Hey guys! I'm back after a while with a little thing about one of my favourite movies of all times. The idea and most of the text are a couple years old, but I managed to find it now, so take it as my present for all the Proposal shippers out there :)

Considering my love for Beauty and The Beast, and with the recent movie, the title is based on the song "Something There" and you'll see some resemblances during the story :) It happens in the same day as Margaret fires Bob, but without the proposal and the whole development.

Please note that English is not my first language, so don't expect a flawless text, but I try my best :)

Hope you enjoy it!

….

It was past midnight, and Andrew Paxton was reading a manuscript in the office, his head heavily falling into the papers. He sat across from Margaret Tate, outside her office, who had been deeply sunk into a manuscript herself. He eyed her every once in a while, to make sure she was still next to him or that she was still awake, not that she would ever fall asleep when supposed to work. Neither wouldn't he notice if she wasn't by his side, because her heavy presence was enough to make him tighten his moves.

She had been quite off the rest of the day, if that attitude could be considered "off", after Bob's incident. Andrew knew she acted up like nothing could mess with her or bring her down, but there was no way that hadn't touched her somewhere inside. Those were some damn hard words!

"Well, I finished this one. Mind if I go home now?" He asked, but Margaret didn't bother to look up from her papers. "Margaret?"

"Am I physically stopping you?" She asked, her usual bitter tone coming out.

A wave of anger passed through his body, but he tried to remain calm. "Will you be OK by yourself? There's no one in the building."

She finally looked up from the papers. "Do I look to you like someone that needs a babysitter?"

That was it for Andrew Paxton, he was sick and tired of that woman: whenever he tried to be nice, she cut back like a knife and made him pissed like no one ever did. He grabbed his stuff and took a few steps to the exit, but suddenly he stopped and said what he had been holding in all day. "You know what? I felt sorry for you about what happened today with Bob, but now I see he was right. And I feel bad about that too, but you're only getting what you're giving. What goes around comes around, Margaret." He turned his back to her and left.

That hit Margaret like a stone: Bob was right, Andrew was right. She was alone. She was a bitch and she was alone. Was she alone because she was a bitch? Or was she a bitch because she was alone? Even to Andrew she was a bitch: she had just been a big one, when he was trying to be nice to her. She knew that, unfortunately or fortunately for her, he could understand when she was off, and she was definitely off after that morning incident. She thought she would start crying in front of her whole office of employees, but she had plucked up courage and faced him like a men, like she was used to. She would cry herself to exhaustion later.

Now was later. Seeing Andrew's disappointment written in his face had hurt her more than all the crap she had heard about herself that day. She felt a knot on her throat and her eyes were so blurred with tears that she couldn't read the manuscript in front of her. Not here, Margaret, she told herself, somebody might show up, they probably have cameras around here and they would mock until the end of your days, get yourself together. She breathed in deeply and quickly wiped up her eyes.

….

Andrew pushed the elevator's buttons harshly, but apparently it was on the ground floor, and with the other elevator stopped for the day for maintenance, he didn't feel like waiting for it to reach the 14th floor. He chose the stairs, and he was sure he was walking faster than the elevator: he wanted himself away from that place and that woman.

When he finally reached the lobby, a light on in some of the glass floors above him caught his attention. He came to realize it was Colden's floor and found that odd, because he had just passed that part of the floor and it was all dark. Probably the janitor, or the security or something.

He stepped out the building into the cold night, and he breathed in the freezing air, trying to sooth his anger. He started heading home, until a Jaguar on Colden's parking spots caught his attention. Bob? Bob is here? He looked up to the 14th window and saw the lights on. He must have taken the elevator. Something deep in his gut told him something was wrong. Margaret!

….

Margaret had managed to focus again on the manuscript, and everyone knew that when she was wrapped up in a plot, the world around her stopped. That was the reason why the footsteps around her didn't bother her, and it was only until a hand touched her shoulder that she jumped off of the papers. "Geez, Andrew, could you be any sneakier?" She turned around and gasped in surprise and slightly in fear when she saw Bob staring at her, his eyes bloodshot and his scent impregnated with alcohol. "B-Bob!" She mumbled, her voice trembling, and slowly stood up, not that she had much space with him standing almost above her.

"Hello, Misssss Tate!" He hissed, visibly altered. Margaret could smell the alcohol in his breath, and held herself into the desk behind her, one of her hands trying to reach the telephone. He grabbed it and held it forcefully behind her back.

"Bob, stop! Stop!" She yelled, but he grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks harshly. She felt her teeth ripping the inside of her cheek and could taste her own blood.

