Showtime, Non-Stop: lawyer!au

Lyric Alley: "I've been living without a family since I was a child."

Hamilton Mania, disobeying a parent: parent&child (circumstance)

Hunger Games, training round: any AU

Word Count: 1085

"There's a woman out here who wants to see you, Mr. Zabini." His secretary pokes her head into his office, her pale cheeks flooding with a soft pink.

Blaise glances at his appointment book for a moment before turning his gaze to the clock on the wall. "I don't have anything scheduled at this time," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "Tell her to make an appointment, Natalie."

He expects her to nod and hurry off, ever the docile like thing that she is. Instead, she remains in the doorway, her bright blue eyes fixed upon him. After a stretch of silence, she clears her throat. "Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise resists the urge to roll his eyes. He reminds himself that he's a lawyer now, and he he has to remain professional. Giving in to childish habits would be unacceptable, so he offers her a stiff, impatient smile. "Yes?"

"She, uh… She says she's your mother. Shall I send her away?"

Blaise swears under his breath, shaking his head. He stares blankly at her, waiting for her to laugh and tell him she's only joking, but her expression remains unchanged. He leans back in his chair, exhaling heavily. "Send her in."

Isadora Zabini looks as though she hasn't aged a day, though it's been at least a decade since Blaise has seen his mother. She carries herself with that familiar regal air, and she narrows her eyes at Natalie as she passes, as though the secretary is something disgusting stuck to the sole of her shoe. When she looks at Blaise, however, her perfectly painted red lips tug into a bright, pearly smile. "Look at you," she says fondly, crossing the room in just a few quick strides. She reaches out and pats his cheek. "My son, the lawyer."

"Hello, Mother," he says dryly, leaning back in his chair and gesturing at the empty one next to her. "Sit."

Her lips purse. With a huff, she takes her seat, neatly crossing her ankles. "Is that any way to greet your mother?" she demands.

"Given the circumstances of our relationship, I would say so. What can I do for you?"

"Circumstances? Who the hell do you think paid for you to go to law school?" Her nostrils flare, and she glares at him as though daring him to contradict her.

Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing behind his temples. His mother has always had that effect on him. He wants to point out that paying his tuition doesn't make up for her absence during his childhood. She had been too busy entertaining one rich husband after another to even remember she had a son. At age eight, he had finally learned that his nanny was not actually his mother.

But he doesn't want to rehash that now. They've been in the same room for nearly five minutes without incident; if possible, he would like to keep it that way. God knows there have never been enough good days between them. "You look well, Mother," he says. "They might believe you're my sister."

His flattery seems to do the trick. His mother smiles, her posture relaxing. "You really think so?" she asks, plucking an ornate, golden compact mirror from her handbag and opening it, examining her reflection before returning her attention back to him. "Have you been keeping up with the news?"

Blaise shakes his head. Since leaving for London all those years ago, he hasn't bothered trying to follow the gossip of his childhood hometown.

"Well, my husband passed away. Heart attack, the poor little lamb."

His brows raise. "Quite a coincidence. How many husbands have had heart attacks now?" he asks.

She returns the mirror to her purse, tension returning to her body. "Don't get smart with me, boy."

"Why not? Wasn't the whole point of law school to become smarter?" His lips tug into a proud smirk.

"So quick witted."

"I admit it," he chuckles. "What seems to be the problem? Or were you here to ask for help arranging Number Nine's—"

"Seven!"

"—funeral?"

His mother sighs heavily. "I was arrested for his murder," she hisses. "Me! A Zabini! You can imagine the scandal."

If he's honest, Blaise would have given anything to see the arrest. His mother has never been the nicest person; she has always thrown around their surname like it made them gods.

He taps his fingers impatiently against the polished mahogany desk, fighting the urge to smile. It's amazing it's taken the authorities this long to catch onto what's been happening since before he had been born. His own father had been the unfortunate Number Three. It hadn't taken Blaise long to realize that his stepfathers all had one thing in common—each one had been filthy rich and had listed Isadora Zabini as their beneficiary. At age sixteen, after Number Five had died unexpectedly, Blaise had discovered her stash of ominous glass vials, and he had put two and two together.

"I need you to defend me."

"I don't defend guilty clients anymore," he says. "Lucius Malfoy was my last one."

"I'm your mother, not a bloody mobster like Malfoy."

"Whenever it's convenient," he counters. "I had to grow up without you or a father! Don't you dare come to me now and act like you're in the running for mother of the year!"

His words don't even seem to faze her, but he's hardly surprised. Selfish and conceited as she is, insults only seem to roll off her. "You would deny your poor mother?" she asks, her tone softening though there's nothing short of hatred in her golden brown eyes. "If I'm convicted, I'm dead, darling boy."

"You've chosen this life," he says. "Now live it."

"You ungrateful brat! I paid for your education!" She climbs abruptly to her feet, knocking the chair over. "How dare you?"

Somehow, he manages to keep his composure as he stands. His posture is rigid, almost dangerously so. "Get the hell out of my office," he says, "or I will call security."

Their eyes lock, and neither speak for several seconds. Finally, she turns on her heel and stalks off, slamming the door as she leaves. Blaise stares after her for a moment before slumping into his chair and sighing heavily.

There's a knock at the door, and Natalie appears, offering him a nervous smile. "Everything okay, sir?" she asks.

"Not right now," he says. "But if there's any justice in the world, it will be eventually."