldn’t Eugene be back by now?  Do you think he’s stuck in the storm?” Paige felt panic rise in her gut.  She already lost someone dear to her; she couldn’t bare to see any of her other friend’s get hurt.
“I was on the phone with Eugene when the power cut out.  The storm hit town before it came here and they closed the roads.  Eugene made it to a hotel but even if the roads were open it wouldn’t be safe for him to drive.” Vincent stated in a calm voice.
“As long as Eugene is safe.  I guess the heaters won’t be working with no power, huh.”  It was more of a statement that she was hoping Vincent corrected her on rather than a question.
“No, they won’t.  But I will get a fire going in the front room and there are plenty of blankets.”
Paige gave a weak nod, wishing she wasn’t as anxious as she was.
“I’ll get the fire started.  I brought you a flashlight, would you mind bringing some blankets for us?”
“Yes, of course, I can do that.”  Paige responded, taking the flashlight Vincent held out for her.
She gathered the quilt from her bed and a few more she found in the trunk at the foot of the bed.  The case closed with a sudden thud after she pulled out the covers, startling her for a moment.  Paige carefully made her way down the hall and into the living room, arms filled with blankets and flashlight balancing precariously atop the pile.
In less than an hour, the pair was sitting in front of a fire, each wrapped in their own blanket.  Had the situation not been as stress inducing as it was, Paige actually would have enjoyed this.
Despite the warmth that the blankets and fire provided, a chill ran through Paige and she wasn’t entirely sure it was completely due to being cold.  Her involuntary shiver caught Vincent’s attention.
“Are you still cold?” Vincent asked with genuine concern.
“Only a little but the fire is very nice, it helps.” Paige stated hoping he accepted the answer without further questioning.
Vincent, who was sitting next to her, moved closer to her.  Their arms were now resting against each other.  “Is this okay?” Vincent asked gently.
Paige nodded in reply as she continued watching the fire.
“I...I’m sorry about before, by the way.  And about my behavior this whole trip.  I’ve been cold toward you and it was unnecessary.  The truth is I’m scared.  Terrified really.”
“I terrify you?” Vincent replied maintaining his calm but clearly hurt by her confession.
“No, no, you don’t terrify me!  I’m just not sure I can handle getting hurt again…When I was with Raphael…” she trailed off but Vincent let her collect herself without interupting.  When she found her words, she continued. “When I was with Raphael, I really thought I was happy...for a while.  Until I realized that I was probably the farthest thing from happy I had ever been, up until Kat died that is.”
“Paige, you’re shivering, let me get you another blanket-”  Vincent rose to grab another blanket from the pile.
“No!” She reacted, reaching out and grabbing his hand, startling the man “I’m sorry, please, don’t leave. We’ll just sit closer if that’s okay.”
Vincent sat back down and Paige shifted, instead positioning herself between his legs with her back against his chest.  She could feel the warmth emanating from his body, feel his heart beating hard against her back, and she felt his breath hitch as his arms wrapped around her waist tentatively.
“Okay?” He asked.
“Warmer already.” She replied; it was the furthest thing from a lie.  She continued now that she was warmer, “I should have listened to your warnings about him… you are the only one who ever told me the truth about Raphael.  I guess now would be a good time to say ‘I told you so’”
“Paige, I would never say that to you.  Especially over something that has so deeply affected you.” He said sternly. “And, you don’t have to apologize.  You came here to do a job and I am sorry if I complicated things for you.  I have been wanting to kiss you from the moment you arrived, and yesterday I realized I pushed the boundaries farther than I should have.”
It was at Vincent’s apology that caused her to realize Raphael was the exception, not the rule.  Yes, he hurt her, but that didn’t mean Vincent would hurt her.  She was so upset at Raphael for holding her back in their relationship and now she wanted something, wanted Vincent, and she was holding herself back.  She was no longer with Raphael; if she wanted something, she could go for it.  Should go for it.
“You have nothing to apologize for either, but, thank you.” She rotated slightly so she was sitting slightly sideways toward him, one leg bent, her knee resting near his. “I’m definitely warmer sitting like this.  But, there is one part of me that’s still cold.  My lips.  Can you help me warm them?”  
Vincent leaned in, allowing her to come in the rest of the way.  As she felt his lips against hers she knew that one night was not just a fluke.  Kissing Vincent was like no other kiss she ever experienced.  The effects of the kiss radiated throughout her entire body sending warmth to every inch of her despite how frigid the room was.  Their kisses became deeper and more desperate until they ended up in a position similar to when they fell on the ice.  Vincent allowed her to be on top of him; be in control, set the pace.  Eventually they both fell asleep, a tangle of blankets and limbs intertwined.
Paige woke up warm despite the coldness of the room.  Vincent, still asleep, was holding her close to him; keeping her warm.  The weight of his arms around her made secure, happy.  A rush of emotions engulfed her at all she had shared with Vincent last night both emotionally and physically.  Memories of the kisses they shared last night flooded back to her.  
Paige smiled, realizing she had been brave enough to follow through with all of the desires she had regarding Vincent.  Well, not all of them.  A blush spread across her cheeks thinking about the one thing they hadn’t done last night.  Neither of them had wanted to move too fast.  However, the desire was there last night and it was back again now.  Especially with her body so close to his, feeling him pressed up against her.  His morning condition was of little help, which she noticed when she shifted her thigh slightly.  She watched him as he slept.   His hair was tousled from sleep and she realized she had never seen him look more peaceful or relaxed.
The wind was still pretty strong from what she could hear and she was so nice and warm.  She closed her eyes and let herself drift back off to sleep; a pleasure she more often than not denied herself.  This morning though, wrapped in Vincent’s arms, she allowed herself this small pleasure.    
Vincent woke with a start.  It took him a moment to wake up and realize that he was finally able to do what he only was able to imagine.  He was able to wake up with Paige in his arms.  He would be lying if he hadn’t wanted this all along when he first learned City of Love: Paris wanted an interview but, after the way Paige acted after their snowball fight lead him to believe this would never happen.  He was extremely glad that he was wrong, which was a first for him.  
My God, she’s beautiful.  He thought to himself as he ever so lightly brushed a strand of her hair away from her face tucking it behind her ear.  
As much as he hated the idea, he had to disentangle himself from her and get up.  He needed to check on Esteban and see if Eugene had tried to get in contact with him at all.  Cell service was not very good; texting was possible but took awhile.  
He pressed a kiss to Paige’s forehead before peeling back the covers.  He was careful not to wake her, replacing the covers so she wouldn’t get cold.  As he went about his business, his mind kept playing last night’s events.  He was hardly complaining; in fact he wouldn’t mind a repeat incident once Paige woke up.  To hear her open up to him and realize that she trusted him enough to let herself be vulnerable with him was… everything.  
Vincent fired off a text to Eugene, hoping his message would send before his phone battery died.  He placed the phone near the window to make the best of the poor service, only made worse by the storm.
On a positive note, the wind had begun to die down.  Snow was still falling but not with the intensity as it had been throughout the night.
Vincent walked into the study and turned on his laptop.  It had been charging when the power went out; it still had a decent charge left to it and because it was wired directly to the phone jack, he still had internet access until the computer died.  The joys of archaic American technology.  He tried to check the weather but the only updates were claiming the storm was dying down.
He was startled as Paige knocked on the door frame.  She was wrapped in one of the thick fleece blankets they had slept with and she held a mug in each hand.  He could see steam rising from each.
“I put the kettle over the fire to heat the milk.  I’m sure it’s not the best quality but it’s warm.”  She said as she offered a mug of steaming hot chocolate to him.
Vincent took the mug from her and took a deep sip, savoring the warmth of the beverage.
“It’s too cold in here.  Come back in front of the fire with me?”  Paige asked a hint of shyness in her voice.  As if despite all that they shared last night there was still a part of her that was afraid he would turn her down.
Vincent shut his computer and grabbed Paige’s free hand in his bringing it up to his lips to brush light kisses over her knuckles.  Hand in hand they walked back in front of the fire and wrapped themselves in each other as they watched the snow fall outside the window.
“Beautiful.” Paige stated as she was captivated by the wintery wonderland outside.
“Yes, beautiful.” Vincent replied, looking only at Paige.
Paige turn to look at Vincent, a blush rising to her cheeks.  She opened her mouth to speak but, before she could the lights flickered on.
“The power’s on!” She squealed in excitement as she wrapped her arms around Vincent’s neck.
“And look who’s back.” Vincent stated as he held Paige with one arm the other pointing to the window.  Paige followed his arm to the view of the driveway, a black sedan visible on the crisp white snow.
Esteban barked, running in a circle before jumping onto the nearest piece of furniture to look out the window.  His tail wagged as he caught sight of Eugene getting out of the car.
Paige turned to place a kiss on Vincent’s cheek once Eugene was hidden by the trunk of the car for a moment and untangled herself from his arms, as much as she didn’t want to.  “I’m going to make breakfast, I’m sure he’s exhausted.”  
Vincent hummed an agreement and let her go, scooping up Esteban moments later.  He turned and watched Paige head into the kitchen as he scratched the pug behind his ears, a faint smile on his lips.
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chiamatemefla · 6 years
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Ciao, per favore non smettere di scrivere ff per il fandom MetaMoro. Io ti adoro... basta leggere le didascalie che fai per le foto che pubblichiamo qui tutti i giorni. Ogni volta che mi arriva una notifica da parte tua corro a leggere cosa ti sei inventata perché ci rido su le ore intere. Credo che se tu ricevi pochi kudos/commenti sia dato semplicemente dal fatto che su Tumblr non siamo più di 30 persone in tutto secondo me hahah
Scusa se rispondo ora ma, oh, solito problema con la tendinite e le mani che diventano gelatina se provo a scrivere papiri troppo lunghi.
Ammetto le mie colpe: posso provare quanto voglio a non scrivere tanto, in un modo o nell’altro, ci ricasco perché è l’unico modo in cui so esternare quel che provo, a parole rimango sempre un po’ scema e mi viene proprio difficile, meglio fare le battute o sembrare l’automa freddo che tutti credono io sia. Quindi quando dico “BASTA, MOLLO TUTTO” so per certo che non lo farò e lo urlo più per bisogno di convincermi che di convincere chiunque altro.
Per le didascalie sceme TI RINGRAZIO. Ho deciso che faccio come Stefano Guerrera: lui ha fatto i sordi ch’i quadri, io farò i sordi (ma quali?) co’ le foto dell’outfit improbbbabbbili de Ermal Meta. Ce sta. Ho solo paura che un giorno mi becchi e magari mi diverto meno. Gli ho pur sempre detto che si veste come il divano di mia nonna.
SULLE FANFICTION POTREI RANTARE PER TIPO DUE SETTIMANE, mi dispiace, chiamatemi Madama Bitter. 
Premetto: non credo nella cosa del “è perché nel fandom siamo 30″, mi disp, non credo sia quella la causa.
E, non so, probabilmente qualche mia fanfiction tu l’hai anche letta: ne ho pubblicate tre, sotto “falso nome” perché inizialmente mi “”vergognavo”” di spammare al mondo la cosa che mi faccio i filmini da 5k di parole su due OMMINI veramente esistenti, e forse le hai pure lette. E forse ti son piaciute o forse no ma, ecco, io quello che chiedo sempre sono i feedback (e sarà scemo oppure no ma, cioè, se io non so cosa faccio bene e cosa faccio male /in che modo/ posso darti contenuti che magari ti piacciono? Spiegatemelo, vi prego). L’accoglienza alle mie ff, comunque, è stata buona ma sempre vagamente “tiepida”. Non è che c’è gente che aspetta alla porta qualcosa di mio, per dire, cosa che mi fa piacere perché /davvero/ scrivo di nascosto alle due di notte ed avere pure la pressione addosso farebbe schifo ma, allo stesso tempo, un po’ demoralizza. Riuscire a non farsi apprezzare pienamente neanche in un microfandom un po’ stuzzica il mio orgoglio (e, con “stuzzica” intendo: ferisce a morte). Ché in fandom più grandi posso dire: “è colpa dei numeri in cui la mia storia di perde”, qui non ho scusa alcuna (a parte, forse, l’essere noiosa o non avere davvero niente oltre allo stile che, pare, sia abbastanza buono).
Ieri ho voluto fare una prova ed ho pubblicato 1500 parole di vergogna copia-incollate da una chat con una mia amica (ovvero: colei che mi ha fatto cadere nel vortice) e, vi giuro, in meno di 24 ore ha raggiunto lo stesso numero di kudos di una storia su cui ho sboccato sangue per 10 giorni. La seconda è effettivamente bella, la prima è una stronzata self indulgent eppure È PIACIUTA TANTO QUANTO L’ALTRA e so che non capisci il senso della mia meraviglia ma…siamo lì.
Stavo scrivendo una cosa a capitoli ma non la sto continuando perché il secondo ha avuto ricezione quasi nulla e allora, boh, forse la gente non vuole leggerla e non mi ci sprosciutto chissà quanto (come ripeto: ho poco tempo e voglio dare a quella poca gente che mi segue qualcosa che le piaccia, non la spammo certo con roba di cui non può fregargliene di meno).
E manco so cosa sto dicendo, so solo che un po’ mi demoralizza la cosa perché tutti a dirmi BRAVONA FLA’ ma poi quando vai a strigne bravona ‘npar de palle.
(Comunque sto problema con la validation ce l’ho anche irl che se la gente non mi dice che va bene così io smetto di fare le cose perché sono insicura(TM) e non so giudicare oggettivamente né il mio lavoro né tante altre cose. E vorrei far capire che a me basterebbe anche un “Va bene così”, seriamente, tre parole ma manco quelle e allora boh continuo a pensare di sbagliare io ma sbagliare pure /di brutto/)
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For Your Consideration III
A business card. A train ride. A conversation. None of it was what she expected. Vincent Karm x OC, alternate universe with RITD elements. Darker, gray morality. Available on AO3 here.
Richard did call. In fact, he called just as she was arriving back at her hotel after dinner with Vincent. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow when she silenced her phone and pushed the call to voicemail. She waited on her ex-fiancé hand and foot; Richard could wait five minutes for her to finish her own business.
She wasn’t about to take that call in front of Vincent. But Richard called again and again, sent text after text. Her phone never went back to sleep. Her heart jolted and her stomach twisted as she froze in the lobby. Sophia knew better than to cry by now. It would solve nothing. Her hands shook.
Upon seeing her state, Vincent excused himself to the bar and mentioned he would wait exactly one hour. She stopped typing mid-response to Richard and almost asked if he was sure but stopped herself when she felt the piercing stare. Someone like Vincent Karm was always sure, what a stupid question to even consider. Sophia steeled herself, drawing what little power she could from Vincent’s own certainty, and retreated to the privacy of her room.
It was messier than she wanted it to be. There were tears, and not just from her. Whether they were real or attempts at manipulation, she neither knew nor cared. All of it was still painful.
Even more so to hear the voice in the background.
