Chapter Text
Snow sifted down in a fine powder that crunched beneath Mabel Darcy’s boots and caught in the wispy, greying hair of her boyfriend. Her very real boyfriend of four months and sixteen days gave her hand a tight squeeze as he helped her out of his car and let the door shut tight behind her. At twenty year’s old she had yet to find much success in the love department; there had always been other things to prioritize, as there still was—but finally, university student and girlfriend of much older, successful gentleman, Mabel Darcy was in love and was loved in return!
At least, he promised that she was loved in return, he had said so three times already. First a month ago, in bed with his mouth buried against her neck and crisp button down pressed against her bare breasts as he skipped work and she skipped class so they could be together for the start of a long weekend. Next was just a week ago over the phone, after her last class before winter break, and after she had given him her Chipotle order as she was making her way from campus toward his flat that he had given her a key to enter whenever she liked. Then finally that morning as they’d awoken in the wrinkled pink sheets of her dormitory where they had fallen asleep with all the lights and electric on again, another night of Netflix and Chill turned into Netflix and Sleeping Fully Dressed.
Mabel had crawled out of bed first, leaving him to sleep a few moments longer while she turned the lights off before heading to the loo to pee and brush her teeth. Slipping out of the jeans that she’d stretched in the night, Mabel was comfortable in just her sweater and panties after having slept with the heat on. She took her reflected image in with a grim smile, sheet creases were prevalent on her round cheeks, her blonde wavy hair was all knotted, and she’d definitely gained weight during midterms. Shrugging those worries away, Mabel reached for her makeup bag. He’d called her out, multiple times, on dabbing little smears of foundation and mascara before he could see her fresh faced but Mabel applied the makeup anyways—more out of wanting to irritate him into commenting on how pretty she was with or without makeup than out of any insecurity around him.
“God darling, I’m sorry, I don’t even remember falling asleep last night.” He’d groaned from her bed, exaggeratedly rubbing his eyes. Mabel adored how he looked in the morning, all fluffy hair and relaxed eyes, somehow younger than he did at night but still the grumpy old bugger with whom she’d fallen in love.
“It’s fine, I was just about to wake you up when I fell asleep myself, actually.” She sank back onto the bed to crawl toward him, enjoying the pleasure that took over his features as she grew close enough for him to kiss her, pulling her to straddle his lap.
“I fear my age is rubbing off on you, Mabes.” With the ceiling lights off the room was doused in a serene, quiet grey that quite suited the man beneath her. Crow’s feet wrinkles were hidden by the thick-rimmed glasses that framed crystalline eyes, the grey of his hair was surprisingly soft as she ran her fingers through it, his thin lips puckered tenderly against her own eager ones.
“That’s not all that’s rubbing off on me…” An unsubtle grind of her hips pulled a low grunt from him that accompanied his hands gripping her arse.
“You minx, no wonder I’m so bloody gone on you…”
“So bloody gone on me? How romantic.” With faux annoyance she began slithering away, but he wouldn’t let her go far—he never did. Seemingly effortlessly, he slipped his hands around an ankle and wrist before tossing her back on the bed to press himself down on top of her with a look of mock menace.
“What do you want to hear, you attention-craving whore?” The sheets were still warm from their sleep and Mabel wriggled against them, body completely relaxed and sagging in his trusted hold. Then a cackle escaped her ribs as her wrists were trapped above her head and he, slightly breathless and panting with effort, began sucking kisses into her exposed throat,
“Do I not tell you often enough how completely in love with you I am, hm? Do you want to hear how you’ve changed my ways—gotten an old bugger of a playboy to settle down against his will?” His grin grew from teasing to positively devilish as he went on, “Tamed a wild beast with this magic box of yours!” At that, one of his hands slid down to find the damp silk between her legs, “Ah! I was correct, adoration and praise do do it for you!”
“Shut up, just fuck me!” Mabel thrust against him without any true attempt at escaping, too distracted by the feeling of his skilled fingers stroking over her heat.
“Not till you tell me that you love me too,” His fingers slipped past the silk, “that I’m your first and only,” The words murmured against the pounding pulse in her neck brought back memories of her first time and his sweet words that had coaxed her through it, “that you’ll never leave your geriatric love for a spring chick!” He’d pressed into her with the light filtering in from the window behind him, casting him in silhouette as Mabel desperately clung at the wrinkled shirt he still wore.
“Oh god, I love you! You know that I love you!”