"No, you stop, you evil bitch! You think you're sooo good, so better than everyone! You think you can run this office like we're all your stupid servants! Well, guess – AHHH!" The hard kick with a stiletto into his groin made him squirm and take a few steps back, but it wasn't enough for her to run from him. He put himself back up and punched her so hard that she struggled to maintain balance, tears blurring her vision. "I'll teach you some manners, bitch!" He said, and one of his hands started searching up her legs.

"Bob, let me go! Please!" She cried, but he slapped her again with his free hand, causing her lip to split. She tried to push him away, but his hands continued their way up her legs, and she could feel her pantyhose starting to rip. She shut her eyes, while tears brought her mascara all over her cheeks. Then, suddenly, the weight of the man above her and his hands all over her disappeared, and Margaret opened her eyes quickly to see Andrew on top of Bob punching him unstoppably, knocking him unconscious. Shaking, she grabbed the phone to call security, but two guards were already entering the office.

She froze for a couple of seconds, watching Andrew punching Bob over and over again, turning his face into a bloody mess, but she quickly remembered she had to get out of there quickly as possible. She grabbed her purse and left, ignoring the confusion around her. She reached the elevator and pressed the buttons hard. She had to get away from there, away from Bob, away from Andrew. She had to get away from whoever could hurt her or she could hurt.

She took a look at her disheveled face at the elevator's mirror, but ignored it: she had to get away from there.

…..

When Andrew reached the office and saw Bob attacking Margaret, he thought for a brief second that he was capable of killing. Seeing Margaret there, hurt, attacked, powerless, aroused in him some feelings he didn't know he had inside him. Was that… empathy? Pity? A deep desire to protect her? He didn't care at all. He just saw red.

He grabbed Bob by his shoulders and shoved him to the floor. He punched him so hard his knuckles were bleeding, but he didn't care: he just kept punching and punching that sick little bastard until he would beg.

The securities arrived and one pushed him back, while the other grabbed a bloody Bob from the floor. "Call the cops to take this bastard!" Andrew hissed and turned around to help Margaret. "Marg-" But she wasn't there. He looked around and she wasn't anywhere. He saw the elevator lights on. He crossed the office and ran down the stairs, faster than before.

She was crossing the sidewalk in front of the building. He walked faster to reach her, and called out "Margaret! Margaret!" But he knew she was ignoring him. He gave a little run and reached her. "Margaret, wait."

"I'm going home, Andrew." She said, her voice trembling.

"Wait!" He grabbed her by her wrist, and she winced, turning around to face him. She looked so defeated. "Sorry, I-" He held her hand in his and saw the red marks in her wrist, caressing it. He tried to look her in the eye, but she was avoiding his eyes. He suddenly felt an urge to take her in his arms and protect her from all possible harm. Where the hell did that come from?

"I'm going home, Andrew. I want to be alone."

"No, you don't." He said, not letting go of her hand. She finally looked up at him, and he saw her split lip and a bruise in her cheek, but especially the scared, lost, broken eyes she had, so different from the Margaret he was used to. "Maybe you should see a doctor"

"I just want to go home, Andrew." She said, her voice small and choked. She looked so small to him, her arms hugging her torso, her disheveled look. He could see she was trembling, and that there was still blood on her lip and her cheek was turning dark red just below her eye. "OK… But those bruises need to be taken care of. OK?" She bit her lip, and shrugged looking away from him, but he knew she didn't want to be left alone. It had been a rough day.

….

He guided her inside his home with a gentle hand in her back. "So, welcome to my place."

She looked around and admired his large apartment, beautifully decorated, but keeping his shade of manhood. "It's lovely." She said, the first words since they had entered the cab.

He led her to the kitchen – perfectly tidy and cleaned up – and pointed a stool for her to sit. He opened the freezer and put some ice cubes on a plate. "For your lip." He said, handing it to her. She quietly thanked him. "I'll go get my first aid kit." He left for a while. She appreciated the moments alone to adjust her thoughts. How did she agree to come to his house? It was crazy, he was her assistant, how in hell she had let him see her like this?

He returned a couple of minutes later and handed her some bandages and an alcohol bottle. "I know that burns, but that's the only antiseptic thing I have." He watched as she applied that into the small bruise in her cheek. "I suppose you want to take a shower." Her eyes shot up to him and her brows furrowed. Oh crap, she didn't understand I was implying her staying here.

"I-" She wasn't sure what to say either, so Andrew took the chance.

"I don't want to push the limits, but I don't think you should be alone tonight. So, if not me, is there anyone I can call?" Crap, that's the wrong question too, you know she has no one.

"No, there isn't." She said. It was as simple as that. She had no one. She was alone. And her assistant was the only person she could rely on. And how could she know if he was really doing it because he meant it or just because he felt obligated to it?

