A/N: Hello, lovelies! I hope this Monday afternoon finds you all well. Today I've got a special treat for you!

Bittersweet is a one-shot in three parts. Yes, that's a thing. I'm calling it a longshot. :D Think of this as a prequel to Under Your Spell. It gets down to the nitty gritty on a certain couple. Today's installment is Part One, and the next two Mondays will see the other two installments. I hope this answers questions, and settles a few minds.

(Also, please note that I absolutely adore Stephanie. She is Queen. My woman crush. She's what I'd like to be if I ever grow up.)

Bittersweet

Part One

Summer 2014

Forehead resting against his palm, Paul Levesque applied gentle pressure, hoping to fend off the headache that had been brewing for two hours. Even as he did so he knew it was no use. One glance across his desk to the mountain of paperwork waiting told him that he would be stuck at the office for the next several hours. He tapped his pen against the desk, the lists of figures starting to all look alike, and sighed.

"Ahh," he groused, dropping the pen and pushing his chair away from the desk. He tilted his chair back and stared at the ceiling. As though if he looked away the papers would magically see to themselves. It was his own fault, he conceded. He'd let the business side of life wait too long. If he'd come in and done the work as soon as it popped up, he wouldn't have to spend his Saturday night with only a stack of folders and the cleaning crew for company. And if he hadn't told his assistant to take the weekend off, he could have probably gotten him to do the bulk of the work for him.

But Ed had needed a few days off. A self-admitted workaholic, the young man had started to show signs of insomnia. Paul had urged him to see a doctor several times, finally telling him that if he didn't take a few days to go home and rest he'd start looking for a new assistant.

Sighing, he nudged the side of his desk with one foot. As the chair turned he found himself looking down and caught sight of the stack of framed photographs sitting on the floor. Yet another thing he hadn't gotten around to doing yet. With a grunt he leaned over to grab them. He knew he should ignore them for a couple more days, what with the Board of Directors meeting coming up on Tuesday morning. But the little table his wife had given him to put the pictures on was already set up. It was empty, shockingly. And maybe the faces of his loved ones would inspire him to actually get through his work.

"Yeah, right," he muttered, scooting the chair over so he could reach the small table tucked in the corner. He set up the frames one by one, somehow managing to not study each photo. He even managed to arrange them so with one glance he could see them all. Adjusting the photo of his daughters so it was in the center, he let his gaze linger on it for a moment. It was a little dated now. Vaughan was a rangy preschooler now… But he loved the picture of her as a wide-eyed baby, tucked between her older sisters. It wasn't often that all three of his girls were still and quiet long enough to take a photo. Rarer still that they all looked at the camera at the same time.

He smiled, grabbing the photo and turning to put it on his desk. He had to shove the fancy set of desk accessories that Vince had given him to the side, but finally his girls stared at him from the front of his desk. That was better.

Picking up his pen again, he forced himself to get back to work.

Miraculously, he worked his way through nearly a third of the stack. He stopped to get up and stretch, tensing when he heard movement out in the hall. There was a thump, as though a body had fallen against his office door, then the knob rattled and the door was pushed open.

"Daddy!" Vaughan was the first one in, practically mowing down her eldest sister. She was a long-legged, blonde blur coming at him, and before he could register that her sisters were right behind her she had latched onto his legs. Not for the first time, he was surprised at her strength.

He masked a wince when her head slammed against his thigh, one hand dropping to steady her as Aurora and Murphy squeezed close so they could embrace him as well. Grunting in surprise, he made sure to greet them each individually, then swung his gaze to the door. "What are you doing here?"

Stephanie wasn't dressed for a visit to the office on a Saturday evening. The first thing he noticed was that her hair and makeup were done. Taking in the short skirt, sleeveless top, and jewelry, he immediately looked to the calendar, certain he'd forgotten an important event.

"Mommy's going to New York!" Vaughan announced.

"The girls are there," Stephanie explained, checking her appearance in a small mirror she'd plucked from her purse. "We're just meeting for drinks."

The girls. Paul inwardly cringed, thinking of the oversexed, giggling women that always had a cocktail in hand. College roommates. Her sisters, she called them, though their bond was weak one. Considering how she talked about them when they weren't around, he wondered how she could stand their company. The only thing they had in common was that they'd all lived in the same townhouse and had attended a few of the same classes. It seemed to Paul that the only reason they ever met up was to drink. And he knew that meeting for a few drinks equaled Stephanie being gone all night.

"Are you guys going to Grandma's?" he asked his daughters. Murphy and Vaughan had drifted away to play with the box of action figures he would eventually set up on a shelf. Aurora shook her head, then she drifted off to look at the photos on the table.

