lucian/anne: “he's not your kid, back the fuck off”
"I need to talk to you about something."
Lucian glanced up, quite glad of the excuse to avoid answering Monty's latest email about ratings until he saw the uncertain expression on Anne's face where she stood leaning in the doorway.
In all the time he had known Anne Keating, he had known her in both good moods and bad (and for a while when he was around it had tended to be more of the latter) but he had never known her to be unsure of herself.
Raising his eyebrows, he nodded. "Sounds serious. I haven't poached any more of your staff, just for the record."
A wry smile curved her mouth for a moment as she came fully into his office, closing the door behind her. "That wasn't what I was going to talk about, but thank you for the reassurance."
"Then what's going on?"
Anne didn't answer for a moment, opening her mouth and closing it again as though considering what to say, her eyes moving away from him to look out the window. Something about the way she held herself made sent a prickle of nerves down Lucian's next.
"Abby and I were doing some interviews yesterday, some bits about the Met's new exhibit," she said finally, which left Lucian none the wiser about how this might involve him. Art was not his strong suit, as they both knew. "One of the women working on it, she's on the Met's PR team, when she realised what network we were from, she mentioned your name. She said ... she knew Danielle."
"Oh."
That was unexpected. Lucian didn't exactly know how to respond. He hadn't kept up with any of Danielle's friends - he'd never really known any of them to begin with, and they hadn't exactly seem interested in keeping in touch with either him or Kester.
"Uh. Who was it?"
"Carrie Martin."
Lucian thought for a moment, dredging up memories he generally preferred to keep squashed down. "Yeah ... I think I remember her. Big hair, bigger voice?"
Amusement flashed across Anne's face, although she was clearly trying to keep it under control. "That is one way to describe her."
"How's she doing these days?"
"Oh, she's fine. Doing well for herself. The thing is ..." Anne hesitated, and glanced away over his shoulder again. "The thing is, she was pretty sure that Danielle had never actually dated you. That she dated your brother, Chase."
Lucian went very still.
"And it got me thinking, about how you have photos of Danielle in Kester's room but none up of you and Danielle. And how you never really talk about her or your time together."
"Anne ..."
"And I did some digging and found her old social media accounts. It's funny, but there's a lot of photos of her and Chase together and hardly any of you. And the couple photos of you that are there only appear after her pregnancy announcement."
Her gaze finally drifted back to him. The uncertainty was still there, and her mouth was pressed into a line the way she did when she felt guilty. But her jaw was also set defiantly. She wasn't going to let him get away with dodging this.
Well, shit. His stomach felt like a lead weight, and when he answered he could hear the defensiveness in his voice.
"Is there a question in there?"
"I guess my question is am I putting two and two together and coming up with five? Or am I right in thinking that, despite what everyone else thinks, Chase is actually Kester's father?"
How fucking ironic. He had spent years hoping someone might put the pieces together and figure out he was lying about a lot of things, but not this. Never this. And of all the people to figure it out, of course it would be Anne.
The one person he wanted to know everything about him. And the one person he was terrified of letting behind his walls in case she didn't like what she saw.
"I suppose," he said slowly, "that depends on how you define 'father'."
Anne frowned in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"It's my name on Kester's birth certificate. I was the first person to hold him when he was born. I was the one to take him home. I fed him, bathed him, changed him. I took care of him when he was sick and when he had nightmares. I taught him to read. I'm the one raising him." He was surprised at even his voice sounded, though his hands were curled into tight fists on his desk. "But if you mean who contributed to his DNA, then, yeah, that would make Chase his father."
There was a long silence. Anne turned away from him for a moment, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not that he couldn't see the expression on her face.
When she finally turned back, her eyes met his and for possibly the first time since he had met her Lucian really had no idea at all what she was thinking or feeling.
"Okay. Okay." She said it softly, like she was talking to herself, then more directly to him, "I have a lot of questions."
"Such as?"
"Well. Why? Why are you the one raising him? Why is it your name on his birth certificate?"
Lucian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because my father thought that Danielle wasn't good enough for Chase. And Chase was too scared of my father to disagree with him."
Anne slowly arched an eyebrow. "She wasn't good enough for your brother, but she was good enough for you?"
"No. My father wanted Chase to convince her to just ... get it taken care of." A flash of disgust crossed Anne's face at that, and Lucian couldn't blame her. He'd been fairly disgusted himself. "It was Chase that came to me. I didn't have a political career that I needed to be careful with. And Chase spending time with his nephew wouldn't be strange. In fact, it would make him look better."
