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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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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. ]
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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?
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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.
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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?
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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. ]
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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.
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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?
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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Everything's about sex. And sex is a challenge, if you do it right.
[His voice lowers as he starts to dig a little deeper into it. He's swirling the remains of his drink around when he speaks.]
Win someone over. Figure out what gets them off. Do it over and over until one of us gets bored.
[He's not always the first to end things, but he always will.]
And I like seeing naked women.
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[ The syllable sounds ... unmoved. Confused, perhaps. ]
I have found that physicality isn't everything. In fact, it's not what people crack it up to be in a long-term relationship. [ Coming from one of eight siblings, no less. Is she being serious? Yep. ]
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He shakes his head before he points in a joking but accusatory way.]
The only people who genuinely think that are people who haven't had good sex. Good sex and good chemistry is everything. [He pauses, then adds.]
But I imagine that fades too, in the long-term.
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She opens her mouth, then promptly closes it. But now she's Bothered, and not in a good way. Feeling defensive.
She can't help the retort, nor the bite in it. ]
Sex isn't everything.
[ She just made it worse. Fuck. ]
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