"Mom and Dad are at a fundraiser tonight." Stephanie crossed the office and looked pointedly at the stacks of papers and folders. "Paul, honestly—"

"I'm getting it done," he cut in before she could launch into a tirade. "Are you taking the girls to Maggie?" he asked, thinking of the woman they used as an occasional babysitter. She'd been used more frequently in recent months. Ever since Stephanie had fired the nanny.

"She can't do it. They'll have to stay with you."

Paul blinked, one hand gesturing to his desk. "But I—"

"God, Paul, it won't kill you to spend time with your daughters," she nearly screeched. "Just put a DVD in for them while you work."

"Steph—"

"I've got to run, the driver's waiting."

Paul opened his mouth to say that the driver could continue to wait, only to sigh when Stephanie began saying her goodbyes to the girls. Knowing he was defeated, he leaned to give his wife a kiss. She turned her head at the last second, causing his lips to bump against her cheek. "Have fun," he said as her hand patted his chest.

"I will. Don't wait up." The words were said over her shoulder, and she was gone on a cloud of perfume and hairspray.

Seconds ticked by. Paul stared at his desk, wondering how he was supposed to focus on work with three kids in the office. No matter what DVD he put in, someone would lose interest and look to him for entertainment.

"Daddy? Can we eat now? I'm starving." Murphy tossed the action figure she held back into the box.

"You haven't eaten?" he grunted in surprise.

"Mommy said you'd feed us," Vaughan said.

"Can we get pizza?" Aurora asked.

"At the place with the claw machine?" Murphy added, expression hopeful.

"Ooh! Yes!" Vaughan exclaimed, abandoning the action figures. "I want a toy from the machine!"

"I want to pick songs on the jukebox," Aurora enthused.

"Please, Daddy?"

One question, asked at the same time, in the same tone, by all three of his daughters.

Paul knew he wasn't strong enough to say no. Dragging a hand down his face, images of his father-in-law slapping him over the head with unfinished paperwork dancing in the back of his mind, he sighed. "Alright, we'll get pizza," he relented. "Just let daddy get a few things together."

"I'll get a toy?" Vaughan's lips puckered into a small pout.

"If I have to spend all my cash, yes," he promised, stooping to press a kiss to the top of her head. "And after pizza and songs and toys, we'll go home and you can play or watch a movie while I get some work done. Deal?"

It was later than he'd thought it would be when they got home. Vaughan, arms loaded with stuffed toys, had fallen asleep on the way from the restaurant. Aurora was telling him about an upcoming history test, which he found himself promising to help her study for the next day. Murphy, with more than a couple stuffed toys of her own, was quiet, subdued by a full stomach and the promise of leftover pizza for lunch the next day.

The house was quiet, as he'd expected, as he toted a sleeping Vaughan upstairs to her room. She woke long enough to protest that she wasn't sleepy while he dressed her in her pajamas, then shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Once in bed, newest toys tucked around her, she beamed up at him.

"I like when you tuck me in," she murmured.

"Yeah? Why's that?" he asked softly, leaning to switch on her nightlight.

"You tuck tightest." She pointed to where her toes wriggled beneath the blanket. "My feet can't take me away."

"Well thank God for that." Grinning, he hunkered down. "I'd miss you too much if they did."

"I'd miss you too." Vaughan's arms went around his neck and squeezed. "G'night, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Pumpkin." Pressing several kisses to her cheeks and forehead, he waited until her arms loosened before straightening. "I love you."

"Love you more," she called once he was at the door.

He chuckled, deciding to pretend he didn't see her sneak her thumb into her mouth. "Sweet dreams."

Murphy met him in the hall, already wearing her pajamas. A spot of toothpaste on her chin was evidence that she'd brushed her teeth. Once Vaughan's door was closed, the middle child dramatically crumpled to the floor. "Daddy… Can't… Walk…"

"Oh no," he answered dramatically, bending over. He made a show of trying to lift her, and her giggles warmed his heart. "Can't… Lift…" Grunting, he finally grabbed an ankle. "Guess I'll just have to drag you, huh?"

"Daddy, don't!" she laughed, squealing when he pulled her along towards her room.

He dropped her ankle and scooped her off the floor, joining her laughter as she flopped over his shoulder. "Where's your sister?"

"Brushing her teeth." Murphy laughed harder when he dropped her in the center of her bed. "Hey, Daddy, how come Maggie won't watch us anymore?"

