#I think she used to live alone in a large apartment with a panoramic window

[kettle-cover]

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! /Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! <This is Part 8!>

* Usually, whether you’re in a fantasy or realistic world, when you have to battle an opponent you can pick up on their emotions and thoughts.

* Most people don’t realize physics prowess is only 50% of the battle, the other 50% is strategy.

* The thing about fighting monsters, especially ambiguous monsters that don’t have a lot of documentation like an Arae, for example, is that there’s no tactic to fight them.

* So your only option is brute force.

* ‘It’s too bad that doesn’t seem to work either though.’

* Luke, ever the heroic type, gets in between you and this lithe monster, striking it with his sword, only for it to pass through, like it waved through black mist.

* You feel claws dig into your shoulder as you scream in reflex.

* Your ADHD takes over, like everything is happening in slow motion. The way Clarisse raises her spear, Annabeth’s eyes flickering around the cabin until she spots the emergency stop chain, and the way Luke analyzes the train windows.

* ‘This is going to end with us owing Amtrak about $200K in property damages.’

* There’s not much you can do, even if your whip worked on this monster you're lousy at using it at best, so you do the only thing you can think of:

* You press your hand into the monster’s chest and whisper: “Despair”

* Letting the metaphorical box within you that you've kept under lock and key within you creek open just the slightest bit.

* ‘Please let this work.’

* You’re not sure what god to thank, but the Arae shrieks in pain, doubling back enough for you to get out of their grasp, just in time for Luke to use his sword to slice the metal train, and for Clarisse to break the large panoramic window.

* You land on the ground with a hard ‘thump’, rolling down the hill, you wait in silence, the group letting out a collective sigh when the Arae doesn’t chase you.

* You stand up, dusting yourself off, and watching the train disappear into the distance.

* “What the hell was wrong with that thing?” Luke grumbles.

* ‘We are demi-gods, though we seem like the box car children at this point.’

* “I know what you mean, I’ve never seen an aggressive Arae before.” Clarisse grumbles in agreement.

* “Usually they just float around.” Luke nods.

* “It was leaving us alone,” Annabeth adds. “It was only looking for (Y/N).”

* Their gazes immediately shift to you.

* “What sense does that make, Hades is their dad.”

* ‘Not really, but I agree, he wouldn’t send monsters after me.’

* “Hades isn’t the only god out there capable of sending monsters.” This earns you stunned silence and the situation begins to sink in.

* ‘Dionysus did say that Posiedon was having to placate him up there, I guess he’s doing a shitty job.’

* “Now what?” You ask, the woods stretch on for miles around you.

* “The next stop is in Charlotte, and there’s a ten hour hault where we’re supposed to switch trains.

* “We can walk and catch the next one.” Luke nods.

* “Let’s hope there’s no Arae’s on that one.” Clarisse grumbles.

* You walk until the sun begins to set,settling into a small clearing for the night, deciding to sleep in watches. You stifle a yawn as Luke settles in beside you, his back against the tree.

* “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” You ask, and he shrugs.

* “I don’t feel sleepy.”

* ‘Fine, I guess we’ll just sit in silence then’

* “Are you thinking of going back home after the summer?” He asks, breaking the silence.

* ‘You mean if we survive this week?’

* You haven’t thought of anything beyond your next action. For the first time, you can say you’ve genuinely been living in the present.

* If all of this goes according to plan you’ll be back home in your cushy penthouse apartment, sleeping in your own bed, never having to experience something like this.

* But worst case—

* “I might get dragged into the Underworld.”

* You Mom isn’t around anymore, and you’ve never met your maternal grandparents so you imagine they aren’t a part of the picture. And if your dad isn’t around you imagine custody falls to good old Hades and Persephone.

* ‘Well there’s Maki too, but I don’t know, she’s so flakey maybe the underworld is safer for everyone involved.’

* Luke flinches at the mention, his face as pale as freshly fallen snow.

* “D-don’t worry, that won’t happen.” He stutters, his hand fumbling over your own, giving it a firm squeeze.

* ‘Somehow I feel like he has the wrong idea.’

* You don’t say anything though, the warmth after not having your father’s constant doting hugs and pats feels nice.

* “What about you?” You try to turn the conversation away from you, and Luke hesitates.

* “My Mom…isn’t capable of taking care of herself, let alone me.” He goes on to tell you about his mom, how she’s getting mental help at an institution now but that staying out to try and protect him wasn’t the right move. And his jerk of a dad only made things worse.

* “He drove her to it really, either with his negligence or lies—no matter what he does I’ll always blame him for it.”

* “So that’s my sob story.” He says with a shrug, he’s being so open and vulnerable with you. You turn your palm over and give his hand a squeeze.

* “Sometimes the gods can be jerks.” He looks at you wide eyed, it’s impetuous to say it aloud, especially when you’re sure you’re being watched, but Luke’s laugh reassures you.

* “Yeah, they can be.”

* You’re not sure when you fall asleep, just when you awake morning golden hour light fills your eyes, and there’s an ache in your neck.

* Your nose twitches as a thin, straw like material brushes against your nose.

* ‘It’s softer than straw.’

* Only when the fuzzy haze of sleep lifts do you realize that it’s not particularly soft grass, it’s hair, Luke Castellan’s hair to be precise.

* You gaze lifts to be met with a sleeping Luke Castellan, your drool covering his entire shoulder. You jerk away quickly, face feeling hot.

* ‘This is so embarrassing, I can’t believe I drooled all over his shoulder!’ There’s a literal spit stain over his shoulder.

* When you turn you’re met with a pouting Annabeth and a smirking Clarisse.

