#i also occasionally get week long moments where they try and sell me pregnancy tests. see tag above

[website-com]

i think i purchase exactly 1% of the things advertised to me ever. i wish they could collect this data and then leave me alone

[tansypoisoning]

(Un)Conditional - Part 2

I Came Out to Have a Good Time and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now

You didn’t remember how or why you found yourself in Ransom’s bed in the first place, but now, poor, pregnant and desperate, you had your reasons for putting up with him, and they weren’t noble. His reasons for staying with you weren’t noble either.

Hey, long time no see... This took me longer than it should because I wasn’t sure about the dialogue. Still not sure about it. Some of you might have missed the polls I posted so you could help me decide the future of this series, so here they go: Whether or not I should redeem Ransom and What gender the baby (or babies, damn) should be. Democracy is important :)

Anyway: Reader meets the Thrombeys...

Story warnings:  Smut, abusive relationships, mentions of past sexual assault, talk of abortion, daddy kink, drinking, mention of drug use (Will add more as the story goes on)

Chapter 1 - Truce

Chapter 3 

Fandoms: Knives Out

Ships: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Chapter warnings: The reader and Ransom joke about incest and Ransom jokes about selling the baby to pay his grandfather back for all the money he lend him; people drink wine; there’s mention of drugs and people doing them; The Thrombeys are being particularly shitty.

You were off to the clinic to get an urine exam the next day. Ransom had encouraged you to get a more reliable test to make sure you were pregnant, but he wouldn’t accompany you. He was busy, he said, but he didn’t say with what. Probably begging his granddaddy for more money or chasing after another pair of legs.

The clinic would call you in a couple of days to let you know the results. The wait was killing you. The longer you waited, the harder it would be for you to get an abortion. At some point the pill would stop being an option, and you would have to go under the… knife? Scalpel? Coat hanger? Whatever the procedure entailed, it was bound to be more stressful than just taking some meds.

What was most concerning, though, was the possibility of you becoming attached to the fetus. Your misgivings originated from a fear that you might be doing something you shouldn’t, but you had no particular regard for the thing growing inside you. You might as well be carrying a rock – it certainly tired you like one. Some day that could change, though, and the moment it did you knew it would be game over.

The first thing you did when you got home was take off your coat, kick off your shoes and fall face-first on the couch. That was also the only thing you did. According to the sources you checked, fatigue was an early pregnancy symptom, but you weren’t sure it was meant to be this bad. Good thing you weren’t behind on your freelance work; you didn’t think you could handle doing anything that evening. You were hungry, but didn’t have the energy to even go to the kitchen. Your cellphone started ringing at some point, but you had dropped your bag by the entrance. Maybe something else happened too; you didn’t know, you fell asleep soon after.

You were roused from your nap by a cacophony of car honks right outside your window.

You jumped from the couch and stumbled to see what the commotion was about. You expected to find a car crash in front of your building, but all that was there was a familiar vehicle.

You stepped into your slippers and left your apartment. Ransom was still abusing the horn of his BMW when you came out onto the lawn.

“What are you doing?” You cried out, jogging to his car.

He put his head out through the window. “You don’t pick up your phone anymore?” He complained.

“I was sleeping.” The reason why you didn’t answer didn’t matter. This was a distraction. “Why are you here?”

“I came to pick you up, what else?” He seemed to notice you confusion and explained himself “I’m going to introduce you to my family. They’re having a dinner party tonight at my grandfather’s house. If I show up there with a kid before they even know the mother, my mother’s gonna kill me.”

That gave you pause. Introduce you to his family? That had never been in the cards before. Ransom had always been against anything that could hint to intimacy that went beyond sex, because intimacy entailed responsibility, and he was allergic to that. Your relationship was more of an arrangement, one in which he was the one with the most to gain.

Perhaps this would be your chance to really get something for yourself, something other than the occasional orgasm. Although Ransom’s charms and your proclivities were the biggest reason behind the start of your odd relationship, you’d be lying if you said his grandfather’s accomplishments didn’t affect your interest in him. Having been an avid reader of Harlan’s books back in high school (when you still had time and motivation to read) and now working as an assistant editor in the mystery fiction imprint of a large publishing company, you had hoped that maybe being involved with Ransom would give you the chance to meet him.

Even when it became clear Ransom didn’t like you like that, you still stuck around. He was inflexible when it came to your relationship’s dynamics, but you still had a sliver of hope that one day you’d get to meet his family. In the end you were right, and all you had to do to get your wish was let your idol’s grandson raw you after a couple of beers.

“I’m not even sure if I’m pregnant yet.”

“After five tests? Come on.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m gonna keep it.”

“If you don’t, you don’t. Just let me introduce you before you decide. It’ll be awkward otherwise.”

You couldn’t argue with his logic. Ransom’s family wasn’t likely to think well of you if he introduced you as “the chick I knocked up by accident”. Your family wouldn’t be happy about it either, and yet you had to find a way to convince him to meet them at some point. You knew they weren’t going to like him, but it was better than trying to pretend it was a case of Immaculate Conception. They wouldn't fall for it anyway.

