Comment Fic
Every Little Move (Hathaways, Cat/Leo, 396 words)
From the first, Catherine liked to watch Leo. Oh, she'd have denied if anyone had asked -- and did, violently, especially when the person in question was the one doing the asking. But there was something undeniably compelling about the way he moved, with the same languid grace of his namesake, loose limbs masking the deliberate nature of every motion. His idleness wasn't because he was lazy, but because he didn't see the sense in moving unless it was with purpose, with intention.
His parents had chosen his name well, she decided.
Now that Cat was allowed to watch, she did so without shame. She watched him in the mornings, when he tumbled out of their bed, stretching limbs that were heavy with sleep. More often than not they were heavy with a torpor borne of other things, too, and when Leo would catch her staring, a predatory glint would light in his eyes and she'd be pinned back against their sheets before she knew what was happening. Those were Catherine's favorite mornings.
She watched him at tea, when he lounged in his chair, one knee balanced on the other, the delicate china tea cup in his hands at total odds with the otherwise wholly masculine picture that he made. At tea, when he caught her looking too long in his direction, Leo would wink, and a shiver would go down Catherine's spine, a promise of the things to come.
At dinner, she feasted not just on food, but on him, without any chance of detection, for dinner was when Leo truly came alive, debating and bantering with his siblings and their spouses, and Cat could look her fill. She would stare in fascination at his hands, the way they held his cutlery as he waved them through the air to make a point, how his fingers grasped at the stem of his wine glass. She watched the muscles in his throat as he swallowed, wondering if that was what they looked like when they kissed. Cat watched and she watched and she wanted.
In bed, after their ardor burned out, Cat rested her head on Leo's chest, his arm curled protectively around her.
"When you look at me," Leo said, bending his head to her ear, "what are you thinking?"
Catherine smiled, small and secret. "How glad I am that I, too, am a cat."
in the dark you tell me (Secret Society Girl, Amy/Jamie, 783 words)
On the weekends when Jamie came into the city, Amy lived with a clock in her head. It started the moment that she first saw him at the train station and it ticked down each and every minute until they were saying goodbye on a train platform, hoping for just a few extra seconds. If it weren't for the fact that Jenny was a stickler for punctuality, it would be enough to turn Amy off the very concept of time itself.
"Long distance sucks," she would say to her roommates when she got home from dropping Jamie off, before barricading herself in her room listening to emo music for an hour. It was the only wallowing she was allowed. There had been an apartment (and office) meeting on the subject.
And after her hour was over, Amy would open her door and watch television and go to work and to clubs and miss her boyfriend and live her life. She'd do all of that until the next weekend that Jamie came to visit and then the whole stupid cycle would start all over again.
After only six months, Amy was really sick of the cycle.
More, everyone else was even more sick of the cycle, and the next time Jamie came to visit, Amy was given strict instructions to figure out a solution, and so on Saturday night, Amy gave her roommates the eye and off they went to a night of doing Amy didn't really care what, leaving her alone with Jamie.
They sat on Clarissa's ridiculously expensive couch watching a black and white movie that Amy didn't recognize on the television. Jamie's arm was around her shoulders and her head rested against his chest, and she picked at a frayed thread on his pants. Now that she didn't have a choice but to talk about it, she didn't know what to say or how to say it.
Jamie's hand covered hers, stopping her fingers. "Amy," he said, "I like these pants. I'd like to be able to wear these pants again. You want to tell me what's wrong before you unravel them and I can't anymore?"
Amy winced. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, tell me what's wrong." He tilted her chin up. "You're not breaking up with me, right?"
Amy bolted straight up in her seat. "Of course not!"
"Well then," Jamie said, like that solved everything. "So talk."
Amy groaned, and picked up a pillow from behind her and buried her face in it. She didn't bother to lift it when she spoke. "Clarissa and Jenny may be really sick of what a ridiculously mopey girl I turn into when you leave."
The pillow was pried away from her face, and there wasn't a word for the expression on Jamie's face other than confused. "Again, please," he requested in a way that wasn't a request at all.
Amy sighed and tried again. "When you're here, that's great and I'm happy but the entire time I'm counting down the minutes until you leave and then I'm such a stupid girl about it and Jenny and Clarissa are sick of it so they said I had to tell you and now I did and I feel like an ass." She risked looking up at him. "You think I'm ridiculous."