* You’re thankful they don’t say anything past their expressions when Luke begins to stir awake.

* “We should start walking.”

* The thing about North Carolina is that there isn’t anything there, it’s a rural area, with wide green fields for as far as you can see.

* You cross into the suburbs, and then the city, feeling positively miserable by the time you make it into the train.

* You fall into a heap when you get to your compartment, too exhausted to think about showering.

* “Let’s never do that again.” you sigh, receiving three disgruntled grumbles of agreement in response.

* You feel your eyes droop close.

* Black stretches for as far as you can see, dots of silver glimmering somewhere in the distance.You’re free falling, wind brushing against your face and body until you land on something. You rub your head, wobbly as you turn over, only to look into two star speckled black eyes.

* You want to scream, to say something, but the words get caught in your throat.

* “The boy has done well.” An ancient voice whispers, lips spreading apart to reveal a row of glimmering teeth. You’re lifted in the air by your shoulder, pinched between too thick fingers.

* Awakening just before you’re about to be swallowed whole.

* You wake up gasping for air, your hand clutching your chest. Your eyes sweep the compartment, Annabeth leaning against a sleeping Luke, Clarisse with her arms crossed as she snores lightly, fields of green falling past from the window.

* “That can’t have been good.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this part! As always if you like the series drop a like or a comment, they make my day! And if you want to be added to the tag list please comment on this post (The most recent post)

Tag List: @holybatflapexpert @atomicsoph @fadingunknowncoffee @hopeworldsupremacy @padsfirewhisky @magical-dreamland @ladylapize @kookiedesi @kiritokunuwu @bleepmorp @flickeringlizard @luckyzipperscissorsbat @jessiegerl @bluegremlin108 @undecided-as-always @officiallydarkgeek @marsbars09 @smolfrogz @yizhoutv @alicesolengg @luxaryllis-primaryacc @time-shardz @cryinghotmess @crow-with-a-hoodie

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 6: Husky, feat Josephine and Asena

Part 2 of This One (Tumblr) || This One (Archive)

Modern au, mafia au

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4         AO3

The soft chatter scattered about the restaurant seemed so far away from their table, tucked into the corner against the window. In the dim lighting aided by two softly lit candles upon the table, Josephine gaped at her lover. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Asena chuckled softly at Josephine’s floundering. “I asked you to move in with me.”

Josephine stared across the table at her, jaw slack, mind racing. “I-I couldn’t!”

Quirking a brow at her, Asena sipped her wine. “Oh? And why ever not?”

“We’ve only known each other for six months!”

Asena rolled over the protestation in her mind, and Josephine could see the way the ring in the center of her lower lip was beginning to roll as it often did when its wearer was thinking. “It… I suppose it is fast,” she admitted at last. “I can understand if you’d say no on that basis, but I do wish you’d take some time to consider it if that’s your only reservation. I feel good about this, Josephine. About you. Us.”

Thankfully for the dim lighting in the restaurant, Asena couldn’t possibly see the darkening of Josephine’s cheeks. If she were honest with herself, she’d know that the novelty of their relationship was not truly the problem. She was floundering, scrambling to find something, anything to tell her not to do this. Impetuousness was not something that came easily to Josephine Montilyet, after all. “Well…” Mierda. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I… I have a lease! With my apartment! I can’t just break it.”

“Sure you can.” She seemed almost delighted at how easy these rejections were to beat down, the smug bastard.

“Well, it would be disadvantageous to do so. After all, it’s a $400 fine to break the contract in addition to a full month’s rent. And what about Cullen and Leliana? They cannot afford to pay for the house on their own.”

Asena chuckled, leaning back in her chair to observe her. “You know I’m happy to help you, Josie. And Cullen and Leliana can find another roommate. Maker knows they have enough friends. Until they do, I’m happy paying any deficit they have. And my new apartment is just oh so lonely without a roommate,” she pouted playfully.

Josephine stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve really… thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Hermosa Josefina,” she purred, sitting forward, her voice lowered to a husky dulcet. “I do nothing without first thinking it through.”

“But… We hardly know anything about each other. We’ve only been dating six months…”

Asena’s gaze softened, and she sat back again, a warm smile against her lips though her eyes betrayed her soft sadness. “You don’t have to, of course. I won’t be offended. It is kind of fast.”

Josephine swallowed hard and stared down at her steak, thoughts flying a million miles per hour through her head. As the minutes passed and Asena took up her own fork again, Josephine came to a conclusion at long last. “Alright.”

Asena’s hand paused over her salad, a brow raising at her. “Pardon?”

Tilting a shy smile up at her lover, Josephine reached across and gently slipped her hand over Asena’s. “I would like to move in with you.”

Slow comprehension spread easily across Asena’s face, quickly replaced with a brilliant grin. “You’re sure?”

Nodding, Josephine squeezed her hand then withdrew to sip at her own wine. “Mm. I… I find that I care about you deeply, my Lady Adaar. I think it could be… good.”

“Brilliant!” Asena clapped her hands together lightly, eyes alight in the candlelight. “We can do it as soon as you’d like. I don’t want to rush you, after all.”

Josephine giggled and nodded. “You’ll have to help me pack, of course.”

Rolling her eyes, Asena caught the eye of the server and politely raised her hand. “Of course, mi hermosa Josefina. I’d be only too delighted to do your… heavy lifting.” Her voice dropped with the last two words, bringing a blush to Josephine’s cheeks that made Asena chuckle.

The server brought over their check and clasped her hands in front of her waist. “Can I get you anything else, Lady Adaar?”

