sundown | FRABLE

FRABLE | CEO AU

[Nathan has a reputation, like most men in his position. He's ruthless, he's strategic, he makes risky moves and he fucks his assistants. They rarely leave on bad terms. Normally it's a promotion that takes them away from him. He likes to build them up and set them free.

It's how his executive officer won her position. They don't fuck anymore. She's married now, those days are in the past. All that's left of that relationship is an unwavering loyalty and a very careful approach to how she staffs his office. Thus far, she's been incredibly adept at securing women who are ambitious, clever, productive and very interested in casual sex. It's all he has time for, so in his view it makes sense to combine the role of assistant and fuck-buddy. So long as he's only furthering their career and not dragging them down with his proclivities.

What he has yet to realise is that he doesn't have as good a sense for it as his E.O does. Increasingly, he's interested in women who are harder to win over. Increasingly, his interviews are about grilling girls to see how they respond. He's a lawsuit waiting to happen, so he's been quietly left out of the process the last few times. Perhaps that's why the position is open once more.

He's not supposed to be in the office for this round, so both he and his E.O share a confused look as he strides past unfamiliar, nervous women. He quickly evaluates the situation, then the girls. Then he's taking his E.O's notebook from her and reading it. He disregards the running order, he beckons for the pale girl with the long legs.]

You're up.

[He holds open the door of his office for her. He'll shut it before the E.O can join them.]

What's your name?

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[ Blindsided. She did not see this coming.

Her eyes are large at any given moment, but now they're even wider, staring at him first with shock -- followed by anger. Disgust tails, doubling to the point she has the desire to storm out.

Her jaw is set. She's glaring at him. Has to make herself speak, plucking words past her fury. ]

What a relief it must be that you aren't marrying him.

[ Her voice is icy. She hasn't said anything like this before to him -- she has a healthy respect for authority -- but he's tread past the boundary of civility. He's no longer deserving of it. ]

I think it's time for me to leave.

[This is wildly different than most of his propositions. Mostly because he's never propositioned an engaged, likely pregnant woman.

And yet, he finds himself compelled to leave it all on the line. He shoots up from his sitting position, leaning over her just slightly. He's not trying to intimidate, he's trying to be intimate. Just a little.]

You can go back home to you if you want. [He sucks his teeth, hesitating before he spits it out.]

Or you can stay. With me.

[ She had begun to stand herself, but his abrupt movement keeps her seated.

Or you can stay. With me.

An understatement to say she doesn't always pick up on social cues. But it clicks.

He hasn't exactly been discreet with his interest. Thinly veiled. Is that why he's doing this? Disappointment colors her face. She looks miffed, uncomfortable.

Resolved.

She ignores him to get to her feet, the gears shifting in her head. ]

I'm not -- I'm not going to sleep with you. I have a fiancé.

[ But he doesn't care about that. Clearly.

So: ] I don't want to sleep with you.

[ It lands like a punch. She meets his eyes, resentment in her own. ]

If you hired me to that end, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

[Absolutely nothing about this interaction has given Nathan confidence in his approach. He blew it, he will wonder what he was thinking.

He ought to let her leave, since imposing himself on her like this is probably intimidating. Still, his fingers brush up her forearm. He squeezes gently, doing his best to meet her eyes.]

I hired you because I saw something in you. [Not his dick.]

Ambition. Talent. Smarts. [He drops her arm, backing away. Giving her space.]

I'm not in the business of wasting potential.

[But he sort of expects her letter of resignation. Or a call from HR.]

Goodnight, Francesca.

[ Despite all reason to, Fran doesn't go to HR. Nor does she put in her resignation.

She does brood over the weekend. He doesn't reach out to her. Come Monday, their interactions are cooled, sometimes stilted on her end, but surprisingly civil all the same. Professional.

Almost like nothing happened. She begins to wonder if she assumed the worst. Maybe she was -- not wrong, but too harsh.

There exists new distance between them. And she misses the feedback. The praise on a job well done. The collaboration.

