Archive of Our Own

“Okay slow down.”

“Lucky, I’m telling you those kids are fuckin’ demons. I’m not going back, I don’t care how good the money is.”

“Not that, dumb bitch,” She waves a hand covered in small, cute tattoos and pinchers her fingers together, “the cigarette. I’m out so that is the last one in the house. Share!”

“Oh, yeah, whatever here,” It is passed hand-to-hand and brought up to glossy painted lips that leave a pink residue on the filter, “now listen! I’m quitting my job. I’m just—! I’m not going back tomorrow!”

Octavia—

(“Call me Lucky, baby. That’s what everyone is to meet me and I want them to know it.”)

—takes a deep drag off the cigarette while she contemplates the words that are coming to her slowly. It is always harder for her to process what people are saying if they aren’t talking about something that is interesting to her. Petunia has a tendency to drone on and on about absolute nonsense so it is not Octavia’s fault if she sometimes tones the woman out.

“What?”

“Bitch, have you been listening?”

“Eh.” Octavia takes another drag of the cigarette and blows the smoke out between the cracks in her smile. The fur of her pink crop top tickles against her cheek when she leans forward to trade the cigarette for the whiskey bottle in Petunia’s hand.

“The job I took a week ago. Do you remember?”

“Some fancy uptown gig, right? Cleaning house?”

“Cleaning house, cooking, being a live in nanny.”

Octavia halts mid-pour, both of her dark brows lifting nearly into the hairline of her dyed hair. She cracks a laugh.

“Some rich dude pays you to watch his kids?”

“Not a dude, a lady. An ice cold bitch, Lucky. Literally she saw me and told me I was ‘obviously pedestrian’ and that I ‘better not be a poor influence on her children’ but that’s not even the worst part!”

Octavia waves for her to go on while she pours a bit of coke in with the finger of whiskey.

“The kids are a total nightmare. One of them set my purse on fire, Lucky! On purpose!”

Octavia gasps loudly and clutches her friend’s hand that sits on the sofa between them, “Not the Prada knock off!”

“The white one!”

“Oh my god. Why!?”

“I dunno, I just dunno but I’m not going back. I don’t care what that bitch says. I’m not doing it.”

“Well, good for you. I mean it probably paid shit anyway.”

Petunia groans and slides down on the sofa, looking pathetic and worn out, “No. The money was good Lucky.”

“No shit?”

“Really good.”

“What are we talking? Like fourteen an hour?”

Petunia actually laughs.

“Nah, Lucky. Try like fifty four.”

The cigarette falls from Octavia’s suddenly limp hand. The math makes her head go dizzy.

“Lucky, no. It’s not worth it. Don’t—“

“I don’t care if they burn my Gucci jacket. They can burn my hair for that money. Give me the address.”

“Lucky, no!”

“Gimmi.”

“You have to go through a bunch of hoops! You can’t just walk into this gig! It took longer to get the fucking job than I have worked it, honestly.”

Octavia makes a grabby hand that Petunia—soft faced, sweet Petunia who Octavia might have been into once upon a time—melts beneath her wishes the way everyone does.

“It’s never going to work but sure, whatever.”

Naturally, Octavia has a cheery time with the receptionist and wins over the assistant with less than a 15 minute phone call and a slew of sultry words. That is something she has always been good at.

(“But why do they call you Lucky?” A man with a dark beard at the bar asks with a voice full of sparks. She takes his free drink with a wink and zero interest in his flirtation but all the interest in his wallet she will be snagging once he is drunk enough to miss it. “Because I always get my way, one way or another. I’m Lucky like that.”)

 An hour later she stands in a line of bodies waiting outside a school with actual steeples and stained glass windows. Ribbons of colored light swirl across the sidewalk and across the wrought iron gate that boarders the school. It keeps her distracted while she waits though there is little she needs distracted from aside from her natural (or unnatural) reserves of energy. She knows that she should be nervous to meet the children based off what little Petunia told her but in truth she is quite excited by the prospect of the challenge.

She is excited by the prospect of that much money.

“First day?”

She blinks over at a portly man with dark, kind eyes and a receding hairline. He has a fanny pack that has little kittens holding tacos dancing across it that matches his backpack. Behind his big glasses he scans the length of her outfit: pale pink pumps that match the color of her hair, a black halter top with long sleeves and a white pair of ripped jeans. Briefly she considers using a small spell to gaze into his mind so she can find what his thoughts about her are but she decides not to risk it. A bard’s magic is always loud and slightly and the last thing she needs to do is get arrested for casting without a permit. Especially on school grounds.

“How’d you guess?”

“Didn’t recognize you. I don’t mean to pry but,” His eyes flick across her exposed midriff to the quarter sized tattoo of two female symbols interlocked beside her thumb, “are you Siobhan Windryder’s new nanny?”

“Yeah I—did you say Windryder? Like…Windryder Enterprises? Like…bought out Apple and Microsoft Windryder? Makes magic cars and shit?”

The man fumbles with his glasses in a way that is charming and chuckles, “Oh boy. You aren’t going to last long.”

Octavia blinks at the man until his face goes red and he hurries to apologize, “Oh, no offense! It’s just…”

“Just?”

“She’s going to hate you.”

Octavia’s lips tick up and she laughs at the man until her ribs hurt and she has to carefully blot away tears so she doesn’t smudge her makeup.

“No one hates me.”

“She is…particular…about the types of people she hires. Especially for her kids. Two nannies ago, he had long hair and she fired him for being a degenerate.”

“It doesn’t matter,” She hums the words in a sing-song pantomime that makes his eyes start to glaze over with awe, “she’ll love me. Everyone does. I’m Lucky.”

“All the luck in the world won’t save you from Siobhan.”

“No, honey. I’m Lucky.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m Bentley. It’s nice to meet you.”

They shake hands in greeting that starts a long chat about magic industries and their relation to magic. Octavia is careful not to mention her own skills only because she does not want him to ask for a song. The skills of a bard are growing fewer and far between with todays technology and the rise in wizards like Siobhan making magic more accessible to the general public. What need is there to learn if they can buy a pre packaged spell? Long ago Octavia had hoped that being a rarity would lend to getting more jobs but that had been a non-sequitur. Who needs a bard when you can buy one in a box? Who needs a bard at all.

So she had taken to odd jobs to make ends meet and used some of her less needed skills to accomplish them. ‘Jack of all Trades’ had been something most bards had been before anyhow so really she was only following tradition. After being a stripper for the last four years and a pre school teacher before that and a bartender before that; how hard could being a nanny to the rich and powerful be?

When the bell finally releases the children into the world as a river of noise and little bodies bumping into each other, she starts to get excited again. The assistant had shown her pictures of what they looked like and insured her they would be well mannered. ‘Siobhan is an exceptional mother, she instills the best qualities in them. Don’t worry.’ Though Octavia had been a little suspicious on how hard the woman had been selling the kids. She holds up a little placard as she was instructed and starts to wave when she sees the first of three emerge from the crowd. A small girl with blond hair pulled into braided pigtails who clings tightly to her backpack straps.

Olivia, 7 years old, and the most sensitive one. She had made sure she had been listening when the assistant gave her small scraps of information on the kids.

“Olivia, hi. Over here!” She waves jovially, smiling brighter than the sun stuck behind clouds up above. The girl’s face pinches. Her eyes—grey like the clouds—watch her mouth very closely then flick up to her eyes. She does not speak.

“I’m Lucky, your new nanny. Petunia quit like four hours ago. Is…” She trails off as it occurs to her that the little girl is still just watching her mouth with furrowed brows and a deep look of concentration. She squats down to be on the girls level and tilts her head in thought. When she was younger she had a foster sister who was hard of hearing that would sometimes watch her mouth while she talked rather than that her eyes so that she could—

She lifts her hands to sign, are you deaf?

Olivia’s eyes bulge and her smile matches Octavia’s. Her own hands fly up to sign, almost too quickly for Octavia who hasn’t practiced in many years, you can sign!?

Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t know. She fully intends to send the assistant a shitty text for not warning her about Olivia.

The little girl looks a little bashful when she signs, I’m suppose to wear my hearing aids but the other kids tease me and they make my ears hurt.

Octavia gives a little wave of her hand, that’s fine then. I’m Lucky, your new nanny.

I know, I saw.

You can read lips pretty good then, huh? Good to know.

Olivia jerks her head in a proud nod, I have to. Most of our nannies can’t sign. Mama says they can but most of them lie.

Cool super power kiddo. Wanna hang with me while we wait for your brother and sister? She signs but her jaw has tensed from the new information. She knows better than most how hard it can be to find a job that fits your skills but that sort of thing should not be lied about. It is tragic but the acknowledgement of adults neglecting a child’s need teleports her through the dusty, unloved tunnels of her childhood, right back into the cruelty of a system that does not care. There had been a child that needed an interpreter but rather than bring someone in, they had told the child to learn how to read lips and when that failed, they had sent away Octavia’s only friend.

Olivia tugs on her sleeve, pulling her back into the present with a wobbly smile that she hopes hides her unease. The fine lines of the girl’s small face have been pulled back into a tight look of confusion again.

They don’t have to wait much longer for two more children to part from the crowd and approach them with a healthy amount of caution. One is a scrawny boy with his brown hair combed over nicely and scraped knees that his school uniform don’t hide. There is an impressive shiner under one of his brown eyes that he tilts away from her when he gets closer.

Grayson age 12 and very friendly.

“You’re not Petunia.” He balls his fist up by his hips when he speaks firmer than a child ever should. It helps Octavia understand a bit why Petunia (and presumably other nannies) had failed where she will not. Too much of her formative years were spent huddled into small spaces with children angry at the world for her to ever be daunted by them. She knows, beneath it, is a broken heart.

“Nope, sorry.”

“She quit?” He tries to look pleased but there is a wobble to his bruised jaw that betrays him.

“I’m Lucky, your new nanny.”

“Lucky isn’t a real name.”

“Is so and it’s mine. What’s yours?”

“Grayson Windryder,” He adjusts his tie as he says it and rises with pride which unfortunately for him makes him more adorable than threatening, “you won’t last a week.”

She cocks a brow at him, surprised by his jab rather than insulted. This one must be the actual sensitive one of them all. The assistant either did not know a damn thing about these kids or intentionally lead her astray which would not be too much of a surprise either way. Some folk did not respond well to having a charming spell cast on them if it fails and they notice.

The final child appears as a storm cloud even darker and meaner than Grayson had been. She clings to herself with her head tipped down and ignores Octavia completely. There is a brief flash of deeply blue eyes that peek between a curtain of long brown hair when she tries to introduce herself but that is all she gets.

Aisling age 14 and very shy.

“Okay well, ready to go home?”

Grayson sneers, “Do you even know where it is?”

“Not really,” She squints at the skyline to look for the largest building she can find and points to it though she knows exactly where they are going, “that one?”

Olivia makes a loud sound that is a breathy giggle and is precious beyond words. Her hand that Aisling isn’t lifts to sign yes.

“Knew it. Come on.”

Aisling’s brows furrow when Octavia starts walking in that direction and she holds an arm out to keep the other two children from moving. Their eyes lock in a contest that Octavia wins simply because she does not at first realize they are having a battle of wills.

“Where is the car?”

Octavia blinks at the girl a long while then tilts her head after Aisling does not explain without prompting, “Car?”

“You can’t seriously plan for us to walk.”

“Why not? It’s literally four blocks. That’s nothing.”

“B-but! It’s dangerous! What if we get hit by a car or kidnapped?” Aisling sputters. Clearly, she is not shy and not accustomed to being questioned.

“In this neighborhood? Unlikely. C’mon! Walking is good for you. You can hold my hand even.” She extends an arm with her fingers, touched by ink and shining from gaudy rings, wiggling. Both Grayson and Aisling share a contemptuous look but Olivia skips a step ahead to take her hand.

Walking sounds fun, she signs with a wide grin. Octavia taps her on the tip of her nose.

You’re my favorite already.