“Josie? Some desert, maybe?”

Josephine shook her head, supplying a polite smile to the server. “Not for me, thank you.”

“Then none for me, either.” Asena nodded, passing the bill and a credit card back to the woman, shooting her a smile of her own. “Thank you.”

“I trust this new apartment of yours isn’t the stuff of college student nightmares?”

“Josie, you wound me. In all the time you’ve known me, have you ever thought my taste less than exquisite?”

“Well, there was that shirt you wore the other day, the one with the stripes.”

Asena gasped dramatically, putting a hand to her chest in mock offense. “How… dare you!” she teased. “My grandmother knitted that shirt for me on her death bed!”

Josephine chuckled, sipping at her wine. “And was your grandmother blind when she died?”

“That’s beside the point,” Asena laughed. “But, no, mi amor, I promise you. There’s no holes in the floor, no splinters in the hand rails, no roaches scuttling about, nothing like that. You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I think.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Xxx

‘Pleasantly surprised.’ That didn’t even begin to cut it. Josephine gaped, turning slowly about in Asena’s foyer. She’d said “apartment” and Josephine thought of some small, one-bedroom hole in the wall with no elevator. Not… this.

“Asena�� how—”

“I got a good deal on it. My boss does a lot of work for the owner of this building. They’re good friends, and when I said I wanted to move, they hooked me up.” She beamed at Josephine as she passed by her, carrying two of her heavier boxes with ease. “D’you like it?”

“I…” Clearing her throat, she stepped further into the large space to explore.

It was a penthouse, and say what one will, affording a penthouse in Val Royeaux, let alone one downtown as this one is… She’d only heard of the royal family and their courtiers owning any. The apartment itself was completely open, lined with floor to ceiling panoramic windows that went all the way around. A half-wall of exposed brick separated the huge, state-of-the-art kitchen from the living room which was built down a step and featured one of the biggest televisions Josephine had ever seen in person. Across the way, the bed sat on a raised step, separated from the rest of the apartment by Rivain-inspired screens depicting the ocean in a storm, and a rather large section of the corner was walled off, presumably for the bathroom. A balcony lined the entire outside, and all around the railing grew a vine which sported vibrant pink flowers.

“Asena, I…” Josephine comes from nobility. Though her family may not have been particularly wealthy in terms of enterprise, they still were one of the wealthiest families in Antiva City. It is a rare occurrence that Josephine should feel humbled. But this? “I’m speechless. Even with a discount, Asena, how can we afford this?”

“Not we, mi amor. I. I don’t expect or want you to pay for a single thing, ok?” She flashed her a brilliant smile as she slipped back to the open elevator packed to the brim with boxes. “I told you, my job pays really well.”

“Yes, but you’ve yet to tell me what that job is.” The mystery was beginning to wear thing. At first, Josephine thought that perhaps it was something embarrassing or personal, like some sort of sex work. On many occasions, Asena has had phone calls that required her to slip off somewhere private, and often when she returned, she had to leave immediately, sometimes changing into different clothes along the way. But unless she was the personal courtesan of Celene herself, there was no way Asena could afford this on an escort’s pay. No, now Josephine was beginning to grow wary. Drugs, perhaps? She’d heard of some back-alley lyrium dealers hitting it big.

Asena set the boxes down and smiled reassuringly at her. “I told you, mi amor. I’m a freelance contractor whose work requires her to sign frequent NDAs.”

Josephine raised a brow at her, took in her calm smile, the warmth in her expression, and sighed. Was she buying it? No, not entirely. Could she talk herself into buying it? Yes. For now. “Well, I don’t envy the person paying your checks,” she joked. “Or…” Looking around again, she giggled. “Perhaps I do.”

Asena came to stand beside her, an arm resting along her shoulders. “We can do whatever you want to it. Repaint, redecorate, rearrange, anything. Together.”

Josephine looked up at her impossibly tall lover and smiled, her arm snaking about her waist. “Together.”

[lifeofgroffsauce]

Miscellaneous papers spilled from a crisp manilla folder held lax and haphazardly, clattering onto the apartment's hallway floor to cause a groan from the actor. Various safety waivers and film contracts now mixed up and out of the ascending order of dates he'd meticulously placed them in, was a hell of an end to the night. Crouching down to gather them, grumbling irritably as he did, he tried his best to reorganize the mess before knocking on the door.

“Jon Groff! My faaavorite client!”

The shrill ring of his, uncharacteristically drunk, agent Kelly hit his ears. It was her cheery smile that was infectious and suddenly he matched her enthusiasm, despite his previous misfortune seconds ago.  

“Oh my god, you're such a little liar!” He accused playfully then gestured to her relaxed posture against the wood slab that seemed to hold her up, having it half way open. “What are you doing on a Monday night, missy? Don't you have special agent things to be doing?”

Freshly manicured nails, tips too boxy in Jonathan's opinion, tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. He noticed they both suffered the same fate when it came to alcohol flushing their cheeks. Hers, however, wore only a faint blush peeking through her artificially tan skin. “What?! Why are you- did you not get my email?” A gasp fled from her lithe form, soon swatting his arm. “Check your fucking emails more than once a year! Jesus, I sent you an e-vite!”

Just as he rose an inquisitive brow, she swung the door fully open, bright cerleans catching the light of the Brooklyn bridge out of gigantic panoramic windows lining the living room wall. A small group of people congregated about the space, all mingling with each other. They all appeared to be close friends and work connections.

