caught in the rain

@declanquinnwtv: Oh, very casual.

#insta: archie #archie

happilyemilyafter

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Declan told me to “stand there and look pretty” so I panicked and looked away… Oops! Love this jumper though!

#insta;#insta: emily #emily

@declanquinnwtv: One fucking job, Hewitt.

#insta: emily #emily

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Weather report: too fucking hot. Photo by Emily.

↳INSTAGRAM: @graceeckstein posted to their story:

@declanquinnwtv: Nice dress, Gracie. Hope Swayze colour co-ordinates his tie with you. Or his leg warmers. Whatever he wears.

#insta: grace #grace

It really was a wonder the two of them had gotten divorced. Grace couldn’t begin to imagine what it was that bothered her so much about Declan, from him declaring her snotty, to his irritatingly smug exterior. Because of course, why wouldn’t she be charmed by him? She’d been the luckiest woman alive, married to a man who seemingly only ever viewed her as a joke when she’d thought of him as nothing short of her entire world.

Of course, if she chose to be honest with herself, she’d remember that his smugness had always resembled something much closer to cheekiness in her eyes, and that his ridiculous taunting had always made her laugh, bringing light to otherwise miserable situations. He was still that very same man, only this version of him didn’t love her anymore. She wondered if he would even be there sat across from her if it had been anybody other than Bee who’d called upon him?

She watched as his face transformed from mock horror to genuine concern and felt another, fresh pang in her chest. Wasn’t he supposed to be here to make her feel better? To help ease whatever panic attack her day had inflicted upon her? The irony of it all was that the mere fact of his presence being a comfort to her was also just another cause for concern in Grace’s eyes. What use was it to be soothed by the love of her life who’d refused to fight for her? She didn’t need to be reminded of all the things about him that she’d loved so, not when those parts of him were lost to her forever.

A wet laugh spilled from her lips as she shook her head, a sob melting away as it made way for laughter instead. God, he was utterly insufferable, making her smile and laugh and feel utterly wrecked all at once. Perhaps if Bee had gotten Morgan instead, she might feel different. The other man was merely a means to an end, just as she imagined she was to him. He didn’t know her deepest darkest secrets, nor how to talk her down from the ledge. Morgan knew how to sing her praises in front of a committee, how to make her dances flourish and, most importantly, how to make her cum. What he didn’t know was that while she rarely drank anything but coffee and red wine, she preferred peppermint tea when under the weather, and that white wine made her horny. He didn’t know that she’d gotten the scar on her knee about six months into dating Declan, after slipping on broken glass and needing a quick trip to the emergency room. Morgan didn’t know that Declan liked to kiss along the scar, relishing in the way that the tickling sensation made Grace squirm and giggle, batting him away before drawing him back in for more. Morgan didn’t know.

“You can joke all you like, Dec. If I offered to suspend Alice from the rafters, I’m about ninety nine percent sure she’d have a miraculous recovery and scale the building of her own accord,” she scoffed, thinking fondly of her ridiculous, vibrant dancer.

Content that the tears had finally stopped flowing, she ceased pathetically dabbing beneath her eyes and discarded her tissue into the wastebin next to her vanity table. She propped her elbows onto her knees, her chin dipping into her palms as she leaned forward, closing some of the distance between them, and peered up at Declan’s obnoxiously beautiful face.

“That’s a shame. The Declan I have on my dartboard back at Teddy’s is much less handsome. I think I like him best,” she quipped, fixing him with a smirk. There was something to be said about the fact that she still couldn’t quite bring herself to refer to Teddy’s apartment as her own, still desperately clinging onto the idea that it was only temporary. “It’s a really flattering still of you from that segment three years when that pigeon took a shit all over you live on air. It’s still getting me through the harder days.”

The corner of Declan’s mouth ticked up when Grace let out a wet-sounding laugh. He knew her pride would hold a grudge against her letting the noise slip, but he was satisfied that he’d made her do something that wasn’t cry for once. Or scream in his face. There had been a lot of screaming in each other’s faces in unfamiliar lawyers’ offices.

As soon as Grace disposed of the tissue and leaned in, Declan unconsciously mirrored her. Could either of them really be blamed for that? One measly divorce couldn’t undo years upon years of muscle memory and natural magnetism. He gripped the back of the chair he was leaning against and rested his chin on his knuckles, raising an eyebrow at Grace. There was that stubborn pride again, doing what it could to belittle Declan in favour of making Grace look like she had the upperhand. There were still faint mascara smudges around her eyes and the tip of her nose was red. If anything, she looked like she needed a win so Declan didn’t counter her little jibe. Well, he did, but with less vigor than usual.