He said the last words heavily, almost spitting them. It had taken him a long time to let himself acknowledge how selfish his brother had been when he came pleading for Lucian's help. And yet somehow both he and Danielle had been persuaded into it.
"And you just agreed?"
Anne was staring at him in disbelief and all Lucian could do was shrug. How did he explain the hold Chase had had over him? The particular brand of charm and assurance that had enabled him to talk almost anyone into anything.
"He was my brother," he said after a moment, voice breaking a little. "And it wasn't the first time I'd covered for him."
"Lucian ..."
"Of course, I wasn't supposed to have full custody. But ..."
"... but Danielle died."
"And then Chase died."
Slowly he unclenched his fists, staring at his desk. He couldn't bring himself to look up, afraid of what he might see in her eyes, but he heard her let out a long breath.
"God, Lucian. I don't even know what to say. It's just ..."
"Deeply fucked up? Yeah, I know."
She gave a quiet, sad chuckle. "Yeah ..."
They fell into a strained silence again, but this time Lucian did make himself glance up. Anne's brows had drawn together into a frown, but she didn't look furious in the way that he thought she might. And he didn't think she was figuring out how to tell him she was done.
Tentatively, he began to relax -
"Does Kester know?"
Only to immediately tense up again.
"No," he said, a little more sharply than he meant to; the corners of Anne's mouth tightened. "He's only five, it'll just confuse him."
"But you are going to tell him?"
".... I don't know."
It was like she was picking at a wound he had thought might heal over if he ignored it, but wasn't; instead the pain was worse than ever.
"You have to tell him eventually," Anne insisted.
Lucian remained silent, and her expression moved rapidly through surprise to disbelief to anger.
"You have to. He has a right to know."
"Anne."
"The longer you wait, the harder it will be. And the more likely he'll resent you for not telling him."
With a breath of frustration, Lucian got to his feet and looked away from her. "Are we talking about him or you now?"
He heard her give a quiet gasp. "That is not fair."
"Isn't it? Is this really about you thinking I should tell him, or that I should have told you?"
"Don't you dare," Anne said with quiet fury. "Yes, I would have liked you to tell me, but that is not the point and you're just trying to avoid the issue. Which is that Kester has a right to know where he comes from."
Lucian whirled round. His stomach was churning, hurt and fear and anger melding together into a white blaze. "Anne, he is not your kid. So back the fuck off."
"Apparently he's not yours either."
The words fell into absolute silence as they both stared at each other, faces pale and eyes wide, the sudden horror of realising that they were on the verge of saying things they couldn't take back - that the barbs they were lobbing might cut too deeply - like a rush of cold water to their hot tempers.
Lucian wasn't sure how long they stayed like that for, both frozen in place and neither speaking. The quiet stretched taught around them until it was at once both unbearable, choking the air, and yet impossible to break. If they did they would have to acknowledge what they had just said.
A dull ache in his hands made him realise he had curled his hands into fists once again and his nails were digging into his palms. Slowly, carefully, he relaxed them and made himself take a breath.
He wasn't sure how long it took to finally unstick his throat, each second ticking by like an eternity, and when he did all he could say in a low voice was, "Maybe you should go."
Anne blinked, and then slowly nodded. "Yeah. This - this was a mistake."
The words hit him like a blow. Did she mean this conversation? Or everything else between them?
"Right ..." he murmured, turning to stare out the window at the skyline that was beginning to light up as the evening fell.
Behind him he heard Anne's footsteps moving across the room, and he didn't think he had ever hated himself as much as he did in this moment. There really was nothing he couldn't ruin.
But although he kept waiting for it, the sound of the door opening and closing again never came.
Confused, Lucian looked over his shoulder. Anne was standing in front of the door, her back to him, one hand on the handle - but she wasn't moving.
"Anne?"
"Are you really going to let me leave?" She glanced back at him, and his heart twisted as he realised her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Do you really want me to leave?"
He shook his head. "... no. No, I don't want you to leave."
As he said it, she let out a sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, then let her hand fall from the door and came back more fully into the room.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have said that. It was cruel and it wasn't fair. Of course he's your kid."
He nodded slowly, grateful to her for saying that; and yet it did nothing to ease the knot of uncertainty in his chest. With a sigh, he walked around and leaned back against the edge of his desk, so there was less space between them.
"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's not - I'm not mad at you."
She didn't say anything, but her shoulders lowered a little.
"It's just," Lucian barrelled on, running a hand through his hair again, "It's all so complicated, and it's not like you're entirely wrong - it's why it's so hard."