“You're having a party? Oh my goodness,” He laughed almost nervously and mustered up a sheepish grin. “I'm super sorry. I wish I had known! I'll make a better habit of reading those but, it's really late and I just needed to-”

“Jonathan! Nooo, don't be sorry! Come in, come in!” To her urging, his lips parted to object but she quickly silenced him with her shushing, coiling her nimble digits around his larger ones. /Don't argue with Italians, even the five-foot-two short shits like Kelly./ He smirked at his own thought and walked in.

“You know Drew Gehling, right?” The boozy Kelly slurred her way through each introduction like a proper hostess. A striking baritone voice flooded the space with his drawl, steps moving toward the agent as they circled around the dining table. “Why bother asking, Kels. Tall, dark, handsome. Fits Jonathan's type perfectly. Of course they know each other.”

Jonathan's muscles tensed slightly, his mouth pulling a tight-lipped grin. “Though I guess the 'tall' box has been unchecked. New boyfriend's on the vertically challenged side.” Zachary offered a sassy smirk to Jon to let him know he was joking and calm him down; unfortunately, it did the opposite. He was painfully reminded of where he should  be versus where he was.

“He's flexible; that's all that matters,” Flew from his lips faster than his brain could register. It earned him a chuckle from his ex-boyfriend. J shrugged.

Kelly, the serial gasper at this point, followed with a grip of Jon's bicep. “Oh my god, I fucking meant to talk to you about all those Instagram posts! Stop with the lovey crap or Jeana will actually have a job to do- and Jon- I'd rather keep her on standby and not pay her an exorbitant amount of money because you're in your feelings...” She continued to scold him, but he had long since tuned her out as, in paranoid fashion, his focus was on studying Quinto until the tall male left the room to go refill his oversized glass of chardonnay.

Another theatre family member (he remembered as Lin's “cousin”) joined their conversation and began a debate regarding the proper use of social media. Jonathan eased up a bit when he saw Zach return but rather than engage, turned to his own huddle of friends on the other side of the room. /I'll stay for a little while longer, I don't want to be rude./

Before he knew it, a blush colored wine glass was being thrust into one of his hands he was animatedly driving his point home with. Without thought, he accepted it, not aware it was Zachary that had given it to him until several moments after. Naturally, the thirty-three year old regarded him with a polite nod, watching as he seamlessly dove into the topic at hand.

“I just don't see the point in lying on social media about who you are or what you do. Why try to make someone believe you pop bottle of Dom every weekend and prance around on a private beach every holiday? Stop stunting.” One actor in their bundle scoffed.

While Jonathan's eyes were taking in the many that had swarmed around their expanded circle, Zach spoke up. His left arm leaned against the kitchen's accent wall. “I take it you've never heard of 'escape theory'? Mm, what a shame, Brandon.”

A click of his tongue snagged Groff's attention, wine kissing his lips, attention on Quinto. “All of us here; we're trying to find an outlet to help us step outside, escape- if you've put two and two together- who we are for a fragment in time. It can be as simple as that evening glass of cheri you have in your underwhelming studio apartment, or as large as the theatre audience seeing you stripped down, bare-assed, utterly exposed for eyes to feast on your body. You don't think posting photographs on social media does that as well?”

He was met with silence; the group stealing glances but not quite knowing how to move forward. Quinto took that as a que to continue speaking, this time with a tone that was introspective. “We can project anything out into the world... put out... anything, but the hardest thing to do is show it who we are. To the core. That's why people 'stunt' on social media. Maybe, after a while, we'll start to believe it, too. We'll start to believe we're something more than we actually are.”

Another pause. “Here I just thought everyone had Cartier bracelets and endless frequent flier miles.” Jon deadpanned, earning laughter from everyone, as well as a slightly grim smile from Zachary. The older actor excused himself, accidentally (intentionally?) brushing his front against the Hamilton star's chest when he passed.

“Jeez, Zach!” Kelly coughed, senses overloaded at the trail he left in his wake. “Use more Bleu de Chanel, please. I don't think they can smell your bougie ass in Chelsea!”

Two hours later...

“Drive safe. Take back alleys. The scenic routes. Turn on your Friends app so I can see when you're home.” The demands came at lightening speed from his drunk agent, whom he was sure peppered some Italian expletives in there. “Kelly Bean, I'm good. Three glasses of wine. Solid as a rock. Go to bed.”

He watched the petite woman tuck herself into the Pottery Barn sheets then began his quest for the door, stopped only by the sound of glasses clanking together. Everyone was gone with the exception of two. While the first was exhausted beyond belief, seeing the second clearing the glasses off the table alone guilted him. “Do you... do you want help with this?”

The onyx haired man shook his head no. “I'll have you know, I'm very domestic now, Groff. I got it. Go home,” He insisted. “I would just feel bad if I left this for her because honey, with that hangover she's going to have tomorrow, she's going to be wishing for death. Dirty crystal will be the catalyst that pushes her over the edge; the Brooklyn nutcase. That's why you don't get involved with Virgos.”

Jon nodded slowly as he spoke, semi-entertained though far away in his mind. It caused him to approach his next set of words with caution. “Hey, do you remember... I know this was a long time ago and it's probably super unprofessional because of, you know, the show, but...” A sigh. “When we were together, maybe the first six or so months, we- we did a scene. It was super intense...” He was gaging Quinto's, so far, anti-climactic reaction. “I threw up...” An embarrassed laugh leaked into the air.

“Which time? I remember that you had the weeeeakest stomach,” The laugh that followed from Zachary was filled with nostalgic amusement. After diving up the glasses in even rows into the dishwasher, he spun around to pin his broad back against the pantry door, raising a finger. “I think you may have cried once, too. I don't do crying so, kind of let you do your thing on that one. A little dark, in retrospect.” His hand waved back and forth, not too sold on the idea that he added, “To be fair, I mean; we did a lot of intense stuff. We were intense stuff.”