--
Needless to say, they had been quite late in getting on the road that morning. Mabel had texted her mother with an apologetic text from the car, being sure to use multiple praying-hand-emojis to imply that she was praying for forgiveness. Her mother, the sweetest and most forgiving human on the planet, had sent back kissy faces and heart eyes that Mabel’s boyfriend had inexplicably laughed aloud at from his seat behind the wheel.
“We made good time, actually.” Mabel murmured to him as she wrapped her knuckles across the door of her childhood home. Her boyfriend murmured his agreement, holding the gifts that she’d packed and looking suddenly tense and nervous, “Don’t stress it, love, they’re going to love you.”
Her mother’s voice sounded from behind the door and Mabel could no longer pay attention to her nervous boyfriend—after all, it was he who had reassured her only an hour ago that in over fifty years on earth he had actually managed to charm a few parents of girls, so would Mabel please stop staring at him like that—
“Mabel!” Her mother’s grip was strong enough to pull her into the house so that she faced the outside, smiling apologetically at her boyfriend over her mum’s shoulder as she allowed herself to be squeezed.
“Mum!”
“Have you brought the boyfriend?” Mabel’s father’s voice floated in from the kitchen, where she imagined he was doing all of the cooking while her mother watched from her usual spot at the barstool near the kitchen island.
In one dangerously tight hug all of Mabel’s worries about university and her boyfriend and her internship and postgraduate school melted away. Her mum’s hugs were like magic, strangling magic, but magic nonetheless. The warm grip of her mum, the sound of her dad heading in from the kitchen, and the smell of Christmas dinner in the oven were enough to make her feel like a child at home again.
This overwhelming nostalgia was broken as soon as Bridget released to her daughter and turned to the man still standing on the doorstep,
“Oh! And Daniel, you look great! Mark didn’t tell me you were coming, it’s really been too long—oh and look, you’ve got gifts, you really must come inside-”
“Mum how do you know Daniel?”
“How do I know Daniel?”
Both blondes turned to the silver fox in question then, just as Mark Darcy appeared behind his wife and daughter—a look of joyed surprise breaking into a smile as he took in his old friend. They had made up months before Bridget and Mark had been married, before Bridget had had the baby even, before Daniel had left to take a broadcasting position in Australia for the next two decades.
“Daniel! You’re back, how was the bush?” The cheekiness in her father’s voice combined with the guilty way Daniel began pulling his chin back into his neck sent a rush of panic through Mabel, whose mother seemed to have already put the pieces together. As Mabel opened her mouth to ask for another clarification on how her parents knew her lover, Bridget beat her to the punch.
“Daniel Cleaver are you dating our daughter?”
“Mum!” Mabel’s scolding tone was ignored, all eyes pinned to the guest on the doorstep.
“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, Bridge…I’ve fallen in love with her.”
“You fuck!”
It was not the first time Mabel had seen her father lose his temper in her life. There was the time he had gotten into a screaming match with the father of a school bully when Mabel was only entering her second year of grade school, the time her father had shoved the father of the boy who had stood Mabel up for prom, and then there were countless times in her youth that she had sat in the backseat of his car and watched him quietly seethe over numerous indiscretions before bursting out with insults through gritted teeth while Bridget either vigorously agreed with loud bouts of cursing or rubbed his arm to soothe him. None of these moments compared to the sight of her father pushing past her to punch her boyfriend, Daniel Cleaver, in the face. On Daniel’s fall to the ground the gifts that Mabel had agonized over for weeks crumbled to the snow, their fall deafened by the resounding crunch of his body hitting the ground.
“Mark!” Bridget’s voice was lost over the sound of her daughter’s scream,
“Dad! Are you crazy?” Mabel could not help but to rush forward, stepping over the broken bottle of wine and Christmas biscuits, to get to Daniel who was clutching at his nose.
“Mabel get in the house this instant.” It was her father’s ‘no questions allowed’ voice, but Mabel paid him no mind as Daniel pulled his hand away to reveal blood gushing out of nostrils.
“Oh shit, Daniel you’re bleeding! He’s lucky he didn’t crack his head open, Dad!” Daniel was muttering as he pushed on his nose with both hands, blood dripping over his fingers and onto the charcoal tweed of his coat.
“He’ll wish he’d cracked his head open by the time I’m through with him. Mabel, get in the house!” Mark’s words came out in short bursts, as if each one was a struggle of self-control, as he stood with his fists clenched and pulse visibly throbbing at his jaw.