The Windryder residence makes her wish she was a person lacking scruples. The number of trinkets just sitting around that she knows is worth a fortune could be so easy to swipe and they probably wouldn’t even notice since most of them are coated under layers of dust. All the way at the top of the truly massive tower, she walks around the entire top floor gobsmacked at the display of wealth. Even the cutlery is engraved with platinum and made of some sort of glass that heats to match her temperature. There is an odd buzz in the air that the kids either do not seem to notice or have grown accustomed to, but it attacks Octavia’s senses the moment she steps through the self-opening door. It takes her a while to localize it because it seems to be coming from everything—even the wall of windows that overlooks the whole of the city—but when she draws near a bedroom with its door closed, she understands. The way her head gets fuzzy, and the air gets wiggly around her from pale lavender ribbons of magic that smell like sage and coffee settles it for her. It is a wizard’s tower where nearly everything is made with magic or enchanted by and what may seem real is likely an illusion—like the door to the bedroom is—and because of her rarely used skills as a bard, she can tell.

The children disappear in a haste the moment they get home, fleeing to separate sides of the condo to sequester themselves in their rooms. After her snooping she swings by each room to check on them, surprised to find that each of them is doing their homework without prompting from her. That alone makes her wonder why so many nannies before her had such trouble with them. Some of them are difficult but they are nearing the perilous transition of child into teen and that is something that should be handled with patience and compassion. It is not their fault that their hormones have their emotions running wild and hot.

After another few minutes of puttering around and bringing some snacks up to the children that hardly register her presence so consumed in their work as they are, Octavia starts to get bored and decides to follow some of the magic around. She finds two hidden rooms behind shelves, one hidden bathroom, and stumbles into a study quite by accident. The mirror had seemed innocuous enough despite smelling strong of sage until she touched the surface and had been teleported into a small, quaint room. Inside the air was thick with the smell of that same kind of magic—Siobhan’s magic, she realizes too late—so strong that she can taste the coffee with each breath she takes. The foremost wall is a massive bookcase with metal railing at the top that a shiny brass ladder is attached to. Each case spirals in an odd pattern, some of which have been encased in green glass and some of which has been chained over. The books in those sections press against their confines, whispering madness the closer she gets to them, but they speak too fast and too many for her to compute it. There is a large oak desk sitting on a single step platform that is crowded with papers, pens, and a laptop that has been left open. Multiple mugs half full of coffee are mixed with the mess struck through by spoons that are still charmed to stir it. She approaches them with a frown—she’ll have to remember to come in here if they are missing cups—but gets distracted by the grouping of family photos on the desk. Most of them are of the children on assorted family holidays or social events all dressed in the finest with big smiles that cannot be misconstrued. These children are loved. In each one—and there are many—they beam at the camera either beside or from the hip of a goddess who she must assume is Siobhan. In most of the photos she is smiling too albeit only small doting ones for her children but there are two where she looks utterly miserable. One is a wedding photo of her standing beside a statue of a man, both dressed in white and neither of them looking too pleased. The other is a framed magazine cover where she is draped over a lounge chair wearing tight suit pants and a blouse that is only buttoned to the underside of her cleavage. She does not smile because she smolders, lip caught between her teeth and head tipped down so her eyes can blaze with embers of heated promise. Octavia needs to sit down for fear that her knees will give out beneath her.

A noise sounds from the entry that she lifts her head to acknowledge, expecting it to be one of the children so she is already smiling sweetly and cooing, “Coming sweetheart!”

A lithe woman in a purple suit stands there instead, her long brown hair braided loosely clear down to her hips. The sharpness of her face matches the sharpness of her gaze, so clear blue its like looking at a lake top caught in a beam of sunlight. A book is snapped shut in her hand and thrown onto the table near her which sends another ripple of that sage and coffee smell through the room.

“I do not know you,” The woman steps further into the room one slow step at a time, the heels of her shoes clicking against the wood floor, “why are you in my office?”

“I’m the new nanny.” It is difficult to stay professional when this woman is a fantasy come true, walking with a strict spine and a slight sway to her hips. Rounding the desk is a little tricky for Octavia who cannot take her eyes off the goddess in front of her, so she trips down the step.

Siobhan casts a long, critical look up the length of her that makes her shiver, “Anissa told me that Petunia had quit, and she had already hired someone new. Surely you are not Octavia.”

To hear her given name is jarring. No one had called her anything but Lucky since—

(“—you’re lucky kid. It could have been so much worst. Hey, you listening in there? I don’t think she is listening.” “Her jaw is wired shut, officer.”)

--the fire that burned down the orphanage and left her as the lone survivor.

“Lucky.”

Siobhan makes a soft contemplative sound as she strolls closer, her hands held behind her rigid back. Up close the smell of her magic swirls around her, seeping under her skin to buzz against her bones that suddenly ache for something. Her chest heaves from a breath taken to settle herself but all that comes with it is more sage and coffee that her soul twists itself around.

“Is that suppose to be a name?”

“Mhm. It’s mine even.”

Siobhan’s face twists with displeasure, “Forgive me if I cannot be bothered to call you such a juvenile moniker. Your given name is so beautiful it would be a shame to waste it. Do you know what it means?”

“No. You have a thing for names?”

“Mm,” Siobhan starts to circle Octavia, slow and thoughtful with her fingers curled beneath her chin and eyes sharp, “you are not my usual type. Did you bring your resume?”

“I didn’t think I’d have to since I was already hired by your assistant.”

A disgusted sound rips through the room, “So not very intelligent either.”

There is a dull spot where there should be a spark of anger in her. Petunia had parlayed every worry conceived about the nature of Siobhan Windrider before she had journeyed to the assistant’s office earlier that day but it had fallen upon deaf ears. Some of the more gritty concerns had stuck like unwanted mud to the bottoms of her shoes that she only remembered was there because she can see it staining the space between them now.

‘She’s venomous, Lucky. A right fucking bitch but she is…terrifying. It was like she zeroed in on all my shit and made me—like, I was afraid of looking her in the eye.’

Octavia still did not quite feel that same level of fists in Petunia had for Siobhan. She wonders what about the woman had rubbed her so wrong. Granted, Siobhan is very intimidating and a little rude but she was not all that bad.

Siobhan somehow sees Octavia’s indifference to her insult because her face pinches in almost confusion.

“I should go check on the babies.”

“They aren’t babies. Aisling is nearly a teenager. Respect their autonomy, Miss Mulchester.”

The surname washes across Octavia’s skin like an acid bath.

“They are precious like babies.”

“You are infuriating Octavia.”

“Lucky.”

“I will not call you that.”

Petunia and her partner take bets with the troop about how long Octavia will last in her new job. Most of them agree on a span between one to three weeks that will end in a meltdown of tears and screams all for Siobhan. At around her second month, they all seem to grow quietly uncomfortable with the situation.

“How can you stand her, Lucky? She always looked like she was about to murder me anytime I talked.”

The truth was Siobhan was the furthest thing from frightening. In the first week they had bumped into each other around the house the way two objects not use to sharing a space too and Siobhan would snip at her but it never hit Octavia the way it should. There was too much velvet in Siobhan’s voice, too much charm in the way she squints without glasses and is clumsy when she is half asleep. On top of that, the woman is genuinely easy to get along with if a person can swallow a lot of her barbs to not affect. She is touchy about most things but once you understand her absolute do-not-cross topics for conversation (her divorce, mostly) then she is fun to talk to. Rather, fun to work up. Aside from those things Siobhan is a pleasant woman who is an excellent mother and a very kind employer.

She realizes her view of the woman is singular when she decides to take her lunch while the kids are at school.

The Windryder facility is not a building but a base that spans across sixteen square blocks and is comprised of four warehouses, a dock with a science building half in the water, three research facilities, and one stone building with a domed tower in the center of it. That is where she knows she will find Siobhan doing magic stuff the depth of which Octavia does not comprehend neither does she fully care. A wizard’s work is full of pretentious mulling and obligatory brooding that can be hot but is mostly time consuming and obnoxious. Certainly not Octavia’s scene. Regardless, she enters the building wrapped in clothes that are stylish and thick to fight off the cold. The man behind the desk is a straight backed man with combed over hair and a soulless void sitting behind his dull grey eyes. He glares at her white parka with its pink fur lined hood and then down at the tin box she has clutched against her belly.

“Are you lost, Miss?”

“I called ahead to make a lunch appointment with Siobhan.”

She notes with interest the way his eyes widen at the casual use of her first name. With a firm jaw and his eyes slid back to his computer screen he speaks thinly, “Miss Windryder already has a clear schedule for lunch and does not wish to be disturbed. So if you could see yourself out please.”

“I call her personal phone. So just,” She flicks her fingers at the phone on his desk, “let her know I’m here.”

His eyes run along her length again from the pointy tips of her heeled boots to the gold glitter on her cheeks, “I won’t be doing that.”

“Dickhead, I’m—“

“Ma’am, listen. I do not mean to be rude but Miss Windryder is not someone who takes pranks well and I do not want to be the one that gets caught with the likes of you standing inside her building. So if you please leave now, that would be grand.”

Her fingers tighten around the handle of the lunch box, “Are you going to make me?”

“If you force my hand, yes.”

“Fine then.” She sets the lunch on the desk to fetch her cellphone. He nudges the parser aside with his pen tip all while glaring at her rather fiercely.

“Darcy, can you come over here please? I have a situation.”

She dials her—she realizes it is her most commonly called number these days—employer with an inpatient tap of her foot. Typical of Siobhan, ever a patient creature of habit and routine, she answers after the second ring.

“Siobhan Windryder.”

A smile rises unbidden to her lips, “How many times do I have to tell you not to answer your phone like that? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

“About as many as I have to remind you that we have a professional relationship where I beg you not to curse.”

“Siobhan, ignore that for now because I’m going to win you over but right now, your desk jockey is trying to have me thrown out—hey! Five-head fucker, hands off!” Her body flinches away from the man in a dark suit that tries to grip her around her bicep. She slaps at him twice with just the tips of her fingers to shove him off but that seems to trigger his body guard nature. His face goes hard just before he twists her arm behind her back and pushes her into the desk. Her phone tumbles to the ground with a clatter near her boots.

“You absolute sack of shit! Get your fucking hands off me, right now, or I swear to god I am going to rip your dick off and shove it down your—“

“That’s enough! Darcy, just throw her out. Before Siobhan finds out about this and I get fired.”

“Oh Siobhan is going to find out, you bitch, I promise!” He wrenches her away from the desk to steer them towards the door but she does not make it easy for him. Her legs kick out and her arms swing, flailing behind her to smack him upside his wide head. There are a set of escalators that lead down to the entry floor where five sets of glass doors sit waiting for them. It is congested with a number of bodies flowing in and out all dressed in business clothes that she very distinctly stands apart from. A few stop to stair up at her when they near the edge of the stairs mostly because of her shouting and cursing but all of them stop to stare when they hear Siobhan’s sharp voice cut above all the noise, “What is going on here?”

“Siobhan! Tell Darcy to fuck off!”

The desk clerk circles his desk with a stricken look and tries to smile but there is too much horror in his face to let the muscles relax, “Miss Windryder! There was a ragamuffin attempting to con her way into your offices but—“

A hand lifts threateningly which the desk clerk understands and falls instantly silent. Clear blue eyes set on Darcy holding onto a thrashing Octavia. Her heels click sharply against the floor and Darcy flinches from every step. There is a sound that is like a crack of thunder but is actually Siobhan’s voice sharp and furious, “Do I employ scoundrels, Mr. Fawn?”

“No Miss Windryder.”

“No I do not. And yet, here you are man handling my nanny. Tell me, where did you learn such manners?”

His hands slacken instantly at the words my nanny. Octavia slips away from him with a huff to stand beside Siobhan, expecting the woman to be done with the whole thing, but instead she turns her focus on Octavia. A hand lifts to touch her jaw gentler than any of Octavia’s many lover’s have ever held her. It strikes her like lightening, flaying her nerves from toe tip to the place of contact just beneath the pads of Siobhan’s fingers. The skin rasps softly when she drags her touch down to beneath the point of her chin, lifting just enough for her to inspect beneath.

“Did he hit you, darling?”

“He threw me up against the desk.”

“Right,” Siobhan’s voice is a razor’s edge, cold and sharp and promising pain, “explain to me why in your empty head you thought it would be alright to throw this woman into a fucking desk.”