In the end, it came down to an agreement to contact lawyers to sort through their pre-nuptial agreement, for Sophia to take care of wedding vendors, Richard to deal with the landlord, and for him to keep the ring she so unceremoniously dropped in his glass. After all, the warranty was voided.
Sophia said she hoped it didn’t weigh down another’s hand the way it held down her own.
Neat and tidy.
Nothing like their actual relationship.
Sophia splashed cold water on her face, redid what makeup she needed to, and returned to the bar downstairs with foggy thoughts. She took a deep breath and located her dinner companion, who had taken a table tucked into a corner.
It was time to figure out her next steps.
____________________
Vincent didn’t seem to drink. In fact, he seemed to enjoy running his finger down the edge of his cognac glass than actually taking a sip. But he anticipated she would, according to the knit in his brow when she asked the bartender for a glass of water and a strong cup of coffee.
“You said there were other elements to this…arrangement,” Sophia said, fixing her coffee after the other maître de on shift placed her drinks in front of her.
Green eyes shot a look at her phone, laid face up on the table, and she pressed the home button, revealing the phone to be turned off.
“As I mentioned, I will buy the exclusivity on your story. This will include the purchase of other publications’ stories to suppress and ultimately control that exclusivity, a venture that will take considerable money and time. It is a practice that many of your own media companies follow.”
Vincent leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers towards her.
“Be my private art consultant in New York.”
Sophia lifted the white cup to her lips and then paused. Had she heard that correctly? He wasn’t even asking her, but telling her to take a job for him, from him?
“I’m sorry?” She asked, looking at him expectantly as she took a scalping sip.
Strong but just barely. A passable effort. They likely only made the coffee to mix it with Jameson.
Vincent let out a soft sound of amusement through his nose and reached for his glass. He swirled the dark amber liquid with an easy movement of his wrist, and then finally took a sip. He marveled at the color for a moment before returning his attention to her.
As if he finally deemed her worthy of his attention again. Or perhaps she was reading too much into it, her call with Richard left her nerves raw.
“Given I happened to not only find the artwork you chose to be an exquisite piece of postmodernism but that your explanation sold me on the symbolism, it would seem there may be…another opportunity. I’ve long considered hiring a private art consultant, at least for New York. The flight is long and I have found auction houses to be unreliable in this particular area.”
When she didn’t reply, he continued.
“Be my private art consultant here. You do, after all, need a way to establish a way to live now that you’ve cast yourself into the cold.”
He was right but he didn’t need to sound so holier than thou about it. She had a resume and experience; she could job hunt on her own. In many cases, her face would be enough for a gallery receptionist or assistant; she wasn’t model-thin but she was practiced. The commute from Montclair would suck, if she settled in with her parents again, but it was something. Karm’s offer wouldn’t be the only one.
Especially when she didn’t have a description, pay, or whether she would have health insurance. She was almost aged-out of the eligibility to be on her parents’ policy…
The to-do pile in her head kept growing and she took another sip of coffee to hide her panic.
“Consultant implies an independent contractor. That places the burden of health insurance and other benefits on me. The American system is hardly modern; the pay would have to compensate that cost if I’m not offered health insurance through employment.”
Vincent cocked his head. “You don’t have a centralized healthcare system?”
“No. It only passed earlier this year and even then, it’s highly political and subject to be gutted at any time. I’m almost twenty-six, I won’t be eligible to be on my parents’ policy, either. Whatever you offer, it needs to include insurance or the cost of it so I can pay for it myself.”
He took another sip of cognac, his lips twitching into a smile that almost crinkled his eyes.
“What?” Sophia asked.
“Just be sure to direct your negotiations skills to Mr. Ingram as well. You will have what you need.”
He quoted a salary, along with additional considerations, that almost made her spit out her coffee.
“Judging by your reaction, I assume that covers that, Ms. Cousland?”
Finding her voice, she managed, “Perfectly.”
“Good. This brings me to my conditional offer. Bring me evidence of dear Richard’s infidelity by the end of the month and I’ll cover the costs of the graduate school of your choice.”
She felt as if someone stole the very air from her lungs. Her original plan had been to attend a Master’s program in DC. But that was quickly squashed by her engagement, by Richard’s erosion of her passion and drive for anything other than whatever she was meant to be for him. Suddenly, studying for the GRE exam was almost impossible and she couldn’t plan a wedding and send in applications. Besides, Richard mocked, did she really want to go back to school only for people to harass her, given their social situation?
Richard stole more from her than she cared to think about.
And here it was, staring her in the face.
For the low, low price of handing over private records. Records belonging to the supposed love of her life who, for the better half of several years, had been sharing a bed elsewhere.
After all, if Vincent was buying exclusivity, he would need the evidence to back it up, prevent it from falling into the hands of others so easily. That made sense. And Richard deserved it for the pain he caused her, physically and emotionally.
“Of course, that’s only under the assumption you want to continue your education. A graduate degree is almost certainly a requirement for many positions now, isn’t it, given the state of the job market?”
He really didn’t need to remind her of that, either.
“What kind of evidence?” Sophia asked at last.
Vincent shrugged, bored by her question.
“Anything that will hammer the nails into the proverbial coffin. Records, photos, things that would be impossible to mistake for anything except what they truly are now that the picture has been revealed. In this kind of situation, I need to consolidate as much evidence as possible for the sake of leverage. You strike me the type to, despite everything, not strike back. Aren’t you tired of rolling over, of keeping the peace, Ms. Cousland? Why not take the lesser evil and gain a leg up?”
It was the ultimate way of getting everything back. A new job, diving back into everything as if she never left. Let her revenge be her success, her freedom, not in the personal vendetta. Something to focus on for after the dust settled.
She nodded, the warmth from the drink in her hands not reaching beyond her palms. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected from this arrangement, in hindsight, but there was no looking back now. Vincent knew she wouldn’t refuse such an offer; not even he could be oblivious to the rising cost of education in the States.
“You’ll have your evidence,” she said at last.
“Excellent. I will have the papers drawn up for the rest of it,” Vincent finished what little was left of his drink.
He slid a large bill under the glass (surely his drink didn’t cost that much?) and rose to button his jacket. Blue clashed with green. Her patience was frayed to its last thread.
“Do try to get some sleep, Ms. Cousland. You’ll do no one any favors if your health suffers. I’ll be in touch.”
He left without another word.
She downed the water, abandoning the coffee altogether. After settling her tab, Sophia returned to the cramped but peaceful room. So far, she managed to hide most, if not all, of her frustration from the past twenty-four hours. Save the single moment earlier.
The tempest kept at bay finally broke through. She was finally alone with her thoughts, her chest constricting in agony. The weight of what she found, what she’d done, finally crashed upon her, slamming into her like a tidal wave.
She fell asleep with the reminder that she needed to either develop the strength to do bold things, or resign herself to suffering.
Sink or swim.
And she was tired of sinking.
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You're a Mean One, Mr. Karm - 1/3
Exactly what it sounds like. Takes place somewhere in Season 1, technically, doesn't follow much of a canon, borders crack!fic territory.
Christmas.
Vincent hated Christmas.
So why was Eugene always stuck organizing the tree decorating in the lobby of Karm International? To say nothing about the decorations that Karm hung in his homes both in Paris and in the countryside?
The man went out of his way to force employees to work on Christmas, regardless of travel plans, and never appeared at any of the Christmas parties except to plaster on a smile and thank a room full of people he never met for all of their hard work, managing to twist it into higher goals, higher revenue streams, and a more productive upcoming year.
He couldn’t have been more tone-deaf if he tried.
Eugene winced when he entered Vincent’s office suite later that day. The last time mistletoe was hung outside of his office door, there was a lawsuit, and a new policy in place about workplace relationships. He gestured to the first assistant, reminding her to take it down.
“Oh, Eugene, don’t be a buzzkill,” Marion crooned as she walked in. “Vincent won’t even notice.”
“Yes, he will,” Eugene insisted. “He notices everything.”
Vincent stormed through not twenty seconds later, tossing his overcoat and sunglasses on the second assistant’s desk.
“Eugene, remove that godforsaken parsley hanging above the door before I gut you like a fish.”
“Right away, Vincent.”
Eugene glared at Marion. I told you so.
“Crustacean, you wanted to see me?” Vincent called.
Marion’s face turned as red as her dress as she walked into the office and closed the door. Eugene took the proffered hammer and ripped the nail out of the wall, the mistletoe falling to the floor.
This was going to be a long, long December.
___________________________
The editorial meeting adjourned unceremoniously, leaving behind only Editor-in-Chief Raphael Laurent and the magazine’s newest (American) hire, one Sophia Cousland. Between them was the incredibly awkward tension that only came with feelings that were incredibly obvious and more than platonic and incredibly ignored for the sake of professionalism.
The conference room felt like a fish tank.
Everyone knew Raphael doted on her and everyone knew she would turn him down if he ever asked.
It kept the lunchroom betting pool and productivity active. If he never asked, he could never be let down, and he couldn’t be a gray cloud hanging over the office that resulted in Louise screaming at people to do their job.
Something she did regardless, but she didn’t need more reasons to do it.
“There might be a chance to check in on Vincent Karm and see if he’s made any progress on this whole affair,” Raphael said as the conference room door finally closed.
Sophia inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the ramblings that only came with a strong rivalry and her own wandering mind that couldn’t help but think suits looked sharper than jeans and a tucked button-down.
It had been months since Vincent Karm reared his head, since anything regarding the Heloise riddle cropped up. Raphael kept her on the payroll as backup after kicking Marion to the curb, feeding her column articles and trying to prevent her from Americanizing the magazine too much. Many speculated he did it for other reasons and she wished they wouldn’t; she came from a prestigious newspaper back home, spent years working on Vanity Fair investigative pieces. She knew her shit.
It was what made the entire thing with Raphael all the more frustrating. And her infatuation with one Vincent Karm of Karm International all the more embarrassing. She exposed men like him, she didn’t flirt with them in opera houses, enticed by green eyes and finely tailored suits.
Her boss couldn’t find out. It was a passing phase.
She said that about her bisexuality though and look where that got her…
Raphael was waiting for a response when she glanced in his direction and she realized that, if he had been speaking, she hadn’t heard him.
“Doesn’t he have a Christmas party every year?” Sophia asked. “I heard everyone is mandated to go but absolutely hates it.”
“That’s why it’s the perfect opportunity. No one will be happy, everyone will be drinking,” Raphael’s enthusiasm was instant, as if he’d had three cups of coffee. “We can get some very nice leads just by walking the crowd. And…it’s a chance to embarrass the poor sod with you singing a song dedicated to him.”
From a stack of papers, Raphael produced a single sheet; handwritten, as was his way.
Sophia’s eyes narrowed until she got half-way through. “Are you writing a parody of…?”
“I am. It fits. He puts Ebeneezer Scrooge to shame.”
“This isn’t what I was hired for, Raphael.”
Puppy eyes. Always the puppy eyes with him. Vincent would never.
And Vincent would never have a shred of anything in his heart for her after this, if she followed through.
Raphael took her hands in his, appearing almost earnest in his pleas.
“But it’s what he deserves for almost succeeding in buying us out. Come on, the man is cruel, unnecessarily so. A jab between rivals, that’s all this is. It’ll be fun.”
Yeah, that’s what they said about world wars and frat parties…
Sophia sighed, pushing away her less than professional desires aside. Raphael was the one paying her.
“It’s not ethical at all. I’ll lose a lot of credibility, Raphael.”
“We’ll throw you in a wig, he’ll never know. The man has notoriously bad vision he refuses to have corrected.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“This has been years in the making, Ms. Sophia. Please. Help me exact revenge on the man who almost took everything.”
Why do I get the feeling he wants to say, ‘from us’?
After a moment, Sophia relented. “Fine. But I pick the get-up.”
Raphael’s shoulders fell a fraction of an inch.
“You’re lucky I grew up with Dr. Suess and know this song by heart.”
She folded the lyrics up and tucked them away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her heart as she left the conference room. She tried even harder to pretend she didn’t see the obvious jig Raphael danced at her agreement.
Just what had she gotten herself into?
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Vergissmeinnicht VI
It was just one night. It wasn’t meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn’t expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn’t make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Chapter also on AO3.
Monday arrived unceremoniously. The sun still rose, dogs still barked, and she still woke up with a furry companion curled near her face.
Sophia needed to remember to kick the cat out before going to bed.
She did a test trip of her commute yesterday afternoon after she returned from Vincent’s, just to iron out details. She had, of course, showered and changed, before spending the rest of the day grocery shopping, cooking, and shoving her suitcases under her bed, but even that couldn’t get rid of the guilt.
Kat’s eagerness for details didn’t help. Sophia didn’t want to think about the man she left behind, about his remarkable touch, piercing eyes, skilled tongue, and his majestic…
Her best friend only fed the gut-wrenching guilt.
“You didn’t even leave a note?” Kat screeched. “The man gives you like seven orgasms and you ditch him? Don’t even bother to leave your phone number?”
“With what, Kat? I was supposed to dig through the drawers of a multi-millionaire to find a pen and paper? Do you know how rude that would have been?”
“Walking out on him was rude! You didn’t even get his last name!”
“You’re only upset because I went home with someone who clearly has his life together unlike the man-child you insist you’re changing.”
Her commute to the office was initially jarring this morning but unremarkable. Most of it was spent wondering why she wanted to live this far from her family and other friends, live with Kat, endure all of this just for a job.
It wasn’t until she entered the building, took the elevator, and recognized faces from her interviews that her weekend washed away like sidewalk chalk in the rain. She was already up to speed on project schedules (she lost a bit of sleep over it but so what?) and it was great to put names to faces.
The office itself consisted of the entire top floor of a Haussman building, the center of the sloped roof sporting panes of glass and every exterior wall displaying a view of Paris that rivaled the one she saw from her first night. Most of the workspace was an open-floor layout, with a few select offices for senior writers and higher management.
The CEO’s suite was well-defined by a set of glass doors at the end of the hall, leading into a darkened space.
She was, in fact, a senior writer. Which meant an office for her, not a cubicle
Her colleague and fellow writer, Marion Valette, was just as warm and welcoming as she remembered but not without her standard dramatic flair. Sophia expected coolness, a dislike of her presence, and only received it from some of the designers who were just beginning to arrange layouts for a meeting later in the week.
Otherwise, she felt almost at home.
The editor in chief and CEO would give her first assignment, Marion mentioned, before handing her a folder with a copy of the office floor plan with names and extensions, as well as her paperwork for employee programs and other things.
“Our weekly staff meeting for deadlines and updates is before lunch,” Marion said on her way out. “I’ll come get you and we’ll head over together.”
Until then, she could settle in, make a list of supplies she needed, and sort out any IT issues.
Easy.
The office itself was small but not without a nice window. Sophia set up her laptop and charger, whipped out what few supplies she picked up yesterday, and got started on her human resources papers. A frantic knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts. Marion, juggling her laptop with a cell phone between her ear and shoulder, waved her free hand at Sophia and mouthed ‘Viens, come on.’
