i. King of the Lake

"Well somehow I can't imagine you'd ever be treated like that, Jean."

She swallows a grimace, wondering if he's missed the irony completely. Just how many women has Lucien left behind? How often has he raced halfway across the world, with only a letter for comfort?

There is nothing but pity in her for Monica Goodman. It's a terrible thing to love and not be loved in return. To be the sole focus of Lucien Blake's attention and suddenly...not. To be beholden to his mercurial moods.

Heaven help the woman who falls in love with him.

Heaven help her.

ii. My Brother's Keeper

Her hard heart, once cracked, spills over with long held pain. Words she never intended to say to anyone have been spoken.

He is gentle with her, so terribly gentle, as though she'll shatter.

She isn't ready, not yet, but when she is she hopes he will hold on. She hopes that he will release his grip on his demons and take her hand. She'll need him to be steady, something she knows he isn't very good at. She'll need him to do something, anything, to let her know...

She'll need him.

She'll need him.

The very thought terrifies her.

iii. This Time and This Place

The tremor in Lucien's voice is her undoing.

She knows too well the ache of a lost child, the result of not being enough to keep him safe. She knows too well that there's nothing she can say, no platitude to utter, that will help him. She can only offer the strength of her touch, leaning into him to absorb some of his pain.

She longs to comfort him, to smooth away his worries with a touch to his brow, to offer him tea and a biscuit. She presses her hands to his shoulder and hopes that will be enough.

iv. By The Southern Cross

"I've never been disappointed in you, not for a moment."

She sees in Mattie the daughter she was never blessed to have; a willful spirit and gentle kindness, bubbling with potential. And yet Mattie is not her child, is probably far to well-rounded to have survived the muddle she made of raising her own sons. She cannot help but measure her boys against the self-assured woman in front of her and knows exactly how she failed them.

She will say to Mattie the honest things she never could say to her own sons.

And hope they will make a difference.

v. A Night to Remember

Adrenaline still courses through Jean's system, a dump of nerves from her performance, to the arrival of Christopher, to the death of Jacqueline Maddern. She thrums with the confidence that comes with working with Lucien, excitement at being useful.

She doesn't heed Charlie's warning nod as she gives Monroe advice. It's not until later that she realizes the picture she made, righteously proclaiming her faith in Lucien.

Belatedly, she recognizes that she is not, in fact, bulletproof as Monroe's words find their mark. And though her chin juts and her shoulders are set, she flees the room just the same.

vi. Women and Children

Amelia Jean Beazley

She hears Lucien at the door and jumps to greet him, her news causing her skin to tingle.

A granddaughter! They have - well, she has - a granddaughter! She knows Lucien will rejoice as if it were his news as well, and she longs to share with him.

She meets him at the door with a mild rebuke for his absence, replaces the hat on his head and straightens his lapels. He grumbles at her, congratulates her, and turns to go. It's only when he's headed back to the car that she swallows back the disappointment.

She's alone.

vii. Room Without A View

She will always have a job here.

The words, spoken in kindness, ache against her thudding heart. A job does not follow blindly, defend unthinking. A job does not stay up late in worry. A job does not listen without judgement, longing to offer comfort.

For Jean, the day has long passed that her time in the Blake household was a simple job. And she has revealed too much, given too much, to ever let it be a simple job ever again.

Tell me to stay, she wants to yell. Tell me I'm needed.

Tell me I'm wanted. Tell me.

vii. Darkness Visible

Her breath catches, knots itself in her chest and she knows she's gaping.

He's there.

He stands before her, bare-headed and breathless. And nervous

He's there.

She makes room for him on the seat. To match the room she long ago made in her heart.

He starts to speak but she can't, not then.

He's there.

His fingers gripping hers, his warm breath in her hair, his shoulder solid beneath her head.

He's there and she's leaving and he came after her.

The future is a jumble and she steadies herself, listening to his heart race.

She holds his hand.

(3/5)