"No," Jamie denied.
Amy raised her eyebrow at him in her best threatening manner.
"Okay, yes," Jamie said. "But not in the way that you think that I mean that."
"There's a not terrible way to mean that?"
"Amy, you think I don't miss you too?" he asked, and okay, maybe he had a point. "If you're counting down minutes, I'm counting down seconds, and it sucks. Especially when I don't know when I'm going to get to come back. If you don't think I miss you, you're crazy. And I don't think you're that kind of crazy."
"You might be surprised," Amy said under her breath.
"Amy," he said, and she sighed again.
"Fine. So I miss you and you miss me and I'm here and you're there and what are we supposed to do about it? It's not something that can be changed."
"No," Jamie said, drawing the word out slowly. "But we can both agree to be better about not thinking about how soon it's all going to be over when we're together." He cupped her face between his hands. "Because wouldn't you rather be doing this and not worrying about that?"
He kissed her without waiting for an answer, pressing her back into the couch cushions. Amy wrapped her arms around his neck and did her best to tell him how much she agreed.
He seemed to get the message.
think of the children (Pink Carnation, Miles/Henrietta, 618 words)
Lady Uppington was the first to broach the subject of grandchildren. Miles and Henrietta had joined her and Lord Uppington, and they had just been served the soup when she spoke the fateful words.
"I so long to be a grandmother."
Miles dropped his soup spoon. Lord Uppington made a noise that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh but had settled on a cough instead. Henrietta rolled her eyes.
"But you are a grandmother, Mama," she said. "Or have you forgotten Charles again?"
"I never forget Charles," protested Lady Uppington.
This time the noise Lord Uppington made sounded more like a snort. Or did, until Lady Uppington cut her gaze in his direction, and then it tried very hard to be a sneeze. It was not a success.
"You always forget Charles," said Henrietta, drawing her mother's attention back towards her. "At least when it comes to such matters. Or have you forgotten the matter of Richard's elopement again?"
"Would you care to discuss the matter of your elopement again?" Lady Uppington retorted, and Henrietta was instantly contrite.
"No, Mama."
"Good." Lady Uppington seemed pleased. "Now, about my future grandchildren..."
This time, Lord Uppington didn't even bother to hide his groan. Miles thought about hiding under the table, but came to the conclusion that he wouldn't fit.
It was probably for the best. Henrietta would have been furious he hadn't thought to take her with him.
And after all, Henrietta was nearly as fearsome as her mother when she put her mind to it. It was a fact that Miles knew all too well.
*
Henrietta did not speak a word on the subject until they retired for the evening. Her head rested on his chest, and Miles was toying with the ribbons on her nightdress, trying to decide if Henrietta would be receptive to him untying them.
Miles had just decided that he thought she would be, and was pulling on the first ribbon when Henrietta spoke.
"Do you like children?" she asked, and Miles's hand froze.
"Children?" he echoed, his voice sounding more like a squeak as he spoke the single word. "Why do you ask?"
Henrietta raised her head and looked at him as if he were a dolt. Which, Miles was forced to admit, he probably was. "Miles."
"Henrietta." He pulled on the ribbon again, and she batted his hand away. Miles sighed. Apparently distraction was not a thing that would save him from this conversation. "They're very small?"
"Miles."
He pushed himself up to a sitting position. He didn't like the way she was looking down at him. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
"What you think!" Henrietta exclaimed. "There isn't a right or a wrong answer."
Miles barked a laugh. "Even I am not foolish enough to believe that."
Henrietta had the grace to look sheepish. "You may have a point."
Miles took a chance and brought her against his side, wrapping her in his arms. "You'll be an excellent mother," he said. "When we have children. Because we will have them. And your mother will spoil them and drive you mad and I'm sure I'll be no use whatsoever, but I will try to help in anyway I can." He looked down at his wife, who was looking back up at him with a sheen of tears in her eyes. His arm tightened around her. "Was that what you needed to hear?"
Henrietta nodded. "Yes, thank you." She blinked her tears back and then she smiled.
Miles instantly became more alert. He recognized that smile. That was Henrietta's naughty smile. He grinned.
"Miles," said Henrietta. "Why don't you kiss me?"
