Enough (PG-13)
Posted: Tue May 26, 2009 4:24 am
Disclaimers as usual. Josef is not mine.
A/N: In case of confusion, I'd place this in the timeline after "Awkward," and before "Management Training."
Enough
Josef twirled the gold Montblanc pen in his fingers, absently. This was ridiculous. He picked up his phone and punched in a number.
“Willing Freshies Society, Annabeth speaking.” There was the slightest of pauses. “Mr. Kostan, it’s always a pleasure to hear from you. How may I assist you?”
He was not opposed to modern technology, he thought, but caller ID he really could have lived without. “Annabeth. This girl, May, you sent me—“
He could hear the click of a keyboard. Calling up his file, no doubt. “I trust she was to your satisfaction, Mr. Kostan? She met all the specified criteria.” Sounded like Annabeth was in one of her “I take no random shit from vamps” moods. Normally he could respect that. Not now.
“If she were to my complete satisfaction, would I be calling?” He paused and took a breath. “Her blood was fine. Her personality was about as interesting as a documentary on eighteenth century agricultural reforms. Been there, done that.”
“Mr. Kostan, I’m sorry, but you know that—“
“I’m looking for exclusives, and this –slop—you’re sending me is not cutting it.”
Annabeth’s voice turned frosty. “My apologies, Mr. Kostan, we’ll take her off your list immediately.”
“Do so. And next time, see if you can find a girl with a little sparkle. A little wit,” he growled. This had to have been the fifth girl they’d sent lately who hadn’t been anywhere near up to standard. Which begged the question, was their quality going down, or were his standards going up? He preferred to blame the agency. He sat back, waiting for Annabeth’s answer.
“Mr. Kostan,” she said, the asperity clear in her voice, “we can guarantee blood type, we can guarantee beauty, we can guarantee educational level. But the WFS is not e-harmony, and we cannot promise every personality will match with yours. I’m very sorry, but there it is.”
“I can see there will need to be some adjustments made, in that case.”
“None of our other clients is complaining, Mr. Kostan.” Okay, this was past asperity. She was sounding downright snippy, Josef thought.
“I’m not unreasonable, Annabeth. As you well know. But I do expect a certain standard. I don’t think it’s too much to ask you to earn that extremely generous salary you’re pulling down.”
“I do my best, Mr. Kostan.” She got the message, all right, that her job was on the line. At the least. Still, her effort to sound conciliatory was not coming across as wholly sincere.
“Do better.” He cut the connection and sat still, thinking. He didn’t often question his perceptions, but he had to wonder if those last few girls had really been so bad as all that. He’d gone through these phases before, he recognized, and it was always—always—when he’d gotten his heart caught on his fangs.
But he had no answer for it. No way around it. Seeking a pale solace for the peace he had failed to find in blood, he cast out with his senses, hoping to hear the peaceful beat of the household around him, the gentle grace of his women.
What he heard brought a frown to his face. Somewhere, in the freshie wing, someone was sobbing. Crying in bitter anguish, even though she tried to make no sound, to draw no attention to herself.
Josef feared he knew who it was.
He paused outside the door. Normally he observed social niceties with his girls, at least when they were awake. He wasn’t sure if they were aware of the times he came in, silent as a padding cat, to watch over them as they slept, relishing the gentle rise and fall of their breathing, the warm rush of their blood. He’d watched them dreaming, soothing a nightmare here, observing the slow sensual writhe there. He knew who they dreamed of, too, with their ducked heads and rosy blushes the next time he saw them.
Behind this door, though, no sleep, no dreams. Pain so raw he could taste the bitterness of it. And certainty that if he knocked and asked for entry, he’d be turned away. She would refuse his comforting touch. Ironic, that.
So he didn’t give her the chance to tell him to go away. She was just going to have to deal with having him be there for her. He opened the door and slipped in.
Lucky was sprawled face down on her bed, and Josef thought he’d never seen her so gracelessly spread. She’d been shopping, he surmised, as the evidence of several discarded bags near the room’s doorway attested. She had not even kicked off her shoes before throwing herself down, and that in itself was unusual. Her clothing, cream wool slacks and a dark teal silk blouse, seemed undisturbed, but the acrid tang of her tears indicated deep emotional disarray.
Josef catfooted to the side of Lucky’s bed, and sat, reaching out to lay what he hoped would be a comforting hand on her hair. “Sweetheart,” he said, “what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Go away.”
“In due time.” He moved his hand to her back and began to make slow, soothing circles over the silk.
“Josef,” Lucky choked out, “please go away.”
“Yeah. Not without answers.” He paused. “Do I need to ask you again what happened?”