“Go get ready so we can go.” He said.

You nodded and ran back inside. He looked like he was in a rush, so all you felt comfortable doing was retouching your make up and putting on a different pair of pants. When you came back down, Ransom was pouting at his wheel.

“About time,” he said “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I took like five minutes.”

“Eight.” He tapped the watch in his wrist.

You decided humoring him wasn’t worth it, so you got into the passenger seat without a word. Ransom took off, his tires squealing as he did a u-turn on your sidewalk. He always drove like a madman, most of all when he was in a hurry.

“How long ‘til we get there?” You asked.

“I can make it in half an hour.”

“I mean safely.”

“In that case, thirty minutes.”

Shame on you, forgetting Ransom was convinced he was immortal.

“Is there anything I have to know about your family before I get there?” You asked, trying to take your mind off the traffic lights flashing by at an alarming speed.

“I could never do them justice,” he snickered.

“At least give me something to work with.”

“You are going to have talk to my parents at least,” he mused “Just nod and agree with whatever my father says. You gotta be smarter with my mother, but avoid challenging her. Joni and Meg are annoying, Walt’s creepy, and there’s no point in talking to Donna and Jacob; they’re gonna hate you no matter what.”

“And Harlan?”

The question put a grimace on his face.

“Be honest. He’s gonna like you.” There was a minute pause before he added “We just celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday, so if you can bring up how good he looks for his age without being obnoxious, he’s gonna love it.”

“Eighty-five? When was that?” You liked Harlan’s work, but you didn’t like it enough to bother learning his birth year. You expected him to be younger, what with all the books he was still pumping out on a yearly basis.

“Last week.”

“Your family is big on get-togethers, then?”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” you offered. You weren’t sure you’d get along with your parents as well as you did if they didn’t live in another state.

“Sucking does too.”

“But I thought you liked people who suck?”

That was a twelve year old boy joke, but it got you a chuckle.

“Already know what I’ll be trying today: Hey, Joni, blow me.”

“That’s your aunt right?” You asked and received a nod in response “I can’t wait to see you asking her for a blow job.” You didn’t really think he would go that far, so you weren’t worried you were goading him on. If he did it anyway, it would be because he decided the amusement he would get from pissing his aunt off would be worth whatever she could do to get back at him.

“Fuck, I’d accept one from my grandfather at this point.” You two had had sex just yesterday, but that was fine, you supposed.

“I think I’m going to regret this, but since we’re already in too deep and none of us knows when to stop, where are your parents in the Joni-Harlan blowjob scale?” This question might’ve offended anyone else, but Ransom was made of sterner, more horrible stuff.

He replied without missing a beat. “Oh, my dad wins easy. I don’t fancy getting bit.”

The throwaway line about his mother killing him if he just announced your pregnancy out of the blue came to mind. You wondered if she was as terrible as he made her out to be. You wondered if any of his relatives were as horrible as he made teem out to be.

“Hard to think you’d be scared of anyone in your family with all the money they lend you and you never pay back.”

He snorted. “I’m not scared of any of them. Wouldn’t be going if I were. I already owe Harlan more ‘one-pounds of flesh’ than I weigh.”

“Good thing he doesn’t charge interest.”

“Who says he doesn’t?” His eyes flicked to you for a moment, comically wide “What do you think I want the baby for?”

“You- you want the baby?” You knew he meant to jest about selling your child, and perhaps the bit about wanting it was said in the spirit of the joke, but you couldn’t help but hope it was a Freudian slip. Why did you hope that?

His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he considered your question for a few seconds. “I said I would help you with it.”

“No, you said that at first, but now you said you want it. I didn’t even ask for help, I just thought I should tell you. Why did you offer to help in the first place?”

He shrugged. Something about the gesture felt off, less cocksure than his usual self. “Because it felt right.”

“But do you want to do it? Do you even know what raising a child means?”

“Do you?”

No, you didn’t. You might have even less knowledge of the subject than Ransom, weird as that seemed. You hadn’t said you wanted to have the baby, though. You weren’t sure what you wanted.

“Do you want me to drop you off at a clinic? Because we can end this now.” Something about the way he’d said it made it seem as if he was talking about more than just the pregnancy.

“That’s not what I meant.” You whispered.

Edifices were replaced by trees as Ransom drove on. It was easy to focus on the changing view, now that he wasn’t talking to you anymore. You had broken one of his unspoken rules: never get emotional around him. You knew he wasn’t in it for something as trivial as feelings, but now with the pregnancy thing you thought… Well, you weren’t sure what you thought.

The rest of the trip went by in silence, seeming to take forever in spite of the scenery flying by. By the time you arrived at your destination you were disheartened – lucky you that the house Ransom parked in front of was the stuff murder mystery fiction dreams were made of.