Eventually, unable to maintain a grudge, she softens. So does he. When he asks her to accompany him on a work trip, she only hesitates briefly before accepting. At this point, she knows it isn't inlaid with an ulterior motive.

Francesca hasn't seen much of Japan, save for a vacation with her family many years ago. Nathan promises to show her around. After.

Their rooms are on the same floor. She was supposed to meet him in the lobby ten minutes ago. They have an important appointment. A dinner.

And it's not like her to be late. ]

[As promised, she was not hired for the sole purpose of fucking. She's a good worker, so he continues to support her career. More quietly, this time.

Eventually, they're pulled back together. Feels a little closer than they were before he mangled his progress. He should stop thinking of it as progress and not just the natural flow of a professional relationship. He should stop thinking of her generally.

But he doesn't. He goes to sleep thinking about her and he wakes up thinking about her. It takes incredible focus to stop his eyes running up her body. He thought once it became clear she was pregnant he'd lose interest. Unfortunately not.

It's not his motivation to take her with him to Japan, but the constant companionship does kind of please him. It's not all business, there's various social gatherings where he's enjoyed the opportunity to have her at his side. She does exactly as well as he imagined and he finds himself feeling proud of her. His professional pleasure still doesn't stop him from imagining following her into her room when he drops her off.

This is what he's doing when he waits in the lobby for her. When she's a little late, he wonders if she's putting in a little extra effort just for him. He'd promised a more rewarding evening because of her success. He's fluent in the language, he knows a couple of special places he thinks she'll like.

Because she's earned it. Not for anything special.

More time passes. His text goes unread. He starts to worry a little. Not so much for her health or safety but because he wonders if she knows he's back to toeing over her boundaries. For that reason, maybe he lingers a little too long before he does the walk of shame back upstairs.

When he's at his door, he looks at hers. He contemplates retiring for the night and preserving his ego from being bruised, but a more sincere concern has started to form. Surrendering to it, he moves away from his door to knock on hers.]

Francesca?

[ She's in the process of getting ready for their evening out when it starts. The beginning of the end.

Or maybe it began in the hours before. How does one measure a miscarriage? When did her body decide upon betrayal, destroying the most precious part of it?

The first cramp doesn't alarm her; she barely notices. Pregnancy is all aches and pains. Were that all, she'd have forgotten about it. It's not. The first blends into a second, a third. She sets the curling wand down, pressing her palm into the cool countertop.

Something feels different.

Wrong.

A stabbing pain sends her to the toilet, tights bunching at her knees. Spotting is supposed to be normal, she knows. She's read extensively.

But -- this isn't spotting. No. It's bright red, staining the tissue, her underwear.

She doesn't know how long passes. In the back of her mind, she remembers he's waiting. She googles; she debates calling her mother; she fights for breath.

She doesn't answer the door at the first knock. Her name goes unanswered.

Eventually, when he turns to leave, the door cracks open. Her face, pale, appears in the space between, crumpling at the sight of him. Her eyelashes clumped with mascara and tears, her voice shuddering breaths: ]

Please help me.

[The more time passes between knocks, the more confused his feelings become. He feels deeply embarrassed, more than he feels he ought to be. He feels like he's veering on his previous behaviour, unable to take a hint.

But he knows her as well as he knows himself, and he knows he doesn't make misjudgements like this about a person. She's not the type to ghost. She'd give him a polite excuse. Something's not right.

When he's pulling away, he's contemplating asking the front desk to let him in her room. Is she asleep? Did she ever come back to the hotel?

The door swings open and promptly opens many questions. His eyes flick over her body and he hears fear in her voice that immediately answers following questions. Something's wrong with the baby.

Gently, but without asking, he slips his hands around her so he can tip her back in his arms and hoist her up. He keeps his demeanour calm, carrying her like a child. Or a bride. He doesn't acknowledge the looks he gets striding through the lobby, getting to the taxi and to the hospital is his priority.]