The air boils with tension. Discretely, she casts a look around to see the affect of Siobhan’s anger has on her employees. The desk boy steps away looking very much like a man waiting for his turn at the guillotine as does Darcy the Bodyguard currently facing the brunt of Siobhan’s ire. Down below the people that had been coming in hover near the door and at the bottom of the stairs, all clearly avoiding coming up where they know Siobhan is. She can understand their hesitance but not the overall reaction because to her Siobhan is a sweetheart, galant to come to her aid and alarmingly attractive. Being near her rage after being touched so gently and being softly called darling still has her skin buzzing.

“Ma’am—“

“Do not speak unless I tell you to speak. Can you understand that much?”

His lips split to speak but smack shut when she raises an eyebrow.

“Good. Now, I am very certain that I have never told any of my guards that it is alright for them to employee violence unless violence is being done to them and I am certain that Octavia,” There is an odd buzz of whispers when Siobhan uses her first name, “did no such thing. Tell me why you chose to do this? Quickly.”

His eyes flick between Siobhan’s flat expression to Octavia then back again, “She hit me, Miss Windryder. Twice.”

“Mm. Darling, is that true?” It does not escape her that the desk clerk’s eyes widen each time Siobhan calls her darling. Even though her tone is just as biting as it has been since she came down, it sounds sweeter in Octavia’s ears. Just as sweet as spun sugar, like all of Siobhan is.

“Yes and I’d do it again.”

“Hm,” Siobhan cuts another look at Darcy that makes him flinch and tip his head down, “You may leave for the day Mr. Fawn. When you return tomorrow, we will discuss your departure from this company. Mr. Frei, you may walk him out.”

The desk clerk jerks to action then, his mouth hangs open and his hands start to fidget, “Miss Windryder—“

“I’ll be taking my lunch with Octavia now. When I have finished, I should not be seeing either of your faces. Do I make myself clear?”

There are not grumble or groan, no attempts at groveling or squawking about their predicament. They simply obey, quietly and quickly. Siobhan does not react to this in anyway. Quickly they somehow go from being downstairs to being in Siobhan’s spacious office with the food Octavia brought bring dished onto a plate that Siobhan pulled from a cabinet. The ring of gold around the plate edge begins to glow softly which fills the air with the faint smell of sage and coffee that has become a comfort for Octavia.

“Octavia, I cannot express how sorry I am for what happened downstairs. I assure you that type of behavior is abhorrent and unacceptable here.”

“It’s alright Siobhan. I’m not mad.”

“You ought to be. That was—your poor chin is bruising already. Oh, what a louse I am,” She stands from her chair to rummage through her desk and returns with a silk kerchief that little spiderwebs of ice is crawling across, “I ought to have ice on hand but I don’t have a wet bar. Here, this should suffice.”

“Oh. Thank you. You don’t have to—oh, okay.” She swallows against the feeling rising in her throat when Siobhan touches her jaw again and presses the cool cloth against her chin. She does not let go until Octavia gives her a smile to let her know she is alright.

Her normal type are gruff, brooding types that handle her roughly but she was sure that she liked that until maybe now. Siobhan had been a fantasy come to life the very first moment she met her for all her hard edges and her non conventional beauty. It had been a hot attraction that she mused about when she would lay down for bed and brush her hands across her own skin. One that was carnal entirely but now—

Her heart flutters when Siobhan smiles at her and says, sweetly, “Thank you for lunch, darling. I was a bit peckish. And…if I’m honest…it feels quite nice. The surprise gesture of kindness. I’m not…use to that kind of treatment.”

—now it might be a small crush.

The next day when she arrives with sushi there is a new desk clerk who lets her pass without a word. When she arrives in Siobhan office, she hears the woman on a video call that has her sitting ramrod straight in her chair and has her hands steepled primly on the desk. Her voice is hard and the others on the call seem hesitant in the face of her intensity. For a brief moment she almost understands everyone’s reaction to Siobhan but then she looks up and gives her a brief smile that turns the breath in her lungs to stinging nettle.

After the call, Siobhan approaches her with surprise, “You came again.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You said you were hungry earlier.” Granted, she had called Siobhan to ask since she had been at home bored and missing the particular frown Siobhan gets when she is annoyed with her assistant.

“Yes but…I just—this is not part of your job description. You don’t—I do not expect you to do this. Rebecca can do this for me.”

Rebecca, ugh. The assistant that had given Octavia all the wrong information about the children on her first day. She tries to limit her interactions with that woman. She knows that she has not been working for Siobhan for too long because her previous assistant had run off with her ex husband. Still, it rubs Octavia the wrong way that she knows almost nothing about the three humans who are Siobhan’s whole world. On occasion she had seen Rebecca eying Siobhan with a bit too much heat, more than Octavia would like.

Perhaps that was part of why she wanted to bring Siobhan lunch again today.

“I wanted to. I missed your grumpy face. Besides,” She flicks her hands dismissively and frowns down at the table while she dishes out their food, “Rebecca is an idiot.”

“She has performed rather well, I think.”

“You would think that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

Octavia meets the father of Siobhan’s children on a Sunday night during what they call ‘Family Dinner.’ There is a buzz in the house that is equal parts tension and excitement which scales up in direction depending on the Windryder in question. Grayson like his mother are more demure about Pavel’s arrival at the home, both of them greeting him pleasantly but short. Grayson clings to Octavia which surprises her but pleasantly so. When Pavel bends to hug a very happy Olivia, she bends to whisper to him, “Are you alright?”

Grayson’s lower lip trembles and his wet eyes flick to Siobhan who stands near Aisling waiting to greet her ex husband. He gives Octavia’s hand a squeeze, “I’m okay.”

“Liar.”

The lip trembles more.

“Just tell me if you want to cut it and leave.”

His head jerks up, eyes wide, “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can.”

“It will hurt Dad’s feelings. And upset mom.”

“Hey, buddy. Don’t worry about that, okay? You’re feelings matter too and if you’re uncomfortable or unhappy, I want you to leave. Just give me a signal and I’ll excuse you. Simple as that.”

He does not say anything more but she notes that his shoulders sink and he tilts his head against her arm in silent thanks.

Aisling rushes to hug her father so tightly he is almost knocked over, “Dad! I’ve missed you so much.”

Octavia notices how that makes Siobhan’s chin wobble a bit and her hands tighten behind her back. There is a tense greeting between the ex’s before he turns his attention to her. Something crosses his face that is not wholly kind and gets less so when he notices her patchwork tattoos and the low cut of her blouse. Rather than acknowledge her, he turns to Siobhan and bites out, “This is who you let watch my children now?”

Siobhan looks exhausted when she shakes her head and pleads, “Not in front of the children, Pavel.”

The rest of the night proceeds in that spirit. Siobhan quietly nurses one martini after the other at her end of the table throughout the meal, consuming more gin than actual food. Aisling hangs off every word her father says and he spends the majority of the meal talking about his work and his new wife and making big promises to have them over. Sweet Olivia watches his mouth with a concentrated face but occasionally she looks over to Octavia or Siobhan for translation because not once does Pavel sign except when he is directly speaking to Olivia. Which only happens twice. The moment Pavel brings up his wife, Grayson becomes tense again, curling into himself so tightly he is nearly bent in half.

“Miss Lucky,” He whispers, head down, “can I go?”

“Course honey. I’ll bring you dessert later, okay?”

His chair scrapes against the floor in his rush to leave the table which attracts the attention of both his parents.

“Where are you going son? You haven’t been excused.” Pavel sounds displeased and Octavia knows she shouldn’t even be here—at a family dinner—but it irks her when he uses that disappointed tone on the boy. She rises taller in her seat, growing more invested in the topic of conversation than she has all night. From the corner of her eye she can see the boy tense up.  

“I excused him.” A protective spark burns hot under her ribs. There is a possibility that it will turn into a blazing inferno if Pavel says or does anything that would upset the little boy anymore than he already has. She knows it’s not her place, she knows she is little more than an employee in this house, but she also knows if anything happens to these children in any form she will become unhinged.

“You are not his mother,” His nonchalance irks her even further, “Sit back down boy.”

“No,” Siobhan waves Pavel off with one hand and touches Grayson’s hair with the other, smoothing away some stray curls that tickle his forehead, “if Octavia has excused you, you may go. Give me a kiss.” Ever obedient, he stands on his toes to peck her cheek before he leaves without a backward glance or farewell to his father.

“Siobhan.”

She blinks at him over the rim of her martini glass, defiant and smiling. Something about the smokiness in her voice that is held strong by steel stirs the coals in the pit of her stomach. She takes a deep sip of her own drink.

“In fact, why don’t the rest of your excuse us as well? I need to speak to your father.”

Olivia pokes her lower lip out and signs, but what about dessert?

I’ll bring you dessert pumpkin, Octavia adds a wink that makes the little girl smile.

I’m not a pumpkin!

 Siobhan sits in silence, watching her ex husband beneath the hood of her thick lashes while Octavia gathers Olivia into her arms and ushers Aisling out. Before she gets too far Siobhan stops her with a light touch against the outside of her hip which is where she makes a mistake. It is quite common that Siobhan does not let her children leave the table without a kiss even if the are distracted or in a rush. Normal procedure usually means Siobhan will stop them for her kiss so it clicks in the back of her head, for whatever reason, that Siobhan is stopping her for that same reason. Without thinking about it, she bends to kiss Siobhan’s cheek which nearly catches her mouth when the woman jerks in surprise. Her lips touch the corner of Siobhan’s mouth, sticky from their lipstick and the mixed drink Octavia had been nursing.  Instantly her head grows cloudy from the smell of Siobhan’s perfume that circles around her and distracts her from the tingling in her lips and the deep blue of Siobhan’s eyes.

They share a look of confusion and embarrassment that Octavia feels obligated to explain away if only to hide the way her heart has turned into a bird trapped inside the cage of her ribs.

Siobhan blinks away her shock with a toss of her head and a shaky smile directed towards her daughter, Can I have one too Miss Olive?

Olivia wiggles against Octavia so she can lean over to kiss her mother’s cheek, near the stain Octavia’s lipstick left behind. After the affections are given, Octavia rushes from the room with her neck on fire.

The clock reads 10:47 when Siobhan returns home from her date that started at 9:00 even. The man that had arrived on their stoop earlier in the night had been tall, broad shouldered, and classically handsome. He oozed charm when he handed flowers over to Siobhan and kissed the back of her hand and especially so when he complimented the backless gown she had on. Good for him too because if he had not, she might have shoved him out the door and locked it. Siobhan had been so nervous about the date that Octavia couldn’t help feeling some of her anxiety throughout the night. She had tried to tamp it down by playing with the kids, building a blanket fort and slipping inside with them to read books and play games on their portable consoles but it remained under her skin as an unpleasant reminder.

The sweet, shy smile Siobhan had given her after she helped choose the dress haunted her. Olivia kept tapping her when she would drift off mid sentence because it would resurface in her mind and steal her breath away.

Grayson was pleased about the date for all of a minute.

“Was he a nice guy, Miss Octavia?”

“Mm? Oh,” No, she did not think so, because he had let his eyes dip down to her chest for too long and had made her wince when he put his hand on her back and because there was a jealous hole in her chest each time she thought about his chiseled jaw, “sure buddy. He seemed alright.”

“He isn’t the same guy she went out with last week.” Aisling muttered, considerably less excited about her mother’s dating life.

“The guy last week was a tool.”

Octavia bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing but knows they hear amusement in her voice when she chides him, “Don’t use that word.”

“But that’s what I heard you call him!”

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Grayson’s little pout is precious enough that she cannot help but ruffle his hair and give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Why doesn’t she just date you, Miss Octavia?” His voice is innocent enough that she does not trust it. Aisling’s eyes light up with her blooming smile that she shared with her brother.

“Yeah Miss Octavia. You would be perfect for Mom.”

They share a look that is wicked and too self satisfied for her liking. The treacherous thumping of her heart gives pained echoes at the idea of Siobhan, the memory of her little smile, and all the other cherished memories of Siobhan’s softness. It is not fair that she be tempted like this when she is a good woman who is kind and generous. Why did she have to be handed the perfect woman right from a dream only for her to be straight? Why did she have to fit in so well here, have to fall so in love with her children, have to feel more at home here than she ever has anywhere else?

The pitiful lump of longing inside her begins to bleed each time her heart gives a sad thump against her ribs.

She plasters on a smile and flicks their ears, “Oh yeah? I bet your mom wouldn’t agree.”

