Chapter Text
Vincent keeps tabs on the people coming in and out of his workplace to a methodical, neurotic degree. Intern and anchor alike. A new hire was a new hire, and posed either a new someone to push around or a new threat.
While he may just be a lowly weather man, you’re still not fetching anyone coffee, you’ve got nothing in your hands- so you’re not one of Rob’s new assistants. Really- Vincent was beginning to think the man had a serious problem; hiring any pretty young thing that looked at him like a wet kitten in desperate need of a father figure.
You’re not dolled up like a movie star awaiting her debut, or her five minutes of fame on the newsreel. You, whoever you are, are dressed in something simple and dark and clearly worn even at a distance- hair pulled up and back, prim and proper and clean.
“Who’s that?”
That’s what Vincent asks as he slides against the edge of Oscar’s shiny, shiny desk. Twirls his pointer until the little lightning bolt is pointing directly towards where you’re half-hidden in the shadow of the main camera.
Someone taps your shoulder and you turn around again, his view of your youthful face turning into the back of your head in an instant.
From the glimpse he got, you’re an absolutely gorgeous sight. Not just a cute little piece of tail- not just pretty. No, no. There’s something- something alluring about the way you hold yourself. About the way you move with ease flitting about the edge of the spotlights like a nervous moth, drawn to the light but uncertain of it all the same. Despite your drab attire, your simple hair, your careful- methodical and boring movements to make yourself all the smaller… Despite all of your attempts to project the contrary, something about you shines.
Whether it be base lust or simple curiosity, Vincent finds his eye caught- pulled in by the mystery.
Unfortunately his attention is split when Oscar stops his heavy-footed pacing and instead chooses to lean against the edge of the desk with him. Coffee mug in hand, shoulder almost brushing his- and brilliant blue eyes tracking the line of his sight to the woman in question.
This is the closest to easy camaraderie they’ve ever gotten and probably will ever get, Vincent thinks. An idle thought. It’s not least of all because Vincent can’t stand Oscar’s guts on a typical day. He certainly can’t stand him when he’s leering at you- whoever you are- from underneath the spotlight that should- that would- be Vincent’s. One day. One day soon. He just needed-
“No clue. Looks like she’s a new cog in the camera crew but damned if I know why-” Oscar’s voice dips a little in a sneer, “or who she is… or where Benny’s gotten off to in order to ask him what the hell he’s thinking hiring a dish like that to work the damn cameras…”
“Did you attempt to… ask her?” Vincent asks, dryly- fiddling idly with the lightning bolt on the end of his weather pointer. Twisting it around and around the sharp end of the stick.
It probably wouldn’t occur to ol’ Obtuse Oscar to ask for your name. The oaf. Although a handsome oaf, though, so of course- of course- everybody just adored him to bits and pieces. Got the whole damn studio wrapped around his pinkie finger and so of course- of course- he shouldn’t even have to make an effort eve-
“Yeah, yeah. What do you take me for, Vince?”
Vincent’s teeth grit at the nickname- suspects that’s why Oscar uses it so casually.
“I tried askin’, sweet talking, the whole nine yards and then some. Can’t get her to say a word to me.”
“A woman of taste, clearly.” That’s what Vincent thinks. What he ends up saying is only slightly more polite.
“Maybe you’re not her type.”
Oscar frowns at him moments before he starts to cackle, loud and unmistakably sour. That picture perfect grin that charmed thousands widens, all teeth and yet so terribly fragile at the same time.
“Think you can do any better, Vincey?” He reaches over and gives him a harsh shove, playing at a friendly nudge- that’s what everyone else would think because clearly Oscar had not one horrible bone in his handsome body.
As it stands, the “playful” shove sends Vincent completely off balance, nearly to the floor.
Vincent fumes- nearly slipping into the ground when he falls off the edge of the desk. Glasses askew he bats Oscar’s hand away insistantly. “Hey- Damnit Oscar!”
“Go on then! Work your magic, weather boy.”
Oscar’s grin is apparent even before Vincent fixes his glasses so he can see the smarmy bastard and his shit eating grin in high definition.
He doesn’t pay his fury any mind, sly like a cat, as he moves around the edge of the shiny news desk, drops down into the all important chair and props his head up on his chin- makes a go force motion with his free hand.
Vincent’s scowl deepens. He’d show him one of these days and… maybe today is that day. In a very small, very petty way… but it would soothe his hurt pride an inch.
So he strides over, confidence manifested- the spotlight warm on his back as he blocks your view of Oscar’s demeaning grin.