Tell me what your symptoms are and I'll translate them for you.

[He has her huddled in the back of a taxi. She won't understand him offering a handsome bribe for a little speeding.

His hand drops to hers, squeezing and seeking eye contact from her.]

[ She doesn't know what she expects out of him, but it's not that. His arms are strong when they lift her, his chest is warm when he bundles her close.

In an instant, she surrenders to it. Nobody has ever held her like this, not since she was a child.

She feels like a child now, already. Small, defenseless. Lost. Oblivious to prying eyes when he strides through the lobby. Just wants him to take care of it, like she's watched him take care of everything else without breaking a sweat. If anyone could fix this, it's him.

The taxi is small and humid after the chilly winter air. Her breaths come shallow; she reaches for his arm and grips his forearm, struggling through the onslaught of cramps. ]

I can't stop bleeding. [ It looks like a bloodbath. She's bleeding now, still, she can feel the telling warmth between her legs. So much like menstruating, but worse. Her mouth wobbles. ] And it hurts. So much.

[He does not object to the grips on him when she's in pain. He does gently lift her so he can seat her on his scarf. Sacrificing it to be a barrier between her and the taxi seat.

He nods. He's never had a kid, but he knows that's bad news.]

We'll get you to the hospital and they'll know what to do. [Not bullshitting her, but still being reassuring.

As they leave the cab, money exchanges hands smoothly. With precision, he drops his coat over her shoulders as he walks her through the doors. What follows is probably a confusing cacophony of conversations happening around her in another language. Whatever he says gets things moving quickly. She's in a bed, in a private room with very little delay.

It finally hits a point where he's separated from her. When they return with her, he already knows from their expressions what the news is. He's not sure she's heard it, so his expression is searching when he looks at her.]

[ She doesn't want to go, when they move to take her to another room. She doesn't want to be left with strangers, ones she can barely communicate with. Her face is fraught with fear.

There are some matters that transcend language barriers. This is one such.

The ultrasound says it all. The pregnancy is over. It doesn't matter how long she carried, how much denial she's in. No doctor can revive the stagnant heartbeat.

They wheel her back in. Nathan can see it in her expression. Quiet, resigned. Her face damp, eyes glassy and unfocused.

She reaches for his hand. The weight of it is a comfort on her.

One of the nurses speaks English very well. She helps her into the bed, administering more medication into the IV line, while they wait for the doctor. She narrates as she does, then quietly asks for what she perceives to be her husband's name. Fran doesn't notice her eyes are on the only man in the room. All of her responses have been delayed. ]

[Nathan finds himself pacing when she's not around. It garners him sympathetic looks, which he feels a little guilty for. It's not his baby and she's not his wife so he doesn't deserve the pity.

Curiously, though, he feels a depth of concern for her beyond what seems reasonable. Of course he's attracted to her and on a human level he feels sympathy-- what he feels is anguish for her. When he finally slumps in a chair, he feels almost oppressed by his worry. Like it's eating at him.

He all but leaps out of her chair when they wheel her in the room. He catches himself and stands back, letting the nurses do their jobs without pushing in. When she reaches for him, he steps in and takes her hand. She feels cold, so he squeezes her, rubbing his thumb over her palm.]

Nathan. [He doesn't make any correction. She informs him that they'll keep her overnight, that he can get a coffee or go back to his hotel. It's very late and admittedly, he's exhausted. But he's not going anywhere.

His other hand smooths her hair back, tracing down her face to cup her cheek gently.]

I'm sorry, Fran.

[ Time seems to be moving slowly. Conversations are abstract. The pain management fed into her hinders however lucid she might otherwise have been, but she acknowledges the extension of his condolences.

A tilt of her head, progressively bleary eyes. She nods, after a moment -- and relaxes into his palm in the next, the surface of it warm and solid. Paternal, in a way. Protective. All the things she craves. ]

I know. [ Her voice soft and tired, unfathomably tired. It pillows the sadness, tucks it beneath the hollows of her pain and exhaustion. ] I'm sorry, too.