"Well, then I guess you're stuck with me." He said, with a genuine smile, and she felt herself smiling too. "So, I'll go get you a towel, and find some sweats or pajamas that can remotely fit in you."

She was alone with her thoughts once more. He wanted her to stay there. So many things had happened that day, but now was certainly the most surprising one. Why didn't she just leave? Some deep part of her told her that she wanted to see where this was heading.

She took the chance to take off her shoes and place them next to the couch where she had left her bag. Andrew returned and told her "I've placed the towels and the clothes in the bathroom." He showed her where it was, and couldn't help to notice how petite she was without her heels on.

"Thank you." She thanked him, before closing the door and preparing to shower.

She returned from the bathroom 15 minutes later to find Andrew in the kitchen. "Hey, they look good on you!" He smiled seeing her in his clothes. The flannel pants, the t-shirt and the hoodie were obviously too big for her, but she looked kind of cute in the middle of that.

"Yes, they actually do." She smiled back.

Andrew couldn't help to notice how different she looked, not only physically, but in her attitude: all the coldness, fieriness and harshness had given way to a niceness and a vulnerability that he wasn't quite expecting. I wonder why I didn't see it there before.

"You hungry? I'm making some scrambled eggs and French toast."

" I guess…" She said, and he pointed her the stool for her to sit, before placing the plate in front of her. "Thank you."

"Coffee, tea, milk?"

"Coffee, please." He poured some coffee into a mug and handed it to her.

They ate in silence, and when they were finished, Andrew put the dishes in the sink. "That cut needs a band-aid." He said, looking for it in the kit. She turned in the stool to face him, waiting for him to hand it to her, but Andrew just stood there. "Mind if I…?"

She felt a shiver down her spine and her heart started to beat faster. "S-Sure…" She mumbled, shrugging and looking away from him, but he put a hand on her chin gently and turned her face to him so their eyes could meet. He put a lock of hair away from her face and touched her bruised cheek gently, "Does it hurt here?" She winced. "I'll take that as a yes… Do you think it might be broken?" She whispered a low "No." He felt the bone under her eye before applying the band-aid and soothing it gently.

"You will talk to the police tomorrow, won't you?" He asked, trying to keep his eyes locked in hers, but she looked away. "Margaret…?"

"I… I-I don't know."

"You don't know? Margaret, you have to report this, he has to pay for what he has done!"

She was still looking away from him, but he noticed her eyes shining. "He was right. He is right. I'm a terrible person. And I'm alone. I have nothing and no one."

He put his hand in her arm. "Margaret…" But she kept looking away, so he held her chin again and their eyes met once more, hers with overflowing tears and sadness, his filled with tenderness and worry. "You're not a terrible person." She started nodding her head with conviction, looking away again. "You're not, Margaret. You're just… tough. And you're misunderstood for that. And you're not alone. You have people willing to help you, keep an eye on you…" She chuckled bitterly. "And you have someone…" He said quietly, using his thumb to wipe a tear sliding down her cheek. At this gesture, her eyes met his again and the air between them changed.

Andrew felt his heart pounding on his chest. What was happening to him? He had never before thought of Margaret like that. 2 hours ago he was conceiving on his mind how despicable she actually was. There is nothing despicable about her, was is current thought.

Andrew leaned forward very slowly, giving Margaret chance to anticipate his move. Her breathing got heavier and she closed her eyes, but didn't move. He's never looked at me that way before. His lips brushed hers, so lightly at first, careful to avoid her split lip, but more confident after a couple of seconds. Her lips were full and soft, and her face and her hair had a familiar scent.

She felt butterflies in her stomach, and her heart was pounding so hard on her chest that she feared he could feel it between them. When their lips parted, she flickered her eyes opened and unconsciously touched her bottom lip. Worry crossed his features. "Did I hurt you?"

"No… It's fine." She answered, a bit dazed. He studied her face carefully for any sign of fear or regret at his move, but was relieved when he saw a hint of a smile popping up in the corner of her lips. He stepped back from in front of her and busied himself with the kit. "I should…-" "Yeah, it's been a rough day, you should get some sleep. Guest room is first door on the right." She got up, locks of hair falling into her face. He could see her fidgeting, but she finally looked up and faced him. "I just want to- I-I really appreciate all this, Andrew." He nodded and smiled. "I'm right down the corridor, if you need anything." He told her meaningfully, and she gave him a small smile. "Thank you... Goodnight."

He watched her as she exited the kitchen and couldn't stop the smile that appeared on his lips.

She entered the guest room and closed the door, leaning her back against it. Her hand found her lip again, that still tingled after his touch.

A similar thought trespassed both of their minds: There may be something there that wasn't there before.

….

So this is it! I hope you enjoyed it! Leave your thoughts! Reviews keep me rolling!

See you soon!*

Maryana Snape