“I don’t want to say.” But she turned a tear-stained face to rest against his long thigh.
Josef waited, continuing his slow, delicate touch. He could be patient, even if her distress worried him. Gradually the shaking of her shoulders eased, but the heat of her face still burned though the leg of his trousers.
“You know you’re going to talk to me.”
“You can’t fix this.” Her voice was muffled, throaty.
“Who said I was going to try?”
“Then why ask?”
Josef eased back against the headboard a little. He’d gotten her to start talking. It should be downhill from here. “All this crying makes your blood bitter.”
“’Happy freshies taste better,’ and all that?” Lucky sniffled.
Josef smiled. “Sure, doll,” he said. “You know me too well.”
Lucky buried his face against him again, the long thick braid of her hair flipping back over her shoulder. If she truly believed his concern was only for the flavor of her blood, he thought, she was a fool. And if he did, he was lying to himself. Josef had a sudden flash, remembering how her hair had looked unbound, spread across his skin. And he had a nasty suspicion that memory was part of this problem.
“So you were shopping?” he asked, prompting. Under his hand her back tensed again.
She nodded, he thought, and threw one arm across his legs. “I needed some lotion. You know, my special brand.”
“I had no idea cosmetics could be so traumatic.”
Lucky snorted. “You know we all go to the same shop. For that sort of thing.”
He rumbled a laugh. “I do pay obscene bills to that place. Got to say, though, the results are good.”
“And here we all thought,” Lucky said shakily, but attempting to match his tone, “that you took it for natural beauty.”
“I can trust you to keep my dark secrets, I’m sure.” He paused. “Lucky, what happened at that shop?”
She took a deep breath. “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”
“What do you think?”
“You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Coming from you, doll, that’s a compliment. Now quit stalling, and give.”
He thought she might look up at him, to tell her story, but she didn’t. If anything, she burrowed closer. “The staff there—they pretty much fawn over us. Or at least over your credit card. That platinum Amex definitely opens doors.” She seemed to realize she was avoiding the point, again, and plunged on. “Anyway, there was a new salesgirl. I was browsing, and she thought I was out of earshot. She asked who I was—and one of the others said, ‘Oh her. She’s one of those.’ Then they whispered some, and snickered, and the next part I heard was—was…’Kostan’s whore.’”
Josef froze, his hand stilled on Lucky’s back. He swallowed back the anger that rose like bile in his throat. “Sweetheart,” he said gently, “why would you let some ignorant idiot upset you?” Some idiot, he thought, whose job is about to evaporate. At a shop that’s about to evaporate.
Lucky didn’t answer at once. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that. Ever since I moved in, everyone seems to assume…we all ignore that sort of remark. It’s just—I got to thinking this time, that it was true.”
Josef felt a hundred responses rush into his brain. All of them wrong. Finally he said, “I never wanted you to feel this way.”
He could feel the muscles of her face moving, surmised a bitter smile. “I know,” she murmured. “But I do, Josef. But I do.”
“You can’t define yourself by what other people think.”
Lucky finally turned on her side, her face still resting on his thigh, and looked up at him. He could see tracks of tears on her skin. The sight both disturbed him and sent a current of arousal running through him. He considered pulling her up into his arms, and resisted the impulse.
“Tell me,” she said, “that you don’t expend enormous effort in making sure people don’t define you correctly.”
He twisted his mouth in ironic assent. “Point taken.” He looked away, aware that her gaze was still locked on him.
“Josef—do you want to know why it hurt so much?”
“I can guess. Do you see me discarding you so carelessly?”
“Honestly?” she replied. “I think you know how I feel about you. But don’t expect me to lie to myself about you. You will do whatever is best for you.”
For once Josef had no answer, no glib comeback. In all his years, in all his lives, there was only one woman he had not left behind him. One woman he had never envisioned leaving behind him. And she was far away, and untouchable.
As he looked down at Lucky, stroked the red hair that lay against his thigh, he found it impossible not to recall the confusion and pain, his confusion and pain, that had ended with her in his bed. He told himself that once the line had been crossed, there was little reason to hold back now. Little reason, except that to take her body the way he took her blood, without regard for her emotions, would be to make her exactly what she feared. Exactly what she’d been termed.
And he found that he cared, at least enough not to wish to cause her this pain.
“I don’t know what to say, Lucky,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”
She sighed again. “You know,” she said, “the fact that it matters at all to you, may be enough.” She paused. “For now.”
He ceased the motion of his hand. “What happens,” he said, “when it’s not enough for you, Luck’?”
He could feel the inhale and exhale of her warm, living breath on his leg. “I don’t know,” she said, “but at this rate, I’m guessing we’ll find out.”