Miles was only too happy to obey.
it's the first day of a new life (Pink Carnation, Geoff/Letty & Miles/Henrietta, 1031 words)
When they returned from Ireland, Geoff and Letty settled into life at Pinchingdale House. Or rather, Geoff settled. Letty did not. After two weeks of watching his wife tiptoe past statues and trip over too long wall hangings and shy away from the large mirrors that covered the walls, Geoff knew that something must be done. He wanted her to be comfortable in his house. In their home.
In Ireland, Geoff had told Letty she could redecorate, but she had demurred. Now, Geoff saw that if she was ever going to be at home at Pinchingdale House, she would have to make it hers. He merely had to convince her to do so.
And there, Geoff was stumped. A wife was not something that he had a great deal of experience in dealing with, and after the blunders involving spies and false identities, he was reluctant to do so again, at least so soon.
Which meant that he would need advice. Which meant that he would need to consult Miles.
It meant that Geoff delayed the conversation for another week, until he caught Letty apologizing to a particularly ugly bust of someone he thought might be his great-grandfather. After that, Geoff made all due haste to Loring House.
It should be noted that Geoff's reluctance to consult Miles had nothing to do with trust. Geoff trusted Miles with his life, with the secrets of the War Department, and with Henrietta whom he considered every bit his own sister. But trusting Miles was not the same thing as thinking that Miles would give him good advice. But there was no other advice to be had, and so Geoff went.
At least, he thought, where he would find Miles he would also find Henrietta. Surely she could be counted on, even if Miles could not.
Stwyth greeted him at the door and showed him into the front parlor. "I will fetch Master Miles," the butler intoned, and Geoff was just nodding his thanks when Miles bounded through the door.
"No need, Stwyth," Miles said, clapping the butler on the shoulder. "I'll take it from here."
Stwyth backed silently out of the room, and Miles turned to Geoff with an eager expression on his face. "Is there a mission?"
Geoff shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. Miles would never change. "If there were a mission, wouldn't you have been summoned to the War Office?"
Miles frowned. "Good point. Well then, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home with your new bride? Or is she tired of you already?"
Miles winked. Geoff rolled his eyes.
"Actually," Geoff said, "it's Letty that I've come about."
Miles's eyebrows shot straight up into his hair. "About Letty? You'll want Henrietta then."
"I don't --" Geoff started to say, but Miles had already stuck his head out into the hall.
"Henrietta!" Miles bellowed. "Geoff's here! And he wants advice about Letty!" He turned back to face Geoff. "That shouldn't take but a moment."
"Thanks so much," Geoff said, shaking his head. Really, he should have known that this would happen.
He rose to his feet when Henrietta walked in the doorway, kissing her proffered cheek.
"Geoffrey," she said. "What's this about you needing our help? I hope Letty's alright."
"Letty is fine," Geoff assured her. "Just --"
"Just what?" Henrietta interrupted, and Geoff gave her a look that he hoped conveyed a sense of exasperated fondness.
"Did marrying Miles come with an uncanny ability to interrupt me when I'm speaking?"
Henrietta had the grace to look abashed, and she patted him on the hand. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"
"Letty is fine," he repeated. "It's just that she seems rather uncomfortable in my house, and I don't know how to persuade her that she can redecorate it to her own taste."
Miles snorted. Henrietta elbowed him in the ribs. Miles coughed.
"I mean, redecorating! Wonderful thing," Miles said.
Henrietta laughed. "I know that it's awful," she said. "You're just not supposed to say so."
"So many rules that no one told me," Miles said.
Geoff seized on the point. "Yes, exactly!" He gave Henrietta a pleading look. "Help me. Please."
"Well, since you said please," she said. "What you do is this..."
*
There was a spring in his step when Geoff walked back into Pinchingdale House that evening. Letty met him at the foot of the stairs, a worried expression on her face.
"Geoffrey," she said, her hands twisting in the fabric of her skirts. "I was worried. You didn't say --"
He didn't let her finish either, kissing her in full view of the servants. When he pulled back, her expression had turned dazed instead, and Geoff smiled.
"Miles and Henrietta send their love," he said. "Henrietta said to tell you that she'll call tomorrow afternoon."
"I will look forward to seeing her," Letty answered, confusion evident in her voice. "But why didn't you --"
"I didn't take you with me because I wished to speak with them about you," Geoff said. He winced. The interrupting thing was apparently catching. "I wanted them to tell me how to convince you that I want you to do whatever you'd like with my house."