Sophia freed her laptop from its charger and grabbed a notebook and pen before following Marion. The conversation was rushed, as frantic as her pace despite her four-inch heels. As soon as the call was over, she muttered something that Sophia didn’t want to translate.
“That was Monsiuer Karm. A major work just went up for auction from a prominent collector to pay for a divorce or a lawsuit or some other…” Marion waved a hand. “He wants it for himself, as is expected, but it’s important that we cover the work for historical posterity.”
As they walked across the office and over to the conference room, Marion knocked on cubes and peered into the kitchen to rally the troops.
“He’s two hours early,” a man—Mathias?—complained before he topped off his coffee cup.
The meeting room was full by the time Sophia and Marion arrived, the blonde snagging them two seats in the middle of the table. Everyone was looking over notes, comparing information, or so it seemed. Hints of the conversation lingered on past weekend plans, ideas for lunch, how an article was coming along. Some, like Marion, were bothered by the sudden shift in schedule; others were less impacted, able to pivot at a moment’s notice.
“Thank you all for setting aside your morning rituals.”
Sophia almost jumped in her seat at the sound of a familiar, deep voice. She looked up from her computer screen to see Vincent stride into the room, as striking a figure as he was the other night.
What the hell was he doing here?
She fought the urge to sink into her chair as she desperately wondered if they ever exchanged last names, ever mentioned in detail what either of them did, where they worked. They kept everything surface level.
Well, everything beyond immediate physicality.
If she knew he was her employer, she wouldn’t have flirted with him at all. Would have avoided the party entirely. No amount of satisfying sex was worth...
What poor research she’d done.
Her thoughts circled the drain that would surely swallow her career too.
“Before I get ahead of myself, we have a new senior writer. Would you care to introduce yourself, Ms. Cousland?”
In her spiral of thoughts, Vincent had made his way across the room to the head of the table and had paused expectantly.
He didn’t know her last name. She’d never told him.
Sophia inhaled and stood, feeling like a new kid at school as she introduced herself in clear, succinct French. She avoided looking at Vincent until she couldn’t any longer only to find his eyes slightly wide, his posture stiff in recognition.
She wished the floor would open into a black hole and swallow her whole. Instead, she settled for sitting back down and hoping no one noticed her trembling hands.
Vincent cleared his throat and continued on with the meeting. He did, however, keep touching his tie every time he looked in her direction. But he also happened to be engrossed in the details he was sharing about the painting in question that was about to go up for sale.
“I’ll make my decision on who gets the story by the end of the day,” Vincent said, his eyes scanning the table. “Now, where do we stand on the upcoming exhibition reviews?”
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Forever More: Chap. 11
A collection of one-shots, post Rolling in the Deep.  Mostly within canon but sometimes not.
Also available on AO3.
November 2018
Maybe it was the wine.  Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a while, she was surrounded by mostly-English speakers and thus she felt a little less guarded.  Sophia wasn’t entirely sure.
She knew when her parents came to visit, or vice versa, her accent from home reared its head.  It was unavoidable.  Her T’s became D’s, two vowel sounds began merging together, colloquialisms she hadn’t spoken in years came back as if they never left.  Combined with the presence of one Audrey Kingsley and one TJ Carter, it was as if half of the house had jumped back across the Atlantic.
The dining space was finally put to good use, and for once, the holiday didn’t involve a plane ride and talk of politics.
There were two ground rules: no politics and no attempts to start a duel.
The second had been enacted only after Raphael had seen fit to try and slap Vincent with his driving gloves upon arrival.
But there was no rule about slang.  And Sophia cringed as Audrey retold a story from college about an eating contest and a deli.
“Wait, wait, wait, so you call a pork roll what ?” Audrey asked, crossing her legs underneath her on the couch as the table scattered during the break between dinner and dessert.
They opted for the larger sitting space on the second floor, one side converted into more of a den and the other housing a desk, bookshelves galore, and other miscellaneous elements to be found in a study.  The space had changed considerably since Vincent finally came home and was all the more coherent for it, no longer as empty as it once felt.
“Taylor Ham,” Sophia said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s not an acronym?” Vincent chimed in from the other room as he picked out the dessert liqueurs.  “I swore you ordered a... merde , wasn’t it BEC-”
“That was in the city, that’s different,” his wife shot back, defensive of her phrasing.  “Bacon, egg, and cheese, with salt, pepper, and ketchup is a mouthful.  So you order a B-E-C-S-P-K.”
“We’re getting off-track here,” Audrey cut in.  “ Why is it a Taylor Ham?”
“Taylor’s the brand that makes the pork rolls,” Sophia’s father called from his place near the television.
“So you call food by the brand ?  What are the things you put on ice cream then?”
“Sprinkles,” Sophia and her dad said simultaneously; her mother instead said, “Jimmies.”
The look of betrayal that passed between father and daughter was dangerous.
“What are daytrippers?” Audrey leaned forward, fingers steepled around the body of her wine glass.
“Shoobies,” was collectively heard; a pause, and then Sophia clarified, “or Benny’s, depending on whether you’re near Monmouth or Ocean County…stands for Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark, and New York, train stops to get to the beach.”
After an expression that looked as if Audrey drank sour milk, the other American said, “Yes, there is a New York in New Jersey.  And a Penn Station, which makes for interesting trips if you’re heading towards Secaucus.”
“Long sandwiches are….”
“Subs.”
“Absolutely not, they’re hoagies, why would you call a sandwich a marine ship?”
“You did not just say the word ‘hoagie’ in my household, Audrey Kingsley,” Sophia took a sip of wine, staring over the rim patiently as she did so.
“And you pronounce chocolate and coffee how, Madame Karm?” Audrey threw back.  “Theodora and Esteban are what kind of pets?”
“How dare you,” Sophia hissed.
“I might use words like ‘pop’ and ‘hoagie’ but at least I don’t drop my R’s and butcher my vowel sounds.  You really can’t take a left turn, can you?”
“Jug handles, no such thing as an actual left turn, right to go left.”
“Still stupid,” TJ muttered into his glass.
“Aren’t you from the place that says, ‘Put that up,’ rather than ‘Put that away?’” Vincent remarked, delicately balancing two decanters, one in each hand.  “And add unnecessary r-sounds to words that do not have them?”
“You came to Ohio once -”
“And I will never go again, the midwest of America is a cesspool,” the older man turned on his heel and headed back downstairs.
A collective snicker was shared among the three Americans.
“He hasn’t seen or smelled the oil refineries, has he?” TJ asked.
Sophia shook her head.  “And we’re going to keep it that way.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Vincent called from the first floor.
Audrey finished her wine and then pointed with it.  “Oh, gas station of choice?”
“I’ll say QuickChek, my dad will say-“ Sophia pointed across the room as her father said, ‘WaWa.’ “Absolutely sacrilegious but moving on…”
“Best pizza, New Jersey or New York?”
“That’s like asking Starbucks or Dunkin’, are you trying to start a war?” TJ interjected.
“What the heck is wrong with you east coasters?” Audrey retorted.
“Everything,” Sophia and TJ deadpanned at the same time.
The two shot each other a look and then nodded respectfully to the other as they raised their glasses.
Before the conversation could continue, Eugene announced that dessert was served and began taking drink orders.  Would she ever stop thanking him for his impeccable timing?
Probably not, but she made a mental note to remind Vincent to give the valet a holiday bonus for putting up with the nonsense she insisted on bringing through their door.
When she returned downstairs, she found Vincent staring at his phone, eyes narrowed in almost contempt.
“You just found out the nickname for New Jersey, didn’t you?” Sophia teased.
“Who names a state an ‘arm pit’?  What an absolute lie to call it the ‘Garden State’.  I suppose ‘Oil Refinery and Petroleum State’ didn’t fit on the license plates?”
She straightened her husband’s tie as she said, “Probably not.  But it’s not a total tie.  Best onions and tomatoes on the east coast.  I’ll prove it the next time we visit my parents.”
Vincent cast a playfully doubting look down at her.  “No canned bread?”
“No canned bread, mon couer .”
With a kiss, they returned to their guests, the air filled with chatter and laughter until the taper candles at the center of the table burned low.  It was nice to have a house full of people, and for the first time in months, her heart felt a little less empty.
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Vergissmeinnicht II
It was just one night. It wasn't meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn't expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn't make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Also on AO3. Per usual, the actual adult content will only be available on AO3.
Her jet lag disappeared when they entered the gallery, the bright space teeming with people. It was part of a larger event space, which was blocked off until the designated show time.
Kat joked on their way over that it would be filled with hot people. There was a modicum of truth in it. They were surrounded by tall, glamorous figures, their clothes probably as expensive as some of the pieces hanging on the walls. Even if they weren’t, there was just an air about them. A certain something that was impossible to truly put a finger on.
They were swallowed up almost immediately upon entry. Navigating the space was difficult, if not impossible, especially once Kat finally located Leo.
The only thing that came to mind when Sophia met the artist was a golden retriever. Bubbly, excitable, genuine. He fidgeted a little more once he realized Kat was coming, the writer noticed, which was all the more endearing.
It hurt when Sophia heard the way Kat spoke to him. Her best friend’s eyes were always seeking Tristan. It was like they were back in undergrad. Her behavior was easy to predict; Kat was, once again, ignoring the good things in front of her only to blame Sophia for ‘distracting’ the person Kat had in her grasp. Frustrating and hurtful to all parties was just the tip of the iceberg that was Kat’s love life.
When they stepped away to let Leo talk with other guests, Sophia pulled Kat close on their way to get drinks and said, “He likes you, you know. You could stand to be nicer to him.”
Kat gave her a sideways glare that said, Don’t you start. When Sophia held the gaze just as strong, Kat rolled her eyes.
“Like you’d know. You’ve been working your butt off and have been too busy for anyone, let alone a partner. We’re here to have fun and maybe meet people. Maybe get you some release before your schedule is too packed for dating. Tonight’s not about me.”
They paid for their drinks at the makeshift bar—a Vesper and a Kir Royale—and did their best to follow the flow of people.
“Fine. But I pick,” Sophia relented, taking a sip of the lemon-infused gin.
“Hope your taste in men is better than your taste in liquor,” Kat shot back jokingly. “I’m going to see if Tristan’s around before set-up. Keep me posted.”
Kat threw her a wink as she melded into the crowd. Sophia could see her bobbing in and out of the crowd as she passed through until she was no longer distinguishable by hair color alone and she was officially gone.
As she took another sip, she glanced around and admitted to herself that she had half a mind to simply go home. She didn’t board a crowded flight in a metal tube for eight hours only to end up in an even more crowded (and even smaller) space for her evening. Any other day, she’d enjoy it, try to soak everything up and listen to what people were talking about. The language barrier wasn’t much of an issue; she was fluent enough.
But all of this—the dress, the shoes, her makeup—felt so...disingenuous.
On the other hand, Kat had a point . She’d worked hard to get out of the American job market; heck, she’d worked hard to emigrate, period. She had gone without for longer than she wanted to admit; she’d bought new batteries for the stash she kept in her dresser drawer. Surely, she deserved something more than that before she let work consume her.
Sophia made her way around the room, managing to dodge elbows and shoulders for a majority of her journey. It wasn’t until she was about halfway around the room that she was knocked back and stumbled back into someone else.
Seriously? Of all the…
“I’m so sorry,” Sophia spun around, the room not quite catching up with her immediately.
Maybe gin had been a bad idea.
The figure she bumped into didn’t even look at her. His gaze instead lingered on the perpetrator in question who was already three people into the crowd. The man she bumped into was striking, tall, and dark featured, and incredibly put together. In Paris, it wasn’t that rare, she supposed, but he was exactly what Kat would label as ‘her type’.
Sharp cheekbones and a scar in his left eyebrow certainly helped.
And so did his eyes. A piercing green, somewhere between jade and faint peridot. He already cut an intimidating figure but…
Perhaps she could stay a little while longer after all.
“It’s quite fine. It was hardly your fault. You are unharmed?” He asked in French.
“I am, thanks. I hope I didn’t ruin the experience,” Sophia pointed to the work he had been focusing on when she was pushed into him.
Liquid courage was required, she decided, when he didn’t immediately respond. He didn’t seem particularly interested in anything or anyone outside of where his thoughts already were before her interruption. She interviewed men and women of this particular caliber before. A curated exterior. One she may never get passed entirely.
“It’s not for everyone,” he admitted. “Some would consider it kitschy, in the fashion of American Pop Art. It reflects an original sort of beauty though, does it not?”
“It does. I think Pop inherently commentates on the idealization of beauty, of the celebrity, and shows the absurdity of it. Warhol’s Golden Marilyn, that sort of deal. But by calling attention to it, we still find something of value and admiration in it. And what is beauty if not the admiration of aesthetics, of finding a value that exceeds the sum of the parts?”
The stranger gave a thoughtful hum, rolling his own glass to stir his drink of choice. Old Fashioned, by the look of the orange peel twirling in the center.
“A worthy consideration,” he said at last. “But what is your opinion on the work itself?”
“It seems to invoke—”
“Do you like the piece, mademoiselle?”
His tone was short but not in a way she would classify as outright rude; more like someone who didn’t like having to clarify themselves.
“Yes,” she replied as she felt heat creeping into her cheeks, both from embarrassment and indignation.
Sure, she was trying to impress him, but the words came naturally anyway.
“I happen to like the fact that, unless you specifically know what the artist is referencing—that is, which artists and which works specifically—the meaning is absolutely lost. Those who know, know.”
“And what would you say the lucky viewers recognize?”
“How elitist the art world is. How despite the fact that we like to think it is accessible, most art is, in and of itself, hidden behind exclusivity. The artist would like the piece to be iconic on its own but it is inherently built upon a canon that prevents that very possibility.”
That she was unafraid to criticize the world she worked in was one of the reasons she was here, why she got the job she did. It was important to pull back and consider that not everything was saying a profound piece of knowledge, that the art world was and is still buried in the history of belonging to the rich and the elite. Her publication was thought-provoking, the black sheep of the mainstream, forever balancing critique with promotion of the canon. Difficult, but not impossible. And forever embracing the idea that what was considered to be kitsch or cheesy was, well, allowed to be admired for that.
She must have said something right, or at least appealing, because her companion gave a small smile and chuckled into his drink.
“You’re the first person I’ve met tonight with something resembling taste , mademoiselle. I’m Vincent.”
“Sophia.”
He held out a hand and she took it, expecting to shake it. Instead, he lifted it and brushed his lips against her knuckles.
It was an intimate gesture but she now understood why it was once an in-fashion greeting. It was an acceptance of someone’s presence in your own personal realm.
He cocked his head slightly at the pronunciation of her name. “American?”
“Newly transplanted to Monmartre as of,” she did the math quickly in her head, “Fourteen hours ago.”
“And yet you still stand, wide awake, capable of pedantic considerations. That’s a tedious flight. Just long enough to be inconvenient.”
“Coffee helps,” Sophia admitted. “Do you travel a lot?”
Small talk. She could do small talk.