The gears in Jonathan's brain were turning. An odd comfort came from hearing him stress were. Mentally noting to keep that in his arsenal when he had to balance his career and relationship. As if that justified him being there talking to him, instead of at home, spooning Lin as he promised. The lyricist was never far from his mind, especially as he stood in the warm cast of light in the otherwise empty home, staring at the distant embodiment of someone he cared about.

Zachary was a walking memory; an old polaroid that had discolored and aged with time. Circumstances were what they were. No amount of positive narration would change the way something was. Not even the comfort a lie would provide. There was ice and the bite of winter whenever he looked at him.

He greatly preferred Lin, who was a photo album with more promise and opportunity for happiness. A radiating warmth that flowed from a steadily burning fire. Thoughts, the splitting wood and radiant embers that transformed into something beyond what is expected. In life, he'd found another soul he believed shared a part of his. They were intertwined in some cosmic way, and life was too short to not pursue that. Even if that meant he had to intervene in the man's own marriage to make it happen.

Still, none of this quelled the incessant internal squabbling that came with trying to piece together... the reality. /To weed through the lies of the past is necessary to have a better understanding of the future's truth./ Some shit his therapist told him that he wished he hadn't. Now he couldn't stop trying to remember.

Lingering whispers of anxiety multiplied into an fierce entity that occupied his headspace long after he'd left. Two small pills were his savior, dissolving into his Rosé-filled gut.

Finally, he made it home.

Luckily, his boyfriend was out cold. Feet weren't as coordinated as they could have been, stumbling while attempting to take off his jacket. The blunt hit of his kneecap on the night stand caused his hiss before he whispered apologies to the offending piece of furniture. Resuming his place with the Puerto Rican in his embrace, a smile graced his lips. He could only hope his aura remained as peaceful as it did in this moment.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz (by   tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange​

Chapter 2: ​Je suis prest!

        "Once again the anger about Frank rose in Claire's heart, but before she could think about him any further, a familiar voice tore it from her thoughts.

        It was the voice of Dr. Ned Gowan. The company’s lawyer stood between the open wings of the large door and invited her to come in. Claire stood up in surprise. She was the last of the women who had arrived and now she was the first to be invited in. The other women also looked at her in irritation.

        Then she entered an elongated rectangular room whose furnishings also bore all the hallmarks of the neo-Renaissance style. In front of a large wall of shelves with countless books, stood a massive desk made of dark wood. On it were several telephones and monitors, a keyboard, files, books and - to Claire's surprise - a large, dark red orchid. A large muscular man with bright red hair that turned into curls at the neck and at his temples sat at this desk and signed some papers. When she came a little closer, the man stood up, came up to her and held out his hand.

        "Welcome to 'Fraser & Son International', Mrs. Beauchamp. I'm James Fraser," said the giant, who reminded Claire more of a Viking warrior fallen out of time than the CEO of an international company. She knew that he was 37 years old and estimated that he measured at least 1.90 meters (if not more).

        Fraser's handshake was firm and warm, but not hard or uncomfortable. His voice sounded soft and melodic. He spoke softly. Claire needed a moment before she could answer, so much so that she was surprised by the discrepancy between the man's height and his appearance. Later, she would describe her first impression of James Fraser as that of a gentle giant.

        "Claire ... Elisabeth Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Fraser," she replied, looking into his bright blue eyes. Now she also saw that she had a 3-day beard around his mouth and cheeks. The color of the beard seemed a little lighter to her than the color of his hair.

        Fraser pointed to the left:

        "Please follow me."

        Directly to the right of the office was a somewhat smaller room, which was entered through a door in the style of a Japanese Shoji. Opposite the entrance, a wall-high panoramic window attracted Claire's interest. Through this window one could see directly onto the Gendarmenmarkt and the French Cathedral. In the light-flooded room, two light leather sofas faced each other, separated only by a coffee table. Fraser asked Claire to sit on one of the sofas, he and the lawyer sat down on the other.  

        Dr. Gowan spoke first:

        "Mrs. Beauchamp, before we discuss your possible employment, we must ask you to sign this document."

        He handed her a piece of paper with several narrow lines written on it. Claire took it and began to read. It was a confidentiality agreement. Under threat of a 250,000 Euro fine, the signatory, obviously meaning her, agreed to keep quiet about everything that was discussed between her, James Fraser and his lawyer.

        Claire looked at Dr. Gowan in surprise.

        "You must understand, Mrs. Beauchamp," said the lawyer, "that Mr. Fraser is not just anyone, but the CEO of an international company.

        "I understand," she replied quietly, then took the pen that Dr. Gowan handed her and signed the paper.

        "Thank you, Mrs. Beauchamp," the lawyer said, "this copy is for you.”

        Claire saw how Fraser pressed a button on his smartphone. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons appeared and brought tea and cookies. When she had left the room again and everyone had been provided with tea, James Fraser sat back and explained to Claire which job he was offering her. He told her that he had a foster son named Fergus and that he was looking for someone who could permanent take care of him. For twenty minutes, the businessman talked about his son and the qualifications that a caregiver would need. With each of these minutes, Claire became more aware that she had the best chance of getting this job. But did she really want it? The salary was fantastic and Fraser seemed a serious, friendly person. But what if the child did not like her? And did she really want to take care of just one child for years? Did she really want to spend all her time in that man's house for years? These thoughts frightened her a little, but then there was the prospect of significantly reducing her financial burden of this job. Claire decided inwardly to at least try. And if things didn't go well, well, the German healthcare system was constantly looking for new employees. Just recently, the German Minister of Health returned from a trip to Mexico, where he had recruited nurses and male nurses. She would find a new job at any time. She was sure of that. So she had a safety net and wouldn't fall into a bottomless pit if she had to give up her job with Fraser. Claire knew that and that reassured her a bit.