Letty laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh and they both knew it. "Honestly, Geoffrey, there isn't anything wrong with your house."
"Yes, there is," he said firmly. "It's that it's my house." He took Letty's hands in his. "I want this to be our home, Letty. And it won't be as long as you're apologizing to the statues."
"You saw that?" Letty squeaked, aghast.
Geoff nodded and kissed her again.
"Our home," he repeated. "Anything you want. I mean that."
Letty drew him back down for another kiss, and Geoff took that as a good sign. He kissed her happily, glad that things had finally worked out. Confident that Letty's good sense wouldn't mean anything too disruptive was aboout to occur.
He forgot Henrietta.
*
A month later, he escaped to his club where he found Miles nursing a brandy and wearing a harried expression.
"You too?" asked Miles.
"Pass the brandy," said Geoff.
he hastens and chastens (The President's Daughter, Meg/Preston, 281 words)
Spending holidays with the Powers family wasn't anything Preston hadn't done before, but this time was different. This time Preston wouldn't just be spending a holiday with the family of his boss who happened to be the leader of the free world.
This time Preston would be eating Thanksgiving dinner with the family of his girlfriend, whose mother just so happened to be his former boss and the former leader of the free world.
Preston felt he was justified in being more than a little nervous. Meg disagreed.
She sat on the bed in his hotel room, watching him retie his tie for the tenth time, tapping her cane against her good leg. "Preston," she said, not for the first time. "It's not a big deal."
"You can keep saying that," he said, undoing the knot once more. "It won't change the fact that you're wrong."
"You've had Thanksgiving with us at least three times before. And one of those was in the White House. I just don't understand why you think it's such a big deal this time."
"Meg," he said, turning to face her, tie in hand. "None of those times was I dating their daughter." He took one step closer to the bed, then another, until he was standing right in front of her. "None of those times was I dating their daughter who happens to be more than ten years younger than me." He pulled her to her feet, and Meg obediently looped her arms around his neck. "None of those times was there a chance that --"
Meg kissed him.
When she drew back, Meg smiled at him. "Forget the tie," she said.
Preston did.
From the first, Catherine liked to watch Leo. Oh, she'd have denied if anyone had asked -- and did, violently, especially when the person in question was the one doing the asking. But there was something undeniably compelling about the way he moved, with the same languid grace of his namesake, loose limbs masking the deliberate nature of every motion. His idleness wasn't because he was lazy, but because he didn't see the sense in moving unless it was with purpose, with intention.
His parents had chosen his name well, she decided.
Now that Cat was allowed to watch, she did so without shame. She watched him in the mornings, when he tumbled out of their bed, stretching limbs that were heavy with sleep. More often than not they were heavy with a torpor borne of other things, too, and when Leo would catch her staring, a predatory glint would light in his eyes and she'd be pinned back against their sheets before she knew what was happening. Those were Catherine's favorite mornings.
She watched him at tea, when he lounged in his chair, one knee balanced on the other, the delicate china tea cup in his hands at total odds with the otherwise wholly masculine picture that he made. At tea, when he caught her looking too long in his direction, Leo would wink, and a shiver would go down Catherine's spine, a promise of the things to come.
At dinner, she feasted not just on food, but on him, without any chance of detection, for dinner was when Leo truly came alive, debating and bantering with his siblings and their spouses, and Cat could look her fill. She would stare in fascination at his hands, the way they held his cutlery as he waved them through the air to make a point, how his fingers grasped at the stem of his wine glass. She watched the muscles in his throat as he swallowed, wondering if that was what they looked like when they kissed. Cat watched and she watched and she wanted.
In bed, after their ardor burned out, Cat rested her head on Leo's chest, his arm curled protectively around her.
"When you look at me," Leo said, bending his head to her ear, "what are you thinking?"
Catherine smiled, small and secret. "How glad I am that I, too, am a cat."
in the dark you tell me (Secret Society Girl, Amy/Jamie, 783 words)
On the weekends when Jamie came into the city, Amy lived with a clock in her head. It started the moment that she first saw him at the train station and it ticked down each and every minute until they were saying goodbye on a train platform, hoping for just a few extra seconds. If it weren't for the fact that Jenny was a stickler for punctuality, it would be enough to turn Amy off the very concept of time itself.