“Still need to see my face on the daily to get you through the day, Gracie?” he teased her, knowing he was asking for a scowl in response.

If she needed someone to be mad at right now though, he’d gone months upon months being on the receiving end of Grace’s ire. It was a different flavour than the usual passion she directed his way, and harder to digest, he had to admit. But he could bear it better than he would with indifference.

Being on her periphery was better than her forgetting about him at all. He supposed he had Bee to thank for keeping his ex-wife in his life one way or another.

“I think you and that pigeon have a lot in common,” he quipped, before leaning back and sitting up straight.

He gave Grace a careful once-over, certain she wasn’t about to burst into tears again. Then he rapped his knuckles on the brass frame of the chair.

“Right, enough tears from you. You’ve had your tantrum, back to business,” he declared.

He swung a leg back over the chair in a casual dismount then began unbuttoning his own blazer, a gift from Bee a few birthdays ago that he knew his daughter wasn’t fashion-savvy enough to have actually picked out for him herself. Bee and her mom were too artsy-fartsy to know what a label like this would mean. It had ‘purchased by Grace’ written all over it, though he supposed she wouldn’t remember that.

Reaching the final button, he let the blazer fall open and shrugged it from his shoulders, catching Grace’s eye.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warned her, knowing she’d hate the implication, coupled with the smug smirk he wore. Before she could grow too irate, he held the blazer out to her.

“It’ll cover the stains on your suit. The white suit you chose to wear. In December. In New York.”

↳INSTAGRAM: @graceeckstein posted to their story:

@declanquinnwtv: Is Captain Swayze into photography now? Adorable.

#insta: grace #grace

If Grace rolled her eyes any harder, she was certain they’d stick and never look forward again. Alas, it was second nature where Declan was concerned, and far easier than blessing him with a smile he hadn’t rightfully earned. Her lips twisted this way and that in a meagre attempt to disguise her amusement as she ignored the traitorous way her heart leaped in her chest as he reminded her that he’d been the one to buy her the suit. She knew that, of course, but she hadn’t banked on him remembering.

“You’re right. Ugh. God forbid people think there’s any bad blood between us,” Grace deadpanned, though the words hung heavy in her chest.

Declan might be able to tease and joke about the breakdown of their marriage, but she still wasn’t there yet. Her throat felt thick as a lump formed there, yet another thing for her to be getting herself worked up over on this already awful Christmas. She could only hope it didn’t show on her face, that the awful sinking feeling that she felt in her chest wasn’t also etched plainly across her features, a silent plea for him to take her back, to try again, to get it fucking right this time. Instead, she averted her gaze from his and cleared her throat, exhaling slowly.

Luckily, Declan seemed to be taking the lead. She’d always loved that about him. It was one of the things that she noticed about Morgan now – he always let her take charge, always happy to reside in her shadow. Grace was a confident woman and she’d never shied away from the spotlight. She liked to be in control, to get the last word in and to come away victorious. But Declan had always matched her in ways that nobody else had ever been able to. They’d been equals, the two of them just as loud and commanding as the other. He’d always known when to let her lead just as much as he’d known when she needed to follow. Her heart stuttered in her chest, not for the first time, as he crowded her in his attempt to retrieve the tissue box. She thought she might shove him, or kiss him, or both if he came any closer.

“Have you been moonlighting as a magician, or has the divorce lead you to Olympic level masturbation?” Grace asked, arching her brow as she followed the ridiculous flourish of his wrist. She definitely did not want to hear about his masturbation habits, but the question had been born out of a need for a distraction more than anything else.

Feeling resigned, she pinched the tissue from his hand and did exactly as she was told. After some suitable nose-blowing and a wasted attempt at gently dabbing the corners of her eyes in what she hoped was a glamorous and ladylike fashion, she dropped her elbows onto her knees, and then her chin into her palms as she looked back at the stupid, irritating, and altogether too smug love of her life with a miserable frown.