“But why not? You’re the best. We want you to be our new—“

Aisling elbows him hard in the ribs and hisses, “Grayson, shh!”

That exchange with the children sits at the front of her thoughts when the door clicks open and Siobhan steps in. Her dark hair is a bit tacky from the snow outside and her arms glitter from wetness where it has melted. There is a pout to her lips that are a little blue from the cold—she is notably not wearing a coat—and the lipstick is smudged. The little pang of jealousy that inspires stings against the back of her throat.

“Hey, you’re home early,” She pulls the afghan from the back of the couch as she approaches Siobhan to throw it around her shoulders, smoothing her palms up and down her arms to warm her quicker, “how did it go?”

“Terrible. Men are pigs. Thank you for this.” She leans over to kiss Octavia’s cheek which is something she has started doing ever since that fateful family dinner. All it took was her one blunder to unlock a new level of closeness in their relationship. They went from ‘strictly professional’ to an even more painful ‘friends’. Now Octavia gets to be privy Siobhan’s gentler moods and physical affections that leave her burning for more. Worst of all she becomes a confidant for Siobhan’s romantic struggles to find a new husband. When Siobhan had showed her a picture of one of many men she had on rotation in the last few months Octavia had wrinkled up her nose and said, ‘No offense but looking at him made me even more lesbian than I already am.’ Precious, sweet Siobhan had grown adorably flustered by that and stammered about not being aware of her sexuality but promised to be an ally. She had known that Siobhan was straight but it still stung to have it confirmed.

“That bad?” She follows Siobhan into the kitchen, taking a seat at the island while Siobhan starts fixing them both a drink that looks to be more vodka than anything else.

“Well first, he tried to charm me with how much money he has,” She rolls her eyes as she settles into the chair beside Octavia and passes her the drink, “which was rather embarrassing for him when I had to explain that I’m worth twice what he is.”

She grins, “It’s so sexy when you belittle men.”

A faint red colors the tips of Siobhan’s ears and her voice is a little hoarse when she says next, “I would have been content to let it drop if he weren’t so obnoxious about it.”

“Tell me what happened next.”

“Over dinner he mostly discussed politics which gave me horrible déjà vu. Pavel use to do the very same thing.”

“Nothing like being on a date with someone who reminds you of your ex husband.”

Siobhan sighs sadly into her drink, “Quite right. Then—“

“Then!? It gets worst?”

“Oh yes. Then he starts talking about some dreadful nonsense called power lifting and his competitions and showed me a plethora of pictures where he was shirtless and flexing.”

A lump forms in her throat made of stinging, bitter emotions she tries to swallow down but cannot. She has no right to be jealous, none at all. Siobhan is straight. She needs to keep that in her mind so her silly heart stops itself before she falls in love.

(Part of her knows that it’s already too late.)

It is probably damning that she can’t meet Siobhan’s eyes after that or when she says, “That must have been nice, at least. He was handsome.”

“Not in the least. He was not really my type.”

“What does that mean? You like soft men?”

Siobhan gets an odd look in her eye that makes her frown down into her drink, “I…I suppose. I hadn’t—either way, it was not great. It was almost like he was showing me less to boast about himself and more because he was fishing for compliments. I grew bored nearly instantly and found myself wishing I were home to see what sort of nonsense you were up to with the children.”

“I resent that. I am never up to nonsense.”

Siobhan gives her a wry look, “You’re nothing but trouble.”

“Well if that is how you really feel, maybe I should go.”

“Oh lord please don’t joke about that. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you left us. The children would starve. They’ve becomes obsessed with your ‘fish sticks’ and I wouldn’t know where to get them without you.”

Her chest prickles with housed affection, “Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

“It’s all true darling,” Siobhan voice quiets to a near whisper, her eyes storming seas, “this family needs you.”

She replies too quickly, a little breathless and far too honestly, “I need this family too.”

The next weekend when the children are with their father Siobhan goes on another date at 10 and is back home by 10:20. She comes blowing into their home on a cloud of dark anger, eyes blazing and mouth curled into a fierce snarl. When she spots Octavia on the couch frozen by the sudden appearance, she growls, “That man asked me to blow him while he was driving us to the restaurant!”

She blinks and is slow to form a response because Siobhan is genuinely gorgeous when she is this angry and because she cannot fathom the audacity of this latest date.

“Did you?” She says it mostly to get a rise out of Siobhan and is not disappointed by the way she rolls her eyes and throws her purse into the bowl by the door.

“I could strangle you for asking me that.”

The mental image of Siobhan’s soft hands wrapped around her throat rises unbidden behind her eyes and fills her with such need she loses herself for a moment. Heat suffuses the whole of her, makes her head swim and her breaths come short. Too long she has been in love with this unavailable woman. It’s making her desperate.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

Siobhan huffs and throws her hands up, “Not right now, Octavia! I’m not in the mood.”

“Okay, okay! C’mere, sit with me. Let me give you a hug.”

Glumly, Siobhan throws herself onto the sofa and tips over sideways into Octavia’s outstretched arms. They sit quietly and in the quiet Octavia braids sections of Siobhan’s hair, drags her fingers through it to undo it, and repeats. Sometimes this is all Siobhan needs after a particular stressful day or something that severely taxed her emotions. It is something she learned about the woman by being perceptive to how she would sometimes crawl into bed with her children to cuddle them. Usually Olivia because Grayson and Aisling were approaching a difficult age. The first time Siobhan had come home stressed out from work to the point of brooding silence, she had just held out her open arms and let the woman cling to her until she fell asleep. Of course, she was much like a cat in that once she gets even a little bit warm she falls right asleep and had done so, cozied you beneath Siobhan’s weight.

The next few times that had happened they had done so in Siobhan’s bed and, once, been woken by Olivia standing at the foot of it wide eyed and hugging her teddy. The next few days she had received a number of secretive, suspicious looks from the children.

Tonight she expects to wake with a crick in her neck but Siobhan does not fall asleep after relaxing. Her fingers continue to tap impatiently against the outside of Octavia’s hip. After another sigh, she asks quietly, “Octavia, do you think that it is my fault that I can’t find the right man? Are my standards too high?”

Protectiveness sweeps through her in a stinging torrent, “I don’t think your standards are high enough.”

A breathy chuckle tickles her collarbone, “Darling, be reasonable.”

“That is me being reasonable. You’re a queen and these stupid douche bags you’ve been going out with haven’t been treating you like you are one. You deserve way better,” She recalls the smarmy smile that had taken Siobhan out tonight and the one prior who had spent their whole date talking about himself, “They weren’t worth a minute of your time.”

Quiet ensues for a solid block of time before Siobhan lifts her head with a pinch in her brow and awe in the depths of her eyes, “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Octavia snorts, “See, the fact that you asked me that tells me that all the adults in your life treat you like shit and I hate that.”

“I don’t know if that is true, darling. Surely in my romantic life yes and my parents—god, don’t get me started. But not everyone. You’re just special, wonderful. I’m so lucky to have you.”

The breath in her throat turns to needles. She tells herself and the pressure sitting on her chest, don’t fall in love but she knows it is too late.

“Careful with that sweet talk,” There is bitterness in her breast but sugar in her voice, “or I might fall for you.”

Oddly, Siobhan’s eyes flick down to Octavia’s mouth, “You’re more guilty of that than I am.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m a flirt?”

“Oh yes, you are, but don’t stop now. I’ve become quite fond of it.”

A groan of equal parts yearning and frustration tickles the back of her throat, “Knock it off, oh my god!”

Siobhan blinks at her, “What have I done?”

It hurts the way it always does when they slip into conversations like this one that are spoken in smoky, velvety tones spiced with something a little bit more but never quite. Siobhan never realizes what she does to Octavia, how she ravaged her heart and fills her with need so great she can’t always keep it all in.

Typically, she does not confront it or give it a name. Typically, she smiles and changes the subject, “I thought of a way to help you get over your shitty date. How about you take a bath, we get super drunk, and you help me touch up my hair.”

“Your roots have been showing,” She reaches to touch the inch and a half of dirty blond that peeks through, “I don’t know how to dye hair.”

“That’s why we are gonna do it drunk. Takes the pressure off.”

“Alright but you can’t hold it over my head if I do it wrong.”

“Unrealistic, you could never do anything wrong, Miss Ivy League School.”

“Stop it.”

“Miss Multi-Million dollar company.”

“Octavia.”

“Miss Perfect face, perfect mom—“

“I’m going to throttle you.”

Thanksgiving approaches the Windryder family like a wild cat pouncing on an unsuspecting gazelle. They do not act like anything is amiss when Octavia begins flouncing around the house decorating neither do they seem perturbed when she asks what they prefer for course options and she frets when they explain that they don’t do thanksgiving. They explain further that they don’t really do holidays at all.

“My mother and father never celebrated because they were always working and I prefer to do the same. That way they aren’t disappointed if I can’t make it.”

“I hope you realize that we are doing Christmas and Thanksgiving this year. We are doing it big.”

Siobhan had given her an odd look that was fond but guarded and just handed her credit card over.

Octavia wonders if she regrets that decision when she wakes up thanksgiving morning to Octavia in her pink apron and an array of food.

“Darling…what’s all this?”

“Oh you’re up! I made coffee.”

Siobhan passes her with raised eyebrows, her hand brushes the small of her back as she goes. There is a spot cleared out at the table just large enough for a mug of coffee to be sat on a coaster. Naturally she already had it prepared for when Siobhan would wake because Siobhan is a creature of habit.  

She snags the belt in Siobhan’s robe to stop her, “Hey, my kiss.”

Siobhan’s shoulders relax a little with the sweet smile that overtakes her face. Half asleep she misses the mark of Octavia’s forehead and kisses the elegant arch of her eyebrow instead.

“So now, good morning you look lovely—what is all this?”

“I’m making dinner.”

“Darling, it is 7:15 in the morning.”

“Well I’m cooking alone and I need YouTube cause I can’t really…cook from scratch. So it’s going to take a while. It’ll be ready by dinner time though.”

“You’re actually doing the whole Thanksgiving thing?”

“Yes. And so are you,” She tosses a matching apron across the counter to Siobhan, “after your coffee you get to make dough for the cobbler.”  

“I am horrible in the kitchen darling, you don’t want my help.”

“It’s not about the quality of the food, it’s about the quality time. Once the kids are up they get to help too. I think Olive will like helping with the mashed potatoes. The peeling is messy which she loves and then she’ll get to use the hand blender which she really loves.”

Siobhan slides past her again—and again she lets her palm scrape across the small of her back—to stand at the work station dedicated for pie dough.

“You’ve thought this through?”

“I have a chore chart,” She plucks it from where it hangs on a cabinet handle and sets it primly down beside Siobhan’s hand, “Olive on potatoes and eggs anything that lets her mash stuff. Grayson on salad because he wants to try fencing and I want to make sure he can handle a knife first.”

“I’m glad you thought of that. And for Aisling? It does not say.”

“She gets to boss us all around since she loves to micromanage,” Octavia reaches around Siobhan’s shoulder to tap the tip of her nose, “like you.”

“I do not do that.”

“Yesterday you stomped into my room because I didn’t hang my coat on the right hook.”

“I—you stole my hook!”

“There were six other hooks.”

“But you took mine.”

“It’s a hook.”

“You took it on purpose. I know you did.”

“How would I know which hook you consider yours?”

“Don’t play coy. You know everything about me,” She says it so casually with just the right amount of affection, “so you would know which hook is mine and I know everything about you so I know you would take it just to be a pest.”

“That’s,” She spins back around to busy herself, just enough to ignore the beating of her heart, “awfully cute of you. But you don’t know everything.”

“Yes I—oh, dirty.”

“Oh dirty?”

Siobhan peeks over her shoulder, a hint of a smirk edging up, “Wasn’t that about sex?”

“It was more about the fact that I never got around to telling you I was a stripper before I was your nanny.”

“You tell me that every time you have more than one drink, darling.”