"Long distance sucks," she would say to her roommates when she got home from dropping Jamie off, before barricading herself in her room listening to emo music for an hour. It was the only wallowing she was allowed. There had been an apartment (and office) meeting on the subject.
And after her hour was over, Amy would open her door and watch television and go to work and to clubs and miss her boyfriend and live her life. She'd do all of that until the next weekend that Jamie came to visit and then the whole stupid cycle would start all over again.
After only six months, Amy was really sick of the cycle.
More, everyone else was even more sick of the cycle, and the next time Jamie came to visit, Amy was given strict instructions to figure out a solution, and so on Saturday night, Amy gave her roommates the eye and off they went to a night of doing Amy didn't really care what, leaving her alone with Jamie.
They sat on Clarissa's ridiculously expensive couch watching a black and white movie that Amy didn't recognize on the television. Jamie's arm was around her shoulders and her head rested against his chest, and she picked at a frayed thread on his pants. Now that she didn't have a choice but to talk about it, she didn't know what to say or how to say it.
Jamie's hand covered hers, stopping her fingers. "Amy," he said, "I like these pants. I'd like to be able to wear these pants again. You want to tell me what's wrong before you unravel them and I can't anymore?"
Amy winced. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, tell me what's wrong." He tilted her chin up. "You're not breaking up with me, right?"
Amy bolted straight up in her seat. "Of course not!"
"Well then," Jamie said, like that solved everything. "So talk."
Amy groaned, and picked up a pillow from behind her and buried her face in it. She didn't bother to lift it when she spoke. "Clarissa and Jenny may be really sick of what a ridiculously mopey girl I turn into when you leave."
The pillow was pried away from her face, and there wasn't a word for the expression on Jamie's face other than confused. "Again, please," he requested in a way that wasn't a request at all.
Amy sighed and tried again. "When you're here, that's great and I'm happy but the entire time I'm counting down the minutes until you leave and then I'm such a stupid girl about it and Jenny and Clarissa are sick of it so they said I had to tell you and now I did and I feel like an ass." She risked looking up at him. "You think I'm ridiculous."
"No," Jamie denied.
Amy raised her eyebrow at him in her best threatening manner.
"Okay, yes," Jamie said. "But not in the way that you think that I mean that."
"There's a not terrible way to mean that?"
"Amy, you think I don't miss you too?" he asked, and okay, maybe he had a point. "If you're counting down minutes, I'm counting down seconds, and it sucks. Especially when I don't know when I'm going to get to come back. If you don't think I miss you, you're crazy. And I don't think you're that kind of crazy."
"You might be surprised," Amy said under her breath.
"Amy," he said, and she sighed again.
"Fine. So I miss you and you miss me and I'm here and you're there and what are we supposed to do about it? It's not something that can be changed."
"No," Jamie said, drawing the word out slowly. "But we can both agree to be better about not thinking about how soon it's all going to be over when we're together." He cupped her face between his hands. "Because wouldn't you rather be doing this and not worrying about that?"
He kissed her without waiting for an answer, pressing her back into the couch cushions. Amy wrapped her arms around his neck and did her best to tell him how much she agreed.
He seemed to get the message.
think of the children (Pink Carnation, Miles/Henrietta, 618 words)
Lady Uppington was the first to broach the subject of grandchildren. Miles and Henrietta had joined her and Lord Uppington, and they had just been served the soup when she spoke the fateful words.
"I so long to be a grandmother."
Miles dropped his soup spoon. Lord Uppington made a noise that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh but had settled on a cough instead. Henrietta rolled her eyes.
"But you are a grandmother, Mama," she said. "Or have you forgotten Charles again?"
"I never forget Charles," protested Lady Uppington.
This time the noise Lord Uppington made sounded more like a snort. Or did, until Lady Uppington cut her gaze in his direction, and then it tried very hard to be a sneeze. It was not a success.
"You always forget Charles," said Henrietta, drawing her mother's attention back towards her. "At least when it comes to such matters. Or have you forgotten the matter of Richard's elopement again?"
"Would you care to discuss the matter of your elopement again?" Lady Uppington retorted, and Henrietta was instantly contrite.
"No, Mama."
"Good." Lady Uppington seemed pleased. "Now, about my future grandchildren..."