“Eliza got stranded, my morning coffee with her, an asshole taxi driver decided to douse me in the most gross, putrid, and out right shittiest puddle that’s ever seen the face of the fucking planet, half the ensemble have the flu, my fucking Sugar Plum Fairy’s costume is ruined, Alice decided now was a good time to sprain her god damn ankle, and Wilhelm looks so distraught I think he might actually leave the country,” Grace reeled off the list of obstacles she’d faced, all before lunchtime, without even pausing for breath. No doubt Declan was slowly being reminded just why he’d fallen out of love with her in the first place. “Oh, and now, to make matters worst, my ridiculous ex-husband is here to comfort me while looking annoyingly fucking handsome while I look like an ogre took a shit on me. Go figure.”

“Famously we’ve always gotten along like a house on fire,” Declan agreed glibly, with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Now go on, say that again. The part about me being right.”

He sat back to give Grace some space, forearms still leaning on the back of the chair as she took the tissue from him and tried to sort herself out. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards at the delicate way she cleaned herself up. Somehow, Grace managed to make something as typically gross and disgusting as blowing her nose look elegant. It infuriated him as much as he had once loved it.

“There you go. Let it all out, Snotty,” he said, just so she wouldn’t get any ideas about him being too affected right now.

Absently, he wondered if Morgan had noticed she was missing yet, and if the two of them were about to be disturbed by him crashing through the door like a prince storming the dragon’s lair. A sick sense of satisfaction settled low in his gut when he pictured the other man’s (infuriatingly handsome) face when he did arrive, finding his girlfriend in the company of her ex-husband instead. Maybe there’d be an argument. Declan only hoped so.

Chin now propped up on his hand, he fixed his face into a look of clearly put-on sympathy, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout as she took him through her day, which began with a lack of caffeine and a muddy puddle. However, as she continued, Declan slowly lowered his arm, his expression clearing and he fought to hide a wince when she began talking about everything else that had gone wrong. He’d seen the state of Bee’s tutu, and with everything else that had transpired, he wasn’t surprised that Grace was in the mood she was in.

“Well, you’ll just have to strip down to your birthday suit and we’ll get someone to take your outfit and the Sugar Plum Fairy’s costume to the dry cleaner’s and pick you up a coffee along the way. Put a little zombie-infested spin on the Nutcracker and your flu-ridden back-up dancers will look right at home, we can suspend Alice from the fucking rafters for her part and I’ll call in a bomb threat at LaGuardia so Wilhelm’s flight to the homeland gets cancelled,” he rattled off, each suggestion more nonsensical than the one before.

He tilted his head to the side, arms thrown out to the side in the most unapologetic apology he’d ever given.

“But I can’t do anything about being annoyingly fucking handsome. That problem’s going to stick around."

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Divine

#insta: grace #grace #// i am so sorry

@declanquinnwtv: If you squeeze the flower does water come out like at the circus?

It was exactly Declan’s style to not only show up on the second worst day of her life (she didn’t want to think about the first), but to start cracking jokes too. It was one of the many reasons she’d fallen in love with him. It was one of the many reasons she hated him now.

He showed no hesitation in joining her in the room, seeming quite content to set himself down in front of his ex-wife (pending) and watch her cry. It wasn’t a new sight to him, but maybe something he hadn’t seen for a while. Maybe somewhere in that deranged little mind of his he had missed the sight of her looking defeated. Grace thought for a moment that she might be able to school her features into something more serene, to wipe away her tears and put on a front just out of pettiness alone, but it was no use. A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach, her chest aching from the sheer weight of her anxiety, and she knew there was no hope at all for the day to improve. Everything that could have gone wrong had, and she’d unleashed her most bitter self on the lovely people that helped her every day. She’d wanted to yell at somebody, and with Alice’s roommate and his stupid flying rat nowhere in sight, she’d settled on Eliza. Yet another fuck up to add to her growing list.

For now, she simply eyed Declan quietly. Her breathing was unregulated, and she felt as though her heart might explode out of her chest. Where was Morgan? Where was Teddy? Christ above, she’d even take an uncomfortable stare and an aversion to eye contact from Wilhelm right now if it meant she didn’t have to look at Declan right now. He looked almost as much of a wreck as she felt. Which was to say, he looked utterly fucking lovely and not even her subconscious had it in itself to lie to her. She waited for him to speak first, knowing that whatever he settled on would only work to piss her off even more.