[ Rapidly, she fades into sleep -- lasting maybe for an hour or two, before she rouses, still in pain, still bleeding. ]

[Nathan stays awake after her, organising the next couple of hours on his phone. He suspects she'll want to come home fast, feels like getting her home is more important than getting her man here. He books flights with one hand, the other hand stroking her hair softly.

Something feels unlocked in him, seeing her like this. A level of care he didn't think he had the capacity for. Like he'd rip apart the whole world to fix everything for her.

But he can't fix this.

He can at least take care of her. He helps her with everything she needs, no matter how intimate. She's a little resistant, he reminds her of the things he's seen. He also assures her it's because she's the best assistant he's ever had, he doesn't want to have to find another one if she doesn't pull through. The taunt doesn't really hold much weight, given he waits on her hand and foot. He gets her clothes dry-cleaned, packs her bags, all she needs to do is get on the jet. As if their roles have changed.

When they're on the flight, she's withdrawn. Leaning against the wall, looking out the window at the clouds with a vacant expression. He speaks up.]

I didn't tell him. Your fiancé. [He shrugs, half-heartedly.]

Didn't tell him we're coming back a week early.

[ Nathan is a pillar of strength. Immovable. To a degree, she had known this about him. But now he laser-focuses this feature of himself onto her.

Seeing to her, that she's taken care of, beyond what the average person would do.

As if she's the only person in the world.

He sees things he shouldn't, but he doesn't flinch. Her body bleeding out, discarding the blotted life. He helps her out of her bled-through clothes and into fresh ones.

He pets her hair while she cries, quietly, and sits with her in silence when words fail both of them.

He doesn't owe her any of this. But she clings to him, even with just her eyes.

They sit across from each other on the flight home. It will be hours yet before they get there. His comment meets quiet. It's been something weighing on her mind. She hasn't told anyone else yet. She doesn't have the energy to do so, formulating and scrapping the things she might say. Over the phone, no less.

Some things are beyond words. He seems to understand that. She just nods back.

The rest of the flight is relatively quiet. She crashes again, groggy from the medication. He wakes her when they are touching down.

She doesn't feel much better being back home. She looks smaller, if anything. Lost.

When she goes back, she loses his anchorage. ]

I don't ...

[ She's visibly struggling. Her mouth parts, the lips dry. She looks tired. She feels lifeless. ]

I don't want to go home yet.

[Although it pales in comparison to her sadness, part of him has dreaded sending her somewhere else. He's been taking care of her so far, he feels like he knows better. Or maybe he's just sick in the head and he sees her as a wounded bird he's carrying around in a shoebox. He should let her go.

But her response does give him pause, because he needs to stop himself from offering to take her to his home. He doesn't need to picture her in his bed any more than he has already. Especially not now.]

I'll book you a hotel. [He's already reaching for his phone. Maybe a while ago he would have honed in on the vulnerable position her relationship is in. Now he just wants to do what he can for her, in any meaningful way.]

Or you can take the beach house. You don't need to come straight back to work.

[ Another hotel room. She flinches at the memory evoked, her fingers bunching together at her stomach.

The beach house. She picks up her gaze.

Half-accepting: ]

Will you stay with me for a while? Not the night, necessarily. [ Leaving the door cracked open. She doesn't want to make him feel obligated. She knows how it looks. How he might feel about it, how selfish and strange of her. ] Just -- a while?

[Noting the fact that he missed the mark by suggesting the hotel, he looks a little surprised when she wants his company. He doesn't get to decide how he feels about that, his heart flutters before he's even reacting.

He's never wanted anything as much as he wants to kiss her her and tell her he'll never leave her ever again, if that's what she wants.

But it's definitely not, so he just nods hurriedly.]

Yeah, yeah. I've got an office down there. [And a million meetings he should be attending in Japan. Now he's dodging the main office too. Not a good look, not something he gives much of a fuck about.]

You sure you want me? Not your mom? One of your sisters?