Harlan’s mansion had been plucked from one of his books, it had to have been. With its red bricks and the Gothic Revival style, it looked like it’d been taken straight out of “Around the Corner and Down the Lane”. It was a magnificent, giant, mysterious house you could easily imagine multiple murders happening inside.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Ransom left the car, slamming the door shut on his way out. You had to hurry after him to get to the porch as he was knocking on the door.

You didn’t have to wait long to hear sounds coming from the other side. There were footsteps against a wooden floor and the shuffling of keys, and then time seemed to slow down. When you woke up that morning, you’d never have thought you would end up meeting Ransom’s family by the end of the day. Were they anything like him? What would they think of you? And what would they think about the thing? You weren’t going to talk about it today, but still…

The door opened, revealing a slim woman with an old fashioned bob-cut. She looked confused when she saw Ransom, and even more when she spotted you. She opened her mouth, but didn’t get the chance to say anything.

“Hey, Frannie,” Ransom greeted. If you didn’t know him better, you’d assume he was being friendly. “Take this for me, would you?”

He removed his coat with the speed you’d come to expect from him when it came to taking off his clothes and shoved the mass of fabric into her arms. He walked inside, brushing past her, ignoring the outraged look on her face. You followed after, and her expression was no kinder towards you. It wasn’t the first time someone got mad at you for something Ransom did, but what were you to do? It wasn’t as if you could control him.

As Ransom walked through an arch on the left and the woman scurried through a door to the right, you stood on the spot right in front of the entrance. The gargoyles sculpted in the wood of the stair railing paralyzed you, the lights from the ornate chandelier blinded you, and the memories of books read long ago, hiding under the blankets with a flashlight when you were supposed to be sleeping came rushing back to you. This was much more than you had been expecting.

The inside of the house was dark and sinister like the outside, but there was a sense of warmth you hadn’t anticipated. The soft lights, the lavish rugs, and the numerous trinkets scattered about gave it a lived in feeling. The decoration somehow split the difference between “home” and “haunted house” right down the middle.

Why was it that Ransom didn’t like visiting his grandfather again?

“What are you standing around for?”

Speak of the devil…

Your forced your feet to move and followed him deeper into the house. Something inside you screamed at you to just ditch Ransom and this stupid dinner party to explore by yourself, because you got the feeling he would end up dragging you to a place that looked much more boring. You needn’t have worried – the living room was adorned in much the same way as the hall, cluttered and discordant and fascinating. Every piece of decor seemed to selected based on its own merits rather than any common theme or style, but it somehow all worked together.

You had started making your way to a windowsill, from where a model of a carousel with fish instead of horses called to you, when a voice stopped you in your tracks – a voice you had never heard before.

“Who’s that?”

You whirled around to see a man standing just a few feet away from Ransom. The age was about right, and with the two standing so close together, it was hard to deny the similarities between them.

“That’s my date,” Ransom said with a shrug.

“Date? You brought a date?”

“Nice, Richard. We don’t want to make her feel too welcome.”

At that, the older man looked back at you with a grin that would be charming if not for the utter shock reflected in his eyes.

“Hey, there,” he greeted, extending a hand “Richard Drysdale, father of this,” he glanced behind himself to look at Ransom, who was busy messing with a figurine in the mantelpiece “rascal.”

You offered your hand to him (his handshake was strong, professional) and introduced yourself.

“I gotta say, this is really something else,” Richard said “Ransom hasn’t brought any girls home since high school.”

“I bring girls home all the time, I just don’t live with you anymore.”

The meaning of his words didn’t go unnoticed. You already knew he fucked other women on the side – or rather, there was no “side”; you guys weren’t a thing, and it wasn’t as if you only put out for him – but Richard understood him as well.

“Is that the kind of thing you say in front of your date? I thought we taught you better than this.”

“No, Richard. We really didn’t.”

You looked to the source of the voice, and spotted the woman who had to be Ransom’s other progenitor.

“Linda,” she extended her hand to you, but not a smile. Her handshake was even stronger than her husband’s.

Richard joined his son by the fireplace to fiddle with a pewter box, looking downright chastised. Ransom, for his part, seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh.

He had said his family was a mess, and that he found it all terribly fun. Up until now, you weren’t really sure you believed him.

“Whatever this” Linda pointed from her son to you, then back to him again “is about, I hope it ends soon, for your sake.” The last bit, she’d said while looking at you, then she left through a different archway than she’d entered from.

It seemed Ransom had inherited the charm from his father, but the ability to put the fear of God in those who crossed him came from his mother.

“Who else is here?” Ransom asked once Linda was out of earshot.

“Mostly everyone is in the library,” Richard replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, all the former friendliness leaving him like a deflating balloon “your grandfather locked himself in his office with the nurse, and who knows where they put Wanetta. Meg’s not coming.”

“What excuse did Joni come up with?”

“Schoolwork. Essays, whatever. I mean, it’s a Friday, it could wait.”

“She’s going to spend at least half of the evening doing drugs with a friend, easy.”

“Dope.”

Ransom snorted “Like she’s shooting up.”