To her surprise, she found herself barking out a wet, mangled laugh. Her suit was in disarray, and her idiot soulmate – or so she’d once thought – might as well have shone a spotlight on her and started pointing and laughing at her expense. It should have driven her crazy, but it was exactly the sort of ludicrous bullshit that she needed right now. Of course Declan would’ve known just what she needed, and the reality of that only upset her further.

“You’re such a bastard,” she choked out, smiling weakly.

Soon thereafter, she found herself sobbing again, her head dropping into her hands. Maybe she didn’t want company after all, maybe she needed him to fuck off and leave her there to die. Distantly, she decided to offer up the suggestion with muffled tones and zero conviction. God forbid a woman want to curl up and die in peace.

Minutes seemed to pass as she buried her face and hid away from his prying eyes. When Grace finally lifted her head, she had no more tears left to fall. She wiped clumsily at her cheeks with the back of her hand and stared back at him.

“You can tell Bee that next time she wants to cheer me up, I’ll take another batch of cookies. Bee’s cookies don’t appear out of nowhere just to laugh at my misfortune,” she noted. It wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t in the mood to be diplomatic it seemed.

Declan’s lips turned upwards as soon as he heard Grace bark out a wet laugh. It wasn’t the most graceful of noises, but he’d been aiming to drag it out of her nevertheless. If anything, it had gotten her to stop crying (for now) and he knew that nothing else would have done the trick. Any attempt at placating or soothing her would have only been met with pushback. She was just too damn stubborn for her own good.

“Oh, I’m the bastard?” Declan echoed, mock-affronted. “I buy you a nice fucking suit and you repay me by going and rolling around in pigshit. People are going to say you’ve got a real fucking quarrel with your ex-husband, you know.”

He crossed his arms over the back of the chair and rested his chin on them, eyes dragging over her so he could look out for any of her other tell-tale signs of distress. There were mascara streaks trailing down her cheeks thanks to her tears. Her usually immaculate hair was looking a little out of place, so things were bad. But, ah. Her manicure hadn’t been bitten down yet. Bad, but the world hadn’t completely ended just yet. For the safety of everyone in New York (and he’d stretch his generosity as far as New Jersey only because they’d given him Bruce Springsteen), he figured he could at least try and draw a line underneath the calamity before it went any further.

“Bee’s cookies also take a stupid amount of time to make and she’s downstairs looking like a kindergartner’s art project, so you’re shit out of luck,” Declan said conversationally.

There was a tissue box helpfully sitting on the dressing table, but Grace was making no move to reach for it. Deciding he could start there, he leaned forward, the chair tipping a little underneath his weight as he reached forward to grab it. It did mean he crowded Grace a little, invading her personal space and getting a heady whiff of her perfume in the process. Evidently, she still hadn’t used up all the Jo Malone he’d given her for their last Christmas together. Either that, or Captain Swayze had a nose for her favourite scent.

Quickly, he rocked back in his seat, the chair landing on all fours again with a dull thud. Plucking a tissue out of the box, he dramatically held it out to Grace with a flick of his wrist.

“Blow your schnozz into that,” he instructed her, tossing the box carelessly back onto the table. “And then start from the beginning. What’s gone wrong?”

Do you ever miss Grace?

Would you miss the person who made you rearrange your whole life when she left?

#honesty hour;#grace

morganthatcher

are you happy in your relationship?

Sure am! We're just havin' a lot of fun right now. Grace is a blast. She's had bad luck in the past, so I'm happy to give her whatever it is she needs.

#declan

Grace was about to blow up the Lincoln Center and everyone in it.

Her morning had started horrendously, with Eliza stranded on an unmoving subway car and unable to reach her. Through no fault of her assistant’s, it had meant Grace would need to forego her morning coffee and head to work earlier than usual, making up for whatever lost time Eliza’s delay might cause. When hailing a cab, she’d encountered the rudest, most self-centered driver in all of New York – a heavy feat – who'd sped through the largest, dirtiest, iciest puddle in the whole city and had promptly splashed it against her all-white Pant Suit. She’d had no time to turn around and change, instead having to make do with a now murky-gray outfit that gave her the appearance of a toddler who’d recently soiled themselves. She loved that suit. Regrettably, it had also been a gift from Declan, so perhaps she should have known it was doomed the minute she’d stepped into it that morning.

Upon arriving at work, she’d discovered that seven of their dancers had called in sick, a set designer had spilled a whole tub of paint on the Sugar Plum Fairy’s tutu, and Alice had tripped and sprained her ankle helping her roommate build an assault course for his sugar glider. She hadn’t asked, but the other woman had supplied her with the unwanted explanation all the same. And with gusto.