[ She hasn't willingly spoken many words since the miscarriage, and she certainly hasn't smiled, but his assurance draws something close to one out of her.

Conspicuously, she hesitates when he asks. A valid question, after all. She knows the answer already -- but it's the why behind it that is harder to reach. More difficult to explain. ]

I'm sure.

[ She doesn't offer an explanation. Maybe she owes him one, but she doesn't even want to explain it to herself. Instead, she begins to stand, automatically reaching for him to steady her. When he does, she lifts her face to meet his eyes. Her own are soft with gratitude, and unmistakable relief. ]

Thank you.

[ For everything. ]

[He responds with a hum. That's that.

His car takes them to his beach house. He has clothing for himself and she has luggage-- though the majority of it is formal or work clothes. What she'll come to realise is that there's some remnants of previous visitors here. Some loungewear and casual dresses in sizes close to hers in the guest room.

He notices that she doesn't eat unless prompted, he orders in and makes her sit on his deck with him to eat. Something about the fresh, salty air being good for her.

Eventually encouraging her to eat ends with encouraging her to have a nice drink. A few nice drinks. Enough to make her a little giggly, which makes him extremely happy. She's dancing around questions and he sags back in his chair. He looks pretty different in a linen shirt and shorts. Bare feet, far from the office now.]

If you want to ask me something, ask it.

[ Fran does take inventory of the residual outfits. Most of it isn't exactly her style. A little skimpier, more revealing. But she does pick a dress, for the sake of being comfortable, the air twisting the fabric around her legs.

She holds her glass to her chest. He volunteers to be interrogated. She turns on him, drink in hand, and tilts her head. Considering.

Doesn't take long for her to land on a question. Been on her mind much of the night. ]

You once told me you chose not to get married.

[ Come to think of it, it's the same night she jilted him, or thought she had. It's hard to remember being angry at him. Disgusted, at the time. Feels like ages ago. ]

Why is that, exactly?

I like my space. [He's being a little vague, just to tease her. She's tolerated a lot of teasing this evening, which makes him feel like she deserves honesty.]

And I've never met anyone who held my interest long enough for things to get serious. [He shrugs his shoulders lightly. He clearly doesn't like to be this honest, but he's pushing through.]

First parts the best part, diminishing returns after that. I've tried it. Didn't like it. Works better when I stick to the good part.

[There's a ruthless kind of logic to it.]

[ Ruthless, yes. She chews on the answer.

There had been a time when she was not much interested in matrimony, she remembers sharing that much with him. Partly because socializing was never her strong point. Growing up, she had again and again found it difficult to relate to most people. For one reason or another. Always felt like she was a step out of touch with everyone else.

The prospect of trying to date terrified and exhausted her. Stressed her out. She was happy by herself ... for the most part.

It was, admittedly, why she chose the first person she ever dated. ]

Sounds like it may get lonely.

[ If they're being honest. Maybe that's unimaginative. That might have annoyed her to hear when she was younger. It would have infuriated Eloise, something about nuclear families, etc etc.

She takes a sip of her wine. ]

And the first part is...

[ She's being deliberately clueless. A part of her wants to hear him say it. ]

Hardly. If I want company, I'll find it. [He's not really considering that the depth of a relationship is more nourishing than the amount of relationships. He hasn't felt particularly lonely, either. Not until recently, anyway.

He studies her for a moment, curious if she's goading him or if she's naive. The latter is more in line with his impression of her, the former is just a fantasy he has. That brushing against him or glancing at him or playing dumb is how she riles him up, knowing he can't do anything about it.

So he delivers his answer flatly.]

Getting someone to spread their legs for me.

[ It's goading, but innocent goading. Her own hubris at fault for bringing his crudeness out, but it still manages to make her stop and fluster.

Eyes down, she takes another swallow of her wine in order to save face. ]

So it's all about sex for you.

[ She hopes he takes the color in her cheeks as the fermented grapes at work. ]

FRABLE | CEO AU

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