Richard fixed his son with a disbelieving look. “No. Dope is weed. Dope was weed just yesterday.”

“It used to be.” Upon seeing the defeated expression on his father’s face, Ransom shrugged “World’s passing you by, man.”

That didn’t help. Richard looked back to the pewter box, turning it on his fingers like he was trying to find the best angle to see his reflection. Ransom stared at him for a second longer, then stepped away from the fireplace and exited through the same way his mother had.

He didn’t call you, so you assumed you weren’t needed at the moment, but then, what were you going to do with yourself – watch a man have an existential crisis?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out. You had been standing there, watching Richard sigh to himself for maybe a minute when three other people entered the room. The first was the woman who had opened the door for you; the second, a younger woman, with something almost doe-like about her, and the third…

Well, Harlan Thrombey didn’t need introductions – at least, not to you.

He was the first to speak, looking at the woman Ransom had called Frannie. “Seems like you aren’t going mad, Fran. Unless we all are, which is possible. Can you see her too?” And at that he turned to the other woman, who smiled at him. It was hard to tell whether her smile was fond or embarrassed.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

“Since you’re just standing around with this idiot,” He said. Richard gave a tight smile and tapped his fingers against the mantelpiece “I’m going to guess idiot number two left you to fend for yourself?”

This wasn’t the kind of welcome you’d expect when meeting your not-boyfriend’s family, but Ransom was eccentric, so maybe his relatives were as well. Maybe it was a rich people thing.

“I’m used to it, when it comes to Ransom” you offered.

Harlan grinned at you, but then again, he had been smiling since he entered the room. There was something very Ransom-like about both expressions.

He ambled to you, extending a hand which you rushed to grasp. His smile grew, but maybe that wasn’t good.

“I’m Harlan, the proprietor of this” he gestured to the room with both hands “little menagerie of horrors. And these,” he turned to the women “are Fran, my housekeeper, the only one who can keep this mess in order,” the woman who’d opened the door smiled and raised her hand in greeting, but she still seemed suspicious of you “and Marta, my caretaker. Heaven sent, I would already be dead if not for her.”

Marta had smiled at you as she was introduced, but frowned at the last comment.

“Don’t say that,” she admonished “you’re strong like a horse, you’re going to live for a million years, I’m sure.”

Harlan whimpered theatrically and extended a hand as if trying to grasp at something.

“Marta, is that you? It’s so dark, I can’t see. Oh, is that a light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Really? You’re impossible.” Marta huffed, and Harlan laughed.

They seemed close. Close enough that they’d forgotten all about you in their banter.

Once he was done with his joke Harlan turned back to you.

“I promise you I don’t get any more charming, but you get used to it with time.”

Time. Did he think you’d get to be around long enough to get used to anything there?

“Let’s... get this party started,” he said with a wink “I don’t ask you your name because I’m dying to see how my grandson will introduce you, and I don’t want to get attached.”

That answered that question.

You followed the party of three into another living room(parlor?), then another(fainting room? How many rooms for sitting could one person need?), then finally to what you presumed was the library (that could easily double as a living room), given the floor to ceiling bookcases in every wall that wasn’t occupied by a window. The room was large, large than any room in a house needed or had a right to be, and there were so many books on so many shelves there was no way Harlan would’ve been able to read them all, even accounting for his age.

Despite the exorbitance, the place was cozy and interesting, not at all a monochromatic art installation behemoth the likes of the Kardashian-West mansion (Which you didn’t care about in the slightest… one of your coworkers had shown you the pictures, it was all), the sort of thing you expected from people with too much money and no sense of comfort. The library was furbished with plush seats, nooks where one could hide in to read in peace, even a mezzanine, and– was that a sculpture inspired by “A Thousand Knives”?! Excessive, very excessive, and somehow also really cool. You were sure you could spend hours perusing books and examining baubles, but there were other people already in the room, and you had been raised too well to just ignore them when it was obvious you had already seen them.

Linda leaned against an open window, balancing an unlit cigarette between two fingers, and looking out, as if debating whether or not to have a smoke and whether or not doing so inside. There were a man and a woman on a pair of matching high-backed chairs, looking nervous and annoyed respectively as another woman talked at them, and a teenager speaking to Ransom in between typing things on his phone. He was the first to notice you’d entered the room and he directed a brief glare to you before his eyes landed on Marta.

“Well, no need to stand up or anything,” Harlan spoke from behind you, waving his hand as he passed.

“Dad, plea-” the sitting man began, but he stopped once he saw you. After a moment of confused staring by both parties, he looked back to Harlan “Is that-”

“Don’t know; she came with your nephew.”

All eyes were now on Ransom. He was enjoying the attention, if the stupid smug grin on his face was any indication.

“I brought a date. I figured I had to be the first to do it, since Meg thinks all sex is rape and Jacob’s an incel,” that earned him an elbow in the gut, which he barely reacted to.

“A date? Boohoo,” Harlan spoke, and you almost winced “I expected something more exciting from you.”