“Every few months to America, yes. I prefer to remain in Paris when possible, however.”
Vincent didn’t clarify upon his work or what he did, but it was easy to guess it was at least within some kind of business realm. Finance, perhaps. The wolves of Wall Street always wore three piece suits when she passed by the Financial District in New York and Chicago.
He asked how she found Paris so far and she held her tongue on reflecting that it was nicer now that she met someone new.
“The energy here is different. Old mixes with new. Nothing is ever lost, simply repurposed. People are different, of course, but I like that. I’m trying to temper my expectations, however, if that makes sense.”
“How so?”
“I’m a stranger in a strange land,” she shrugged. “I really don’t want to live up to the stereotype that I’m a stubborn American who wants to change the land I live in. I would like to ingratiate myself but that will mean accepting the shiny parts of Parisian culture and the other aspects, too.”
She slipped into English for parts of it, unable to find the words to properly convey her thoughts.
“No society is without fault,” Vincent agreed. “It is our role to enhance it, not fight it.”
“Precisely. But I take it you’re not exactly a fan of being in America, even temporarily?”
“The food is fine, enjoyable in some parts. The people are cold in places such as New York. No one speaks a full sentence and everything seems to be an acronym. No time for anyone or anything and there is so much informality...”
Sophia tilted her head and he continued when he found her receptive. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“It’s important to be mindful of one’s...circumstance. Do you enjoy that kind of thing, getting to know someone you’ve only just met?”
She mentally winced at his derision. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. He raised an eyebrow when she didn’t speak.
She gazed up at him coyly. “I think it depends on the person.”
“Fair enough,” Vincent smirked and took another drink.
“And you?”
“I’m not often in the position to do so.”
A momentary silence fell between them as she turned back at the work hanging in front of them. She felt him watching her closely, and shifted to find his eyes climbing her figure, his gaze meeting hers expectantly.
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t consider it,” Vincent clarified. “But as you mentioned, it depends on the person.”
Sophia felt heat crawling across her cheeks again. She wasn’t sure if it was the gin or something else, but she felt emboldened now that she had his attention.
He was charismatic, that much was clear. And it worked on her, too. She couldn’t bring herself to end the conversation just yet.
“Anyone in particular?”
“Perhaps, mademoiselle.”
“What about me?”
Worst case scenario, she returned home alone. Best case scenario, well…
Vincent considered her with a sharp jade gaze, barely breaking it to finish the last of the amber liquid in his glass. The only thing she was remotely aware of was her pulse humming in her ears, as loud as the chatter around them, a tension so thick that it seemed to ward off those passing by, not daring to interrupt.
“A proposition I would be interested in,” he said, placing his glass on the platter of a passing waiter who dared to navigate the thick crowd.
Her heart skipped a beat and it took her a second to recover.
Vincent regarded her again for a moment longer and she wondered if he half-expected her to take it back. He reached for his tie and adjusted the knot, which already looked perfect to her to begin with.
Amusement seemed to creep into his expression as she found her voice and asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”
“My driver is nearby.”
She nodded and followed him through the crowd, handing off her glass absentmindedly. Her way her name fell from his tongue was electrifying. She couldn’t help but wonder if his mouth had other skills to give a similar effect to…
“Is your place close by?” She asked as he pulled out his phone, no doubt texting his driver.
“Much closer than Montmartre.”
“Perfect.”
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Forever More: Chapter 12
VIII. Certainty (V)
A collection of one-shots, post Rolling in the Deep.  Mostly within canon but sometimes not.
Also available on AO3.
Vincent looked around the living rooms once, and then twice, checking things off the list in his head. Hors d'oeuvres in both rooms, out of reach of the dogs, with the large tree in the center of the two, lights glittering. Presents for everyone were underneath it and accounted for. Christmas music came from the speakers dotted around the house. An impromptu bar was set up near the piano. Enough seating for a small army.
Almost perfect.
He plucked a box tucked within the branches of the tree, one that was deceptively hefty despite its size.
If he waited, he would spend the rest of the night trying to distract anyone and everyone from spotting the small box hidden away. And it was something he didn’t want anyone else to see.
There were five people in the house that knew, precisely, about January. About the extended vacation, the intention to step back for a while, re-center.
Vincent took in a deep breath and released it slowly as he made his way down the stairs. Sophia’s parents were in the kitchen; her mother putting cookies on trays while her father gathered glasses and filled ice buckets. They were used to hosting, years of what were probably backyard barbeques and holidays parties giving them ease in their movements and certainty in the requests made by the extra staff on hand.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Celene asked, her jade eyes flicking up from a cookie tin to her son-in-law. “Both of you look put out by this entire affair already.”
It wasn’t hard to imagine where Sophia got her looks from. She was the spitting image of her mother more often than not; taller than average, poised and elegant. She got what little curves she had from her father’s side of the family, it seemed.
Would that be her, hosting birthday or graduation parties? Or in twenty years when Vincent finally retired and college rolled around?
He was getting ahead of himself again. Manage expectations.
It might never happen the way either of them dreamed it would. If at all.
Her mother knew about the previous situation, about earlier this year. Sophia didn’t keep secrets from her family, nor would he expect her to.
“I’m fine,” Vincent said, casting back a reassuring smile. “Did Sophia come down at all? I want to give her a present before everyone gets here.”
“She’s still upstairs, sir,” Eugene said as he came upstairs, wine bottles in hand. “That call earlier threw off scheduling. Shall I-“
“Not necessary, thank you, Eugene.”
He toyed with the small box in his hands before heading upstairs, continuing past the living rooms to head up to the master suite. His heart hammered in his chest and he tried to remember the usual mantras that usually slowed his heart back to normal, or something close to it.
They could have their normal, couldn’t they? Wouldn’t they?
He found Sophia fixing her earring in the large closet and dressing area. Their eyes met in the mirror when he knocked on the closet door, one arm behind his back to hide the small box.
She wore a dress that had a longer decor than the actual dress itself; the top of the dress was black, fading into a deep navy skirt that ended above her knees, so silky it gleamed.
It matched his tie almost exactly; he would be lying if he said he hadn’t stolen a glance or three at her choice of evening wear when she wasn’t around, in hopes to find a match.
The dogs had a field day with the bow that sat at the small of her back, large and structured, with tails that trailed down to her calves. It was one of the few things she bought after that perked her up, made her look forward to whatever life had in store for them, even if it didn’t involve…
“Everything okay, mon couer ?” Sophia asked, adjusting her necklace. “What do you have with you? Usually your hands are all over me when I’m getting ready.”
The heated gaze in the mirror made him want to call off the entire affair and steal her away far ahead of their intended schedule.
The suitcases packed in the corner told him she was ready for such a thing.
But she might not be prepared for the tiny present in his hand.
Vincent closed the distance between them almost lazily and he finally understood the comparison his wife often made between him and a panther, circling its intended prey. Smooth, languid, never without an ounce of pride. He locked eyes with her in the mirror again before pressing his lips to her bare shoulder and presented the tiny box to her with a sweep of his arm.
Sophia’s fingers were warm against his as she took the small present from him. She shook it lightly, puzzled.
You’ll likely never guess, ma cherie…
He waited for her to give in and finally open it. She did and Vincent watched as her brows knit in confusion as she stared down at the box and then back at him. Sophia pulled out two little crocheted booties by their laces, white and soft and so small. Her thumb brushed over the yarn over and over, her face impassive in the silence that grew between them until she spun so fast on sharp heels that the tails of her bow whipped lightly against his shins.
“What is this?” She asked softly.
It was clear that she didn’t know how to feel. And his silence was more telling than he preferred. He should have had more preparation in place for this. The box now felt woefully inadequate to express just what exactly…
How did he put into words that, while he would be happy with their life together no matter what, he couldn’t help but wonder what else there was for them. Did he admit that when he watched her when she wasn’t looking that he wished any child they had to have her nose, or maybe her cheekbones, high but not as prominent as his. Maybe have her startlingly electric eyes.
Did he tell her that something deep within him stirred at the idea of seeing her go through such a drastic change physically and emotionally, finally getting to be there for her? That he felt it would only make up for a fraction of the things he put her through, considering so much of the burden would be on her, again?
He wasn’t very paternal, he never considered he’d be very good at the fatherhood thing. But his heart fluttered at the idea of feeling movement beneath his hand pressed against her, tiny fingers holding his, of holding another living being that was the culmination of emotional expression and passion.
Their brush with new life, and the death that followed, left him with a lot to think about.
And ultimately, he tried to think of who could possibly be better to be a mother than the woman in front of him and failed.
And yet despite everything he’d discussed with her, despite working through what he managed to, fear still crept into his heart.
“There has been...a lot...this past year. And I couldn’t quite find a way to express that, despite all of it, despite my words on the matter, I can find nothing I’d like more than to continue to build a life with you. Or at least try to. If and when you’re ready to.”
Sophia tucked the present back in the box and placed it carefully on the vanity before she closed the distance between them and took his face in her hands. She swore to both of them that she would never see green eyes so scared, stricken with a grief he couldn’t bear again; words he remembered from before she fell asleep from the medication, said between sobs so sorrowful that he swore the world beneath them shattered too.
Below them, guests began arriving-the usual crowd who would show up early to assist in finalizing things. Just moments ago, his wife was bright, stunning in her enthusiasm to celebrate Christmas and be with family and friends before they stole away for their first anniversary.
But now, she was pensive as she searched his face; she would find no lie, both of them knew that.
“I’m afraid of it happening again,” she said at last.
“As am I, ma cherie . But if there’s a chance for us, fear should never rule until we’re certain it’s not possible.”
Her hands fell from his face and smoothed his lapels initially. He found himself with his wife’s arms around his waist and her perfume dancing around them.
They remained like that until a knock on the master suite door. Eugene, ever efficient, ruiner of quiet moments, reminded them of their guests and they parted, Sophia finalizing her jewelry choices.
Vincent caught her eyes lingering on their suitcases, and then the tiny box.
After a beat, she said, “It would be nice to make use of the other rooms of this house. To hear more than paws running around. Little hands to hold at museums.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, the first of many to come tonight.
“Let’s see what happens, mon amour. ”
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Hell and Silence, Part 3
The journalist died protecting Paris. Vincent mourns. Warnings: Grief, major character death. This story is not a happy one. Available on AO3 here || Part 2 is here.
When he returned to his hotel room, whatever composure he had left was long gone, wasted on the ridiculously long elevator ride. Staying closer to the airport meant a more crowded lobby and cramped rides of people with too many suitcases and loud conversations.
Vincent reached up and fumbled with the button at his collar and then loosened his tie, stretching his neck afterwards. Normally, his three piece armor wouldn’t be so restricting but now, even breathing was difficult.
He thought perhaps he might at least feel as if it was simply over with, a task he hadn’t wanted to complete but did so out of whatever remaining goodness remained buried deep in the metaphorical heart he wasn’t sure he had.
But no.
It was not just a presentation that was executed and then done with.
She was gone.
The one person capable of taking him on. Who kept up with him as if they were simply dance partners and not two people diametrically opposed on so many things.
The one who dared to stand by her principles, even if all else seemed lost.
Who snared him with her wit, her charm, her kindness.
Her blood was on his hands. He had failed her. They all had.
What life would they have had together, he wondered. If she didn’t reject him outright to begin with. He liked to think he knew her better than most but only she knew her own heart.
Gathering the courage that seemed to be continually sinking towards his feet, Vincent pulled out the envelope Raphael handed him earlier and padded over to the desk. It felt sacrilegious to tear at the paper and to his surprise, he found a letter opener, sheathed and polished. He sliced through the envelope and pulled out the contents; a piece of paper with writing on both sides and...a memory card?
The tight knot that was ever-present in his gut rose to his throat at the realization that she had left him with more than just parting words.
She knew she wasn’t going to make it.
The SD card was taped to a note that said, ‘Letter first, SD second’ in a scrawl that almost sang to him. There was a harried flick of the ink at the end of her letters. She had made many of these, likely the night before her confrontation and under the protection of the Inspector.
Vincent closed his eyes, his brow tense. A wiser man would have waited until he was back home. His old self certainly would have.
But he was no longer a man bent on dominating a city.
He was a man who was too cowardly to admit that the kiss on the bench that night was more than fleeting interest and opportunity. Who buried the person he loved not once but twice now and never got the words just right, in the end.
He sniffed, blinking away burning tears. Not yet. See her final words through first. He could fall apart after.
The minibar was tempting but nothing would be strong enough to ease the ache. And perhaps it was better to feel all of it than nothing at all.
Letter first, he reminded himself.
Trembling hands unfolded the paper, stationary that she saved for important purposes. Curiously, he brought the note to his nose and found that it still carried traces of the scent of her apartment, of her . That, too, would fade in time.
Would she be lost, like Paul? Forgotten by all except those too touched to forget?
Her writing was as careful as the lettering on the envelope. She was never careful. The silly woman would run head first into danger with nothing but her friends and some quick thinking; she didn’t know the meaning of caution.
Vincent,
I’ll spare you the cliche, ‘If you’re reading this, I’m probably gone’ bit. If that wasn’t the case, you wouldn’t have this in your hands and instead you’d be gloating about how you told me Paris was in danger and that I should have listened all along.
You were right.
But the cards fell where they did.
And I have no regrets.
I have wondered what could have been different: what if I made the choice to leave City of Love?; what if I hadn’t jumped headfirst into an engagement?; what if your plans worked?; what if Kat was alive?
What if I hadn’t found myself inexplicable drawn to a man who speaks in metaphor and wears a three piece suit like battle armor?
How was it that the person I considered to be an enemy was the one who understood my need for answers? Who’s warm lips and green eyes are my final thoughts before I drift off into whatever sleep I can manage lately?
Some of those are things I will never find answers to but they are not regrets.
Perhaps this letter will never reach you at all and I’m simply overplanning. I hope I am. Because I really hate the idea of having to admit that you mean more to me than I expected you to in a stupid letter at 3AM with Hugo asleep at the door.
Vincent’s eyes stung as he imagined the journalist ( his journalist, he allowed himself the indulgence) peering out the doorway to make sure the inspector was, in fact, still asleep. His fingers traced tear stains, faint and dry, before his own followed suit. The ink didn’t run. How thoughtful of her.
I hope all of this is for nothing and I get to burn these instead.
I want to look you in the eyes and kiss you properly. Listen to your ideas as you figure out the next big trend to latch onto. I want you to show me your Paris; not the glitz and the glamor but the Paris that you see. I want to hear you laugh at my stupid jokes and I want to walk along the Seine not as enemies turned allies but…
Maybe I’m just tired and the last few weeks are finally catching up with me.
Or so I tell myself.
But I think we both know that’s not quite true, is it?
And I guess it’s not worth continuing to run scenarios that, if this does reach you, will be impossible.
A girl can dream.
I’m not quite sure what it is I hold towards you, Vincent. It’s all encompassing, all consuming. My mind wanders to you during the strangest moments. I’ve tasted the Essence, you know.
And in case you were ever curious, this...this is somehow stronger.