        Fraser had finished his explanations and asked her directly:

        "What do you think, Mrs. Beauchamp? Would you be willing to take that position?"

        "In principle, yes..."

        "But?" asked Fraser in surprise.

        "Well, it's not my decision alone. What if your son doesn't like me?"

        "We might as well test that. Would you like to come to our house to get to know Fergus? You could have lunch with us afterwards?"

        "Y-e-s, ... of course.”

        "Right," said Fraser, again pressing a button on his smartphone. When Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons appeared, to Claire's great surprise, he ordered her to send the other waiting women home. They would be contacted if the company still needed them. She was also to call his housekeeper and tell her that he would bring two guests for lunch. Claire became almost dizzy from the speed at which this conversation developed. But now she could no longer escape the pull that the whole thing was exerting on her.

"Mercedes Maybach S 600 Pullman" Photo: BMK Wikimedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1130176

        Together with Dr. Gowan, they left the room through another door and then entered a secure elevator that took them directly to an underground parking garage. There Fraser's chauffeur was already waiting next to a black Mercedes Maybach S 600 Pullman and opened the doors of the limousine for the arriving guests. The lawyer and Claire sat down in the back, Fraser took a seat next to the driver. Shortly afterwards they found themselves in the thick traffic of the German capital. The drive went through Charlottenburg, then along the river Havel. Afterwards they drove through Steglitz-Zehlendorf, along the Western Düppelner Forst and over the Glienicke Bridge, which became famous worldwide through Steven Spielberg's film "Bridge of Spies". With this they had reached the city of Potsdam and ten minutes later they stopped in front of a clinkered multi-apartment building. Claire estimated that it had been built around the beginning of the 1930s. Fraser went ahead and led them into the house. A lady, who Claire estimated to be in her mid-forties, approached them in the entrance hall. Fraser introduced her as Mrs. Curtius and explained that she, along with her husband, was responsible for the management of the house.

        "I would now like to show you the apartment that we are providing. If you'll follow me, please."

        Claire nodded, and Fraser led her to an elevator that took her up to the top floor in a few moments. A few more steps brought them to a small hallway and from there to a kitchen-living room. Another living area followed, separated from the first by a large panoramic window. Claire was magically drawn to the view.

        "Oh! You can see all the way across the Jungfernsee!"

“View above river Havel/ lake Jungfernsee to the Saviour’s Church at the port of Sacrow“ by  Lienhard Schulz  CC BY-SA 3.0,  via WikiMediaCommons https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=358200

        Fraser smiled. Then he led her a few steps further. They now came into another small hallway and from there they went right into the bathroom and left into the bedroom. All rooms were modern and bright.

        "Do you like it? Could you imagine living here?"

        When Claire didn't answer right away, Fraser added:

        "Of course, you could furnish the apartment to your liking. You can bring your own furniture, or we can have it redecorate it for you."

        "Thank you. I like it very much. But I think we should wait and see how your son reacts to me first."

        "Yes, of course," Fraser relented, "then I want you to meet him right away."

        They drove back to the second floor, where Fraser Claire led Claire through the living room into the conservatory and from there to the large terrace facing east. A spiral staircase led into the garden from its left side:

        "I had the garden redecorated several years ago. In Potsdam there used to be a long winegrowing tradition and so there are still many terraced areas here".

        They walked across a lawn and then came to a circled flowerbed that was full of different types of roses. Claire estimated its diameter to be several meters. There were two paths around the circle, one to the south and one to the north. Fraser and Claire entered the second path, which in turn led them to a larger lawn and from there to a tree-lined corner of the garden. There was a small pavilion with several sunbeds and a table. Behind the pavilion one could see a swimming pool that was covered with a wooden boarding. On one of the sundbeds, which reminded Claire more of couches, lay a small boy with dark, curly hair, completely absorbed in a book.

        "Fergus!" Fraser shouted and the boy was slightly startled.

        "Papa!"

        The book almost flew to one side, the boy jumped up and ran towards Fraser. He welcomed him with open arms, picked him up from the ground and pressed him warmly to himself.

        "Papa," the boy asked, while Fraser carried him back to the sunbeds, "why are you home so early?

        "Because I want you to meet someone."

        Fraser sat down on one of the beds with Fergus, and told Claire to sit down, too. Warmly he pressed Fergus once more to him, then he pointed at Claire and said:

        "We talked about hiring someone to help you when you start school now. Someone to be here with you while I have to work or when I have to go on a business trip.”

        The little curly head nodded.

        "I want you to meet Mrs. Beauchamp. She speaks German, English and - you will be especially pleased to hear that - French as well."

        The boy's face began to radiate.

        "Mrs. Beauchamp has come here today so that you can talk to each other. And if you wish, and if Mrs. Beauchamp wishes, she could start working for us."

        Fraser gave Fergus a light nudge on the back.

        The boy stood up, walked over to Claire and politely reached out his hand to her.

        "Good day, Mrs. Beauchamp."

        "Good day, Fergus. Would you like to sit next to me?"

        The boy nodded, then sat down.

        Fraser watched with delight how Fergus looked at Claire. Obviously, his son was as impressed by the young woman's natural beauty as he was.