“I haven’t seen you around before- welcome to the studio.” He offers you his hand with a dramatic flourish and a smile swathed in the shadows of the backstage. “I’m Vincent. Vincent Whittman. I’m the weather man, as I’m sure you already know.”
Your delicate hands move away from the cameras, perched on a stool to reach them more easily. You're about his height when you turn to greet him- a bit taller, actually- due to this.
Instead of falling at his feet, you tilt your head down to look him dead in the eye, and slowly raise an eyebrow. Quite the look for someone hiding behind the cameras instead of on it… especially with eyes so soulful. Distrustful, for sure, but your eyes were searching his for something all the same. He doesn’t think you bother to blink- such is the intensity of your stare but you still don’t immediately reach for his hand. It leaves no doubt that you’re paying attention. To him. Specifically.
Vincent finds that he likes that look quite a bit, the weight of it settles easily on his shoulders- almost comforting to be seen.
With a little sigh, you relent and reach out to shake his hand- he brings it to his mouth, much to your uncertainty with the way your eyebrows knit together and your mouth pops open.
You wobble on the top step as he plants an awkward little kiss on your knuckles but you don’t pull away.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”
You don’t respond, merely smile at him thinly- as though not sure what to think but grasping at a polite response. With hesitation, you fumble with a pocketsized notepad that you present to him.
Vincent adjusts his glasses, squints in the darkness until he can read the word printed upon the cover.
“Right, right... lovely to meet you, miss… uh…” He notices the way your mouth twitches in an almost smile. “You know, I wasn’t aware of any new hires… what are you meant to be doing here, hm?”
You point to the main camera with your thumb over your shoulder.
“You’d have me guess what you’re doing? Alright, alright. Let’s see… uh…” Vincent finally let your hand go. Not without some reluctance- watches you smooth out your blouse with it and straighten yourself up again with careful precision. As graceful as a cat and twice as beautiful, but the hard won almost smile is gone again as he continues to speak. “You must be one of the new co-anchors, am I right? Old Nancy’s got her work cut out for her if you’re gunning for her chair.”
Even though the suggestion is playful- flattering! Given that it was clearly the wrong assumption- but all the same the briefest flashes of jealousy sparks to life in his chest.
It doesn’t last more than a moment, it gets smothered by your immediate reaction.
You don’t fluster, in fact- you might’ve gotten a bit paler at the suggestion. You shake your head from side to side sharply as an indicator that he’s got that much wrong. You point your thumb towards the camera with more forceful insistence while wearing an expression similar to one he might see after suggesting to someone who couldn’t swim to jump into the deep end of a pool...
“You can’t be serious.” He says, slowly, his concerns ebbing as he spins fallacies into flirtation. “Someone as pretty as you would absolutely wreck the ratings, absolutely shatter the glass ceiling she’d rise so fast.”
Shaking your head again with a bit of franticness, nose scrunching and embarrassment shining in the way the corners of your eyes pinch in a squint.
So you’re not one for the spotlight. Got it, got it. You take a step back, down the step- in heels, of all things, that seems a tad unstable but- you step away from him.
You step away from him and Vincent follows, shamefully desperate. Just one word. All he needed was one. A yes, preferably, but just one word-
“You know what? That’s alright, dove. You don’t gotta talk but I insist that you let me take you to dinner tonight.” He grins, musters up every ounce of charm he’s got while swings his pointer with a flourish. A change of tactics, that’ll work. Definitely. Sure. He’s intuitive, isn’t he? Unlike some people he knows.
The corner of your mouth turns up slightly, almost despite yourself. You still shake your head in a negative answer but that’s not a problem at all.
“Now, now. I insist. You won’t have to say a thing at all, promise.” He smiles, and smiles wide. “I’ll do all the talking, that’s my guarantee."
You open your mouth, close it- start to snicker. An actual genuine sound other than your breathing, the way your clothes shift, the voices of the crew skittering about back here like spiders. One of your hands comes up to smother the expression that lights up your face like a damn spotlight, your eyes glint like half-moons at him in the darkness.
A squirming, anxious feeling settles in his gut, and his smile wavers.
“W-what’s so funn-?”
He- Vincent Whittman- stuttering over some-! What the fuck-
Just when he thinks this humiliation can’t get any worse you open your mouth and-
“Hey, hon. Honey! Get your tail over here- I need you back in bay, there’s somethin’ smokin’ and-”
Benny, resident harinjay and big boss of the crew appears almost by magic to interrupt Vincent’s best attempts at snagging the silent songbird for himself. With his doughy eyes and pot belly and all… the old man sighs as though he’s witnessing yet another meltdown in the process before the sigh turns into shouting. At him. Him!