I’ve always been awful at closing statements and goodbyes.
But someone has to stop this cycle of hatred.
Yours always,
By the end, he was shaking and having a hard time seeing. Not just because the tears flowed freely now but because it seemed like all of the blood had rushed out of his head.
For someone who was always so candid, she didn’t seem to have wanted to put a word to her feelings. Was she sparing him in that regard? Or had she been terrified to make it real?
That kiss was real enough. He would have given her soul to him if she asked for it that night.
He wanted to curse every deity under the sun. But what good would it do?
It wouldn’t bring her back to him.
It wouldn’t fix their fate.
Separated. Again.
This time not by bars but by fate.
Nausea gripped him and he threw the letter aside to empty his stomach of what little he had eaten. First Paul, now her.
She died and her confession went unfinished. She died and she would never get to see dreams realized.
He would never get to watch her pursue stories driven by more than just the paycheck, dedicated to telling stories that were true and honest, and stopping at nothing to get them.
Potential snuffed out before it ever began.
After he washed his face, skin burning and eyes swollen, his hand lingered on his eyebrow, searching for the mark that split the feature almost in two.
There was no scar from her. Not physically.
Somehow that made it worse.
Vincent returned to the main living area of the suite and booted up the computer he brought out of habit than necessity. When he inserted the SD card, the file explorer came up automatically and he brushed stray tears away to read the names properly.
An MP4 file named “Watch_Me_First” and another folder, simply labeled, “Karm 2015”.
So demanding, his American journalist.
First the letter, now a video?
He double clicked and executed the video file and his heart almost stopped.
It wasn’t trimmed. The journalist, dark of hair and blue of eye, adjusted the camera and then glanced off screen before confirming she was good to go.
Dressed in the outfit she wore that day.
“You must have rubbed off on me, I’m beginning to feel like a cryptic Bond villain looking to leave a breadcrumb trail.”
Her voice shattered him. Any bit of resolve he had built up broke again and he reached out to touch the screen, stroking what would have been a lock of hair if she were standing before him.
“My letter kind of really sucked. And it was the last one I wrote, which means it cycled in my head until I woke up, because like so many things, I probably could have done a better job. But there’s no time for that.”
He watched her gesture as if she did this every day, talk to a camera and a silent audience of one.
“I shouldn’t be ambiguous when it comes to emotions; I’ve been hurt enough by that and you deserve my candor. You’ve gotten it before and there’s no reason to stop that now.”
A deep breath. And then that spark and fire he knew so well, despite her clear exhaustion, simmered in her expression.
“I love you, Vincent. And maybe that’s wrong of me and maybe I interpreted the past few weeks as something I shouldn’t have but I don’t care.”
Oh, god, her tears. Why wasn’t he there, why hadn’t she told him this when...
Vincent placed a fist near his mouth, teeth finding purchase on his index finger as he stifled what he could only classify as a scream.
“And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m saying it now. When you can’t give me an answer and there may never be time for one. But I realized I had one regret and it would be if I passed and said nothing at all.”
She sniffed and he let out a low keening whine, his hands finding his hair and pulling, pulling, pulling .
He heard voices in the background and a rustling as she pulled the phone from the tripod.
“I have to go. The files I gathered from the Essence case are going to be included with this. Use them as you see fit, in case they’re helpful in your appeal. Or for old times’ sake. I wish I had more time for better words but I don’t. Forgive me, would you? Just this once.”
The video ended with an expression so gentle he only ever saw it on Renaissance angels. He preferred that to the eternally sleeping woman he laid to rest hours earlier.
He didn’t deserve that smile, those bright eyes.
But she deemed otherwise.
After a moment, he gathered himself, touching the screen again. At least he had this. It hurt, how could it not, but it was better than silent wondering and pointless longing.
“As if you need to ask for such a thing, ma Cherie. As if there’s anything to forgive.”
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Forever More Ch. 8
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351551/chapters/71513778
A collection of one-shots, post Rolling in the Deep.  Mostly within canon but sometimes not.
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Dedicated Fanfiction Page Update
I’ve finally compiled a list of most of the Vincent-related fanfictions from the past couple of years with a basic, basic filter.
Theme used is by arithemes and can be found here. 
If there are stories missing, or something doesn’t work the way it should, please let me know!  There may stories on AO3 I missed, etc.  At some point, I’ll probably work on the other general theme again, which is so basic it hurts.
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Rolling in the Deep (47)
City of Love: Paris AU. Vincent Karm notices an incongruity with a painting and realizes there must be some truth to the rumors he hears about forgeries. He hires an American with a background in art history and the art market to look into the situation, leading to the discovery of a plot that would prove devastating for Paris. Vincent KarmxOC.
AO3 | Wattpad | Chapter 46
All she could see were bloody hands, a gold coin, rushy water, and a murky void of fading light. Over and over. A loop that every time she thought she was free of started all over again, seamless and smooth, like a staircase that never ended.
When she came to, she was on someone's back being hefted up a staircase like a piece of luggage. Her head was resting on their shoulder and she moaned as she was jostled so her legs sat above their hips again. The person spoke in hushed tones, his voice soft and soothing.
"Almost there. Then I'll tuck you into bed and keep you warm, gorgeous."
She didn't have the strength or the heart to reply. It was hard to joke when she felt like a wet sack of laundry. Sophia moved her head slightly and saw Audrey's familiar silhouette next to Sarah Zembe, the two women speaking quietly and quickly. Sarah was clearly fighting an urge to yell and her stiff hand gestures said what Sophia couldn't hear; she was against something, but what, she wasn't quite sure.
A damp, strawberry blonde ponytail whipped through the air as Audrey looked over her shoulder and back down at Sophia and her carrier. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin blotchy, and her grey eyes met Sophia's with a mix of exhaustion and determination, brow creased as she mouthed an apology.
The journalist turned back to Sarah. "We've been through this. He comes. He's the only connection she has, as far as I know, and I need to his brain to boot."
She gestured to a door as she pulled out her keys and Sophia the found of metal tumblers snapping louder than jet engines, flinching.
Audrey ushered everyone through an apartment, the door nestled into a corner of the hallway. Sarah headed for the kitchen, taking charge of things Sophia only half-heard. The man carrying her, Tristan, followed Audrey down a hall into a small but homey bedroom; he eased her down onto the bed with Audrey's help.
Sophia saw his face for the first time and felt the weakest smile work across her lips. If not for the differences in their facial structure, they would pass for siblings with their matching light blue eyes and dark hair.
"Glad you didn't need mouth-to-mouth, it'd be like kissing a cousin or something," Tristan quipped. "I mean, unless you're into that--"
"Thank you for your help, Tristan," Audrey gripped his arm and maneuvered him out of the small room as he muttered a curse about pushy women.
Sophia felt a weak, breathy laugh push its way out of her lungs. Her entire body felt as though it was being run through an industrial shredder and the bed beneath her was soft and dry…
"Hey, stay awake for me," Audrey said softly, closing the bedroom door and turning her attention back on the other woman. She placed a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed and Sophia blinked a few times, recognizing underthings and what looked like pajamas. "I don't know what happened to you and you don't have to tell me, but you'll do no one any favors if you have a concussion. Or if you get hypothermia."
Boots were untied and carefully removed and she was vaguely aware of hands touching her swollen ankle, lifting her shirt and uttering a curse. Sophia pushed her hand away, or tried to, her own hand landing feebly on the covers with the effort.
How dare she touch her as though she had any right to, without asking? Since when has she asked for help? She was conscious, although currently feeling as though her entire body was being run through an industrial shredder. And why would she even want help from the woman who…
"I didn't hit my head. And I can get dressed on my own," she snapped, glaring at the journalist. "You'll just make a mess. Just like last night."
Audrey placed Sophia's boots near the bedroom door with a 'thud', silent realization dawning on her face as she turned back to the bed.
"We…it…it shouldn't have happened. I was drunk, we made a really shitty joke…"
Sophia scoffed and then winced, pain ebbing throughout her body, washing over her like a fresh tide that never quite left. She didn't want halfhearted excuses about alcohol and banter. She wanted to sleep and for this to be an awful, awful dream. But all she saw every time she closed her eyes was Alexandre's crumpling form and his hands cupping hers as though the coin was a rosary. They were by no means good friends but he was the closest thing she had to one in Paris. Catherine had taught her much but most of her current professional knowledge came from him, from their time together.
The words that left her mouth were more frigid than her soaked clothes and she spat them as though they left a bad taste in her mouth, before they could be further tainted with the thickness of loss.
"But it did happen. And I want no help from you."
She turned her head, refusing to continue the conversation. Everything she had to say would take all of her energy and there was little of it to begin with. The journalist didn't deserve the shreds of effort; Alexandre did. Audrey's footsteps retreated away from the bed and Sophia heard the bedroom door open.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for taking advantage of a situation and for coming between you two. But if not for me, you'd be dead, and whatever happened down there would have gone with you. A doctor should be here in twenty minutes. I'll knock when they arrive."
The door was shut carefully but the click of the latch was louder than any slam ever could have been.
__________
Vincent counted his paces from the living room through the sunny hallway and back again. Thirty one way, thirty another. Sixty. Always sixty. He had figured out the creakiest floorboards, where the nails in the old wood were the loosest, and stepped around them as though they were puddles in the middle of the sidewalk.
He had been twitchy ever since Eugene unveiled that the woman two rooms away had done exactly what he would have expected her to. Hadn't this been why he hired her so long ago? To figure out what dark deed those fake paintings pointed it and to stop it? Four years ago, would he have even blinked if he heard what she'd done? She'd have been dropped off at a hospital, expenses paid, and that would have been that.
His jaw twitched and he wasn't sure if the copious amounts of coffee he'd consumed as he devised a plan was to blame or whether he couldn't believe how he let himself get into this mess. Usually he enjoyed this chaos, reveled in it.
But now it was all up to the doctor they'd picked up along the way. Well, in part.
It would be up to Sophia to do the rest.
Judging from the muffled gasps and pained cries, he could only assume so much. She was awake. Which meant she was alive. That would have to do for now.
As he turned heel in the living room, he was acutely aware of the dagger Sarah Zembe glared his way; though, it wasn't that much different than the look she gave her ex-fiance who was leaning against the open French doors. Spring air tickled the loose hairs that saw fit to remain untamed no matter how hard Vincent tried and it carried with it a sense of dread and misery. Two things he drank in on his way over that, instead of amusing him, made his heart sink deeper than the Titanic. Raphael Laurent was half watching the television across from the couch no one dared go near, his focus on the city outside, the people below; his beloved home once again in danger.
He couldn't even enjoy the way the other man's shoulders refused to fold, the way his brow twitched as he worked out a plan. He'd always enjoyed watching Laurent struggle with himself and now it was anything but interesting.
"Karm, can you stop?" Raphael snapped, turning his attention from the streets to his rival. "You seeing her wouldn't have helped and you're acting worse than-"
He did know that getting to see her wouldn't have done either of them any good. But that didn't mean he could bear it. If she was capable of handling so much, why couldn't he? He just needed to see her, to know she was breathing, that she wasn't bleeding out and mangled and…
As if to prove Vincent's very point, a muffled scream pierced the air, turning into a sob, low, deep, and keening. It was better than silence, than uncertainty. Sophia was alive, agony though she was in.
"Worse than what, Laurent?"
Of all the people in the room, in the apartment, Raphael Laurent was one of the only ones who truly knew why he was pacing at all. That unsettled him. So few people knew about the accident, Paul, and how he never got to say what he could have…what he should have. It felt so long ago and yet it seemed as though they were in the waiting room again, watching as batches of bloody towels were switched out and wondering why yet another doctor was going into Paul's triage room.
Raphael scoffed and continued on, attempting not to grimace. "Worse than Abelard when he received word of Heloise being sent away."
For once, his attempt at something poetic actually made sense. That the red-haired man was even acknowledging him with a poor attempt to distract him…that alone made his heart jump into his throat with conclusions about the state she was truly in.
That must have been the bullet, then. Vincent thought, leaning forward ever so slightly in hopes he could discern more than muffled voices.
Sarah, who had finally turned her gaze from the two men and to the whistling kettle, placed two steaming mugs on the counter furthest from her, along with a cat-shaped sugar bowl and a small, fish-shaped pitcher with milk. It was clear to him that she was keeping as much distance as she could from him, Vincent noted; she only crossed the room or spoke when he was down the hall. The smell of the tea alone threw him back several years, a blend he particularly enjoyed during late nights in the office when he found himself too wrapped up in thought to go home.
Sophia's crying had stopped, for now, and he loosened his tie on instinct, needing air. Her silence was always more terrifying than her cries of pain.
He took the proffered mug and wordlessly assessed the sugar and creamer containers. The cat's tail doubled as the spoon for the sugar and the fish's gaping mouth was the top of the open vessel. Not his kind of kitsch but every bit that of the journalist.
"Don't flatter yourself," Sarah said when he took a sip, eyebrow raised in silent remark. "You act like Sophia's the only one who went through hell and back in the past few hours."
Her words weren't as sharp as her glare, though, and he caught a glimmer of pity when another muffled cry came from the bedroom.
He was about to begin another lap when he heard the door click shut and Audrey quietly padding down the hall and into the tiny laundry closet off of the living room. It was impossible to miss the patchwork of blood on the towels as she passed by.
Audrey Kingsley looked like she needed a century of sleep and a proper skincare routine. Her ponytail was beginning to frizz and she smelled damp, like an old sponge left to dry. The grey tee-shirt she word did nothing to hide the bruises beginning to form on her arms.
The doctor was behind her, adjusting the bag on their shoulder with one hand.
"How is-"
"Resilient, mon ami," the physician said. "She'll need a proper examination and treatment to prevent infection but my job should get her through the next few hours. Might want to look into orthopedic treatment, too; that ankle of hers never truly healed right and she's paying for it."
After a handshake and a murmur of discussion regarding compensation, the doctor took their leave without so much as a glance to anyone else.
With a sigh, Vincent turned to the journalist and asked, "How is she really?"
"Fine. She's fine," Audrey's short words betrayed her and it took everything in him not to grab her by the shoulders to force out more. What did fine even mean? "I'm surprised she has the energy to be as biting as ever."
One can hardly blame her…I'd feel the same if someone else kissed her in front of me and then pulled me from a burning car…
"It's her specialty," Vincent gave a wry smile, the corner of his mouth twitching a little harder than he would have liked.
Even faced with death and exhausted, she found the reserve to push back. He would have it no other way.
Audrey glanced at the other two guests before turning and reaching for a bottle of bleach. She splashed some of the chemical into the washing machine without much thought, along with a colorful orange and blue tab, and then closed the lid, twisting the knob to the cycle setting.
"She refused the offer of morphine but she passed out a few times from the pain," Audrey said softly, palms flat on the metal lid. "Suffering is also her specialty, I'm assuming, because she also asked for you every few minutes."
"You wound me, Ms. Kingsley. I was under the impression we were allies."
