Title: 'You' Is Just Another Synonym

Show: OHSHC (though it's slightly AU)

Summary: Kyouya Ootori has a mission. Jane Walters is praying to all kinds of midday television it has nothing to do with her. Kyouya/OC. Slightly AU.

-x-x-x-

"He's downstairs," Fernand informed me, hands clamped down to his sides as he bowed his head ever so slightly. For a split second he's the image of a penguin. A handsomely dignified penguin - with his sharp black suit and slicked back grey hair - but a penguin, nonetheless.

I glanced up idly from my book, not needing to ask who 'he' is. The title itself bore an oppressive nature; a sudden onslaught of morbidness and politely suppressed anger over tea and biscuits. Pretty impressive, considering it is only a two-letter word.

I nod distractedly to Fernand, my butler, who stands unsure of himself in the doorway of my study. He shifts his weight from left to right.

"I know."

Fernand sighs. It's deep and it's low and it's wistful. He hesitates. Opens his mouth, then shuts it again. More hesitation. Seconds tick by.

"Perhaps you should-" he begins doubtfully.

"Go down to meet him?" I finish even more doubtfully, pretending to read my book, seemingly absorbed. But the trepidation is already settling down, and making itself rather comfortable, at that. "I'm sure five minutes won't kill him."

He isn't fooled by the bravado, the good man. An encouraging smile is sent my way. "If you like, I could stay in the background for moral support."

Now it's my turn to sigh. Reluctantly, I close Sons and Lovers and face the man who checked in on me as a child after my parents planted a goodnight kiss on my forehead, making sure they had forgotten nothing. Was I warm enough? Did I want something read? Had I had enough to drink? Then he would shuffle forward, planting his own goodnight kiss, the ends of his moustache tickling my cheek. I return the smile, not needing to fake the warmth that easily seeps through.

"Thank you, Fernand."

He appraises me for a small moment. Sometimes I wonder what he sees when he does that. "You haven't forgiven him," he finally says. It isn't a question.

My head shakes regretfully. I'm ashamed to admit it to him. "No," my voice is softer, more forlorn than I intended it to be, "I haven't."

He is agitated. His eyes are drawn over his shoulder, where no doubt, somewhere below, he is waiting impatiently. Perhaps scowling. No, probably scowling.

The kind, brown eyes return to me, beseeching. "One chance is all it takes, Jane." There is dull pain in his voice. Perhaps I have caused it, by my own innate stubbornness.

I understand what he is trying to say, and instinctively, I shy away from it. One chance? "Sir, I gave him plenty of chances, more than he even deserved, I believe."

"You can't undo the past, Jane, but the future is still within your means."

He is referring to what I believe he is referring to. The memory I had been trying to repress all along instantly springs to the surface, and with it my good temper vanishes. I try to push the memory down beneath me. No luck. One year ago. My father's office. Newly furnished and smelling of wood polish and ink. Mahogany. Everything is mahogany. That is, with the exception of Kyouya Ootori, who remains in my mind a distinct aura of grey.

We stand side by side, with an acceptable distance between us. I am eager. He is apathetic. All in all, nothing is out of the ordinary.

"Well children," my father begins, jovial and good natured as he addresses us. Kyouya flinches slightly at the term 'children,' but otherwise continues to keep his politely disinterested face towards father. "I must admit that you, Kyouya, have one of the most brilliant business minds I've come across. The sheer talent astounds me. Why your father hasn't scooped you up and used you to the full yet is beyond me."

Kyouya smiles tersely at the compliments, but otherwise stares blankly till father has no choice but to move on. So very surprising.

He turns to me, and smiles genuinely. I can't stop the smile that emerges in return. "And you, Jane, well, who would have been able to say last year that you would improve so quickly? This sudden burst of natural flair seems out of the blue, but is by no means unwelcome. I'm very proud, darling."

I fight down the small blush that threatens to take hold of me. "Well, er, that's very kind of you, sir."

He chuckles lightly. "Which is why I've decided to include you in Kyouya and I's latest business endeavour. We intend to begin negotiations with El Grandsoire International by tomorrow week."