"What do you mean?" Anne asked softly, taking a step toward him.
"Biologically speaking, he's not my kid." He could hear the distress in his own voice as it broke and cracked, thick with tears he was forcing back. "Except he is my kid. I can't - I can't explain what I felt when I held him for the first time. But he is more mine than he's ever been Chase's. So how do I sit him down and tell him this? It feels like telling him I don't want him. Or what if, when he knows ..."
He trailed off, but Anne - as she had proven already - was more than smart enough to read between the lines. Or perhaps she just knew him too well.
"What if he doesn't want you?"
"Well. Yeah." Feeling suddenly exhausted, he dragged his hand across his face. "He's ... he's the only person I've never disappointed. The only person who looks at me and actually sees someone good. And I know it's selfish and cruel and screwed up but I don't think I can bear it if he starts looking at me like everyone else does."
There was pause, then Anne spoke softly. "He's not."
"What?"
"He's not the only person who looks at you and sees someone good."
Surprised into looking up, Lucian's eyes met hers and she offered him a small, sad smile. Something twisted painfully in his chest at the sight, and he didn't trust himself to speak so all he could do was hold his arms out. To his relief, she came readily into them, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her tightly to him, burying his face in her curls and letting the gentle, flowery scent of her perfume waft over him.
"I understand why you feel that way, but I don't think he'll see it like that," she pulled back a little to look at him, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "It might be hard, but he knows how much you love him. And he'll understand this doesn't change that. You'll still be the person who raised him. You'll still be his dad."
".... I know. I know you're right. I'm just ... scared."
"I'll be there for you. The whole way."
"I don't deserve you."
That drew a small, huffed laugh from her. "Well, that's certainly true."
He chuckled, then grew serious for a moment. "What I said ... I was angry and getting defensive. But I hope you know that I - well, I was hoping we, the three of us, could maybe, one day be ..."
A family. Lucian didn't quite have the courage to say it, but again she seemed to know anyway, her eyes softening.
"Yeah," she whispered, bending down to kiss him. "Me, too."
okay well the thing is with LL headcanons is that they're mostly just...canon. but some of my favourite silly little things:
bel's childhood crush on lucian was a spur of the moment thing but actually i'm very fond of it. i hope that in the future they can be pals because i think that they'd be a lot of fun together.
someday, in the far distant future, perhaps when eastborough belongs to the national trust or has been opened by the family to the public, someone will take down a portrait of the fifteenth marquess of eastborough for restoration work and find a lifetime of love letters from france hidden between the portrait and the frame. and a whole bunch of literature scholars who have studied rawdon montgomery iv's (sometimes questionable) later life poetry will be so impossibly smug and vindicated that all of their coworkers will hate them for months.
modern au jim is an rnli volunteer. do you see it. do you see the vision. because i do. (also on the jim front, he is going to make an absolute fortune with ivor montgomery and jahnu suresh in steam trains and railways. will it be enough to impress the duchess of rothbury?? only time will tell)
smog and horror related headcanon: edward "teddy" fitzroy is descended from henry fitzroy and eleanor kincaide. katherine "kitty" fitzroy is descended from evelyn harpole and katie winter.
fran and freya will end up the best of friends as well as sisters-in-law. i firmly and truly believe this. once fran has managed to reluctantly let go of Being In Control of aston crossley.
another twelve sentences because @doublel27 also asked for it!
*just to be clear about this one, tk's wounds are not abuse-related
It takes just a split second for all the pieces to fall into place.
See, Judd has been wondering. Sure, TK seems to attract danger like no-one he’s ever met before, and, sure, he’s borne witness to more than one instance of pure clumsiness which have left the kid a little worse for wear. But that does not—cannot—explain the sheer frequency with which injuries appear on TK’s body.
There were the bruises on his legs which TK swore came from not being careful when trying to get water at night. Those were a month ago now and long faded away, so Judd hadn’t paid too much attention at the time.
Then, just a few days later, there was the scratch under his eye—far too close to his eye for actual comfort. Enthusiastic rubbing, as TK had said, which is as weak an excuse as Judd had ever seen, but he doesn’t get any more out of him when he asks.
When, just last week, the bright red circles around TK’s wrists had appeared, TK had pulled out the my boyfriend is a cop line. The catcalls from the rest of the team lasted all day after that.
And then, most recently—until today—when Judd had caught sight of the horrific bruise spreading across TK’s right hip. It was huge and sporting every colour—deep purples and blues and even black at the centre, sickly yellows and greens at the edges where it had begun to heal.