Another furtive glance over her shoulder reminded him they weren't alone.
"I'm re-drawing the boundary I shouldn't have broken to begin with; the other night shouldn't have happened. I've been very selfish these past few weeks, it took someone dying once and another almost drowning for me to see that."
A knock at the door interrupted them and the journalist stepped away to answer it. Vincent slipped down the hall again and, after a deep breath in attempt to steady his hands, he knocked on the bedroom door.
__________
Once the door was shut, Sophia leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes.  The over-the-counter pain medication would take forever to kick in but she didn't want anything heavier. She was alive. In pain, with more than enough memories to last a lifetime and please a therapist, but alive nonetheless.
She was alive and Alexandre wasn't. The Knights were already frustrated about a loose end they couldn't tie up and her only defense within their ranks was lost. She'd spent as long with him as she had with Vincent and despite his reluctance to deal with her, he'd been more of a mentor than she had the right to ask for. He helped her find normalcy when she was managing her emotions after Catherine's brutal death and he'd put her in touch with more contacts than she knew what to do with. His insight was invaluable and his commentary refreshing for someone who worked in a museum for most of the day.
And all she had to remember him by was his stupid coin and a promise.
Sophia swallowed and inhaled a shaky breath. A promise she intended to keep, no matter what. She didn't come this far only to give up. She couldn't. She promised, she promised, she promised…
A knock on the door brought her attention back and she sat up straight and hastily wiped away the tears that escaped.
"Come in," she said, her voice wavering with the effort.
She wished it hadn't. She was sick of feeling so much, revealing so much.
Her heartbeat and the pounding throughout her entire body drowned out a voice she desperately missed. The stitches in her side pulled at her skin as she tried to keep her breaths turning into heaves, shock wracking her body. She'd realized it before the doctor came, of course, but it hadn't truly hit her until now.
The lack brick in the dam of her resolve crumbled when she recognized her visitor. Her vision blurred, like driving through a pounding rainstorm, and she could only make out dark hair and green accents, the usually tall Faustian devil next to her in an instant, perched next to her on the bed, large hands cupping her cheeks.
She could only imagine what ran through his mind when she left, only for him to get a phone call that she'd been found in the waterway, injured and almost unconscious. She'd failed him, too, in a way she never wanted to.
They were meant to be more than their pasts, than their patterns. Sophia doubled over as she was wracked with a pain that dulled everything else and she opened her mouth in a silent scream. Her wound pinched but she didn't care. She'd almost died and left him with absolutely nothing but a defiant glare and words she would drown over and over again just to take back. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see. Her heart felt as if it wanted to burst through her rib cage if only to provide the same pain she'd inflicted on the person she loved. She let out a keening sob, unable to contain the anguish, her body wishing to rid itself of the weight of the past twenty-four hours.
"I'm sorry, mon couer, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Sophia sobbed, her whole body shaking.
"C'est moi qui suis désolé, ma chère."
Her heaving sobs were muffled as she buried her face in chest, dampening his shirt, and he held her tight, as though she could fade away. For the first time in all the years she knew him, his voice cracked as soothing words left his lips, and she felt something wet on top of her head. He was saying something that she couldn't entirely understand except for "livre sans toi". Live without you.
Sophia pulled away to cough, her lungs and her rib muscles protesting profusely as she struggled to clear her airway. Vincent, despite all his selfishness, was immediate in handing her the glass of water and watching her for signs of trouble. Once her breathing was under control, she looked at him, properly, and saw the telltale streaks under his eyes, along with faint dark circles. He reached up and touched his cheek, letting out a derisive breath when he realized she wasn't the only one who cried. Vincent dried his hand on the blanket, as if disgusted, before he spoke.
"I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered. "She didn't explain much. Just that you were alive."
"I shouldn't have…I was upset but I shouldn't have been petty. I shouldn't have left. I can only imagine what I put you--"
"That's not your guilt to carry and I won't let you. You were right. I hired you to get to the bottom of a forgery ring, wherever it led. That we got ensnared along the way doesn't mean your job stopped."
"Vincent Karm, admitting someone else was right?"
"Only happens once per near death experience, enjoy it while it lasts."
Sophia gave a weak laugh that turned into a groan, her ribs aching at the jovial action. She waved a hand when Vincent leaned in and she wrapped her arms around her midsection.
"I'll be fine. A hospital in a few hours. Not now."
Vincent looked at her as if she'd grown three heads before he reached and pulled her arms away, running his fingers over her ribs before finding the dressing. He shot her a withering expression before he glanced over her arms and her legs, letting out a sigh at the sight of her ankle.
"It's not broken," Sophia pointed out, grimacing when she moved the swollen joint.
Vincent ignored her comment and removed the ice pack long enough to touch the bruised flesh, which drew a wince from Sophia.
"I'd feel more comfortable getting you medical attention sooner rather than later, Sophia."
"After. I promise. I…"
"Want to see this through. I'm aware. That doesn't mean I'm thrilled about it."
Sophia bit her cheek but remained silent as he rose and perused through the bag the doctor left behind. Vincent had hastily packed with clothes, toiletries, and other necessities, including a clear plastic bag containing a bloody envelope, and she watched as he pulled out what she could only assume he had been looking for.
The ankle brace she kept neglecting.
He held it out to her and she took it, running her fingers over the lacing of the side stabilizers. That thing had been a miracle and she stopped using it after she was cleared by her physical therapist.
Audrey had, after much persuading, helped her into a pair of leggings and a loose button down, things she would be able to not only move around in but remove without help later. Sophia removed the ice pack and fiddled with the brace-which way was the front again? Eventually, it slid on and she adjusted the tension until it felt as she remembered.  
Vincent took the plastic bag and tucked it into his jacket pocket.  He was already ahead of her; there was no more opportune time than now to live up to the task Catherine asked of her.
She slowly shifted on the bed to swing her legs to the side and place her feet on the cold floor. Standing felt foreign, not only because of the brace and the fact that her ankle couldn't support her, but rather she was expecting more resistance, currents pushing against her. Here, there was nothing stopping her, nothing rushing past with strength unmatched. Sophia felt her balance falter as her left leg failed her despite the brace but instead of the floor, she met warm fabric and the smell of cedar and musk. The arms that caught her were mindful of her ribs, ensuring she stayed upright by supporting underneath her arms.
It was written on his face clear as day that he wanted nothing more than to break the silence, shatter it with a question she didn't have the answer to. Despite the comfort that his presence brought her, despite his apology, and Audrey's, she couldn't bear to hear it. Not now. Everything else needed to wait.
No more distractions. That's all this had been. One major distraction.  It needed to wait until the flood stopped.
"We should talk to the others," Sophia said, managing to pull herself back upright, relying heavily on her good side. "It would be good to get one cohesive story."
She reached up and placed a reassuring hand on his cheek, despite the cuts on her palms. Vincent turned his head and grazed his lips against her wounds, so soft she almost missed it.
"Lead the way, ma lionne."
__________
Sophia limped out of the bedroom and down the hall, Vincent close behind, and entered the living room where a hodgepodge of chairs were placed in a circle. The couch was off-limits, an unspoken agreement echoed in the marker on the couch, a bright blue pin marking where Kat's head was.  How Audrey had been allowed to stay in a crime scene, or rather, how she stomached it, was beyond her comprehension.  
She shivered as she sat down, her gaze lingering on the pink sofa, imagining where Kat's foot dangled, where her too-peaceful face sought air far too late. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look elsewhere, at the bookshelves and the fairy lights, at the view of Montmartre in the distance. Siren after siren blared outside, voices urging people to remain indoors and seek higher ground. Helicopter after helicopter few overhead; blades chopping in the air as they flew low to survey the damage.
Audrey handed Sophia a mug as she crossed the room and shut the French doors, cutting down on the sound instantly. The porcelain was searing against her ice-cold hands but it was a welcome sensation, jolting life back into her fingertips.
The journalist reminded Sophia of an animal who had narrowly escaped a trap, hyper-aware and tense.  She jumped at any sound too loud, be it the scrapping of a chair against the floor or the refrigerator kicking on.
The smell of bergamot, citrus, and floral, mingled with the sharpness of the black tea and Sophia sank deeper into the armchair she picked. Vincent scanned the room and plucked a small ottoman from its place in the corner, by the door, tucking it under her leg before rearranging the ice pack she had on earlier. Until all of this was over, it was going to have to do.
He took the chair to her left-his right-and stretched his legs out in front of him as far as he could. He looked bored, which was never a good sign, but hopefully whatever Audrey had planned would get the wheels turning. She wasn't in any capacity to amuse or entertain a bored Vincent Karm.
Sarah Zembe had purposefully moved her chair to be as far from Vincent and his outstretched legs as the small space would allow.  Raphael Laurent, who wouldn't even look in her or Vincent's direction, was next to her, across from Vincent, and closest to the couch.
Henri DeValois was an unexpected, albeit logical, choice for the journalist.  He settled himself to her right, taking of the spaces between her and Sarah.  The politician was curt but personable, his eyes seeming to linger on Sophia's leg, on her face, but she couldn't tell if he recognized her or not.  Sarah distracted him, bombarding him with questions about how he had to have had some idea of what to do as a Knight of Lutetia.
Audrey placed herself between Raphael and Sarah, although she, for now, remained standing.  
"Everyone, I've gathered you here today as a council of war," Audrey began, clapping her hands once.
Sophia blinked hard once and forced her head in the journalist's direction as chaos broke out and old wounds revealed themselves.
Henri kept talking, to which Raphael snapped, "Maybe if you stopped flapping your big mouth, we'd find out?"
"Do you want me to teach you a lesson in manners, Raphael?" Henri shot back, chastising the red-haired man like a child instead of returning the anger.
"And what is this maniac doing here?!" Raphael looked askance, searching for agreement from anyone else before openly glaring at Vincent.
After plucking a throw pillow from under the coffee table and placing it under Sophia's foot, Vincent returned the expression with a smirk and a suggestive eyebrow raise.
"See something you like, Laurent? Unfortunately, you're not my type," he quipped.  "The flooding provides the perfect cover. I can come and go as I please. The police are far more concerned with protecting the public, supposedly."
Vincent sipped his tea as Sarah gave a groan, shifting away from Vincent as if he was a stray dog with fleas.
Dear god, the painkillers need to kick in fast if she was going to survive this. Between the adrenaline wearing off, the bickering, and the fact that Paris was still fucking flooding, she was surprised her head hadn't exploded. Sophia and Audrey exchanged a look, the journalist rolling her eyes as the art investigator mouthed, 'I know!'
Audrey put her fist to her mouth, shoulders rising as she inhaled deeply before she opened her hand, her lips signalling that she was going to shout. Sophia shook her head, instead slipping her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and letting out a sharp whistle. Her ribs screamed it managed to get everyone's attention as they flinched at the sound. It always worked whenever she needed to grab a taxi back in Manhattan and she was surprised she was still able to do it.
"I'm battered, watched someone die, got shot, and I almost drowned. You don't see me pitching a fit about it. Let the woman speak," Sophia scolded, her free hand falling to her bandaged wound, which she hoped hadn't started bleeding again.
Audrey gave a silent nod of thanks and cleared her throat before beginning again.
"Earlier today, Alia Medina killed someone, and she almost killed me and Sophia as well. She is the one behind all of this. She is our enemy. Paris' enemy."
"I know Alia, I always thought she was a bad egg," Henri said, his remark more offhand information than remotely helpful.
"You're the finest minds in Paris. You need to help stop her before she hurts anyone else." With a glance to Sophia's raised leg, Audrey quickly amended, "Within reason. I think it's safe to say one of you has done more than enough. So let's get some ideas. Who's going first?"
The journalist clasped her hands together and aimed both pointer fingers at Vincent.
"Vincent! Devious plans are your specialty. What've you got?"
The villain's gaze was fixed on Sophia's ankle and he struggled with something, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. She reached for his hand, grazing her fingers over his knuckles, silently reassuring him that she didn't have to be his first concern. Perhaps he hadn't expected to get this far or hoped to have avoided this altogether. Vincent took her fingers loosely in his own, thumb running over the dip between her knuckles as he thought.
"It seems the flood has advanced beyond even my deviousness," he said at last, his tone barely laced with his usual obnoxious arrogance.
It might take an evil person to catch another but he doesn't know Alia well enough to take a stab at anything.  Sophia mused.  Those files were only insightful on her life with Marcel...
"Couldn't the Knights tell us how to close these twelve gates?" Sarah suggested, pointedly looking at Henri.
"We're…fractured. Fragmented. It's possible, but the knowledge isn't common. I heard about the flood defenses but I thought they were a legend…"
"The Twelve Sisters are very real," Sophia interjected.  "I didn't climb through the waterways to open valves both old and new for nothing."
Henri blinked, lips pursed in recollection before he nodded. "They actually have no key, only a dual layer system that requires redirecting the flow of water and secret words known to only a select few of us…"
"Ha! Magic words? Do the Knights believe in unicorns too, Henri?" Raphael chimed in.
Sophia slowly turned her head and looked at the man who had done nothing but bicker with everyone since he walked in the door.  He was nothing short of irritating and if her tea wasn't the only thing keeping her from a snapping remark again, she would have little issue once again using it as a makeshift distraction.
"Raphael…" Audrey said, sucking in her lower lip to cover her bottom teeth before she spoke again, "Did you forget about how much you believed in the power of magic love water that one time, so passionately, that you hired an American to come and find it?"
Next to Sophia, Vincent let out a low chuckle into his cup.
"How can I forget when that very American left behind a ring when she walked out on me?"
Save the sirens outside, the room was so quiet that the only sound was the pitter-patter of little paws and the swishing of a tail as a fluffy cat made its way into the living room. Brown eyes stared at the gathering before targeting Audrey. The pet wove in and out of her legs, mewing in the silence.
"This isn't the place, Raphael," Audrey chided softly.
If this doesn't start going in a different direction, I'm done. God, when will my ankle stop being in sync with the throbbing in my head…
"But he's not seriously suggesting we trust the Knights?" Raphael crossed his arms, incredulous.
"This is actually useful information. We need to know how to stop the flow of water before the damage to the city gets worse."
"In case everyone missed it, I'll say it again: already done!  Now it's just a matter of this ridiculous keyword and where it's meant to be said!" Sophia pushed through the pain to get the words out but she was quickly realizing how much of this was a poor idea.
Not only did she need proper medical attention but this would get them nowhere.  
"I just don't think we should trust him, or his Knights," Raphael's agitation was beginning to encroach on the very air in the room.
"I don't care. We have to save Paris. Even if I don't trust the Knights, we have to try everything."
Watching the two of them was like a game of ping pong. Sophia let out a breath slowly, shifting in her seat. She wanted to just do something instead of talk about it.  Even the times she was arranging shows with Vincent involved action and discussion.  Why wouldn't others multitask that way?  As if a conference of people was going to change the fact that action was needed.  Meetings like this were why she was glad Vincent gave her free reign to do what she needed, within reason, and why she worked alone on this venture. The more brains that were involved, the more complicated and opinionated everything became.