“Would you rather she was a notorious diamond thief and I brought her here to steal every red penny you own, old man?”

“That would be more on brand.”

“That’s it,” Marta said, placing her hands on his shoulders and directing him to an armchair in front of the knife sculpture “I’m putting you to bed earlier, abuelo.”

“Not without me throwing a tantrum, you’re not.”

Ransom’s uncle looked back and forth from his father, then to you, then to his nephew, before settling on you and standing up. He picked up a cane that was resting beside the armchair and wobbled toward you, smiling.

“Hello. I’m Walt, it’s a pleasure to meet you…”

You gave him your name, exchanged proper greetings, shook hands; his fingers were trembling slightly, but the length of the hand shake was very appropriate.

“I hope you like it here so far. Any friend of Ransom’s is welcome here.”

“You say that because you never met any of my friends.”

“You know what Ransom,” Walt turned gave him a sarcastic smile “I’m surprised you have any friends at all. You sure you not paying her to be here?”

You didn’t know exactly what it was that Walt had said, but something had set Ransom off.

“Why, you want a round with her? Don’t think you could afford it right now, pal.”

Walt’s lips were still pulled up into a smile, but his pupils were darting from side to side like he was searching for escape routes. That was fair, so were you.

“Don’t speak to my husband that way,” the woman who hadn’t said a single word to or even acknowledged your presence so far, gripped the seat’s armrest as she seethed at Ransom “it’s not his fault that-”

At that she fell silent and turned to Harlan, who was looking at everything with mild interest.

“Actually, you don’t have a job either, do you Donna?” Ransom continued. You knew that look; he was getting steam and you didn’t want to know what would come next.

“I think we’re all just a little stressed with everything that’s been going on,” the woman who had been silent so far – Ransom’s other aunt, you presumed, the one he wanted to suck his dick – mercifully cut in before he could get anything else out “I think we need to roll things back, maybe start over? I can go back to the car and get my crystals so we can do a-”

As if on cue, Fran entered again, a tray with a wine bottle and glasses in hand. She left everything on a coffee table, then walked by Marta, whispering something that convinced the younger woman to move to a more secluded corner of the room with her.

Donna perked up when the drink touched the table, and, smiling the well practiced smile of a hostess who did her duty with no joy, she started pouring drinks and handing them around. When one of the glasses was placed in your hands, you weren’t sure what to do. You rolled the stem in your fingers, pondering as the other adults drank and Jacob sulked.

“So,” Joni began, giving you an easy grin “you and Ransom have known each other for…”

As she trailed off, Linda chuckled, but she wasn’t looking at you.

“Eight months, give or take.” You answered.

The answer seemed to surprise her “Eight months? And how long have you been dating?”

“Oh, I’m not...” you turned to Ransom for help, but he was looking at his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the World or as if he really didn’t want to take part in this conversation “I’m not sure. We haven’t exactly made things official.”

It looked like she was fighting to keep her smile in place “And you met-”

“What do you do?” Linda interrupted, still looking out the window “Do you actually have a job or are you just expecting to scam someone here?”

You turned to Ransom; he had placed a hand over his heart and was looking at his mother as if he found her comment deeply offensive.

You hadn’t thought about what you would say if Ransom’s family decided to grill you, deciding it would be best not to overthink things as he’d suggested. A question about your job was expected – it was just harder to process it when it had been asked in such a manner.

“No, I- I’m an assistant editor at Little, Brown and Company.”

There was a splashing sound, and you looked just in time to see Walt trying to rub off a stain from his sweater with one hand, while holding his wine glass with trembling fingers. When he noticed you looking at him, he offered a stiff smile.

That was the wrong answer, it seemed. It was the truth, of course, but the reactions around you were discouraging. Linda huffed, Harlan chuckled, Joni nodded mechanically, Donna seethed as she wiped at her husband’s clothes with a napkin, Walt trembled, Jacob’s scowl deepened, the sound coming from Fran and Marta’s corner of the room ceased, and Ransom’s grin was the widest you had ever seen on his face.

“Really?” Linda asked, now focused on her son “Where do you find those people?”

He laughed. “What? I’m very charming.”

“I need to use the restroom,” you squawked. You didn’t really need the restroom, just any place other than there.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Marta said, as quickly as you had. Her eyes told you everything: she was also dying to get out.

You handed your drink over to Ransom and followed Marta out of the room, the two of you almost running down the hallway.

She led you to a lavatory, where you turned on the faucets to cover the sound of you whimpering and heaving inside. After splashing your face with some water, you exited the room to find her still waiting for you outside. She offered an apologetic smile.

“So…” you started, not sure of how to best broach the subject. Good thing she already knew what you wanted to get at.

“They aren’t always like this,” she said “they’re all good people, but things have been a little… you know how it can be with family, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s just a little… seems kind of a bad time for me to be showing up.”

“No, I think it helps. They are better behaved when there’s company.”

But that’s true of everyone.