        "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. Is there anything else you want me to have brought? Tea for you Claire and hot chocolate for you, Fergus?"

        Both nodded. Fraser rose and slowly walked back to the house. All he could think of was that all he wanted was for Claire and Fergus to get along well  and for her to take the job. But why wouldn't that happen? The morning had already made a small miracle come true. Claire had shown up for the interview and she had shown her willingness to take the job. Why shouldn't another small miracle happen? From the moment he first saw Claire's photo on her application, he could only think of other things with difficulty. In every spare minute she had dominated his thoughts. He had made all sorts of inquiries about her and there was nothing he wanted more than to get to know her better.

        Back at the house, he asked Mrs. Curtius to bring tea and hot chocolate to the pavilion. When the housekeeper returned half an hour later, she had to tell him how she had found Claire and Fergus.

        "They sit next to each other on the chaise longue and talk intensively - in French. I did not understand much of it. Fergus seems enthusiastic. He talks without interruption and gestures while doing so, just like when he talks to you. He almost knocked over the cup of hot chocolate."

        "Thank you."

        Fraser smiled. Then he went into the dining room where Ned Gowan was waiting for him.

"Potsdam - Shingle House" by Giorgio Michele - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3492265

        An hour later Mrs. Curtius came and began setting the dining table. Fraser got up and wanted to go to the pavilion to get Claire and Fergus. But as he stepped out onto the terrace, he heard Fergus scream with enthusiasm. Then he saw the reason for it. Together with Claire, who had obviously taken off her pumps and was now walking around in stockings, the boy chased after a soccer and shot it into an imaginary goal by the garden fence. As if from one mouth, they shouted "Tooor!" and hopped around each other. Fraser could hardly stop laughing, and Ned Gowan, who had followed him onto the terrace, also began to laugh.

        "You were right, Jamie. She's the one for Fergus."

        Shortly afterwards, the two soccer players, Claire now back in pumps, also entered the terrace.

        "Papa, Claire can play soccer and knows the rules," the boy reported enthusiastically.

        "Fergus! That means: Mrs. Beauchamp. Please! Behave!" Fraser admonished his son.

        "No, no, I allowed him to call me Claire. That's all right."

        Claire smiled. Fergus and she had obviously found a connection.

        "Well," said Fraser, and the surprise was clearly audible in his tone, "then we can have lunch.”

        After lunch, Fraser took Fergus to bed for a nap. Claire had to accompany them at Fergus' insistence. But she was happy to do so. Instead of his father, the boy asked her to read to him from the "Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Primeval Animals". While she did so, she let her eyes wander through the room again and again. She was surprised how lovingly it was furnished. Fergus' bed was made in the style of a pirate's bunk, the walls decorated with pictures of pirates and dinosaurs. Everything was bright and friendly, only the carpet was in a deep dark blue.

        "He wanted such a carpet. This is supposed to be the sea his ship sails on," Fraser explained to her when they later returned to the second floor. They sat down with Ned Gowan, who had been waiting for them in the dining room. There were a number of documents on the dining table and Claire was aware that she had to make a decision. But after meeting Fergus and being taken to her heart by him, the decision was easy.

         "Are you ready to accept the position I am offering you?"

         "Yes, I am. I look forward to taking care of Fergus."

         "I'm glad," replied Fraser, and Claire was surprised to discover that the businessman seemed genuinely relieved.

        Together with her, the company’s lawyer then went through the employment contract. Everything seemed to comply with the legal requirements, which she knew from her previous contracts. But then they came to a point that startled Claire:

        "But ... I can't ... start on Monday! I have to give notice at the Charité and I have a period of notice!”

        "Don't worry about that," said Fraser, in the calm manner she was already used to from him, "I know the director of your clinic well, he will certainly agree to your change. I will call him tonight and discuss everything with him."

        "If that's possible..."

        Claire was amazed, but assumed that a man with as much influence as Fraser could correctly assess the situation.

        "We would then send a moving service tomorrow to move your furniture."

        "It's all very quick..."

        Claire sighed.

        "Is it going too fast?"

        Fraser looked at her somewhat anxiously.

        "It's all really happening very quickly, but... now that I've met Fergus, I'm looking forward to being there for him."

        Claire didn't mention that during the conversation with Fergus she had sensed how much the boy longed for someone who would be there for him during the many hours his father was absent. He had told her that Mr. and Mrs. Curtius were very friendly, but that they had little time for him, since they had other duties to perform. Much of what Fergus had told her had reminded her of her own time as an orphan. Uncle Lambert had brought her up with a lot of love and spent every spare minute with her. And yet, somehow she had always been missing something. A mother? She was not sure. She didn't think she could be a mother substitute for Fergus. And given that her time in this household was certainly limited, she didn't want to take on that role either. But the boy had touched her heart, and if she could give him a sense of security by being a good, trusted friend to him, then that would make her happy. She was sure of that.

        Claire picked up the pen that Ned Gowan had handed her with the employment contract and signed it.

        Fraser smiled, then pressed a button on his smartphone. Claire thought that she would get used to that. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Curtius appeared with a trolley carrying three champagne bowls and an ice bucket with a bottle of "Moet et Chandon".

“Champagner” by  Myriams-Fotos

        "Let's toast to a good future together," said Fraser as he filled the glasses and handed them over to Claire and the lawyer. They toasted and drank. Claire had assumed that the meeting was now over, but to her surprise Fraser then said

        "Mrs. Beauchamp, we have another ... very ... delicate matter to talk about."

        "And what is that?" she asked in surprise.