A/N: In case of confusion, I'd place this in the timeline after "Awkward," and before "Management Training."
Enough
Josef twirled the gold Montblanc pen in his fingers, absently. This was ridiculous. He picked up his phone and punched in a number.
“Willing Freshies Society, Annabeth speaking.” There was the slightest of pauses. “Mr. Kostan, it’s always a pleasure to hear from you. How may I assist you?”
He was not opposed to modern technology, he thought, but caller ID he really could have lived without. “Annabeth. This girl, May, you sent me—“
He could hear the click of a keyboard. Calling up his file, no doubt. “I trust she was to your satisfaction, Mr. Kostan? She met all the specified criteria.” Sounded like Annabeth was in one of her “I take no random shit from vamps” moods. Normally he could respect that. Not now.
“If she were to my complete satisfaction, would I be calling?” He paused and took a breath. “Her blood was fine. Her personality was about as interesting as a documentary on eighteenth century agricultural reforms. Been there, done that.”
“Mr. Kostan, I’m sorry, but you know that—“
“I’m looking for exclusives, and this –slop—you’re sending me is not cutting it.”
Annabeth’s voice turned frosty. “My apologies, Mr. Kostan, we’ll take her off your list immediately.”
“Do so. And next time, see if you can find a girl with a little sparkle. A little wit,” he growled. This had to have been the fifth girl they’d sent lately who hadn’t been anywhere near up to standard. Which begged the question, was their quality going down, or were his standards going up? He preferred to blame the agency. He sat back, waiting for Annabeth’s answer.
“Mr. Kostan,” she said, the asperity clear in her voice, “we can guarantee blood type, we can guarantee beauty, we can guarantee educational level. But the WFS is not e-harmony, and we cannot promise every personality will match with yours. I’m very sorry, but there it is.”
“I can see there will need to be some adjustments made, in that case.”
“None of our other clients is complaining, Mr. Kostan.” Okay, this was past asperity. She was sounding downright snippy, Josef thought.
“I’m not unreasonable, Annabeth. As you well know. But I do expect a certain standard. I don’t think it’s too much to ask you to earn that extremely generous salary you’re pulling down.”
“I do my best, Mr. Kostan.” She got the message, all right, that her job was on the line. At the least. Still, her effort to sound conciliatory was not coming across as wholly sincere.
“Do better.” He cut the connection and sat still, thinking. He didn’t often question his perceptions, but he had to wonder if those last few girls had really been so bad as all that. He’d gone through these phases before, he recognized, and it was always—always—when he’d gotten his heart caught on his fangs.
But he had no answer for it. No way around it. Seeking a pale solace for the peace he had failed to find in blood, he cast out with his senses, hoping to hear the peaceful beat of the household around him, the gentle grace of his women.
What he heard brought a frown to his face. Somewhere, in the freshie wing, someone was sobbing. Crying in bitter anguish, even though she tried to make no sound, to draw no attention to herself.
Josef feared he knew who it was.
He paused outside the door. Normally he observed social niceties with his girls, at least when they were awake. He wasn’t sure if they were aware of the times he came in, silent as a padding cat, to watch over them as they slept, relishing the gentle rise and fall of their breathing, the warm rush of their blood. He’d watched them dreaming, soothing a nightmare here, observing the slow sensual writhe there. He knew who they dreamed of, too, with their ducked heads and rosy blushes the next time he saw them.
Behind this door, though, no sleep, no dreams. Pain so raw he could taste the bitterness of it. And certainty that if he knocked and asked for entry, he’d be turned away. She would refuse his comforting touch. Ironic, that.
So he didn’t give her the chance to tell him to go away. She was just going to have to deal with having him be there for her. He opened the door and slipped in.
Lucky was sprawled face down on her bed, and Josef thought he’d never seen her so gracelessly spread. She’d been shopping, he surmised, as the evidence of several discarded bags near the room’s doorway attested. She had not even kicked off her shoes before throwing herself down, and that in itself was unusual. Her clothing, cream wool slacks and a dark teal silk blouse, seemed undisturbed, but the acrid tang of her tears indicated deep emotional disarray.
Josef catfooted to the side of Lucky’s bed, and sat, reaching out to lay what he hoped would be a comforting hand on her hair. “Sweetheart,” he said, “what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Go away.”
“In due time.” He moved his hand to her back and began to make slow, soothing circles over the silk.
“Josef,” Lucky choked out, “please go away.”
“Yeah. Not without answers.” He paused. “Do I need to ask you again what happened?”
“I don’t want to say.” But she turned a tear-stained face to rest against his long thigh.