“Ransom didn’t tell you about…? Anything?” She asked.

“No. He said it’d be fine.”

Marta’s expression was of doubt, but she didn’t say anything to discredit him.

“Are you okay to go back?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

She nodded and stared leading you back to the room.

“They’re good people, but can be a little much sometimes. You get used to it with time.”

“You- I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but you don’t look that used to them yourself.”

She shrugged “I guess I just… haven’t been around long enough.”

The scene you returned to was different from the one you had run from. Linda had abandoned the window and reclined on one of the armchairs. Richard had made his appearance, leaning against a bookcase behind Linda; He kept a respectful (perhaps even safe) distance between the two. Walt, Jacob and Donna were squeezed in on a single couch, looking like they’d just been plucked from a stuffy family portrait. Joni lounged on a window seat, leaning her chin on one hand and swirling her wine with the other. Fran was nowhere to be found. Harlan, sat atop the chair in front of the halo of knives, looking every bit the magnanimous patriarch. Ransom had taken his place on an armchair, just beside another empty one. On his other side was a small table with two empty wineglasses. His legs were crossed and he had a wide, satisfied smile that you knew well – so you knew it couldn’t mean anything good.

You sat beside him and angled your body in a way you felt would rend a pretty picture, because that seemed to be the game they were playing, while Marta made her way to a corner and stood there, doing the most not to draw attention to herself. Smart.

“So,” Harlan began as you settled into your spot “I think you were telling us about your career?”

“Yes, but there really isn’t much else to say.” Unless they wanted to be bored, that is. You had more tales of spotting typos than of interesting literary works.

“You said you worked at Little, Brown and Co?” He asked and you nodded “How long have you been there?”

“Two years. It’s about all the experience I have working in the field, other than internships in college.”

“Ah, College.” He grinned, but didn’t explain what he found so amusing “What did you major in?”

“English literature, with a minor in communications.”

“Good, good. Topical. You two bonded over books, then?”

You turned to Ransom, who was looking at you with a lazy smile. You had never told him about your job, let alone what you had studied in college.

“Yep,” he said. You two talked about books sometimes, but you didn’t think those conversations had helped with any bonding.

“You know, I think it’s so good to see Ransom has found a positive influence,” Joni said. The affectation in her voice and mannerisms was suddenly much more noticeable, and it felt like an omen.

You turned to Ransom. His lips were pressed together into a thin line and his chest was swelling like he was gathering oxygen for a screaming match or something worse. The longer you spent around these people, the more you were convinced he wasn’t the only one who liked to needle others.

“Honestly, I-” the words tumbled out of your mouth and you could only hope they were the right ones “I’m not sure if he’s influenceable.”

Ransom was still scowling and for a moment you were afraid you had only made things worse, but then his mouth opened and he let out the air in his lungs with a low chuckle. Much better than being in the middle of another argument.

Fran walked back into the room before anyone else could start a scene and announced that dinner was ready. Apparently Harlan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she was the only one who kept his house in order – all around you tense shoulders relaxed and frowning brows smoothed with the promise of a meal. You must’ve looked happy as well, given you hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch and your stomach was starting to hurt. There was also (and you wished the thought hadn’t run through your mind, but it did) the chance that Ransom and his family would be much less likely to speak if their mouths were stuffed with meatloaf.

You wished you didn’t have those sort of intrusive thoughts about people you had just met, but they weren’t making it easy for you. Marta had alluded to a “family situation” that had left them on edge, but you had never seen people react this badly to strangers. This was the stuff or nightmares, or at least of “Florida Man” news reports. They were supposedly worse when there wasn’t company? How much worse could they get?

Ransom had told you not to worry about dining with his family. Maybe he was so used to them he didn’t think the way they acted was all that strange; maybe he knew his family would behave the way they had but he decided not to warn you for purposes of fuckery; it didn’t matter all that much. The worst thing was knowing that they sucked as hard as he liked to say they did. If you chose to go on with your pregnancy, this is what you would be bringing your child into.

[captainwhogotthecanary]

Something In Your Eyes (5/?)

Soooo, remember I said this would be 15 chapters and an epilogue?

Yeah, I just replotted it out to include the rest of her pregnancy and also nods to s2 where possible, sooooo it’s now weighing in at 33 if I stick to the outline.

Whoops? Blame Tavyn and Claudiarain <3

Thanks too to SylvanHeather starting this chapter, who also read through for feedback. Assume these three lovely ladies are giving me general feedback, at minimum, going forward, unless otherwise stated.

Starting this week and until I run out of buffer (which is almost month at this point, if I stopped writing today), SIYE will update Tuesday and Fridays. There’s still roughly a week happening in/between each chapter until otherwise stated.

Content warning this chapter for some violence, but not even as much as we usually see in canon.

Also on AO3.

Sara yawns again. She’s been trying to get to bed at a decent time, but life gets in the way.

Okay, spending time with Leonard gets in the way.