The night they crowded into Siobhan’s massive bathroom, drunk enough to be dizzy, comes to her mind. She has sat on the toilet seat while Siobhan pulled pink color through her hair looking as intensely serious as she does when she works in her office on the weekends. One of her hands had been braced on Octavia’s thigh which had been a bonfire in her drunken state and had made her lean into Siobhan’s space and whisper hotly, “I use to dance for money.” Siobhan had rolled her head down with glazed eyes and her mouth had parted in wonder, “You’re so beautiful. It takes my breath away.” Octavia had laughed all breathy like she did when she was younger and prone to falling too in love, “You’d have been my biggest customer, hm?” The way Siobhan had let her eyes fall shut as she thought and the way her lip had sucked in between her teeth had haunted her since. She hasn’t said anything else but it had given her unreasonable hope.

“What about the tattoo on my ass?”

“You’ve shown it to me.”

“What about…” She trails off when she turns around to find a sleepy Olivia lumbering into the room. Her eyes are half closed but she knows the way to Octavia’s knees that she bumps into purposefully and tilts her head against her hip with a yawn. It fills her with that warm feeling of being home, something she had never known until she came to live in the Windryder house. She runs her hand through Olivia’s hair to gently untangle some of the knots, smiling down at her as she does.

“Darling?” Siobhan speaks softly even though Olivia cannot hear it because they had been sharing a secret, because she still wants to hear whatever Octavia had started to say, because she is good and wonderful.

“What about,” Octavia catches the words how you make me feel before they can leave her mouth and swallows them roughly, “how excited I am to do Thanksgiving with you guys?”

Something in Siobhan’s expression isn’t contented with that answer almost like she had sensed that Octavia did not speak what she first intended to say. She turns back to her work with a small frown, “I am excited too. I’ve never done it, not like this.”

“Not even with Pavel?”

“Ugh. Especially with Pavel.”

Olivia grows bored with her and parts with a small nudge of her forehead against Octavia’s belly, stumbling her way over to her mother. Siobhan’s eyes light up with love the moment her little head bumps against her knee and she bends to lift the girl onto the counter.

Good morning my little Olive. Miss Octavia made breakfast if you’re hungry.

Olivia’s head wobbles on her tired neck, eyes half open, All this food is breakfast?

No sweetheart. We are making Thanksgiving dinner. Look, Miss Octavia said you get to do the potatoes.

Olivia comes alive for that and turns her attention on Octavia who watches them with a fluttering heart, I get to smash? Like when we did steak?

Yeah baby, you get to smash.

They don’t get everything done right away because children need washed and prompted into doing chores and given choices on whether they want to assist in the preparations. Siobhan is a delightful shadow at her back, always humming and smiling and watching. They tend to congregate when they are alone but when they do it is for Siobhan to destress with someone she feels safe with after a long day. That involves quiet time with little expression and frequent complaints about the simple minds of her employees. Octavia cannot recall a time Siobhan has seemed so joyous and for so long. When they all trickle back into the kitchen to continue cooking, Aisling and Grayson share their secret looks that somehow lend to music being played through the overhead speakers and Octavia suddenly being pushed towards Siobhan.

Their hips bump which startles Octavia but makes Siobhan chuckle, “Careful you two.”

“Mama, show us that dance.” Grayson hedges, his boyish charm making him seem more innocent than the devil in his smile should allow. Aisling mirrors the look.

“Yeah, I want to see it again.”

Siobhan gives them that motherly look that Octavia secretly adores, “What dance, loves?”

“The one you use to do with Dad. You know the,” Grayson pantomimes the moves with his hands up and his eyes closed, “the pretty one.”

“Miss Lucky is always saying how good of a dancer she is.” Aisling goads, sharing that same secret smile with her brother that she swears makes little horns and a tail grow from the both of them.

“Mm, yes you are.” Siobhan smirks which earns her a swat against the outside of her arm.

“I don’t know how to do that,” She mimics Grayson’s moves, “dance.”

“No? It’s just a simple waltz darling. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes!” The siblings say together, far too eager. She narrows her eyes at the both of them but her silent threat is cut short by Siobhan suddenly standing against her.

“Yes, Octavia?”

“Lucky.”

“I won’t. Not ever.”

She rolls her eyes but does so with a smile because she is besotted with this infuriating woman that everyone complains about being hard to like but is so easy to love.

“Fine, teach me how to waltz.”

“I’ll have to put my hands on you.”

Octavia fakes a gasp and whispers, “Not in front of the children, sugar pie.”

“Never call me that again.” Her hand slips around the swell of Octavia’s hip.

“Honey bun?” She takes Siobhan’s other proffered hand hovering near her cheek.

“Stop it.”

“Buttercup. Doll face.”

“I’m going to step on your toes.”

“Lambkin?”

“‘Lambkin?’ Octavia, that one was horrible.” The breathy laugh that follows makes her heart sing. It also feeds the mischievous spirit inside her, makes her lean closer and whisper behind a smile, “Babe? Darling? My love?”  

Siobhan’s eyes flick up to her face briefly, widened with something intense, but then flick back down to their feet, “Knock it off. Pay attention.”

Gently she begins swaying them to the slow tempo of the song, watching their feet when she begins moving them in a box step around the kitchen. There is not a lot of fumbling or toe stepping because they go slow and Siobhan is patient with her. When her foot bumps against Siobhan’s, the older woman slips her hand around her hip to press into the small of her back and draw them closer together.

“Don’t think about it.” Siobhan shifts their hands held aloft so their fingers intwine, her thumb stroking over the rings Octavia has on her fingers.

“I’m not, trust me.” Their chests are pressed together, hips brushing each time Siobhan gallantly leads them around the kitchen in small looping circles. Octavia slips into the motion of them, content enough to let her head lull against Siobhan’s chest while they sway lazily. It feels so good to slow down for a little bit in a bubble just the two of them. Things move too fast in this house, kept tight and emotionless for efficiency, and frequently she feels left behind in the dust clutching her fragile heart. The children have gotten better about slowing down to feel since she came because she can lead them, teach them, and love them but Siobhan is a different matter. Slowing that woman down is like trying to pin down a hurricane. She can’t take her face into adoring hands and kiss her quiet, kiss her still, love her calmly and deeply the way she wants to. This feels close though and she revels in it, let’s her eyes fall shut so she can bask in the heat created from all the places they touch. Distantly she starts to recognize that the song has changed into something equally as slow but this time familiar and that she has started singing the words against the hollow of Siobhan’s throat. The woman shivers against her, subtle but endearing all the same. Her hand slips from Octavia’s to slide down her forearm to touch against the underside of her elbow and guide that hand to the nape of Siobhan’s neck. The confidence in the action makes her stomach clench, sets her teeth into her lip and stop the voice at the lump in her throat.

“I’ve never heard you sing before.” She whispers hotly, embers of intensity sending sparks fizzing across her skin.

She gives a playful tug to the thick hair at the back of Siobhan’s neck, “I sing all the time.”

“For the children, not for me.”

Her heart wobbles in her chest, makes her tremble in Siobhan’s arms, “Do you want me to sing for you?”

“I forget sometimes what you are,” When Siobhan’s eyes dip to her mouth Octavia nearly succumbs to insanity and kisses her, “then I hear you sing and it’s enchanting. But up close when it’s for me…”

Glorious hope surges through her, makes her brave and stupid, makes her lift her head and lean close enough to feel Siobhan’s breath, “Yes?”

“Octavia, I—“

The fire alarm starts blaring accompanied by strobe lights meant to alert Olivia visually where the sound cannot. They both cut their eyes to the oven where Siobhan’s crumble had been left abandoned and the smoke that now pours from it. Olivia had stumbled away from the oven into Aisling who scoops her sister up with a fierce look in her eye.

“Mom! Fire!”

Siobhan jerks into action, yanking the oven open and grabbing at the the glass dish with her bare hands. A hiss cuts through the alarms followed by the shattering of glass when she drops it to the floor.

“Shit.”

Octavia knows it is serious and her heart is still thumping against her ribs from their almost moment but she cannot stop herself from laughing until tears touch her lashes.

“Octavia! Help!”

An automated voice cuts through the alarms, “911 has been alerted to the emergency!” then the sprinklers turn on.

“Fuck!”

Octavia laughs and laughs.

When she skips into Siobhan’s office the next day to bring her lunch, she includes a burnt corner from the disastrous cobbler just to listen to Siobhan grumble and complain.

“Will you leave it alone?” Siobhan grouses, glowering and picking at her leftovers.

“You can make up for it at Christmas.”

In her sour mood Siobhan sighs and rolls her eyes, “So we are doing that too?”

“‘Course baby doll.”

“Get out of my fucking office.”

“Don’t be like that, princess.”

To her delighted surprise, Siobhan sinks her fingers into the burnt cobbler and flings it at Octavia.

Between Christmas and Thanksgiving Siobhan goes on exactly one date with a man who is shorter than her but annoyingly handsome. Their date is had on a weekend when the children are with their father so Octavia assumes that is why she comes home half drunk and rumpled. Her hair is pulled from the braid Octavia had lovingly put it in before she left, her makeup is smudged around her eyes and her mouth, and the zipper in her dress is only half done up. The image burns like a knife cutting inch by inch into her.

Siobhan stumbles to a surprised halt when Octavia greets her with a pained smile and a cup of water. It is odd that she looks guilty for being caught after an obvious tryst.

“You’re awake.”

“I was about to go to bed. I wasn’t sure if you were coming home and I was worried.”

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. I—“  

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend. Just text me next time so I don’t worry.”

Siobhan flinches from her words though Octavia does not know what she said that could have hurt her, “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing you dingus.”

“Dingus?” There, that is a smile. Octavia beams in answer to Siobhan’s awkward little thing.

Octavia hooks her pinky around Siobhan’s index finger with a fake smile and drags her to the bathroom where she sits her down on the toilet seat. The water is passed off with a handful of Advil. Even still Siobhan acts surprised by the kindness in her care.

“Chin up,” She takes Siobhan’s proffered chin in her palm and starts wiping away the mascara with a wipe.

“You don’t need to do this.”

“Shut up and let me.”

“Why? I’m an adult. I can do it myself.”

The stubbornness gives her pause. Siobhan hasn’t been so cold to her in such a long while that she needs a moment to process it. Frowning she speaks slowly and obviously confused, “Because I always do this for you when you’re drunk. I like taking care of you.”

Oddly that triggers a sad noise that rumbles low in Siobhan’s chest. Dutifully she ignores it because she is already aflame with her own misery.

“C’mon, stop being so weird and tell me about your date.”

Siobhan’s face hardens.

“What? Was the sex bad?”

That turns the cool blue waters of Siobhan’s eyes into hard edged steel, “Honestly Octavia, must you be so crass?”

 “Yes I really must, it’s one of the things you hate to love about me. C’mon, please,” She cups Siobhan’s cheeks to force eye contact between them, “you’re freaking me out. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Something softens Siobhan’s face into something young and frightened, vulnerable enough that Octavia wants to smother it with a hug to keep it hidden between the two of them. She swallows roughly and loud, blue eyes shinning under the fluorescent lights of Octavia’s bathroom.

“Tell me how you knew you were a lesbian.”

Surprise nearly repels her from the sincerity shinning stop cool blue lakes, surprise locks up the muscles in her jaw and makes her hands shake against Siobhan’s cheeks. Surprise makes her smile even though she is not at all happy, makes her laugh and says with hollow snark, “Have you seen women?” Because Siobhan does not mean it. She cannot be truly asking about that or else it would mean she was questioning her own self and Octavia can’t survive getting her hopes up for nothing.

It is the wrong thing to say. Siobhan rips her face from Octavia’s hands with a snarl and jumps to her feet so she can cross the room to get away from her.

“Can you be serious for once in your fucking life!?”

Hurt births anger beneath her breast, anger the fouls the air between them and makes her nearly say things she does not mean. There is a reflex to snap back ‘No I don’t think I will be if you’re going to be a bitch’ one that she does not let out. As angry as she is, she does not want to hurt Siobhan. Instead she forces a calm into her voice that turns Siobhan pale, “Don’t ever talk to me like that again Siobhan.”

“I’m sorry. Darling I—“ She chokes on a sob that surprises Octavia even more than the aggression had. Defeated and looking wrecked, she throws herself back onto the toilet and drops her face into her hands. Confused but concerned she threads her fingers through the hair at the back of Siobhan’s head and does not move when the woman crashes into her, hugging her tightly around the middle.

“I am a mess tonight.”

“I can tell.”

“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, I am sorry.”