"I presume you have a much better idea, Raphael?" Henri asked, crossing his legs and sitting back in his chair.
"I do actually. We skip the Knights and go right after Alia."
"It's pointless. Alia will have covered her tracks too well."  The politician pressed his tongue to his back teeth, mouth open slightly before he spoke again. "Who did Alia kill, anyway?"
"Alexandre Vasiley," Sophia replied after a long sip of her tea.  
And your wife. But this isn't the time for that…
The name clearly meant something to him but for the rest of the room, she supplied, "A Knight of Lutetia and one of the Louvre's senior curators."
Henri's head tilted to one side as he processed what she said before he protested. "No, that's not possible.  I just spoke to him a few hours ago. He was supposed to make sure the pathways were clear to the beacon."
"I'm not one to fake injury and I'll gladly show the bullet wound.  Alia shot him in front of me and I watched him die after he shoved a coin into my hands. He said something about a promise."
Sophia pulled out the gold coin from her shirt pocket and held it between two fingers. Some of the ridges still held blood if she looked closely. Henri's eyes grew wide behind his glasses and he swallowed audibly.
"He picked you as his heir," he murmured.
"I don't want it," Sophia said, thumbing the coin into her hand and holding it out to him, palm up. "I want no part in this xenophobic, sexist little cult that has you as its poster boy for the political agenda."
"You have no say in the matter, not right now," the politician sighed and stood as he pulled out his phone, typing a message quickly.
"Sophia, you can't be serious," Vincent's eyes were wide and she knew that glimmer. It was the same one that came when she told him about Heloise's letter, the same one that came whenever he looked a little too hard at her. "Do you know what that position comes with? The glory, the doors that open for you…"
She glared at him. "I want nothing that comes at the cost of three friends and almost my own life. I didn't endure threat after threat from them only to join them. Besides, I'm not French. Probably voids the entire thing."
"His position is like mine, it's a family legacy, but he could give his coin to whomever he wished in a life or death situation. Even someone outside of the country," Henri clarified. "Everything else is moot. He made his choice on his deathbed. If you don't want it, bury it with him. But he wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't think you deserved it."  A knowing glance was passed from her to Vincent and back.  "Romantic interests aside."
I did say I wanted to see this through, Sophia thought, closing her hand and returning it to her lap. And I promised him. And Catherine. If being part of them is what it takes to stop this…
__________
An agreement was reached after further bickering and it was clear no one was entirely excited about it.  Vincent, Raphael, and Audrey would go to Alia's apartment and see if she left any traces or clues behind; Sarah, Henri, and Sophia would go meet with one of the commanders to see if they could get any information on the password and alert others to the death of one of their own.
To say she wasn't thrilled was one of the biggest understatements in the past few months of her life.  
Vincent held back on his critique until they were relatively alone, her arms around his neck as he carried her down the stairs.  "You would be better off with us.  At least on my boat, you could rest and Eugene would be nearby."
"You mean, you would would be able to keep an eye on me."
"Well, that too.  But you're in no shape to run around the city again."
"Says the man on the run."
He let out a sigh of frustration and he lingered, pausing on a landing to adjust his hold on her before saying, "I was out of line for suggesting you join them, especially when they're the reason you get hurt almost every time.  As capable as you are, as much as I believe in your abilities, I once again found myself facing the reality of losing someone I love.  And yet, I'm letting them take you away from me again."
"I've agreed to go.  I owe it to the dead to go with them.  For now."
Vincent peered over her body just enough to see his footing as he began heading downstairs again.  "When all of this over...once Alia's in custody and you're in hospital, I'm going to turn myself in."
The words sucked the air from her lungs and she pulled away from the cradle of his shoulder just enough to see his face.  She knew that expression, the set of his eyebrows and the lack of playful mirth in his eyes that were, instead, focusing straight ahead at their destination.  His gaze flicked to her for a moment, gauging her reaction, but his mouth remained in a flat line.
"You're doing what you need to do and you've suffered every step of the way in the past twenty-four hours.  You could have left all of this behind and you didn't.  It's time I stopped running and did what I'm supposed to do, too."
Before she could press him further, they reached the rest of the group.  Everyone else was already finalizing their ideas with Audrey, who looked as though a strong gust of wind would knock her over if the flood waters failed to.
Vincent walked the gangway to the other vessel waiting next to his own and eased Sophia down onto the bench at the stern.  She shifted, lounging so her injured leg was on the bench while her other leg supported her.  From his pocket, he pulled the letter and held it out for her, which she slipped into the small backpack in her lap, housing her phone and other things he originally brought with him.
"I suppose I get no say in that," she said at last, casting a glance at the group on the sidewalk.  "You turning yourself in, I mean."
"I'm afraid not.  But these last few years have been an awakening and I realized that the past few days would have been...vastly more incredible if I'd been free.  We can discuss the details at length once this is finished."
As he turned away she caught his sleeve, and with her other hand, she grabbed his tie to pull him back towards her.  It was nothing like their kisses from last night, or even like their first; it was passionate but incredible in its certainty, not just with their emotional connection, but in the decisions that laid ahead.  
His lips left hers at the sudden clearing of a throat.  Vincent excused himself to assist Eugene but not without a look back as Henri's boat parted first.  Sophia looked back and watched until they rounded a bend in the canal and it became impossible to do so, fingers tracing the memories he left on her lips.
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Rolling in the Deep (43)
City of Love: Paris AU. Vincent Karm notices an incongruity with a painting and realizes there must be some truth to the rumors he hears about forgeries. He hires an American with a background in art history and the art market to look into the situation, leading to the discovery of a plot that would prove devastating for Paris. Vincent KarmxOC. Currently Season 2.
AO3 | Wattpad | Chapter 42 
The journalist seemed heavily intent on pushing herself as close to him as possible and Vincent wasn’t pulling away, wasn’t stopping…he could push her away and he wasn’t… He didn’t seem responsive either but she was too focused on biting her tongue to keep from screaming.
Sophia felt her heartbeat in her temples and whatever coherent thought she had seemed to drain out of her as she watched.  She couldn’t breathe.  This couldn’t be real.  Only hours before, they had been discussing marriage...an actual future...something more than limbo.  And now, her fiance was having his hair and his tie pulled by the very woman who got him arrested.  
A deep part of her wanted nothing more than to stride over there and wrench them apart, to stomp on Vincent’s expensive Italian leather shoes and drag the journalist by her hair and manage to chuck her into the canal.  The part of her that felt as if her entrails might as well have been cut out and left to be picked at by vultures.  
The coppery tang of blood burst in her mouth as she bit down even harder to swallow the second scream that threatened to release itself.  No.  She couldn’t scream.  People would think she was being hurt, it would draw attention , and attention would land everyone in bigger trouble.  But dear God, she couldn’t keep this in much longer...
It was over as quickly as it began but eternity seemed to stretch on forever until Audrey patted Vincent on the chest and closed the building door behind her.  He closed his eyes and her stomach rolled at the thought of what could be going through his head, wondering if he wished he had gone inside, broken promises to her before they could even be spoken… Everything seemed to spin for a moment until he turned and began heading in her direction until he seemed to realize that she wasn’t some stranger out for a smoke.  Was this how deer felt, caught in the mesmerizing glow of a car’s headlights?  Too stunned to acknowledge the pain of the impact? Vincent opened his mouth to speak but if he said anything, she couldn’t hear him over the thrum of her pulse, over the sudden deafening sound of her own breathing.  She was vaguely aware that her eyes were burning and wet and she swiped away the tears with a shaky hand.  Another hand joined hers and cupped her cheek to wipe away the tears and she flinched before pulling away.  
“No,” the word felt so heavy, her voice strained to say it.  “Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t reach for her again.  At least he had the decency to keep his distance when she asked.  
“It was a joke that went too far,” Vincent said, answering the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask, the one that was threatening to snap her vocal cords if she did.  “It…”
She wasn’t going to stand here and listen to excuses.  She couldn’t.  There were no excuses for this, for any of it.  The journalist had long since proven that she would lead him-lead them -to nothing but ruin as long as Vincent’s ego exposed itself.  Hearing Audrey out and remaining professional, if not courteous, was one thing; it was another to continue to let the woman worm her way into the very intimate parts of her life and to come between them over and over.
Sophia’s sharp glare upwards cut Vincent off immediately and she revelled just a little at the knowledge that she could make someone like him feel even an ounce of fear or guilt.
“I respect you too damn much to stroke your ego and manipulate you.  And I respect myself far too much to continue wasting my time.”
She twisted the gold band from her finger and without breaking eye contact, let it go as though it was the dirtiest thing she had ever touched.  Sophia turned and began walking, feeling her core cave in on itself with every step.  He said nothing, or at least, she didn’t hear him if she did.  She was too busy fighting to keep herself upright, too busy trying to get air deeper into her lungs.
It wasn’t until she was blocks away that she turned a corner and collapsed against the limestone, doubled over in an agony she had thought forgotten.  A silent scream wrenched her jaw open as the tears came more freely, salty and hot, splattering onto her boots.  Was it too much to ask for, for someone to never be like him , to be loved without being pushed aside?  The cursed image played over in her mind, again and again, and each time Sophia looked for signs, any indication that Vincent didn’t want the kiss, that he was going to push her away, that there wasn’t that little bend in his knees when the journalist turned her head and tasted …
Sophia gagged, her stomach unable to cope with the pressure inside her.  She had let herself become vulnerable, open up to him in ways she never thought she would be capable of again.  And this was where it got her.  In the streets of Paris, face-to-face with the remnants of her dinner, with no one she could turn to, even after four years of living here.
Alone.  Again.  Like always.
Fine.  That was...fine.  The past two years might as well have been all alone, if she removed the constant presence of Eugene and the weekly visits to La Sante.  What was the difference, truly?
She sniffled, tidied herself up, and walked.  She kept going, keeping a wide berth of Palais Garnier and the Louvre, cutting through Place de la Concorde to walk along the Seine.  She watched as the fingers of early sunrise grazed the horizon, peeking through the streets to the east.  The Eiffel Tower loomed as she made her way to the Eighth, less like a landmark and more an eternal watchtower.  
Sophia walked through the lobby on autopilot, not caring to check whether the police were lurking outside, as they usually were.  No one stopped her, or at least, no one thought to.  She wasn’t aware of anything until she was flipping through the safe, digging for her passport.  Her real passport, kept separate from the fake ones, a pair of which had matching surnames and a marriage status to match.
She shoved it into her inner jacket pocket, next to her small wallet, a necessity when carrying a purse wasn’t always possible.  Her phone was elsewhere, a constant heavy presence at her hip in an outer pocket.  She couldn’t bring herself to turn it off but she couldn’t bring herself to check it, either.  
Any and all notifications were swiped away as she hailed a rideshare to Orly.  It was closer than Charles de Gaulle and she could get out of Paris just as easily.
A low keening caught her attention as she headed for the door.  Sophia winced as the clacking of nails on the floor came closer, sleep-laden paws slow but steady in their determination.
She glanced into big brown eyes, watching white ears fall and a fluffy tail remain stationary, frozen.  Sophia knelt and Theodora hesitantly stepped forward into her arms, the dog nuzzling and sniffing before she whined again.
“You can’t come with me, I’m sorry.  Bringing you would only…”
Break my heart further .
She stroked white fur in just the right way, gently rubbing behind ears that seemed permanently flat.  She took it back, about being alone all these years, just long enough to acknowledge that she desperately wished Theodora could come with her.  That doing so wouldn’t look as though she was taking the kids so he could keep the house.
It never occurred to her, as she sank into the back seat of her ride towards Orly, that the ring didn’t hit the sidewalk at all, that silence dominated their parting, that he was forever one step ahead of her.
__________
Vincent turned the ring over, the metal warm, warmer now than it was when she plucked it off her finger and dropped it as though even looking at it was beneath her.  It caught the errant streetlight as he began walking in the opposite direction, keeping to the shadows until he reached the street he needed.  
It had taken a great deal not to go after her or have her followed.  Not only out of concern but to get some semblance of control over the situation.  Everything about the past few years had been about regaining control.  But when it came to her...she’d never truly given him the reins in the first place.  At least, she hadn’t in the same way most did, blinded by promises of riches and glory; all of that had been heavily outweighed by her desire to figure out a mystery that could possibly save a city.  
He was taken with her for a number of reasons but that …
The first wave of anger passed and it was like his heart and everything below it was being removed with a long hook down his throat.  He felt a tremor run through his body as he fumbled for the silver case he kept in his suit jacket, containing exactly two cigarettes and a tiny book of matches.  The first inhale steadied him, the rush of nicotine a familiar and comforting sensation.  He released a steady stream of smoke but the pressure in his chest became too much and breathing seemed impossible on his second pull.  He couldn’t get the disgusting air deeper into his chest and he coughed harshly, unable to breathe properly.  
When it was over, he pulled the pocket square from his jacket and removed any signs of irritation or watery eyes as he resisted the urge to shout and throw the blasted ring into the canal.  His vision didn’t clear and he gave up on the cigarette, flicking it into the canal with an audible snap of his middle finger and thumb.
Vincent Karm didn’t cry .  He did everything but cry.  He hadn’t cried in over ten years and he wasn’t about to bloody well start now.
But he knew what she said was true.  She was more than capable of pulling his strings, knew exactly where and when to say things, but she never (or hardly) did.  She didn’t get way by manipulation and seduction, fawning and flattery.  She worked hard until her hands metaphorically bled and she was suffering a migraine for lack of sleep.  With her, his approach had to be different, but in doing so, he had found himself unable to pull away and group her in with all the others.  
But in the end...another chance, probably the last chance he had at something, was ruined.  Redemption wasn’t quite what he was going for, he didn’t believe he needed to be saved or anything of the sort; he had grown up with enough Catholic guilt to know that redemption wasn’t for the likes of him.  But he had a chance at a like that, although above the means of the average person by far, would have meant more...everything.  They looked good together, true, and both of them were successful in their own ways, and Sophia had the potential to become just as influential as he was if she wasn’t already.  Those had been his initial thoughts but even behind bars, life was more full with her in it, beside him.  She kept up with him without compromising her own integrity, or most of it, never afraid of him nor bothering to coddle him.
He needed that.  Someone who wasn’t afraid.  So many pretended not to be but he could see it in errant glances and hiding behind envy and attraction and admiration.
Paul hadn’t been afraid.  If anything, Paul was the braver of them.  
He shouldn’t have gone along with the stupid bet, shouldn’t have encouraged whatever liquid the journalist had inbibed that made her more stupid and cocky than brave.  She was mourning a loss that he knew well but that didn’t deserve a kiss goodnight.  
Especially not when his mind was filled with all the ways in which she wasn’t Sophia.  The entire kiss was wrong, too strong, too dominating to have been truly enjoyable.  In another life, perhaps he would have found it head-spinning and blood-boiling, but when the comparison was steady, a constant tease at the true fire that laid beneath a calm veneer paired with the knowledge of how utterly perfect they fit against one another…
He’d wanted Sophia in that moment, the second unfamiliar lips touched his own.