This time, Lord Uppington didn't even bother to hide his groan. Miles thought about hiding under the table, but came to the conclusion that he wouldn't fit.
It was probably for the best. Henrietta would have been furious he hadn't thought to take her with him.
And after all, Henrietta was nearly as fearsome as her mother when she put her mind to it. It was a fact that Miles knew all too well.
*
Henrietta did not speak a word on the subject until they retired for the evening. Her head rested on his chest, and Miles was toying with the ribbons on her nightdress, trying to decide if Henrietta would be receptive to him untying them.
Miles had just decided that he thought she would be, and was pulling on the first ribbon when Henrietta spoke.
"Do you like children?" she asked, and Miles's hand froze.
"Children?" he echoed, his voice sounding more like a squeak as he spoke the single word. "Why do you ask?"
Henrietta raised her head and looked at him as if he were a dolt. Which, Miles was forced to admit, he probably was. "Miles."
"Henrietta." He pulled on the ribbon again, and she batted his hand away. Miles sighed. Apparently distraction was not a thing that would save him from this conversation. "They're very small?"
"Miles."
He pushed himself up to a sitting position. He didn't like the way she was looking down at him. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
"What you think!" Henrietta exclaimed. "There isn't a right or a wrong answer."
Miles barked a laugh. "Even I am not foolish enough to believe that."
Henrietta had the grace to look sheepish. "You may have a point."
Miles took a chance and brought her against his side, wrapping her in his arms. "You'll be an excellent mother," he said. "When we have children. Because we will have them. And your mother will spoil them and drive you mad and I'm sure I'll be no use whatsoever, but I will try to help in anyway I can." He looked down at his wife, who was looking back up at him with a sheen of tears in her eyes. His arm tightened around her. "Was that what you needed to hear?"
Henrietta nodded. "Yes, thank you." She blinked her tears back and then she smiled.
Miles instantly became more alert. He recognized that smile. That was Henrietta's naughty smile. He grinned.
"Miles," said Henrietta. "Why don't you kiss me?"
Miles was only too happy to obey.
it's the first day of a new life (Pink Carnation, Geoff/Letty & Miles/Henrietta, 1031 words)
When they returned from Ireland, Geoff and Letty settled into life at Pinchingdale House. Or rather, Geoff settled. Letty did not. After two weeks of watching his wife tiptoe past statues and trip over too long wall hangings and shy away from the large mirrors that covered the walls, Geoff knew that something must be done. He wanted her to be comfortable in his house. In their home.
In Ireland, Geoff had told Letty she could redecorate, but she had demurred. Now, Geoff saw that if she was ever going to be at home at Pinchingdale House, she would have to make it hers. He merely had to convince her to do so.
And there, Geoff was stumped. A wife was not something that he had a great deal of experience in dealing with, and after the blunders involving spies and false identities, he was reluctant to do so again, at least so soon.
Which meant that he would need advice. Which meant that he would need to consult Miles.
It meant that Geoff delayed the conversation for another week, until he caught Letty apologizing to a particularly ugly bust of someone he thought might be his great-grandfather. After that, Geoff made all due haste to Loring House.
It should be noted that Geoff's reluctance to consult Miles had nothing to do with trust. Geoff trusted Miles with his life, with the secrets of the War Department, and with Henrietta whom he considered every bit his own sister. But trusting Miles was not the same thing as thinking that Miles would give him good advice. But there was no other advice to be had, and so Geoff went.
At least, he thought, where he would find Miles he would also find Henrietta. Surely she could be counted on, even if Miles could not.
Stwyth greeted him at the door and showed him into the front parlor. "I will fetch Master Miles," the butler intoned, and Geoff was just nodding his thanks when Miles bounded through the door.
"No need, Stwyth," Miles said, clapping the butler on the shoulder. "I'll take it from here."
Stwyth backed silently out of the room, and Miles turned to Geoff with an eager expression on his face. "Is there a mission?"
Geoff shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. Miles would never change. "If there were a mission, wouldn't you have been summoned to the War Office?"
Miles frowned. "Good point. Well then, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home with your new bride? Or is she tired of you already?"
Miles winked. Geoff rolled his eyes.
"Actually," Geoff said, "it's Letty that I've come about."
Miles's eyebrows shot straight up into his hair. "About Letty? You'll want Henrietta then."