“Absolutely not! You’ve just decked my first proper boyfriend, we’re going home. Come on Daniel, sit up.” Awkwardly and without much success, Mabel wrapped Daniel’s arm around her shoulders and struggled into a squatting position, halfway on the path to standing.
“No, Mabel, don’t go home! Mark Darcy if she goes home you will be sleeping on the couch for the next-” Mabel paused, in utter shock as she watched her mother turn on her father—she’d never seen anything like it. Not that her mother blindly followed her father, quite the opposite really—they were always bickering—but Mabel had never won an argument with her father before, he was a lawyer after all.
“Bridget,” Mark seemed as if he was trying to explain simple addition to mental patients, “he’s dating our Mabel, you don’t know what this man is capable of.”
“I think I know as well as anyone what Daniel Cleaver is capable of, thank you very much. You weren’t the one who spent time in Thai prison because of him.” With that said Bridget Darcy looked past her husband and to her daughter who remained on the lawn, half squatting under the weight of her bleeding boyfriend, “Now come along Mabel, bring your horrible boyfriend into the house and get changed so we can have Christmas dinner.”
--
The sound of her parent’s fighting travelled up the stairs and into Mabel’s bedroom to fill her with guilt. They hardly ever fought this seriously, or this loudly. The young blonde sat on the bed, feet dangling over the edge in a manner that she would have never dared attempt as a child (due to the boogeyman who definitely lived under her bed), watching Daniel shove toilet paper up his nose in front of the bathroom mirror. It was odd to see him in her childhood bedroom, pastel pinks and yellows covered every inch of the bedroom and the bathroom was (embarrassingly enough) Disney princess themed, but it was even more odd to think of his relationship with her parents.
After he had gained the ability to walk after her father’s punch, they’d wobbled up the stairs and he’d relaxed on her bed while telling her the whole story: her father’s first wife, lying to mum about who had done the cheating, dating mum, her parents breaking up, a lawsuit over a fist fight that sent them through a restaurant window, mum and Daniel almost sleeping together in Thailand (then something about a prostitute that he brushed off too quickly for her to properly process), Thai prison for mum, and another public fist fight. It was a lot to take in, and so very dramatic, but Daniel didn’t press her as he washed away blood.
“Why didn’t you say something, Daniel? You know my last name, I mean you’ve seen me—there’s no mistaking I’m my mum’s daughter.”
“No, no there’s not.” Mabel seriously did NOT want to think about Daniel fucking mum, but there it was—an image she would never be able to erase.
He turned back to her, still heartbreakingly handsome even with wads of toilet paper shoved up his nose and skin still pink from the impact, and leaned against the doorway between bedroom and bathroom.
“So why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it might be weird for you.”
“Oh ta Daniel, this isn’t weird at all!”
They both remained still, staring at each other for a long while as the reality of the situation truly took hold of then. It was ridiculous, completely bloody bonkers. The sort of mad situation that could only take place in her family, she was sure. Mabel was the first to start laughing, first little giggles that bubbled into painful, sidesplitting laughter as Daniel collapsed on the bed next to her, chuckling as well.
Mabel sighed, rolling onto her side so that they were facing each other. His nostrils were stretched with toilet paper and nose all purple and swollen, it was going to be a nasty bruise—the indent of her father’s wedding ring was just at the top of Daniel’s right cheekbone, she wondered how he would explain that at work on Monday. Blue eyes sought her out, once the giggling at quieted a tentative silence fell between them as Mabel extended gentle fingers to stroke above his split lip.
“So, am I forgiven?” He was charming. It bothered her that she was so easily swayed by his posh voice and pleading eyes.
“Daniel Cleaver, you are an absolute dog.”
“I’ve been told, love. Don’t you think your father punching me is punishment enough for the breach of trust?” Inching closer, so that their noses brushed when Mabel tilted her head down into the blanket.
“I dunno,” It was muffled by material, “how did you think this was going to play out? Maybe my parents would die by the time we knocked on the door or what?”
Daniel laughed too much at her joke as an extension of his apology but did not offer a real answer. She peaked her head up from the blanket, allowing him to cradle her face in her grip. There was no doubting that she had already forgiven him, she loved him.
“Now tell me Mabes, do you ever think you’ll find a shag as good as me? Or a boy as considerate as me? Be honest,” At this she rolled her eyes but nodded her agreement, accepting the chaste kiss that he pressed to her forehead, “would you ever want to let me go?”