Vincent is appalled at the gall-
“Vincent! You let the new gal be. She’s got work to do- and close your damn mouth, what are you, a teenager?” Benny snorts, loud and obnoxious- full of phlegm- before he claps his hands harshly in Vincent’s direction. “C’mon, chop, chop- move it on outta here.”
To make matters worse, your mouth snaps shut with a painfully audible click as your teeth nash. You scurry- you flee- to catch up with your… Vincent guesses Benny must be your supervisor? Whatever. It doesn’t matter, you’re clearly grateful for the excuse to leave him behind…
He can’t help but think your attention slips through his fingers like smoke, imperceptible and hazy and he’s surprised that he feels the absence so keenly even before he hears laughter.
Oscar’s laughter is at his back, and even if the idiot had stopped paying attention- was laughing at something Nancy has said, maybe- it was just a taste of what was to come and that made him furious beyond-
The thought stops when you turn to look over your shoulder as you walk- eyes searching- but when you meet his eye you stop. At that moment he thinks you’ll call out to him. You don’t, of course, you merely watch him for as long as it takes you to walk to the curtain held up for you by Benny’s meaty fist. You duck under his arm and melt into the deeper shadows illuminated only by blinking lights and the ends of cigarettes, as though you’d never been standing in front of him to begin with.
Distracted, Vincent doesn’t notice another crew rat sneaking up on him- he guffaws when they whack his shoulder with the back of their knuckles when he almost leans against the main camera in his stupor. They then proceed to chase him from the cusp of the backstage back to his teeny, tiny insignificant corner of the spotlight.
With an irritated huff, Vincent smooths out his lapel- brushes invisible dirt and dust from the sharp lines of his shoulders. All the while turning you over in his mind.
The irritation ebbs and is instead replaced with… determination.
Great, great. Fantastic. He just had to play the long game! That… that he could do. God only knew he could play the damned long game… but he’d have you in the end, and everything else he’s ever wanted, no doubt about that… but first… First he’d be dealing with Oscar. The oaf had seniority, after all, and deserved it. Of course he did, didn’t he? He was the golden boy, after all.
As it turns out, though, the frustratingly long game chasing you that he’d anticipated wasn’t all that long. Entirely out of his hands, something he didn’t like one bit, but hey- your approach wasn’t half bad. Bizarre, maybe- and that only made him more curious.
When the lunch hour was beginning for about half of the cast and crew, you sweep in through the crowd- one little fish swimming against the entire school with not a care in the world. Right there in front of Oscar fucking Armstrong, you, the littlest of the crew rats, stand before him and have the audacity to fold a note into Vincent’s hand with a very- very self-satisfied smile and a wink. Er- at least an attempt at a wink.
Awkward though it may be, he’s… endeared? Is that what this feeling is? Endearment? You’re a disaster waiting to happen when it comes to a social gathering, clearly and obviously, but aren’t you just adorable making a go of it? And all for him, for his attention?
“See you tonight, Vincent.” You say with quiet, gentle cadence- whisper soft but it’s not shy. Just… deliberately quiet. Almost intimate and by God, everyone actually shut their traps long enough for not only him to hear it, but everyone else- which makes it sound all the louder. A thunderclap and just as dangerous. It may just be wishful thinking on his part but damn him if it doesn’t sound like you’ve put an almost purring spin on his name that makes him flush.
What he’d do to- he’s- he’s head over fucking heels, maybe? Maybe that’s why his chest feels so tight all of a sudden while his heart hammers against his ribs and he can’t find the words to respond before you’ve escaped. Again. You must think you’re so good at slipping away, huh? Well he’ll just have to show you- he’s not going to let you slip through his fingers a third time, that's for sure.
Vincent watches you sashay away without a clever word, long black skirt swishing and heels clicking. Everyone gets out of your way all of a sudden. If you’re bewildered by it, you don’t stop to ponder it.
His ears pick up on the abundance of gasps, whistles and ‘atta boys!’ as he stares, stupidly, at where you were just standing. When he looks up, his eyes find the next best thing to you- Oscar's handsome face is twisted into an expression both flabberghasted and horrified all at once.
Judging by the way Oscar’s jaw has dropped and the way his face goes entirely sickly pale, a damn ghost in disguise of a man, Vincent assumes that this is the first time in Oscar’s life that he lost a battle for something he wanted.
That was a reward in and of itself, to knock that bastard down a peg and rub it in his nose, but the thought of having you all to himself too? Perfection, and cerrtainly, that's everything that Vincent deserved and then some.