"I don't --" Geoff started to say, but Miles had already stuck his head out into the hall.
"Henrietta!" Miles bellowed. "Geoff's here! And he wants advice about Letty!" He turned back to face Geoff. "That shouldn't take but a moment."
"Thanks so much," Geoff said, shaking his head. Really, he should have known that this would happen.
He rose to his feet when Henrietta walked in the doorway, kissing her proffered cheek.
"Geoffrey," she said. "What's this about you needing our help? I hope Letty's alright."
"Letty is fine," Geoff assured her. "Just --"
"Just what?" Henrietta interrupted, and Geoff gave her a look that he hoped conveyed a sense of exasperated fondness.
"Did marrying Miles come with an uncanny ability to interrupt me when I'm speaking?"
Henrietta had the grace to look abashed, and she patted him on the hand. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"
"Letty is fine," he repeated. "It's just that she seems rather uncomfortable in my house, and I don't know how to persuade her that she can redecorate it to her own taste."
Miles snorted. Henrietta elbowed him in the ribs. Miles coughed.
"I mean, redecorating! Wonderful thing," Miles said.
Henrietta laughed. "I know that it's awful," she said. "You're just not supposed to say so."
"So many rules that no one told me," Miles said.
Geoff seized on the point. "Yes, exactly!" He gave Henrietta a pleading look. "Help me. Please."
"Well, since you said please," she said. "What you do is this..."
*
There was a spring in his step when Geoff walked back into Pinchingdale House that evening. Letty met him at the foot of the stairs, a worried expression on her face.
"Geoffrey," she said, her hands twisting in the fabric of her skirts. "I was worried. You didn't say --"
He didn't let her finish either, kissing her in full view of the servants. When he pulled back, her expression had turned dazed instead, and Geoff smiled.
"Miles and Henrietta send their love," he said. "Henrietta said to tell you that she'll call tomorrow afternoon."
"I will look forward to seeing her," Letty answered, confusion evident in her voice. "But why didn't you --"
"I didn't take you with me because I wished to speak with them about you," Geoff said. He winced. The interrupting thing was apparently catching. "I wanted them to tell me how to convince you that I want you to do whatever you'd like with my house."
Letty laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh and they both knew it. "Honestly, Geoffrey, there isn't anything wrong with your house."
"Yes, there is," he said firmly. "It's that it's my house." He took Letty's hands in his. "I want this to be our home, Letty. And it won't be as long as you're apologizing to the statues."
"You saw that?" Letty squeaked, aghast.
Geoff nodded and kissed her again.
"Our home," he repeated. "Anything you want. I mean that."
Letty drew him back down for another kiss, and Geoff took that as a good sign. He kissed her happily, glad that things had finally worked out. Confident that Letty's good sense wouldn't mean anything too disruptive was aboout to occur.
He forgot Henrietta.
*
A month later, he escaped to his club where he found Miles nursing a brandy and wearing a harried expression.
"You too?" asked Miles.
"Pass the brandy," said Geoff.
he hastens and chastens (The President's Daughter, Meg/Preston, 281 words)
Spending holidays with the Powers family wasn't anything Preston hadn't done before, but this time was different. This time Preston wouldn't just be spending a holiday with the family of his boss who happened to be the leader of the free world.
This time Preston would be eating Thanksgiving dinner with the family of his girlfriend, whose mother just so happened to be his former boss and the former leader of the free world.
Preston felt he was justified in being more than a little nervous. Meg disagreed.
She sat on the bed in his hotel room, watching him retie his tie for the tenth time, tapping her cane against her good leg. "Preston," she said, not for the first time. "It's not a big deal."
"You can keep saying that," he said, undoing the knot once more. "It won't change the fact that you're wrong."
"You've had Thanksgiving with us at least three times before. And one of those was in the White House. I just don't understand why you think it's such a big deal this time."
"Meg," he said, turning to face her, tie in hand. "None of those times was I dating their daughter." He took one step closer to the bed, then another, until he was standing right in front of her. "None of those times was I dating their daughter who happens to be more than ten years younger than me." He pulled her to her feet, and Meg obediently looped her arms around his neck. "None of those times was there a chance that --"
Meg kissed him.
When she drew back, Meg smiled at him. "Forget the tie," she said.
Preston did.