“I forgive you but only because this isn’t like you and I’m a little worried,” Dark thoughts come unwanted into the front of her mind, torturing her until she has to ask, “Did he hurt you? Was it consensual?”

“Yes, yes. It was nothing like that. He was a gentlemen about it all. I just…lord, I’ve never done that.”

A hundred different things run through Octavia’s very active imagination all of which make her cringe and burn with jealousy. It is misplaced in this situation but she cannot tamp it down.

“Do what?”

Siobhan pulls away demurely, her arms hunt between her knees and her chin wobbling. She sniffles and meets Octavia’s eyes, “I didn’t want to have sex with him.”

Rage boils in her, “You just said—“

“It was consensual I swear, he did nothing wrong! I just…I started it all. I jumped him the moment we were alone in the car because I wanted to prove to myself I wanted him.”

She does not ask ‘what does that mean?’ or ‘why do you need to prove anything to yourself?’. She does not ask Siobhan anything in her fragile state no matter how badly she needs to know. She just pours all her love into a small smile and touches her hair.

“I thought sleeping with him would be good for me. I thought maybe all my…new feelings might have been born out of my longing for more…carnal desires,” Siobhan sighs sadly, “it didn’t. I was bored, Octavia.”

“Well, maybe he was just shit.”

Siobhan swats her which lifts some of the heaviness from between them, makes her almost comfortable again.

“He was fine. It was me. I started it and the moment he put his hands on me I got irritated because it didn’t feel right, it wasn’t what I wanted. So I rushed it thinking—hoping—I just needed the whole thing instead of foreplay but…Octavia when he was inside me I was so bored. I mean it felt fine, he knew what he was doing but I—his hands were too big, he smelled wrong, I hated his hair and I hated the way he spoke to me. I ever held my hand over his mouth so he would shut up. I got so bored that while he was…doing his thing…I drifted off wondering what you were doing and what we would do tomorrow and I thought maybe we could go Christmas shopping. I was so absent that it surprised me when he pulled out. I didn’t even notice he was close. That’s not like me, I’m an attentive lover.”

It is hard to comfort Siobhan when her stomach has risen into her throat and her brain has gone silent. Numbly she pulls Siobhan to her feet so she can hug the woman. It is the best she can manage while her mind whirls around the knowledge that Siobhan would have rather been with her than fucking that man.

“I wish I had just stayed home with you instead.”

“You know that you can do that right? I’m not going anywhere unless you fire me. I want to be here. I want—a lot of things but I mostly don’t want to go anywhere. Just stay,” Maybe it comes form a selfish place colored green and bitter but she is only human, “Stay with me.”

Siobhan makes a sound that is partway between a chuckle and a sob, “It is not fair that I’m straight. I want to be with you.”

All of Octavia freezes over, goes ridged and tight. Slowly she peels herself away from Siobhan to fix her with an intense look, “What?”

“I don’t mean that in a crude way, darling. I just mean that…you’re my best friend and I love you endlessly. You make me feel so cherished and no one has ever done that before. I want to give you the world just to show you a fraction of how happy you make me. I—“

“Stop.”

Siobhan looks wounded, confused and still dazed from the alcohol Octavia can smell on her breath.

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying so let’s just go to bed and forget this.”

“What are you talking about!? All I was saying was that I love you, more than—“

“Than who, Siobhan? Can you finish that?”

The woman tenses her jaw stubbornly. For once Octavia gets angry and lets herself be angry. The question earlier Siobhan had asked so earnestly stings against what was basically a confession of love but done so only after she came home drunk and dissatisfied.

Anger for her months of yearning, anger for being seen and loved but never in the way she needed, anger for Siobhan being insure even if it is unfair of her to feel that way.

Anger in her words, “Have you considered that maybe you aren’t straight?”

Siobhan reels back, “Octavia—“

“You have been questioning for a while haven’t you? You basically confessed that you would rather be married to me than any of those guys you’ve been seeing. You,” She can feel herself turning into a train barreling off the tracks, she can even see where she is about to crash but can’t stop herself, “do you want to know why it didn’t feel right when you were with him, Siobhan? Because it wasn’t me. You wanted my hands, my voice, my hair. But you haven’t said anything! You just keep going out with men and leave me at home, missing you, loving you. Alone.”

The hurt and the anger felt so good to finally let out that she hadn’t balked at the self-righteous explosion. In the muddled mess of her feelings she had been so sure that she was saying things that Siobhan already knew, that she was confronting a wrong Siobhan had done her by being silent. That sureness leaves her when she watches realization dawn on Siobhan’s face.

“Oh my god.” Siobhan sounds wrecked, voice tight and tears gather in her lashes.

Horror smothers the anger, turns it to flaky ash that clogs her throat.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I say that. Siobhan I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Siobhan stumbles backwards until her knees hit the toilet and she lets herself fall onto it, looking down at the floor with wide eyes.  

She has ruined everything.

When did she become so unlucky?

She flees the bathroom, flees her adjoining room, flees herself and all her feelings. Oddly she finds herself running to Siobhan’s study hidden behind the mirror—the first room she snooped in on her first day—and curls up on the sofa beneath a bundle of Siobhan’s suit jackets.

In the morning, shame nearly keeps her from going downstairs to make breakfast. The only thing that drags her from her wallowing is knowing that Siobhan will be hungover and will need something solid in her stomach. Octavia also does not want to damage their relationship anymore than she already has. There is hope that they can mend the gaps made last night and she can stay with the children that she has come to adore and stay here to dote on the woman she cherishes.

Siobhan is already sitting at the dinning table nursing a cup of coffee when she finally comes down stairs. They share a timid look, both of them clearly unsure about this new ground they stand on.

“Good morning darling. Did you sleep well?”

“No,” She hurries past Siobhan’s intense eyes to make herself coffee, “did you?”

“No. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Shit,” Glass clinks together, hot coffee spills across the counter, and she lifts her burnt fingers into her mouth to suck against the tender skin, “ouch.”

“Did you just pour coffee on your hand?”

“No, why would I do that?”

The chair doesn’t scrape against the floor—Siobhan is too protective of her floors for that—but Octavia hears the tap of her feet moments before long arms reach around her ribs to grab her wrist and slip her fingers from her mouth. There is a soft tsk by her ear that conveys her sympathy along with the way Siobhan rubs her thumb beneath the reddened skin.

“Idiot.” The mirth in the single word makes her smile—Siobhan’s nastiness that repels nearly every other living creature has always made her smile.

“Name calling is rude.”

“I’m rude,” Siobhan lifts her hand high enough that she can bend down and kiss the outside of her finger just beside the burn, “you like that about me.”

Octavia swallows roughly, her eyes dip to Siobhan’s mouth that is so close to her own and so very soft looking.

“Can we talk about last night?”

She turns away with hot cheeks, “Yeah, we should. I’ll start by saying I’m sorry for the things I said and for yelling at you.”

Siobhan’s chuckle tickles the back of her neck, “I forgive you.”

“Just like that?”

“Why not? You weren’t wrong. I just…didn’t realize it until you said it. So,” Siobhan grabs her by the hips to turn her around and traps her against the counter by placing her palms on the tile by each hip, “I’m sorry it took last night for me to realize what I am and what I’ve been doing to you.”

Octavia looks down at the cage of Siobhan’s lean arms and then back up to the serene nearly content look on the older woman’s face.

“You’re taking this…really well.”

“I spent most of the night thinking about everything you said and everything I haven’t said. And, we should talk about this more, but…would you like to go on a date with me?”

Octavia thinks she has never held her breath this long or been so happy that her stomach gets tight.

“Really?”

Siobhan steps a little closer, “Really.”

“You’re sure? With me?”

“I don’t want anyone else. Sorry it took me so long to realize.”

Octavia moves Siobhan’s hands off the counter to her hips, keeps them there with her hands overtop them while she watches Siobhan’s face for even the slightest shift in discomfort.

“This okay?”

“Are you going to do this with every step of our relationship? I’m not an infant. I know when I want something.”

She lets them go to slide her palms over the sides of Siobhan’s elegant neck, her fingers curling up into her hair behind her ears. A gentle tug brings her close enough to kiss, all she needs to do is raise onto her toe tips.

“Still sure you want this? Last chance.”

“You’ll never stop being irritating, will you?”

“Nope. Can I have a kiss now?”

“Can you agree to go on a date with me first?”

“Call me Lucky and I will.”

“You’re so—you win either way!”

Octavia stands on her toes to kiss the point of Siobhan’s chin, “Yes, I do, and don’t forget it.”

Siobhan’s lashes flutter prettily, she breaths the word, “Oh.”

“What? W—“ Fingers grip her chin hard to lift it up to just the right angle for their lips to slide together.

“The kids are going to be home soon, my love.” Hands slips beneath her shirt, smoothing across her belly to brush the underside of her breasts.

“Not for another hour,” She presses a kiss against the side of Siobhan’s neck, overtop the fading mark she had left there two nights ago, “it’s Christmas Eve.”

“You say that in a tone like sex is customary on Christmas Eve.”

“If you’re my girlfriend it is.”

“Now you’re just making things up.” Siobhan pulls away to get out of bed, their sheets slipping down the length of her back to pool around her hips. Long lengths of bare skin catch the early morning light that filters down from the skylight bathing her lover in ribbons of gold and white. She reaches out in awe—even still—that she gets to be the one to see this, the one who gets to touch and love all the sharp edges and tender places of Siobhan. Her fingers touch the middle of her back overtop a white stream of light that she traces around, up each notch in her spine and back down. There are still angry red lines beset into the otherwise smooth planes of her strong back. Those she avoids as a quiet apology for being the one to put them there.

Brown sheets of silken hair slip across her knuckles when Siobhan tilts her head and lifts a contentious brow, “What did I just say?”

At times Octavia can still hear the tinny voice of her friend Petunia warning her off taking this job for the roiling storm cloud that the mother was. At times when Siobhan is glowering at her phone or throwing a hissy fit because she can find the exact heels she wants to wear rather than choose from her hundreds in the closet, she can hear the whispers of all the ants milling the gleaming hill Siobhan was the queen in. ‘She is such a bitch’ or ‘no wonder her husband left her’ or ‘she chewed Melanie out for dropping her bowl in the break room’. None of them had ever given Siobhan the chance she deserved or the love she so clearly needed and pity to them for missing out on this woman.

Octavia rises too but only to mold herself against Siobhan’s back, lazily draping her arms over lithe shoulders and bumps their cheeks together. Almost reactively Siobhan turns her head to kiss the inside of Octavia’s elbow.

“I wasn’t trying to work you up. I just love you.”

Siobhan wrinkles her nose, “Nice try.”

“I love you,” She sings it this time behind a sinful smile that presses over the yellowing hickey on her neck, “and you’re beautiful.”

“Three hours, Octavia! That’s all the time left to get ready.”

Her smile turns to soft kisses, “Most people only need an hour.”

A groan comes from Siobhan who valiantly attempts to fight Octavia’s affections but ends up melting against her. Her head tips back to lay against Octavia’s shoulder leaving the throat exposed for a trail of kisses to overtake.

“Darling, I hate being tardy.” It comes out as a whine of a woman losing a fight.

“Blame me.”

“How do you propose I do that?”

“Tell your ex husband we were late picking the kids up because I was between your legs.”

Siobhan’s hand shoots out to clench around the top of Octavia’s thigh, her nails dimpling the skin around them. The little pricks of pain race up to swirl around the heat already starting to fog her brain.

“I hate when you’re crass.”

“I don’t think you do. I think you love it. You liked it last night when I had you on your stomach and you were taking my fingers and I was telling you what a good girl you were.”

The nails prick again when they dig deeper this time accompanied with the music of Siobhan’s needy gasp, “Octavia…”

“Call me Lucky, baby.”

“If you make one more joke about that stupid fucking name, so help me—“

“Lay down for me?”

Siobhan shivers again her, one steel blue eye peeking through a curtain of brown hair to glare half-heartedly, “If you make us late, I’ll be furious.”

“Is that you telling me that you want me to fuck you?”

“I won’t say that.”

Octavia hums thoughtfully, slips a hand up between Siobhan’s small but pert breasts to clasp loose around her throat, and kisses the lobe of her ear, “You sure?”

“Octavia…”

She squeezes the barest amount, grinning sinfully when Siobhan arches against her with a gasp. She gives the ear another kiss, “Say my name. Say it just like you did when I made you come last night.”