My embarrassed smile blows up into a full grin before I can contain it. "Really?" I struggle to beat down my obvious enthusiasm. "I mean, uh, thank you. I'd be honoured." I don't stop grinning. Finally, finally the chance I've been waiting for - the tutoring, the endless hours spent studying when I should have otherwise been sleeping, the endless reports, the tedious meetings. Freedom is so close it's almost tangible. Nothing could swipe off the grin that seems permanently plastered to my face.

"With all due respect, I must object to this, sir."

His cool, smooth voice cuts through the air like a knife.

Well, nothing but Kyouya Ootori.

"What?I" I exclaim at the same time as my father's, "oh?"

Kyouya turns slowly to look me in the eye loftily, somehow still managing to look bored even when conversing. "I'm sure your daughter has improved remarkably, and I wish her well for it, but I don't believe she is experienced enough to embark on this particular endeavour. I would prefer for her to be discounted from the negotiations. From any part of the business dealings, for that matter."

I turn to my father, expecting him to defend his original decision only to find a contemplative look stretched across his broad face.

"Yes," he murmurs, half to himself, half to Kyouya, "yes. Perhaps you are right. Jane is awful young. Yes..."

"No!" I cry, praying my protest won't fall on deaf ears, "I'm every bit as capable as he is!"

Kyouya sighs irritably, shoving his condescending face in my general direction. "It's not a competition," he explains slowly as if rebuking a child, "it's merely a case of your being incapable of handling this deal with us. Besides, dealings with corporations like El Grandsoire can be dangerous if you're not careful. They're notorious for rash action if someone should get on their bad side."

"I'm aware of that," I snap at him, "and how can you know I'm incapable without letting my try, may I ask?" Fuming, I turn my body away from him, unable to stand his unrestrained arrogance.

"Jane," my father intercedes gently, laying a tentative hand on my arm, worry furrowing his greying brow. "Kyouya makes a valid point. I myself would not partake in these dealings if it were not necessary. I was foolish to think you would be guaranteed safety. To focus on finishing your studies must be the wise thing to do here. Perhaps you do need more time. You are but eighteen."

"Exactly. Three years older than when he," I jabbed my thumb towards Kyouya, who only frowned at the gesture, "went abroad on his first official business. How can he be old enough at fifteen and not I at eighteen?"

Kyouya answered for me without missing a beat. "It's obvious. My own talent was far more developed than your own even at fifteen." To my fury, he had the audacity to tack on, "no offence" at the end of the explanation, sending barely a lazy glance my way.

"Your ego is unbelievable," I gritted out between clenched teeth, "for someone who has to work with a neighbouring company because his own denies him the place. Has your father realised your capabilities yet? Or has the third son syndrome forever shielded his eyes from you?"

Whatever appearance of apathy Kyouya had been constructing then was lost. I had hit my mark. Something sparked in his grey eyes.

But then again, it might have been the light. Him having feelings was impossible.

"I work here because I want to," he emphasised slowly, barely restrained anger evident in his voice, "and because your father was kind enough to invite me."

I didn't bother to disguise my scoff. I was too fargone. Anger had let my tongue loose, and hang me if I wasn't going to use it. "Oh? I always thought it had something to do with the obnoxious amounts of money and undeserved glory you receive. I mean it's all you want, isn't it? The aspiration to become a no-faced, no-hearted, no-souled black suit. What else would anyone expect from a heartless, arrogant imbecile?"

Again. The disconcerting flash in his eyes. But before I could feel anything even close to guilt, it was gone, and he was snarling at me. A vicious hiss had entered his voice. "If you weren't such a reckless idiot all the time you wouldn't be throwing yourself away at any given opportunity. Can you just think before you assume you can do it? Because you can't! You can't!"

"Enough!" my father bellowed, smacking his hands down on the mahogany desk with a definitive thwack! "Enough, please!"

Both Kyouya and I jumped a little, so absorbed we were in ruining each other's confidence. I turned guiltily. Kyouya actually took it upon himself to appear vaguely humbled.

My father's anger dissipated then, and his hands left the table to dangle lifelessly by his sides. His sigh was tired, exasperated, disappointed. I gazed at the marble floor beneath my feet. "Why," he drew out the word in a mournful breath, "can't you just get along? Even as children all you would do is bicker. But this - this is too far. Please, sort this out - whatever this is. It pains me to see too young people I both esteem and treasure quarrel so." He had suddenly sounded ten years older.