“No,” Mabel yawned, allowing her body to slink closer to his warm body. The way her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin was further confirmation that supported her idea that they were meant to be together, the easy way he wrapped his arms around her were just a bonus. To be in her childhood room but not feel like she was home until Daniel pressed a kiss to the top of her head made her heart stutter and ache with the bittersweet pain that was leaving behind childhood, “No, I don’t ever want to let you go.”
--
Dinner was a quiet affair. It was obvious that Bridget had threatened something drastic enough to make Mark sit in silence, grinding his teeth and overeating to keep his mouth too full to answer any of Daniel’s numerous responses on what the Darcy’s had been up to in the last twenty years since he had last seen them. Bridget fielded those questions with ease, answering each one with just enough politeness not to seem rude before turning the conversation back to Mabel and Mabel’s schooling. It was rather tiring to keep up with while trying to eat.
Daniel would try, “So, Mark, why did you give up the house in the city?”
And Mark would take a big bite of the turkey, which had ended up being over cooked, providing an awkward moment of silence before Bridget could swoop in,
“When Mabel was born we thought the suburbs were a better atmosphere to raise a baby. Now Mabel, how did your sociology midterm go?”
Then Mabel would give a much longer answer than necessary. And repeat, until the food was gone and Mark dismissed himself into his study.
“I’m going to go grab a shower, love, if you don’t mind.” Daniel exited with a slight wink and awkward wave to Mabel’s mum before taking the stairs two by two.
“You know,” Bridget spoke as she washed the dishes and Mabel dried them with the same rag they’d been using since she was a baby, “if your father didn’t know Daniel he’d most likely approve—well, he’d probably still have a bit of a problem with his age, mind you—but Daniel’s a good man, he’s grown a lot since we first met him. Deep down, I think your dad knows that.”
Mabel was surprised by this freely given praise, by her mum’s sudden ease to adjust to change.
“I doubt dad would ever say that, though.” Mabel said, shrugging with the heaviness of the idea of her father hating the man that could very well sire his grandchildren.
“Oh your dad has a funny way of coming around when it comes to Daniel, you’ll see.”
“Why’re you telling me this? Mum, if anyone should be mad at him it should be you—you said so yourself, and Daniel told me what he did to you, that was horrible, I had no idea-”
“Oh Mabel, don’t be silly.” Bridget turned the sink off to fully face her daughter, who reminded her so much of herself sometimes it scared her. It wasn’t just in looks that they were similar, though that too was eerie, but the strong jut of her chin and confident height in her shoulders.
“If you really do love Daniel, and I can see you do care about him, don’t let something as silly as your father or a relationship that happened over twenty-five years ago stop you from getting him. Your dad will come around, you just make sure that you’re happy. That’s all we really want, love.”
--
By the time Mabel had made it back upstairs Daniel was already in bed with the lights off, not snoring but laying quiet enough that she could assume he wasn’t in the mood for much discussion. Probably had a splitting headache, too. When she showered and had slipped into one of his oversized shirts and boxers, the bathroom light slipped across the room and poured in a sharp triangle onto Daniel’s slumbering figure. He stirred even after she’d clicked the door shut and turned toward her at the shift of her weight joining him on the bed.
“Hi.” In their flats they never whispered, even late at night when his neighbors could surely hear them in full discussion they didn’t lower their voices, Mabel couldn’t get herself to—she loved talking to him, it was one of her favorite things to do, and to hear his silken voice in response…
“Love? Where’d you go?” His whisper was hoarse, gravelly with sleep and exhaustion.
“I’m here.” Kissing him was more natural than swimming might have been at that point in her life, he tilted her chin at the perfect angle, their noses brush in the most alluring ways.
“All good?”
“All good.” Her response was nearly upstaged by the rustling of bedsheets and pajamas as she shifted, rolling her weight onto her side so she could tuck her body against him with her head pressed onto his chest. Tossing her leg across his body gave him access to slide his hand down her back, eagerly grabbing hold of her bum with an appreciative grip.
“Can I ask you something, Daniel?”
“Uh oh.”
Her eyes were closed but it was not hard to picture the look of dread he was pulling, always with the drama with Daniel Cleaver.
“Was I competing with my mum at first? Was this some sort of sick-”
“Mabes, stop. No, for fuck’s sake.” But he wasn’t annoyed as he sounded, not even a little. The hand at her arse moved up to stroke through her hair, over and over again, fingers dancing against her back with each slide. Pulse loud under her head, she listened to the thick sound of the beat, beat, beat, beat that was near rocking her to sleep when a sudden thought jolted her awake.
“Oh Christ, what now?”