        Now Dr. Gowan intervened again:

  ��     "As Mr. Fraser explained to you, Fergus is his foster son. A year ago, Mr. Fraser visited his Uncle Jared in Paris and when he went for a walk one evening, he found the child asleep near a bridge. No one knows what happened to his parents. It is known that both were drug addicts. They disappeared years ago. The authorities assume that they are either in Asia or dead. The child grew up in the care of his grandmother and when she died he was taken to an orphanage. But the boy could not stand it there. He fled from the place and began to make a living by begging and ... well, petty theft ... Mr. Fraser found him and promised him that he would give him a good home. He was lucky in the courts in Paris and was able to win the guardianship. But he wants to adopt Fergus as his son. But that is almost impossible for a single man in this country, even if he has as much money and influence as Mr. Fraser".

        Gowan had stressed the word "single" and a dark premonition was rising in Claire's mind.

        "And...what...does...this...have...to do with...me?" she asked cautiously.

        "We would like to offer you another, very well-paid job."

        Claire looked at Fraser and Gowan, but remained silent, so the lawyer continued:

        "We are asking you to become, for three years, only pro forma the ... how shall I put it, Mr Fraser's girlfriend or fiancée. Only pro forma. For each of these years we will pay you 250,000 Euros plus a final payment of another 250,000 Euros. We will transfer the amounts to an account at a bank of your choice - wherever you want".

        "And ... what do you expect me to do for it?" asked Claire, shocked and completely out of breath.

        Once again, the lawyer took the floor:

        "First of all, of course, we expect you to abide by our confidentiality agreement. Then we ask you to accompany Mr. Fraser to official occasions and that you behave like a girlfriend or fiancée to outsiders ... well ...".

        "But ... am I not making myself liable to prosecution?" Claire asked uncertainly.

        "We're not asking you to say anything untrue. Something completely different would be a fictitious marriage. And as for money, who can stop Mr. Fraser from giving money to his girlfriend or fiancée? You should pay the gift tax, though."    

        Again, Claire was silent. Then she saw Fraser reach into the right pocket of his jacket and pull out a small box covered with black velvet. He opened it and pushed it over to Claire. Visible was a ring of white gold formed from chased thistles. The flowers of these thistles were made of cut amethysts. Carefully Claire took the ring out of its packaging to look at it.

        "It is beautiful," she then whispered.

        "The thistle is the national flower of Scotland, the country of origin of my family," Fraser explained. Then he was silent for a moment.

        "Would you wear this ring for three years, Mrs. Beauchamp? You would be a great help to Fergus and me."

        A thousand thoughts went through Claire's mind. But then she decided immediately. She handed the ring to Fraser and then held out her left hand to him. Fraser smiled, put the ring on her finger and pulled her hand toward him. He ended the ceremony with a kiss on the hand that came as a complete surprise to her.

        "Thank you, Mrs. Beauchamp, when this is all over, Fergus and I will be forever in your debt.”

        Claire blushed.

        "I still can't believe all this," she then said softly.

        Even Ned Gowan had to smile.

        "Believe me, Mrs. Beauchamp, we are no different. This morning you came to the company hoping to get a job. Within ...," Gowan looked at his watch, "six hours you have seen your new apartment, got to know the subject of your future work, signed your employment contract and got engaged. And in three years, Mrs. Beauchamp, you will walk out of the door of this house a twofold millionaire.”

        Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Fraser shouted:

        "Yes, please."

        and Mrs. Curtius came in.

        "May I serve the tea?"

        "Yes, thank you. Is Fergus up yet?"

        "Yes, he's in the kitchen, painting.

        "Please send him in," Fraser asked.

        It didn't take a minute, and Fergus came in, holding a large sheet of Din-A-4 in one hand.

        "This is for you, Claire," he said, beaming with joy, and handed her the picture of a dangerously green-looking Tyrannosaurus Rex.

        "Oh, thanks Fergus!"

        She pulled the boy towards her and gave him a hearty hug.

        "Fergus, will you come and see me for a moment?" Fraser asked.

        The boy climbed onto Fraser's lap.

        "I have some very good news for you," Fraser began, but didn't get any further.

        "Mrs. Claire is staying with us?"

        Fraser could only say "Yes," and then the boy was already on his way back to Claire. He climbed onto her lap and pressed little kisses on both her cheeks.

        "Fergus!"

        "It's all right," Claire repulsed. She pressed the boy warmly against her and had to control herself immensely to keep from crying. How long had it been since she last met a person with such honest love? At that moment, Claire was sure she had made the right decision.

"Dinner" by JillWellington  

        They had dinner together, then Ned Gowan said goodbye. Fraser and Claire put Fergus to bed and of course Claire had to read from the "Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Prehistoric Animals" again. When the boy had fallen asleep, they sneaked quietly out of his room. Then they took the elevator that brought them to the garage where the driver with the limousine was already waiting for them. Fraser sat with Claire in the back seat and on the drive to her apartment at the nursing home they reflected on the day.

        "Tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. the moving company will come and take care of everything. I look forward to welcoming you then, Mrs. Beauchamp," Fraser said as they arrived in front of the Charité nursing home.

        "Claire, please call me Claire," she replied.

        "All right, Claire. I'm James, to my friends, Jamie," Fraser said, reaching out his hand to her. She took his hand, but somehow it seemed quite natural for them to hug briefly.

        "Good night, Jamie."

        "Good night, Claire."

         While a completely irritated Claire walked down the path to her apartment and wondered if she had made the biggest mistake of her life, a very cheerful James Fraser had himself driven in his limousine towards the Pfingstberg in Potsdam - feeling verry luckey, verry blessed.