They’ve been keeping to their agreement, keeping things platonic aside from some harmless flirting neither of them seems able to turn off. There’s also been an increase in solo activities starring Leonard as inspiration when she isn’t too tired, but he didn’t exactly seem to mind when she let that slip. Her cards are on the table, and taking the edge off can only help, right?

Only, it doesn’t really help. Every moment between them is still charged. They went out to the bar with Mick the night before—Sara stuck to club soda because alcohol just didn’t sound particularly appealing—nominally to celebrate her working with them, but they just sort of kept forgetting Mick was there.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the other man’s company; she actually thinks they could get to be pretty good friends, too. It’s just that every cell in her body felt like it was being pulled toward Leonard, like every accidental touch set her ablaze.

Luckily, Mick didn’t take offense. He seemed tickled every time one of them blinked at him after he spoke. Still, she knows they need to work on that, especially since they’ll be working together.

Her first training job is today, and she’s spent five minutes trying to wake up enough to get out of her car. She needs to make it upstairs to his office to run back over the details, then back down and over to the location.

It really wasn’t the morning for her to realize she was out of coffee. She makes a note to grab some caffeine before heading to the job, if she has time, then takes a deep breath and gets out of the car.

As she makes her way to Leonard's office, she smiles at new coworkers who are already growing familiar. She waves at Felicity, who she’s found out is the tech wizard who got Leonard into her vault, then raps smartly on the office door.

“Come in,” Leonard calls. She walks in, finding Mick and Leonard already pouring over plans.

“Am I late?” she asks, glancing at the clock.

“No,” Mick answers. “Boss just wanted to get a head start since you’re the one going in.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, and Sara makes a note to ask Leonard about it when she gets a chance, but he doesn’t look upset, and his body language says she isn’t the target of his ire.

“We don’t usually let trainees go in on their own so early,” Leonard says, glaring mildly at Mick before looking at Sara, “so yes, I’d like to be a little more cautious than usual. Given your expertise and the ease of this part of the job, though, I don’t foresee any problems.”

There’s an empty chair next to Mick’s, a new addition to the room, and Sara sits in it and starts looking over the publically available information.

“You know what you’re doing today?” Leonard asks, and Sara nods.

“The target is a high-end department store,” Sara says, “with the main entrance on a busy street. They sell a lot of big ticket items, and they attract a lot of the type of clientele who can afford to pay in cash, so it’s high risk if there are any security holes. The owner wants to make sure she’s not gonna lose out on hard-earned money. I’m going in, with a camera and earpiece, to scope out the place before you actually attempt a job.”

Leonard nods, and Mick speaks. “Trickier than a lot of ‘em. Department store makes it near impossible to attempt anything without upsetting customers. Means what ends up happening is we only get as far as handing over a note that says we’re pretending to rob the joint. I see that and let security know it’s a test at that point, but they still have to get at least one armed guard in range before it’s been too long.”

They spend time pouring over plans and what parts of the store Sara needs to get on camera. She’s also testing alertness of security guards by acting suspect around some easier-to-lift items, with no actual intent to steal. Mick seems like himself, or at least the self she’s come to expect, so she dismisses the initial edge to his voice as imagined.

By the time Sara’s walking into the department store, she’s confident in the job, and she’s more excited about the work than she’s been in years. She only has half the coffee she picks up on her way, because she’s already humming with anticipation.

“Alright, Sara,” Leonard’s voice says in her ear, “video and audio are both good. Go ahead as planned.”

“Will do,” she says under her breath. She goes through the center of the store before making her way back around its edges, making sure she catches as much of the walls and ceilings on camera as possible. Occasionally, Leonard will give her more specific directions, things she missed, places he wants her to stop, things he could only have guessed at until he had eyes on. She quickly gets a feel for it, and she can hear the pleasure in his voice when she next stops.

“Precisely,” he tells her, and she waits a few more seconds before moving on. “Okay, you see those earrings over by the closest register? I want you to hang out over there. Fidget, look nervous.”

“Look like I want to take them,” she confirms before moving over to them.

They’re pretty, she admits, but not at all her style. They look like they would catch on her hair every two seconds. Besides, when she lifts one up, eyes darting around before she sets it back down, she sees that the price on it is about what she makes in a month, and she’s not exactly underpaid.

“Who would want these?” she mutters, and she hears Len chuckle. She almost breaks character with a returning grin, but her eyes are suddenly drawn to a man standing near the register.

He looks even more suspect than she’s trying to.

“You getting this?” she asks Leonard without taking her eyes off him.

“I am. I’m ready to alert police, and Felicity’s running facial recognition, though the hat’s making it tricky.” He pauses. “Get just a little closer if you can, but not too close. You don’t want to end up a hostage if this isn’t a false alarm.”

She moves a little closer and is positioning herself in front of a sock display when the man suddenly makes a move. He yanks down a ski mask, the edge of it only barely sticking out under his cap, which he knocks off in the process. It’s a quick move though, practiced, and his face is covered before anyone else knows what’s going on. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun, which he points immediately at the surprised cashier.

