Characters: Gray, his parents, his sister Suzette, and the help.
Setting: 2000, winter. 2010, winter. The LeClair House, Montreal.
Content: (NSFW language and sexual references.)
Summary: Gray remembers an important loss, and then is a complete dick about it.


"Who is she, Arnaud?" Sophie LeClair's voice echoed from downstairs. It was soon followed by a crash, and another. So sudden was the noise, Gregoire stirred from his sleep. He sat bolt-upright, as if woken from a nightmare, his breath heavy. It was dark, which was nerve-wracking, unfamiliar-- but quickly made familiar by the fighting downstairs.

"Non, Sophie-- there is no 'she'! Why are you being like this?" He could hear the echo of his father's voice in the kitchen. He sounded tired, strained.

Gregoire sat alone in silence, sitting in the darkness, just listening. What else could he do? He was only seven years old.

"Don't lie to me, you bastard! I can smell that whore on you!" Another crash. "Tell me, is she a witch? Does it bother you so much that you have to share living quarters with a muggle?"

"Sophie please--"

Gregoire tried his best to tune them out. He sighed, wrapping his blankets around him and scooting off his bed and over to the window. The bay window was inset into the wall, with cushions that allowed for one to comfortably sit for a long period of time. It was a bit drafty, but it was worth the view down the hill.

Tonight, it was particularly beautiful. Snow was coming down so thickly, he could barely see down to the next house. He sat, leaned against the window, watching the glass fog with his breath. The snow made it all better, it had a certain magic of its own that rivalled the magic of man. Even if only for a little while.

Another crash rang out in the kitchen.

"Sophie! Don't, please! Where are you going?"

"Away from you, you-- you monster. I hope you rot in hell!"

The front door slammed, and Gregoire sat straight up, straining to see if his mother had gone. After a heart-wrenching moment of confusion, he could make her out in the snow, her father following close behind. He watched as Arnaud tried to grab her arm, and she turned on him, striking him across the face with the back of her hand.

Gregoire's own hand stretched out, flat against the pane of glass, as if he could stop it all from happening. But he was helpless. They were all helpless. He could do nothing but just watch his parents' marriage fall apart.

Arnaud stumbled backward, landing awkwardly in a snowbank in front of their door.

"Stay away from me," Her voice was muffled by snow and glass, but it rang out clearly in Gregoire's ears. In fact, the ringing wouldn't stop, and what had sounded like faint ringing a moment before become a shrill, overpowering screech. He covered his ears, but it got louder.

His eyes locked with his mother's. Even from outside her eyes were a brilliant blue that he didn't quite remember. The ringing became louder still, clanging in his ear-drums as if someone were screaming in his ears.
--

Gray sat bolt-upright in his bed, his breath coming in in short startled gasps. It took him a moment to get ahold of his bearings. He was in his old room, not at school. It was almost Christmas. The years poured back into his memory as he became more and more aware of his surroundings, his breath slowing, calming.

It had been just a dream. It was real, but it was a dream. It had been a decade since Sophie LeClair walked out on his father. Out on them. That was a long time ago. A whole other life.

"Is everything alright, Monsieur LeClair?" A woman's voice purred from next to him in French, smooth and thick with a certain familiar satisfaction. It made him feel a little queasy. Maybe that was just the hangover kicking in.

Gray turned to look at the woman in bed next to him. A brunette with amber-coloured eyes and possibly the most glorious tits he had seen on a woman for quite a long time. Her name was Daphne, he thought. She was the new hired help-- being that the last maid was his father's current fixation, and they'd both run off to the islands for the holidays.

Daphne snaked an arm around up Gray's side; the bare touch of her skin on his recalling vague whiskey-soaked memories of the night before.

"Did we--?" He smirked despite himself, remembering that Daphne was intensely flexible. "Nevermind."

"It's snowing." She nodded to him, smirking. Sitting up, she wrapped her arm around his waist, said glorious tits pressing against his arm and his back as she leaned against him.

Gray had never enjoyed smothering hugs, even from devastatingly gorgeous women with perfect tits. He fought not to pull away from her and lost, slipping out of bed almost as quickly as he'd woken and walking over to the bay window.

The snow was so thick he could barely see the house across the way. Just like that night. Where had she gone? Why didn't she return? Was it really so terrible that she had to cut off all contact with them? Couldn't she just let them know if she was okay?

Was she dead?

This was all he could think about. Gray sighed, running his hands through his hair, knowing full well that there were better things he could be worrying about than his mother when he had a hot, naked woman in his room. He could only do something about one of those things.

But he just didn't feel up to it anymore.

Daphne, it seems, didn't get the hint. Her arms snaking around his waist, she wasted no time, dragging her lips across his shoulder in what would have been a line of long, drawn-out kisses. He frowned, leaning away from her, disgust clear on his face.

"Don't you have some chores to do or something?"

She laughed as if he was joking, but he met this with an insistent eyebrow raise. It should have been immediately obvious.

"But--what about--" A shock of cold realization passed over her face.

"What about it?" Gray said matter-of-factly. His expression was bland. "What did you think this was?"

"We just-- you just--"

"And? My father is really particular as to the standard he likes this house to be maintained. He's fired people for less."

"But-- He can't-- you can't--"

"He would."

"That's against the law!"

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be fucking your boss's son, either." Gray snorted, watching her face pass from confusion to anger, to one that looked vaguely like humiliation. It wasn't his problem. He ignored her as she gathered her clothes together and ran from the room, leaving him to his thoughts.

Alone for Christmas.

That was just a fact of life. Maybe he was better off. Maybe everyone else was better off without him.

He stared out the window for a few more minutes, watching Daphne storm from the house. She looked like she was crying. Which only felt appropriate. She was better off, he rationalized. A fuck-up now would save her a life-time of heartbreak.

Not that he would marry Daphne. He always had other ideas when it came to marriage. Another girl, if he could just get his act together. His mobile rang, and he scrambled to answer it, not recognizing the number. Maybe it was--

"Baby?" Gray questioned, without really thinking about it.

"Who the fuck are you calling baby, you dick?" His sister's voice was shrill on the other side of the line. "--And what the fuck did you do to Daisy? --And close your fucking blinds, you fuckhead, you look like a fucking twig."

…Who the hell was Daisy?

Tags: !complete, gregoire leclair