I wearily glanced up at Kyouya, who was looking determinately ahead.

"I cannot," Kyouya said calmly, still staring ahead, "apologise for voicing things that are undeniably true."

My blood boiled. At that moment I wanted nothing more in the world than the pleasure of spitting on Kyouya Ootori.

Father sighed, but conceded. This, too, roused my anger. "If that's how you feel, I suppose I cannot force you to feel any different." He turned to look at me. I was forced to meet the same green eyes as my own. "But if you will allow me to have a private word with Jane, I would be greatly appreciative," he dismissed Kyouya quietly.

The twenty year old in question only inclined his head slightly, before gliding out of the study as if it had been his own original idea to leave. Typical.

I glared after him, then at the door he closed behind him, as if he would somehow feel my contempt burning through his back.

"Jane," my father's gentle voice turned my head, and we looked at each other for a few moments without speaking. I did not know what to say.

"I'll apologise to you, father," I finally said, "but I refuse to do the same for him."

He looked troubled and I felt ashamed of my own stubbornness. "Jane, I had hoped for you to come with us this time. I know it was your mother's greatest wish for you to be involved, and in turn, be close to me. She didn't want you to be left behind. I had hoped we could work together happily. But Jane, Kyouya did see flaws in the idea I had failed to take into account."

"Since when did he make all the decisions in this house? He considers himself entitled to everything. Like he can just waltz in here any moment and take your chair," I replied, injured and bitter.

Father frowned. "That's not true, Jane."

I kept my gaze on the photograph poised proudly on my father's desk. The woman was smiling, wavy dark hair tickling the scalp of the baby's head on her lap. I wondered if she would still stick to her word if she were with us today.

"She must have made a mistake. He's the epitome of arrogance, he's apathy personified. I just don't see it, father. I want out," I enunciated, my hands curling into tight fists, "I've said it again and again and again. Why isn't anyone listening?"

I heard his chair graze the floor as he stood to take my curled hands into his warm, rough grasp. When he spoke, his voice was as gentle as honey, and I knew he meant what he said. Still, I discarded it. "He deserves at least a little more time. We owe him that much. With time and patience, you may find something you weren't expecting to find."

I couldn't help but mutter, "you mean a cash register for a heart and a thief for a soul?"

"No, Jane," he rebuked me softly, mournfully. "I mean a man. You're always speaking of his arrogance and ego, but do you ever wonder of his continued business dealing with us? Surely he could make thousands, maybe even millions with other, more influential companies, and yet he applies his astounding skills here. I couldn't even say aloud the amount of good his charity has done for our company. It's simply too much."

"I-I never thought of that," came my clumsy answer. I made an effort to be somewhat diplomatic. For my father, at least. "I'll have to sleep on it."

He smiled at me encouragingly and I felt it had been worth it. He gently released my hands. "That's my girl. Why don't you send in Kyouya on your way out? And don't forget too soon what we spoke about."

I smiled at him warmly as I left and closed the heavy door behind me, but not before I heard him sigh, "oh, Josephine."

I found Kyouya in our living area, idly lazing on the white couch. He lifted his eyes to meet mine.

"So, the latest episode of self pity has finally concluded, then?"

And like that, I forgot what my father and I had discussed.

I ignored him haughtily as he got up fluidly in search of my father's study. He had almost disappeared around the corner as I called, "If you ask me, I'd say it's just beginning." His step faltered slightly, and his shoulders shook in what seemed to be a barely suppressed shudder.

And then he was gone.

"He's still downstairs," Fernand reminded me, bringing me back firmly to the present.

Shoving the book aside once and for all, I hauled myself up from the comfort of my well-padded desk chair, less than enthusiastic.

"Well," I hummed, brushing off my jeans in a vain attempt to straighten out my appearance, "best not keep his highness waiting." My face was grimly determined.

Further down the hall, there was a slow, low chuckle.

"That," came a painfully familiar voice from beyond Fernand, "would be very much appreciated."

I grimaced. What fun.

-x-x-x-

Inspired by 'Out of Lullabies.'

p.s. There's nothing like starting a new story and receiving a review on it. It's like cake. Review cake.