She feels the muscles in Siobhan’s neck tense under her fingertips. There is the same struggle that she encountered the first few times they had sex, one that endears Octavia so deeply her jaw aches. A struggle that is clearly coming from a woman who is use to being rebuffed by everyone for her cold exterior, one that is use to being in charge and spurns the idea of letting go just for a little bit. A struggle of a woman who wants someone to take control and just love her wildly, unrestrained for hours on end. Watching the walls around Siobhan crumble to expose the vulnerable, gorgeous yearning set deep into her soul had changed her.

Siobhan’s released breath makes her shake against Octavia, makes her melt like a spent candle and give beneath the bow of her need. The yearning surfaces in her rough voice, in the way she reaches behind to tangle her fingers in Octavia’s pink hair and force their mouths together in a rough kiss.

“Lucky,” She rasps, eyes dark and lusty and mouth parted sweetly for little huffs of barely contained want to bleed out, “fuck me.”

“Mm, good girl,” Octavia nudges the inside of Siobhan’s knee to prompt her into lifting it to drop over Octavia’s thigh, “was that so hard?”

“You’re a brat.”

She moves her leg to spread Siobhan wider, enjoying the way her breath catches on an instinct to chide her for being crass.

“We’ll be quick so you aren’t late. Because you still care about that right?”

“I—yes, I care. About that.” An airy moan trials the end of her lame assurance. Octavia slides her hand down between Siobhan’s legs, stoping when she touches the nearly trimmed thatch of hair just to enjoy the way it makes her lover’s hips jump.

“I’ll just get you off with my fingers,” The devil slips into her smile when she pushes past the hair to dip just the tips into the wetness already waiting for her, “because you’re in a hurry.”

A knot forms in Siobhan’s brow, her mouth turns down into a confused pout, “Just…all that for just your fingers?”

She trails the pad of her index finger down through the passion of Siobhan to tease at her entrance and back up to barely graze against the hood of her clit. Extremely sensitive to touch—because her lover is touch starved and, as she had said once, an attentive lover—Siobhan jerks from each little thing Octavia does. Her hand circles Octavia’s wrist not to guide her but to anchor herself, squeezing each time the fingertip brushes something sensitive.

“Course baby, you’re in a hurry. Unless…”

Needy blue eyes are already glazing over from desire, “Unless?”

“Unless…there was something else you wanted?”

“I—I want you.” Her hips give a sharp jerk, unintentional and beautifully endearing.

“I know you do but you have to use your words. Tell me what you want from me.”

“I,” Siobhan’s chest rises from a whispered moan, her hand squeezing around Octavia’s wrist to convey her pleasure when she presses down on her clit and starts a slow rotation, “that is good. But…” The tips of Siobhan’s ears turn red in a telling way that makes her skin prickle with anticipation. She scrapes her teeth against the cap of Siobhan’s shoulder, moving her fingers a little faster out of her own excitement. Her lover’s breath hitches.

“Lucky…”

“This is just a warm up for whatever you’re about to tell me you really want.”

“I want—go faster please.” She does because she always reward Siobhan when she finally crests the mountain of her own reticence to beg for her desires. It will work in her favor anyway, Siobhan always wants another after her first orgasm and Octavia is always hungry to give them to her.  

The hand in her hair gives a parting tug before she settles it over her own breast, pinching the nipple between her fingers each time she squeezes. They both watch her fingers move between her legs, enchanted for different reasons but kept under the spell made by Siobhan’s puffs and quiet moans, the sound of her fingers sliding through the wetness, the heat between their bodies. Siobhan’s hips rise to meet each circle her fingers draw, grinding unrepentantly to climb higher towards her pleasure, and Octavia knows she will find it soon but not as soon as she’d like. She wants more fun, more of Siobhan coming apart bolt by bolt until she is stripped bare.

“I love the way you feel when I push my fingers inside you and you clench down on me,” She swallows Siobhan’s answering moan with a hard kiss, “but…I think I’d like to watch you fuck yourself. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Siobhan mewls against her jaw, sweat making their skin start to stick, “You want me to…?”

“Yes.”

She starts to move her hand away from the rapidly reddening, abused nipple to do as she was asked but Octavia stops her with a tsk.

“Leave that there. Use your other hand. Get your fingers wet first baby. That’s it,” Their eyes meet as Siobhan pushes her fingers past her own lips to suck on them, “good girl. Now fuck yourself for me.”

“I…how many?”

“Mm, I want you to use three. Start slow and work your way up.”

Siobhan shivers against her, head lulling back to rest against Octavia’s. They both watch her reach past Octavia’s hand with shinning fingers to the waiting part of her that makes her eyes slip shut when she pushes a single finger inside. Her fingers at Siobhan’s clit slow to lazy contented figure eights, occasionally reaching low to caress the outside of Siobhan’s hand.

“Tell me how you feel.”

A whimper boils the air around them, dark timbered and a pathetic hybrid of Siobhan’s learned modesty fighting to be restored and her hunger for every drop of devotion Octavia has for her.

“I—Lucky, darling please.”

“Tell me, I want to know. I can’t feel you,” She drags the tip of her nose over the slope of Siobhan’s cheek to kiss her temple, “does it feel good?”

“Yes, you make it so good.”

Interest sparks as blooms of bright red desire throughout her, sending sparks of prickling heart across her skin. She noses at her lover’s temple down to kiss her ear so she can whisper against it, “Are you imagining they are my fingers?”

Siobhan’s short breaths come quicker, a little louder now. She pulls her lone finger free—drags it across the knuckles of Octavia’s hand in a sweet caress—and locks eyes with Octavia as she plunges two in, quick and to the knuckle.

Her eyes roll back and she sucks her lower lip between her teeth that bite down. Her hips start rolling against her own fingers that drive in with abandon, desperately seeking her own release.

“I’m so wet.” She moans the words for Octavia, the dark edge in them drive into her gut as more blooming explosions of hot desire. She tights her hand around Siobhan’s throat, uses her thumb to press into the bottom of her chin and tip her head back. The kiss she gifts the newly exposed throat is sharp with teeth that will surely leave a new mark but that will be fine because, as she has learned, Siobhan likes being marked.  

“God, Octavia, you feel so good…”

The pride she feels for Siobhan being so bold will have to be shelved for later. If she approaches it now it will spook her darling and she cannot allow anything to come between them and this perfect moment. Not while Siobhan is going boneless against her dewy with sweat that refracts the rising sun beating down on them from above and she is bravely spewing filth to accompany the sounds of her fingers sinking into her. Instead of saying anything she grazes her teeth over the side of Siobhan’s noble neck and changes her pattern to tight little circles against her clit.

“Fuck,” Siobhan is panting now, the steel of her eyes clouded by lust but focused intently on their hands between her legs, “L-Lucky, I’m getting close.”

“Say that again.”

“I—my love…”

She swipes her thumb down the arch of Siobhan’s throat, following a sweat drop all the way down to where it pools into the deep V of her collarbones. Siobhan pinches her nipple hard, between her thumb and index finger while she works in a third finger.

“I’m going to come for you.”

“Much better.”

Their hands seek one another out as old comforts, friends finding each other to embrace after a long separation. Siobhan fingers knit together with Octavia’s tightly, squeezing when her breathing starts to pitch up and her body starts to rock down onto her own fingers. Octavia assists by pressing her fingers hard against the sensitive bud of her clit and let’s her grind against it each time her hips twists and bear down. Her panting turns into moans, low and soft and maddening. Their time together has been brief thus far but her fingers have come to know the strings that make music in Siobhan. Hers are not the ones playing today’s song but she can still hear the crescendo in the notes, can feel the rising tension all made of love shifting to an apex that is about to tip over the edge. Part of her is petulant and still so jealous, selfish enough that she wants to stop Siobhan so she can be the one to finish her off. The thing between them is still surreal enough that she feels like she is still in the clouds of fantasy and if she doesn’t protect every little wisp of reality it will be lost to her.

This is too precious to stop for her own selfishness so she watches and drinks in the sounds Siobhan makes when she pushes herself into orgasm. Her body jerks in Octavia’s arms, bending out like a big expulsion of breath that is held frozen at the peek. Then she shudders and falls back with heavy panting, eyes still squeezed shut. As she is with most things she is impatient and pulls her fingers free almost immediately after climaxing, hissing from the stimulation. The wet on them smears against Octavia’s cheek, curling below her jaw to tilt it over for a sweet kiss.

“That was incredible.”

“Just think, we could have been doing this since we met. Like, on your desk. In your office.”

Siobhan chuckles weakly, “Your sex drive is daunting sometimes. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up.”

Octavia grins, “You are an older woman.”

As she hoped Siobhan slaps the top of her thigh—hard—and snaps at her, “I’m barely six years older than you, Octavia Malone Mulchester.”

Hearing her full legal name spoken out loud by the same lover whose come is drying on her cheek and still sticky on her fingertips fills her with complex emotions. She pinches Siobhan’s ribs and continues to tickle at her when the woman shrieks and starts slapping at her.

“Knock it off! What are you, a child!?”

“I can’t believe you just used my middle name! After I fucked you!”

Siobhan gives her a besotted look (she does that now and it stops Octavia’s heart every time) that curls her lips into a doting smile, “It’s such a lovely middle name though.”

“You’re weird thing with names, baby doll. Sugar pie honey bunch.”

All adoration flees in a snap, replaced by annoyance, “And I did all the work. So, really, you’ve no right to complain.”

“Mm. Because you haven’t told me what you want yet.”

“Beside drawer.”

Octavia gapes at her, startled by the blatant display of authority in the bed which has yet to happen yet. Outside of their passions Siobhan is a Chip of ice, cold blue all the way through, and deadly to toy with but in Octavia’s hands she melts into tepid waters, warm and inviting. She is desperate and needy and waking up a new side of Octavia that she did not know existed. Before Siobhan came along she preferred to be pampered in bed but now she was thriving on doing the pampering herself.

She gives Siobhan’s shoulder a kiss before she rolls across the bed to reach into Siobhan’s bedside drawer. Predictably, it is very neatly organized so she can easily find the long purple vibrator with a curled tip at the end. She flicks it on with an interested hum.

“You want me to use this on you?”

Siobhan licks her lips, eyes going all dark blue again, “Yes please.”

“So polite. Lay down for me.” After she obeys, Octavia walks her way across the bed on her knees and stops by her shoulders. Siobhan blinks up at with eager vulnerability, a little confused by her placement when she has already made it clear what it she wants.

“My love?”

“I thought maybe we could help each other out. Since you enjoyed going down on me so much last time.”

Redness mottles Siobhan’s gentile complexion nearly immediately at the reminder of their filthy escapades. Her eyes flick down to the triangle of hair between Octavia’s legs then back up to her, “How?”

“I’m going to sit on your pretty face. Would you like that, baby?”

Siobhan’s lashes flutter, her mouth parts for a whisper of a moan, “Yes, very much.”

“I knew you would. You’re such a good girl for me,” Octavia swipes her thumb across Siobhan’s red lower lip before she swings a leg over her head, “tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

The gentleness in Siobhan’s touch when she curls her hands around the tops of Octavia’s thighs steals her breath away. Just as softly she gives them pressure to incite Octavia into lowering herself down to Siobhan’s waiting mouth. Her tongue is cool at first in a pleasant way, bumping against the outside of her clit with little skill, but warms as it starts to explore her. For all her years of experience, Octavia had made a wonderful teacher to a very eager student.

“That’s good baby, just like that.” Some of the hoarseness in her voice turns into gritty moans, her eyes falling shut for a moment to enjoy the feeling. She was already fairly worked up from their first round so she knew that she would be finishing before Siobhan so she allowed herself to enjoy it. After a few minutes of Siobhan petting the tender skin on the inside of her thighs while her tongue lapped against her clit, she comes back to herself and bends over to share in the pleasure. One of Siobhan’s legs are pressed flat and nudged wide while the other she keeps bent so she can be at the perfect angle for Octavia to run her tongue through her folds. When the piercing in her tongue bumps against Siobhan’s clit the woman beneath her gasps and bucks with a breathy moan.

“I love how sensitive you are.”

“Lucky…” The breathiness in her voice makes Octavia’s stomach swoop.