You're welcome to ask for as many as you want, especially as a thanks for your patience of waiting for this one!
A little context for this one, because I love the idea even if I haven't gotten around to writing much of it yet. The idea kind of smacked in me in the face while rewatching 3x04 and it's kind of my way of addressing the downward spiral they have him right on the brink of. So it's a fic all about Owen not confronting his issues, with some intrigue and poor decisions on his part thrown in.
And I won't tell you anything else because this one actually will have some twists and I'm really hoping I can get it done before 3x12 airs!
-----
“So, Captain Strand. It has been 7 months since the 126 reopened. How are you feeling?”
“I’d have to say pretty damn good, Cynthia,” Owen responded with a dazzling smile. “You see a firehouse is more than just a building or a workplace, it’s a family. And now that the 126 has been reopened our family is back together and doing what we do best: helping the people of Austin.”
The reporter smiled at him as she jotted down some notes, “And that is something this community is surely grateful for. But can we talk about that period of time, for a bit? There was a whole lot happening in there, especially during the ice storm. Some of your station members were hurt performing rescues, one of them was your son. That had to have been very difficult.”
Owen’s smile faltered for a moment before it was back up, plastered across his face as he answered, “It’s never easy to know that any of my people are hurt, and any parent can tell you that the last thing you want is to know that your child is in danger. But they pulled through, and that’s what’s important.”
The look she gave him was skeptical, but she didn’t push to Owen’s immense relief.
send me a title of a wip and I’ll give you six (or so) sentences
8. Talk about any friends/connections you’ve made as a fic writer.
ABSOLUTELY okay so the first people who come to mind are @prettyboyandthekid @marjansmarwani @paranoidbean and @a-l-ias I feel like I interact with them a lot and they're my favorites. Att lets me lose my mind every time I watch the episodes and I appreciate them for that. We also have a LOT of fun making hcs for Enzo and Tarlos and all the things it's a lot of fun. sfkdjgh and AJ and I have a lot of fun sobbing over music that relates to buddie or just going crazy over songs in general. There are definitely more (you, of course, Laney💜, and @a-beautiful-struggle-of-life, @tailoredshirt, @ravens-words, @graceryders, @doublel27) and a shout out to all the people who are always in my notifs I see you and I love you
9. What inspired you to write your first fic?
I don't remember what inspired my very first fic but the first one for the 911 fandom was because I found out I could write spec fics and codas sjfkhg which I had never really seen in previous fandoms so I watched the trailer for Buck begins and went feral as one does and wrote Helpless and Hopeless and then I wrote a coda for my first fic in the ls fandom (In Case You Don't Live Forever). Both of which are probably my favorite things I've written for these shows so
I haven't looked to see what anyone else has asked but I'm most intrigued by the following:
Tarlos dancer AU
now i finally know what amazing grace is
carlos and grace friendship fic
Answer for any! 💜
Hello LL, thank you for the ask 🌻💛
here's the ask relating to the tarlos dancer au
here's the ask relating to now i finally know what amazing grace is
the Carlos and Grace friendship fic is one that I've been working on for like a year now but it's just a cute little thing about how just after TK and Carlos adopt, TK is back to work and Carlos is struggling at home with their little one. So, he phones Grace for help but she ends up coming over and helping out in person. They then do some baking while having a heart to heart talk about Carlos' insecurities about being a parent. It's rough but here's a little snippet:
“Hello?” Grace answers, as she rips open the packet of tea and puts it into her mug. On the other end of the phone, there is loud crying and a low voice hushing.
“Grace?” Carlos’ voice comes a beat later, low and exhausted. “Did I wake you?”
“No, you didn’t, Carlos. I’m just making some tea, is everything okay?”
“I - yeah - I mean -” He stutters over his words and Grace waits patiently as he takes a deep breath, almost in defeat and when he speaks again, his voice is slightly deflated. “Not really. He just won’t stop crying, Gracie. I have tried everything and TK is on a shift and -”
Grace smiles sympathetically despite Carlos not being able to see her as he continues to rant over the phone to her. As she listens, she walks to the cupboard, reaching in to grab a to-go mug and pours the tea from her mug into it.
“ - And I just have no idea what to do.”
Grace nods, waiting a moment to make sure Carlos is done before she speaks. “Alright, let me just drop Charlie off next door at Mrs. Thompson’s and I’ll be on my way over.”
“Wait, Grace -”
“Oh you best not argue with me, Carlos Reyes,” She interrupts. “because I will win. So you just hold on and I’ll be right there, okay?”