Josef waited, continuing his slow, delicate touch. He could be patient, even if her distress worried him. Gradually the shaking of her shoulders eased, but the heat of her face still burned though the leg of his trousers.
“You know you’re going to talk to me.”
“You can’t fix this.” Her voice was muffled, throaty.
“Who said I was going to try?”
“Then why ask?”
Josef eased back against the headboard a little. He’d gotten her to start talking. It should be downhill from here. “All this crying makes your blood bitter.”
“’Happy freshies taste better,’ and all that?” Lucky sniffled.
Josef smiled. “Sure, doll,” he said. “You know me too well.”
Lucky buried his face against him again, the long thick braid of her hair flipping back over her shoulder. If she truly believed his concern was only for the flavor of her blood, he thought, she was a fool. And if he did, he was lying to himself. Josef had a sudden flash, remembering how her hair had looked unbound, spread across his skin. And he had a nasty suspicion that memory was part of this problem.
“So you were shopping?” he asked, prompting. Under his hand her back tensed again.
She nodded, he thought, and threw one arm across his legs. “I needed some lotion. You know, my special brand.”
“I had no idea cosmetics could be so traumatic.”
Lucky snorted. “You know we all go to the same shop. For that sort of thing.”
He rumbled a laugh. “I do pay obscene bills to that place. Got to say, though, the results are good.”
“And here we all thought,” Lucky said shakily, but attempting to match his tone, “that you took it for natural beauty.”
“I can trust you to keep my dark secrets, I’m sure.” He paused. “Lucky, what happened at that shop?”
She took a deep breath. “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”
“What do you think?”
“You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Coming from you, doll, that’s a compliment. Now quit stalling, and give.”
He thought she might look up at him, to tell her story, but she didn’t. If anything, she burrowed closer. “The staff there—they pretty much fawn over us. Or at least over your credit card. That platinum Amex definitely opens doors.” She seemed to realize she was avoiding the point, again, and plunged on. “Anyway, there was a new salesgirl. I was browsing, and she thought I was out of earshot. She asked who I was—and one of the others said, ‘Oh her. She’s one of those.’ Then they whispered some, and snickered, and the next part I heard was—was…’Kostan’s whore.’”
Josef froze, his hand stilled on Lucky’s back. He swallowed back the anger that rose like bile in his throat. “Sweetheart,” he said gently, “why would you let some ignorant idiot upset you?” Some idiot, he thought, whose job is about to evaporate. At a shop that’s about to evaporate.
Lucky didn’t answer at once. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that. Ever since I moved in, everyone seems to assume…we all ignore that sort of remark. It’s just—I got to thinking this time, that it was true.”
Josef felt a hundred responses rush into his brain. All of them wrong. Finally he said, “I never wanted you to feel this way.”
He could feel the muscles of her face moving, surmised a bitter smile. “I know,” she murmured. “But I do, Josef. But I do.”
“You can’t define yourself by what other people think.”
Lucky finally turned on her side, her face still resting on his thigh, and looked up at him. He could see tracks of tears on her skin. The sight both disturbed him and sent a current of arousal running through him. He considered pulling her up into his arms, and resisted the impulse.
“Tell me,” she said, “that you don’t expend enormous effort in making sure people don’t define you correctly.”
He twisted his mouth in ironic assent. “Point taken.” He looked away, aware that her gaze was still locked on him.
“Josef—do you want to know why it hurt so much?”
“I can guess. Do you see me discarding you so carelessly?”
“Honestly?” she replied. “I think you know how I feel about you. But don’t expect me to lie to myself about you. You will do whatever is best for you.”
For once Josef had no answer, no glib comeback. In all his years, in all his lives, there was only one woman he had not left behind him. One woman he had never envisioned leaving behind him. And she was far away, and untouchable.
As he looked down at Lucky, stroked the red hair that lay against his thigh, he found it impossible not to recall the confusion and pain, his confusion and pain, that had ended with her in his bed. He told himself that once the line had been crossed, there was little reason to hold back now. Little reason, except that to take her body the way he took her blood, without regard for her emotions, would be to make her exactly what she feared. Exactly what she’d been termed.
And he found that he cared, at least enough not to wish to cause her this pain.
“I don’t know what to say, Lucky,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”
She sighed again. “You know,” she said, “the fact that it matters at all to you, may be enough.” She paused. “For now.”
He ceased the motion of his hand. “What happens,” he said, “when it’s not enough for you, Luck’?”
He could feel the inhale and exhale of her warm, living breath on his leg. “I don’t know,” she said, “but at this rate, I’m guessing we’ll find out.”
They have a very intense and complicated relationship going on and I don't think either one of them know what to do with it!! 