“What baby? Do you want something,” She touches the head of the vibrator to the hood of Siobhan’s clit and delights in the way it makes her squirm, “tell me.”

Teeth touch the inside of her thigh in a rough bite that makes her shriek first from surprise then moan when the pain turns to liquid heat.

“Hurry up.” Siobhan growls darkly.

“No, you can be patient. Let me taste you,” She moves the head of the cock further down to circle Siobhan’s entrance and drags the flat of her tongue across her clit again with a happy hum, “you taste so good.”

“Christ, it—Octavia….you make me crazy when you talk like that.”

She grins with a large deal of pride both for herself and for Siobhan’s ability to say it. Slowly she nudges the head past Siobhan’s entrance, working it in little by little and back again to coat it in her wetness. The process is agonizing for her impatient lover who whines against her but never once lifts her tongue from between her legs. She starts to work faster, her tongue flicking against Octavia’s clit with unpracticed skill but eager to please. It does as it should. She can feel a cool starting to form in her belly, tension pulling tight into pleasure that crawls along her nerve endings. Her fingers start to dig into the tops of Octavia’s thighs, flexing each time her hips rock up to meet the thrust of the vibrator inside her or jerking from contact with the ball end of Octavia’s piercing. Normally she would slow them down to enjoy the moment but her own organs is driving her need and making her desperate for an end for them both. She twists her wrist each time she plunged the vibrator into her lover, her eyes rolling back in response because Siobhan’s moans vibrate against her clit and send pleasure skating up her spine. They rush to a messy end, both of them feral from their need and intoxicated by the passion they share. Octavia comes first with a muffled moan, her hips grinding down onto Siobhan’s mouth that is relentless to make up for lack of experience. Next is Siobhan who sobs out an almost scream that sounds vaguely like Lucky. They lay in a heel for all of a minute and a half before Siobhan slaps her thigh and growls, low and hoarse from the aftershocks of her pleasure, “I can’t feel my legs and I need to start getting ready.”

Octavia rolls off her with a chuckle and a parting kiss against her hip, “You could just stay in bed and I can go pick them up.”

“You can’t drive.”

“Baby, I don’t need to. I have a hot, rich sugar mommy who will let me use her town car. Don’t I?”

Siobhan scoffs but she is smiling, “You’re detestable.”

“That’s a weird way of saying yes, of course baby girl whatever you want, I love you so much.”

Cloudy blue eyes, rich pools of dark waters she could drown in, blink at her fondly, “Of course my darling, you can take the town car. I love you endlessly. But I want to come with you.”

“Alright, come take a shower with me then.”

Siobhan shoves her away with a scoff, “I changed my mind. Go away.”

When she arrives at Pavel’s condo, she is in a delightful mood. Her muscles are warm still from the shower she took with Siobhan and the few other things they did that left the woman asleep in their bed. She smells like Siobhan’s shampoo and perfume from the cable knit sweater she wears that she pulled from Siobhan’s wardrobe. The long sleeves provide something for her to fiddle with while she waits in the entry way of the home for the children to collect all their belongings. Pavel stands with her all ridged and frowning, his mud-colored eyes occasionally flicking to her neck where she did not bother to use makeup to conceal the hickeys Siobhan left there.

She texts Siobhan, is it wrong that I love how uncomfortable I’m making your ex-husband?

And Siobhan responds, that is very typical of you, my heart.

When she smiles at her phone because of it, Pavel finally speaks up, “I had hoped Siobhan would come.”

She purses her lips and knows she isn’t hiding her disdain for him neither does she care, “Why?”

“I need to speak with her.” There is something odd in his tone that makes that old feeling of jealousy almost surface. The true need for it is not there anymore—she is Siobhan’s girl now and she intends to lock that perfect woman down for good—but she is still a bit possessive. It is a nasty trait and one that she never allows to get out of hand but one that rises in her angry and snapping from time to time. She narrows her eyes at his hand fidgeting with the collar of his shirt and the lighter ring of skin around his third finger.

“Where is your wife?”

The way he covers his hand and moves it behind his back is damning.

“That is none of your business.”

The jealously subsides, covered by a blanket of mirth that makes her smirk, “Siobhan isn’t going to take you back, babe.”

Pavel whips his head towards her, mouth half open in surprise. The selfish little monster inside her preens are the sight of it. Nonchalant as could be, she starts picking at her nails which were painted a bright blue by Aisling three days ago just so he can see how unaffected by his emotions that she is. Eventually he gets a stubborn, upset look of a boy whose favorite toy was just taken from him.

“How would you know?”

“She is in love with someone hot and sexy and smart and funny and she is really happy.”

He grows more serious, more pathetically desperate, “How do you know this? Have you seen him? Is it…Rodger Crammen, the arch wizard in accounting? He was always obsessed with her.”

 The thunder of footsteps ring through the house, muddled with child laughter and Aisling’s sharp reprimands to go slower. It fills her with love, with that sense of home that she has packed away for safe keeping deep in her soul. When she sees Olivia round the corner, she leans a little closer to him to whisper, “Not Crammen. Not a man at all.” and winks at his shocked face and the way he starts gulping like a fish.

“Lucky! We missed you!” Grayson shouts, flying past his little sister to crash into her. She stumbles back a few steps from the force, laughing as she bumps into the door. He has started to get so big, coming up to her shoulders now. Siobhan had been so proud when she promised that he would outgrow her and then scoffed when Octavia had said ‘like that is hard. I’m only 5’2’. His hair has gotten long enough that they have started braiding lessons and, when Aisling is home (which is rare with all her extra circulars) the three of them practice makeup. She notices he has some glitter on his cheeks that match the color Aisling has on hers when she comes into the room.

It is odd that the pink glitter is the thing that finally snaps her into recognizing that she means as much to the children as they do to her. Excited winged insects fill her belly, tickling her throat when she hugs the boy against her chest and kisses his cheek.

“I like your glitter.”

He beams, “I like yours.”

“Really? We’ll stop at Sephora on the way home and get you some.”

Aisling slides into the space beside them to fling her arms around Octavia’s neck. At a new 15 Aisling is already taller than Octavia by a considerable amount which had made Siobhan laugh at her expense and made her bubble over with contentment. It is not a surprise that the children are starting to, and one has already started to outgrow her when both Pavel and Siobhan are giants. Unlike her brother, Aisling is much more perceptive to the fact that Octavia is dressed differently than her normal and that she is wearing Siobhan’s casual sweater. Her eyebrows raise.

“Hi Lucky. Happy Christmas Eve.”

“You too Princess,” She tucks a strand of Aisling’s hair behind her ear and gives her a peck on the cheek, “have a good time with your Dad?”

Aisling—a daddy’s girl even more so than young Olivia—surprises her by just shrugging and says, “I’m ready to go home. I want to help decorate the tree.”

Octavia doesn’t tell her that they should have done that already or that she waited to do any of the decorating until Christmas Eve just so that the kids could help. She taps Aisling on the chin with a wink, “I made you each your own ornaments.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Olivia makes a loud unhappy noise for being trapped behind her two older siblings for so long. Both jump out of her way so she can get her hug and kiss just as they had. She squeezes Octavia around her knees and the pressure is so familiar now Octavia can feel it when she’s dreaming.

Can we go to McDonalds for dinner?

Beside her Pavel makes a disgusted sound that she makes a point to ignore.

Course baby. Whatever you want.

Out loud she says, “Mom is excited for you guys to come home, we have a surprise.”

This excites the children the way she had expected it to which prompts them out the door faster just like she hoped.

She hesitates at the door, feeling a little petty, and turns to Pavel, “I’ll be sure to send you an invite to our wedding.”

Usually Octavia is the first one to wake up in the Windryder home on days when there is no work and no school. On Christmas morning, however, she is woke up by her covers being pulled back and a body sliding into the bed beside her. Cold feet slide against her calves making her jump awake with a gasp. Hands settle around her to keep her in bed accompanied by a throaty chuckle and a cool kiss against the nape of her neck.

“Sorry my love, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” She grouses, half awake, “your feet are fucking cold.”

“Forgive me.” Siobhan whispers honey sweet and presses a kiss against her forehead. She melts from the affection and almost slips back to sleep, warm and content now that her lover is near. The only reason she doesn’t is because Siobhan is fully dressed in a Christmas sweater that scratches against her skin when she rubs a hand up and down her belly.

Groggily she rolls over and mumbles against Siobhan’s chest, “If you want morning sex, you’re doing all the work.”

“You would wake the children with how loud you are and that is not how I want them to find out about our relationship.”

“We could kill two birds with one stone, though. Tell them about us and have the sex talk.”

“I just wanted a bit of time alone with you before the day starts and you’re already an insufferable tart.”

Octavia slips down so she can lay her head on Siobhan’s chest, humming her contentment, “But I’m your tart.”

“Go back to sleep, I’m done with you.”

Octavia starts to rise above the waters of her sleepiness quickly, coming awake with every little kiss pressed against her shoulder or the top of her head. Little by little she processes their conversation with a creeping smile.

“Does that mean we are telling them today?”

“Mm. I suppose it’s time. Especially since you told Pavel we would be getting married soon.” There is a small edge to her voice that is the same tone she uses when chastising the children. Unlike with the children it does the opposite of making her feel like she’s in trouble.

Octavia wishes she could be ashamed but she just isn’t.

“Did he seriously call you?”

“He dropped by this morning to tell me you were no good for me. Actually, he wanted to let me know you were spreading lies about me and my sexuality and then he told me you were no good for me.”

Octavia snickers, “Did he hit on you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Siobhan’s long fingers start combing the knots from her hair, gentle against each tug so it doesn’t pull too hard against her scalp, “Don’t sound so pleased about it.”

“I wish I could have seen you rip him a new one. I love when you cut men to pieces. It’s so hot.”

Siobhan rumbles with unhappiness, “You are awfully assumptive.”

“I just know you baby.”

“Mm, I suppose you do,” Siobhan cups her chin to bring her head up for a set of soft kisses against her mouth and cheeks, “come now, get up. We need to have some coffee before the children come down for presents. You overdid it and now they are out of their minds to open them. It took nearly an hour of convincing last night to get our darling Olive to sleep.”

“I overdid it? I saw at least ten with my name on it.”

Siobhan rises nonplussed, face blank and one lone eyebrow raised, “I assure you there are more. Those are just from the children. There are quite a few more from myself.”

Octavia does not know how to tell Siobhan that every year for Christmas she had been given one gift that had not been wrapped or had been specially chosen for her. As a child she received gifts that the firefighters brought around to foster homes and orphanages and that was the extent of her christmases as a child. Octavia does not tell her that even as an adult she has never received more than one gift on Christmas because she didn’t have a family to celebrate it with. She doesn’t tell her that the love and sense of home just that simple thing does for her makes her weepy but Siobhan, attentive and doting, notices anyway.

“Oh my darling Octavia,” Siobhan takes her face into her hands with a furrowed brow and swipes her thumbs through the tears as they fall, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take them if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t. I love it. I love you and I love the kids—“

“Our kids, my love. We’re a family, no? And you already staked your claim on the ‘step-mother’ title so just own it, hm?”

 That makes her cry harder, sends tears through the cracks in her teeth to splash against her tongue because she is smiling like an idiot while she bawls. Siobhan coos sweet-nothings as she laughs with Octavia, both of them sat back on the bed to hold one another.

“I’m going to feed them so much junk.” She promises once she starts to get ahold of herself.

“You already do.”

“I’m going to take them shopping all the time and teach them how to—oh I already did that. I’m—oh I’ve done that too. Huh. I…”

Siobhan tucks a strand of pink hair behind Octavia’s hair with a tender look, “Are you realizing that you’ve been a second mother to my children for a while now? I had that realization the night we fought in the bathroom. I have been allowing you much more access to my children than I ever have with my prior nannies. It felt odd to share my little ones but if it must be with anyone, I want it to be you—oh my sweet, you’re crying again.”

She laughs against Siobhan’s kiss that is salty from her tears of joy and thanks her lucky stars—

(At a formal gala, wearing a diamond ring set into a band of platinum, Octavia is asked by a stuffy board member, “How on earth did you wind up Siobhan’s wife?” And she smiles, enchanted by the vision of her wife standing past the man, “I’m just Lucky.”)

—that she took this job. Finally Lucky had found the family she always dreamed of.