“You once asked me if I called my father daddy, and then asked if I could call you daddy-”
His chuckles rocked her head, lulling her body as he shook—ribs contracting beneath her as Daniel struggled not to awaken her parents who slept just across the hall. That thought sent him into another fit of laughter, the need not to laugh only worsened the situation until Mabel sat up in bed and watched her middle aged boyfriend cry through silent chuckles. Eyes squeezed tight and room dark, she would have never guessed his age if she hadn’t known him before then.
“What’s so funny?” She finally asked, after shoving a pillow into the density of his chest, “You’re the one who wanted to hear it, daddy.”
“Fuck, please don’t! Not with your real arsehole of a dad just across the hall waiting to kick my ass.”
This was a game Mabel liked very much, it was the game that had gotten them together—the game of forbidden romance. She had only thought that their relationship was forbidden because he was the Executive Producer of the broadcasting company she was interning at, if only he had shared the true extremity of their forbidden situation. Encouraged by his amusement, Mabel was quick to slip her hand onto his chest and lean over him. The intimacy of her movements finally stilled his body, which shivered at the sensation of her breasts brushing his chest while she dipped down to press a salacious kiss into the crest of his collarbone. From that close she could see his darkening age spots and feel the rapid thrumming of heat beneath his shirt.
“What’s wrong, daddy? I thought you wanted me.” Their lips met in the blackness, hers plump and teasing against his chapped, thin ones.
“Christ, Mabel. Not now. Are you bloody crazy? Your parents are—shit!” His reasoning fell apart when a tight hand wrapped itself around him.
“Quiet, daddy, or you’ll wake my parents.”
“OH fucking hell.”
--
“Is there anything I could have done to change this?” Mark Darcy asked as he closed the trunk of Daniel Cleaver’s car, locking his daughter’s luggage into position.
“Absolutely not, dad. I mean, this has absolutely nothing to do with you, really.”
The snow came down heavier that day than it had all of winter break. The New Year started in just a few hours and Daniel was dragging her along to a broadcasting party, they had no time for her grandma’s turkey curry buffet—for which Mabel was incredibly grateful. Her father was already in his horrendously festive reindeer jumper, patiently searching his daughter’s eyes for some sort of hint or explanation for Daniel Cleaver. Honestly, Mabel reasoned with herself, she wished she had an explanation for him too.
“Should I be worried about the age difference—is this a hint about me working too much, was I not around to give you the older male attention that you need? Are you filling a void? You know that I’m in the city all the time, Mabel, I’d be more than happy-”
“Dad, please.” Mabel laughed and set her hands on her father’s long arms, squeezing the muscles there with a bright smile, “I don’t need to hear mum’s theories on this one, alright?” Her dad smiled at that, a guilty one that was complemented by a pinkish blush that should not have looked so sweet on a man of his age, “Thanks dad, I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetie. No matter what.” Mabel nodded, finally stepping away from her dad and sliding into the warm car with a sigh of relief from the cold.
She and Daniel waved as they pulled away, the image of Mark Darcy standing in the driveway seemed frozen until he was just a dot on the porch. Daniel had the radio on some inane jolly channel but didn’t hum along, even at his age he seemed too cool for Christmas cheer, though he exuded happiness. Mabel reached out to graze a patch of hair above his ear,
“I think this bit whitened in your sleep.”
“I would like to blame the stress of the weekend.”
“Not your old age?” Mabel teased as she stretched her legs out onto the dashboard.
“You love my old age.”
“I do,” She conceded without a fight, just to see the dimples that appeared when he smiled at her acceptance, “my father doesn’t so much, but I do.”
“Speaking of your father, do you want to hear something funny?”
They rolled past Bridget’s mum and dad’s house, Mabel pointed out the village with a finger stubbed against the foggy glass. Daniel’s comments were rehearsed, polite, it was clear he was waiting to see if he had piqued her interest. Of course he had, he always did.
“Alright what’s funny?”
“Listen, I’ve shagged your dad’s ex-wife, wife, and daughter. All that’s left is dear old mummy Darcy, off to grandmother’s house we go!”
“Ugh! You’re disgusting!” But she was laughing at the vulgarity, horrified that she could find the idea of sharing him with all of those people, but incapable of being angry about a past that had occurred before she was born. She still loved the man after all, even if he was a complete and utter arsehole almost all of the time.
“What’re you thinking?” Daniel pressed at her silence, eyes flitting between her and the road.
“Just drive, handsome. I’ll tell you when we get home.”