Every time the journalist was involved, they were ripped apart from one another.  But it was no one’s fault but his own.  His damning need to be the one people turned to, their answer for their unsolvable problems, their soul-selling devil who promised the world for only the low, low price of their existence.
His phone let out a single bright tone in the semi-silent streets and, a little more eagerly than he was proud to admit, he pulled it out, expectations not yet below ground surface.  No text, just a single notification from his bank about a recent transaction.  He didn’t even have access to the account, at least legally.  And if the police were monitoring any and all activity of those closest to him, it was the stupidest thing he had ever seen.
They would be ripped apart for good, it seemed.  If history was going to repeat itself, it might as well go all the way.
__________
The ticket and boarding pass that now populated her airline app felt, somehow, more cloying than comforting.
All flights across the Atlantic were delayed.  A quick scan of the weather report for Montclair and social media of people back home in New Jersey and New York was all she needed to confirm that, somehow, a last-season blizzard was pummeling the northeast.  Of course.
“And they say global warming isn’t real…” she muttered, scanning the signs for Terminal 1.
She’d managed a ticket to Dublin, via British Airways, and even thought to pick First Class.  Getting to JFK or Newark was going to take more time than she expected and the longer she stayed in Paris, the dirtier she felt.  But the flight out wasn’t for another three hours.  So, for now, she would have to suffer.
The irony of yet again, traveling under stress and emotional exhaustion, didn’t escape her as she made her way to Terminal 1, passing her gates and heading towards the one thing she knew she could find anywhere in the world.  Sophia wished it wasn’t the corporate chain she knew just from the color alone but it was the only coffee shop in the terminal that had separate, more secluded, seating.  She wanted coffee in peace, to forget about her lack of sleep and the feeling of being stabbed as the person she loved twisted the knife deeper into her.
Once again, she swiped away notifications, although she hesitated on the ones from her parents asking about her wellbeing.  Innocuous, really, although she had neglected to tell them that she wasn’t aware of Vincent’s whereabouts and it made sense they would ask if she was okay.
She wasn’t, but she wasn’t about to have that conversation right just now, standing on line.  She ordered a large cappuccino, along with a bagel and a bottle of water, and tucked herself into the corner, out of public sight.
The notifications were, for now, under control, and she hesitantly checked on her mom’s message, and then her dad’s, before heading to Eugene’s controlled inquiry, her chest constricting at the mention that Vincent seemed.quiet since his return underground.  
Vincent’s messages were...hard to discern and only made mention that perhaps time apart was best until all of this was resolved.  She felt as though she was reading their texts from years ago and that once again, a wall was there, built of more than professionalism and respect for boundaries and reinforced with pain and fear.
She glared when another cup joined hers, diagonally from her.  Blocking her.
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving Paris, just when your beloved escaped his fancy prison?”
If she hadn’t already gotten sick, she would have heaved what little she had already put in her stomach at the sight of the American politician.
“Get lost, Dick ,” Sophia hissed, reaching to grab her things and move to another table.
He rolled his eyes and scoffed.  “Sit down, there’s no other available tables.”
A quick glance around confirmed his words and she hesitantly sank back down, the clasps on her coat clattering against the wooden chair.
“Although I have to admit, it’s good to see you haven’t changed at all, running like a terrified mut with her tail between her legs at the first sign of trouble.  Maybe you shouldn’t have considered a criminal for a life partner.  Loyalty for them only runs one way, you know.”
“Says the man whose entire career was based on persuading people to believe lies for the betterment of their own existence.”
Richard continued as though she hadn’t spoken.  “I could hardly blame him when that journalist was a young, pretty piece of…”
Sophia’s hand shot out, fingers curved to mar his skin.  He caught her wrist just in time, gripping her hard, frustrating her all the more.  Someone took her entrails and made her a yo-yo and she was damn well sick of it.
“Again, always ready to make a scene.”
Richard relaxed, letting her wrist go as if he touched magma, his arm coming dangerously close to knocking over her open-topped cup.  
“Why are you here, anyway?” he asked.  “You look like you missed a night of sleep.  You can’t seriously expect them to let you leave, not when you’re connected to one of the most wanted criminals?”
“Maybe I come here to people-watch.  Maybe I’m meeting someone.  You seem to be in quite the hurry yourself for someone who was staying until the election.”
“Change of plans.  I was paid in full and told my services could be used remotely.”
“I’m sure Charlotte will be so pleased.”
Sophia reached for her cappuccino, instinctively going for a sip until something sickly sweet and reminiscence of autumn hit her nostrils.  It was like someone crushed decaying rose petals into the bitter and creamy brew.
If she wasn’t furious before...  
Her hand trembled slightly, and she fought not to let it show.  Richard always got his kicks from seeing her any other way but calm and reserved.  
Fuck it.  If Vincent can do it...
Sophia took a sip, choking down the burning liquid and awful taste.  The initial sweetness from the milk was made all the more pronounced, turning sour as it lingered on her tongue, spoiled and rotten.  It gave way to the usual bitterness,  made sharper by the taste of earth.  Nothing happened, as expected, but she tried to remember just what the Essence did.  How did Laurent react to it...slow blinking, swaying to a silent beat, undeterred attention…
She pretended to pour her heart out.  Admit how hard it was to love someone who only thought of himself, who was so successful and always found a way for anyone to pay that price but him.
Eventually, she got him to talk about himself, and she did everything in her power to look doe-eyed, hanging on his every word.
Looking at Richard churned her stomach further, reminded her of all the nights she spent in college, rose-tinted glasses keeping her from seeing the concern on her parents’ faces or hearing the worry in their words.  She remembered miles and miles of canvassing, knocking on doors, pitching Richard Ingram to the neighborhoods where a young woman from Montclair was easily discernible; her shoes were too new, her eyes too shiny and naïve.  She got blisters that day and instead of helping her, he told her to keep going.  She bled all over her sneakers and told him she was never doing that again.  Guilt-tripping.  Their first fight.  She wasn’t willing to do what she needed to in order for him to win.  If she was going to be with him, she needed to do what was required of her.
It sounded almost religious, in hindsight.  
Her mind wandered to the unsatisfying sex, to having to please herself because he was too focused on himself some nights.  And when she wanted it, it was a chore. She hadn’t known true satisfaction with a partner until…
She swallowed hard, pushing away thoughts of the past few days, hoping the flush on her cheeks lent itself to appearing attracted and under the sway of the Essence.  Sophia crossed and uncrossed her legs, letting Richard’s hand under the table stay on her thigh, where it squeezed menacingly as he droned on.
The move to DC wore her down, she remembered, worse than her first few months in Paris had.  She had few friends, a job that she took to save up for graduate school, and more and more demands that she put Richard first. 
She lost herself in his identity.  She was no longer Sophia Cousland but Richard Ingram’s fiancé.  Planning for a wedding that was more for status than for love.  She hid her books, her writing, her tickets to museums.  He had the gall to demand she act a certain way, smile on cue, and treat her like a prized hound at a dog show. 
Her mind went down the rabbit hole for a moment and she remembered their last time together.  She was never sure if she said yes, and if she did, if she had meant it or said it out of resignation.  She loved him.  And life without him seemed far more terrifying than life with him.  Love made everything justifiable back then.
Whereas Vincent enjoyed control, yet he gave her the freedom she needed to flourish.  He knew her limits.  He respected her ‘no’, left her boundaries alone.   He didn’t chase her to convince her that she didn’t see what she thought she did.
He gave her the resources for her to pursue her passion, even if she was beholden to him.  Vincent had made sure she was safe and was responsible for making sure she got the help she needed after Catherine’s death.  He treated her differently, although now she wasn’t entirely sure if his intentions were to keep her leash tight or because his feelings were genuine.  Their banter wasn’t always flirtatious, not in the way it was with Audrey; there was nothing to prove, never a rivalry.  They were always a team.  Even if it didn’t always feel like it.
He made her feel as if everything she loved mattered.  Her experiences were valid.  Maybe she was screwed up for that, for loving someone who hurt so many people, who wanted to poison Paris.  But he didn’t want to poison her.
She mattered to him in the way that the night needed the moon in order to recognize how dark it was without it.  He once said that she helped quiet his mind, that her presence seemed to soothe whatever kept him chasing an ever-growing mountain of greed and glory.  As if he needed no more as long as she was with him.  She was always herself, even when she was reserved, and he welcomed her into his life for who she was.  There was no changing her, no insisting on different behavior because he said so. 
He wasn’t without fault.  He stepped on everyone to get ahead, used people for their connections, blackmailed and hired assassins without so much as a blink.  He would rather use an ancient relic for his own personal gain and poison the city he loved just to provide some kind of relief from pain and sorrow. 
He still hurt, decades later, from a love that never was.
And yet somehow, they let the other in, as if they knew no other way.
“From what I hear, the work Alexandre has been doing isn’t finished yet.  And yet you would leave your responsibilities behind?”
“I’m not French; I’ll never be one of them and he’s made it quite clear how disposable I am.”
Sophia injected a lilt to her words, invoking sympathy, letting Richard reach over with his free hand and hold hers.  She tried hard not to vomit.
She’d stayed for Paris but she would be lying to herself if she didn’t think for a second that her feelings for Vincent weren’t at play, too.  She couldn’t imagine a life back in New York, or anywhere else; he’d opened up a realm of possibilities to her and going home was the most boring of them all.  It was comforting to think of returning to Montclair, to familiar territory where it was safe and warm and forgiving.  Doing what she loved was important but doing what she loved without any kind of connection to the person who made it possible was inconceivable. 
And yet…that tie was in Audrey’s hands, his lips were against Audrey’s…
But he hadn’t enjoyed it, had he?  As Richard’s leg rubbed against hers and he began a story about how he, too, was suckered into this strange affair, she replayed the memory of hours prior again.  Perhaps it was wishful thinking but he’d been stiff, taken aback, and seemed to put more distance between them, as if that would make a difference in the journalist’s intentions.  She’d heard him say something about coming upstairs, but…he’d looked furious. 
And absolutely broken when he realized…
“You were hired to do a job.  If there’s one thing I admired about you when we first met, it was how thorough and steadfast you completed everything.  I’m surprised you would consider this drastic of a measure.”
“It’s not that shocking, I rode an Amtrak to Manhattan in an obnoxious dress.”
“We were on the outs anyway, Sophia, I was too much of a coward to admit it.”
More like a controlling sack of shit...
“I just don’t understand, Richard.  You got everything you ever wanted.”
Feigned innocence, a lack of understanding.  She knew perfectly well that he wasn’t happy.  A man like him never would be.
“Not everything.  It was all taken away from me.  And here you are,” the hand over hers gripped her wrist again, driving force just above the actual joint, pressure threatening to snap it.  “Fucking a millionaire and working in a gallery.  Having the audacity to be happy that you accepted a criminal over me.”
The words were natural, instinctive.  Words spoken so many times after an arm was twisted behind her back to make her smile, after their lawyers had finished tearing their throats out and left them both bleeding money and pain.  
“Now you know how dealing with you felt for all those years, how seeing you all over the news and in the press lately felt as I went bankrupt and lost everything.  Begging for work from foreign countries because Charlotte has an image to maintain.  Christ, you were easy compared to her.”
A dark flicker danced behind his eyes and she caught the hint he wasn’t going to say out loud.  That she might still be easy.  If she slept with her boss, he might just sleep with anyone.  And wasn’t anyone better than a lowlife criminal who was technically considered a national terrorist in some circles?
Sophia blinked slowly, straightening her back to posture just right as she brought her knee up to graze his thigh.  Thank god for small cafe tables, otherwise this wouldn’t have worked quite so well.  His reaction was almost instantaneous and she gave a small, playful smile at the stiff exhale.  Richard had yet to let go of her wrist but she’d manage.
She just needed to wait a little longer.  Convince him the Essence worked.  That she was pliable, willing to launch herself from the height of the Eiffel Tower if it meant making him happy.
“Then why don’t you take what you want, like you always did?” She teased.  “After all, I never meant it when I told you to stop.  How could I have, when you’re absolutely magnificent?”
The low groan that came when her knee felt higher was a sound she never wanted to hear again.  It was always gratuitous, for the benefit of him hearing his own voice, his own pleasure; as if making it louder would make it feel better for her.
“There’s time for that, kitten.  Why not show me what I’ve been missing?  Ten minutes, the bathrooms down the corridor.  You leave first.”
She licked her lips without breaking eye contact, acid rising in her throat at the thought of even being alone with him.  She gathered her things, or rather, what little she had left, along with her still-hot drink.  She pretended to fumble with the lid as she moved past him and let the cup fall out of her hands as she feigned tripping, catching herself just as a loud roar came from the man sitting with her.  
“You bitch .  I should have known it wouldn’t have worked on the likes of you!”
She caught eyes following her as she rose and brushed off her jacket.  The barista was already reaching for the phone to call security and Sophia held up her hands, saying she was on her way out anyway.  Richard was probably banking on her getting caught, either because he would make a fuss until she was or because she was clearly running from the situation at hand.  
He was right.  They wouldn’t let her leave, not without detaining her.  And he was more right that unfortunately, she would never be happy if she left everything here unfinished, incomplete.
__________
Sophia exited the terminal with little to no trouble, despite the increased presence of authorities and her lack of attempt to hide her face.  Then again, they were looking for Vincent himself, not necessarily her.  She  hailed a cab at the curb and gave an address she hadn’t been to in years.  As she reached the outskirts of Paris, the sun now higher and brighter, she pulled out her phone again and sent a single text with the address and a time.
As she walked through the threshold twenty minutes later, the musty smell of a closed space danced with something darker, something no amount of bleach or sanitizer would ever remove.  The smell of blood was still strong, the liquid having soaked into the old wooden floorboards, staining them a dark brown.  
Her companion lingered in the corner on the same wall as the door, neither of them looking at the other beyond a cautionary glance to acknowledge they were there.  
The small apartment was untouched since the body was removed.  She could still see the outline where she died.  There were the bloody footsteps from her own shoes that day, the signs of a struggle and a single bloody handprint that belonged to Sophia where she fell.  His eyes seemed fixed on the spot against the crates, as though he could truly see her, slumped over, eyes faded.
They had both failed her that day.  Failed themselves.
“We don’t have much time,” he said, his voice hoarse.  “I-”
Alexandre’s words were drowned out by a crescendo from above, a whining that she had only ever heard in movies from the second World War.  Both of them looked up in instinct but Alexandre’s mouth moved to form a curse she couldn’t hear and he crossed to the window, overlooking the city.  The siren was joined by others, emergency vehicles, car horns; a chorus of warnings.
They descended the stairs two at a time, Alexandre leading the way, heading towards one of the many entrances they used to use when they worked out of the apartment.  The pavement underneath their feet was damp and by the time they reached the ancient storm drain, Sophia’s pants were soaked to her ankles and Alexandre wasn’t fairing much better. They were too late.  The flood had already begun.
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