Sufficed to say, everything was going wrong, and Grace was about to blow a fuse. Or, to put it lightly, perhaps she already had. With Eliza crying in the corner and Morgan awkwardly hovering with one hand gently patting her shoulder, Wilhelm googling flights back to Germany, and Tanvi taking selfies with the Mouse King, she didn’t think she could handle much else. Two weeks into the run of The Nutcracker, hardly anything had gone wrong up until now, and it was just her luck that every possibly obstacle they could face had decided to arrive on the very night that the Mayor of New York was coming to see the show.

Hunched over in a vacant dressing room and rocking back and forth, Grace tried to remind herself of the breathing exercises Teddy had taught her after she and Declan had first separated. They hadn’t done a whole lot of good back then either – she'd instead settled on setting her wedding dress on fire and sobbing while playing Here Comes The Sun on repeat for twelve hours straight – but she thought it was worth a shot.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the open door, followed by the clearing of a throat that she’d recognise anywhere. Lifting her head slowly, Grace’s gaze landed squarely on Declan Quinn, her soon-to-be ex-husband.

“Am I in hell right now?” she quipped, before a fresh stream of tears began rolling down her cheeks.

“Dad? I think Grace needs help.”

Declan’s head snapped up. He stared at his daughter who’d evidently left rehearsals early to come down to the foyer of the Lincoln Centre and fetch him. Bee twisted her fingers together nervously as she gave him an imploring, pleading look, the kind he’d never been able to say no to. Her hair was scraped back into a tight bun, making her features stand out, her eyes looking wider and more expressive than ever. Declan could see she was anxious.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, before he tilted his head to the side and frowned, taking in the state of his daughter’s tutu. “Apart from your costume turning into a Jackson Pollock canvas.”

Immediately, Bee waved her hands dismissively.

“That’s the least of our worries right now,” she said, with all the authority of someone who hadn’t spent the last month or so freaking out about her first lead role as the Sugar Plum Fairy, driving Declan absolutely nuts with her insistent plays of Tchaikovsky on a loop.

Sighing and pocketing his phone where he’d previously been doom-scrolling, way too early to pick Bee up so he could force her to eat lunch before the show tonight, he fixed his daughter with a look.

“Where is she?” he asked. If a paint-splattered tutu was the least of Grace Eckstein’s worries right now, then things must be bad.

Smacking a kiss to his daughter’s hair (and making a face at how much hairspray was there), he jogged up the stairs, creating a route in his mind from all the times before when he’d had to track down Grace in a dressing room and find a way to convince her not to cancel the show completely. Not that he held any confidence in his ability to have that sort of influence over her now, but he’d told Bee that he would at least try.

After three tries of pushing open the doors of empty dressing rooms, he finally found Grace in one at the end of a long corridor. He knocked, just to be polite, although he had no intention of waiting for her permission to enter, which undercut the politeness, he supposed.

“Creed haven’t shown up yet to play their new album, so might not be Hell just yet,” he quipped.

Dragging a chair over, he sat on it backwards, resting his arms on the back of it and took in the sight of Grace, chest heaving and mascara stains tracking down her cheeks. He took a moment to wonder where Morgan was when all of this was going on, before deciding he didn’t care. If Captain Swayze hadn’t known to immediately show up during the peak of a Grace Eckstein Freakout, then any help he might potentially offer further down the line would be rendered obsolete. Grace didn’t care about anyone checking in on her after the fact. Declan knew she wouldn’t want anyone to bring it up at all. She’d want to pretend the episode had never even happened, which was fortunate for him right now. Whatever he did in this pocket of time right now to try and get her to calm down would, at least, be swept under the rug as soon as she caught her breath again. The ideal arrangement for a divorced couple who hadn’t been alone in a room together for nearly a year.

Any decent man would ask what he could do. Would reach out to wipe away her tears. Would offer to hold her or ask how he could solve her problems. But Declan Quinn wasn’t a decent man, and he liked to think that’s why Grace had married him in the first place.

He looked at the dirty stains on her white pant suit and made a thoughtful noise.

“Shit yourself?” he asked.

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A much needed drink after a hectic holiday season. Thank you to the perfect human sent me the whiskey, whoever you are! And an even bigger thank you to Bee for the sweater for the whiskey. Some people just get me.