Sara takes a step closer when the cashier starts shaking and crying. The gunman isn’t reacting to her hysterics well, and he starts yelling. Sara has enough training that she thinks, even unarmed, she can take him down before anyone gets hurt.

“I know you have to help even though I’ve already alerted the police,” Leonard says, predicting her next move. His voice is controlled, if not quite calm, in her ear. “I know you’re able, too.”

Sara tenses as she waits for an opening, watches the unknown assailant wave his gun at the sobbing cashier.

“But you aren’t in charge here,” Leonard says. “I know at your bank you’d risk everything to foil a robbery, but head of security? That’s not you anymore, not here, not today. You’re here as my employee, and I’m telling you not to risk your life to save some cash.”

Sara internally rails against the order, but he’s right; she shouldn’t risk herself to stop the thief from getting away with his haul. She can and will, though, step in if it escalates any further, if it looks like anyone is about to get shot. Minutes pass, and she shuffles closer still when the man’s back is turned.

“Sara…” Leonard’s voice holds caution, not censure, like he can tell the compromise she’s settled on. She watches as the cashier starts handing over the money in the register, the gunman impatiently gesturing for her to go faster. “Detective West is in the building, Sara,” Leonard says, and something in her loosens to know she’s not only got backup, but backup she knows and trusts. “Hold on for just a few more seconds.”

And she tries, she really does, but the thief hears Detective West too early, and as the assailant spins toward someone she considers a friend, arm tense and finger on the trigger and face contorted in anger and fear, Sara finds she doesn’t really have a choice. She’s only a step away, and that’s all it takes to put herself in the path of his spinning arm, letting her grab the gun without ever being in its sights. It takes no effort to disarm him, and she steps back immediately, giving Joe a clean path to the man.

Sara can hear Leonard breathing hard enough for it to come over the microphone, but she doesn’t let herself talk to him until Joe has cuffed and unmasked the robber. “It’s over,” she says.

***

When Sara comes out of the building as he approaches it, she’s looking a just little rattled and entirely unharmed, and there’s very little that could keep Leonard from wrapping his arms around her. She doesn’t resist, instead melting into his embrace, leaning against him like she suddenly needs the help standing.

“You made the right call,” he murmurs into her hair, and she chuckles, finally lifting her own arms and wrapping them around his waist.

“I had some help.”

They stand like that until Detective West approaches, and then Leonard reluctantly lets go.

“We got all we needed from you, Sara,” West says before turning to Leonard, “but the video feed from her camera would help us when it comes time for prosecution. I assume you recorded it like usual?”

Leonard nods. “I’ll get that sent over as soon as I get back,” he says, and the detective nods and leaves.

Sara turns back to Leonard. “Do you need me back at the office?”

He frowns. He’s pretty sure she just means today, but after the experience her first time out, on a job that should’ve been safe, he has to ask: “Today, or ever?”

She looks at him like he should know better, and she’s probably right. “Today. I’ve still gotta run some errands before I call it quits for the day, and I was already tired. I know soon as the adrenaline finishes wearing off, I’m gonna be useless.”

“That’s fine,” he says. “We have what we need from the video, and we can have you sign the incident reports tomorrow after they’re ready.” He hesitates. “Do you need a ride?”

“I’ll be okay to drive,” she says. “You didn’t need to come down here at all… but I’m glad you did.”

He stares down at her and reminds himself they still have a few weeks before he’s allowed to give into his almost overpowering urge to kiss her. Hugs seem to be acceptable, though, so he pulls her into one last embrace before they part ways.

***

Alone in her apartment a couple hours later, Sara unpacks her groceries, putting away the coffee for morning and leaving out the beef so she can cook it for dinner. When she opens the meat, though, she wrinkles her nose; it’s definitely gone bad, despite looking fine. She tosses the meat, deciding it’s not worth a return trip to the store after the day she’s had. She’s not gonna keep spoiled meat around just to get back less than ten bucks. She grabs a box of macaroni and cheese for dinner instead, and a few minutes later, she’s curled up on her couch, wrapped in her softest bathrobe and watching Netflix.

She looks at her phone as she gets a text from Leonard.

You okay? Want any company?

She responds before she can talk herself out of it.

Sure. Just watching tv but wouldn’t mind not being alone

You know where I live, she adds. I’ll unlock the door, so come on in.

I’m on my way, comes the almost immediate response. Sara smiles and gets up long enough to unlock the door before getting comfortable again. She starts eating, but her movements slow and her eyes grow heavy, and she falls asleep before her bowl is even half empty.

She’s dimly aware when Leonard comes in, managing a noise of acknowledgement when he calls her name from inside the door. She feels him lift her, and she snuggles into his neck until he sets her down in her bed, pulling the covers carefully over her. When she hears his footsteps leaving, she calls out without opening her eyes.

“Stay?”

He pauses, and she hears him come back over, feels his weight as he joins her on the bed.

“Go back to sleep, Sara,” he says, wrapping his arms around her.

And she does.