Paul froze at the question. Hand on her pillow to move it so he could draw back the covers, he looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Mom said so. She called her before we went to see you and asked if we could stay over there. Then Maggie said something but I couldn't hear it because Mom didn't have the speakerphone on. And Mom called her a bi—" Murphy cut off and cleared her throat. "A rhymes-with-witch, and said that she didn't see why she couldn't change her dinner plans. Then Maggie said something else. Then Mom was really mad and said it'd be a cold day in hell before she let some dried up old hag watch her babies again. Then she hung up and told us that Maggie won't be watching us anymore. So how come? I like going to Maggie's. I want her to watch us again. She's fun."

Blinking, Paul took a few seconds to register the girl's speech. Murphy had a tendency to repeat everything she heard, which sometimes was a blessing and sometimes, a curse. Right now, he wasn't sure which it was. "Don't worry about it," he said finally, drawing back the covers and stepping back so she could settle in. He tucked her in loosely. She was a kicker, and her feet needed freedom. "I'll talk it over with Mom."

"Okay." Murphy picked up the book on her nightstand.

"Just one chapter," he advised. Giving her a kiss, he looked to the bookmark in the center of the book. "Halfway done already?"

"Yeah and it's so good! Rora was helping me with the big words."

Paul smiled. "Remember to—"

"Mark them so I can look them up tomorrow. And sometimes I don't have to, because I can figure it out just by reading a little more." She opened the book and lovingly smoothed the pages.

"That's my girl," he encouraged. "Goodnight."

"Night." She leaned up for another kiss.

"Love you."

"Love you," she echoed.

He found Aurora downstairs, flipping through the DVDs in the family room. He would never understand the room's moniker, able to count on one hand the amount of times all five of them had been in the room for more than a few seconds. "I'll be right down the hall in my office," he said, taking her selected DVD so he could load it for her. He didn't comment on the fact that she'd brought her pillow and blanket downstairs, knowing she was sensitive about her inability to sleep without an adult close by.

"Daddy?" she asked while they waited for the main menu to show up on the screen. "Can you work in here?"

He thought of his home office, with the uncomfortable desk chair and cluttered desk. Gaze moving to the large couch and empty coffee table, then to the hopeful expression on Auroras face, he found himself nodding. "Get the movie started," he said, handing over the remote. "I'll be right back."

After retrieving his briefcase, he returned to the family room, grateful the TV's volume was low. He'd be able to concentrate on the work without the cacophony of… "Hey, turn it up," he requested.

"Is Kuzco your favorite?" Aurora asked.

"You know it." Joining her on the couch, he made sure to open his briefcase and reach for the first sheaf of papers. But his eyes stayed on the TV.

Within half an hour, the papers were back in his briefcase, which had been nudged to the side to make room for his feet. Aurora was cuddled close, half-asleep. He waited until the movie finished before gently extricating his body from under hers. A light sleeper, she stirred, but quickly settled back once he tucked her blanket over her.

TV off, papers spread in front of him, he forced himself to work. He couldn't help but think that Vince intentionally gave him mind-numbing financial reports to look over, especially when he came across three copies of the same one. Muttering a curse under his breath he shoved them in with the first one, glancing to his phone when the screen lit up with a series of texts.

Expecting them to be the ramblings of his half-drunk wife, he picked up his phone. He was surprised to see they were from Regal, who rarely messaged him on weekends. The first was a short video clip of two women grappling in a poorly-lit ring, then Regal's commentary on the particular skill of one of the women. Paul watched the video again, and was certain Regal had to be talking about the redhead. At least, he supposed she was a redhead. And while he couldn't judge her entire performance based on one fifteen second clip, he could tell there was some skill. About to ask where Regal had discovered her, he smiled when the Englishman sent yet another text giving the name of a minor independent promotion based in Orlando.

Get her name and see if there are any videos of her online, he texted. He had no doubt that the man would have a disc containing all of the young woman's available videos waiting for him on Monday. Then, curious, he asked how Regal had come across her.

I keep my ears open, came the enigmatic reply. See you Monday.

Paul was about to put his phone aside when one last message was delivered, this time including a photo of Regal with a petite redhead.

Sophia. Her last name is Mason, but she only works under her first name.

Paul nodded to himself and set his phone aside. Then, pushing thoughts of Regal's discovery out of his mind, he got back to work.


When he awoke, his neck ached. Groaning, he sat up, easily sliding Vaughan from his lap. He rubbed the back of his neck, mentally cursing the fact he'd let himself fall asleep on the couch. Seeing the papers scattered across the coffee table, he sighed and, yawning, began gathering them to stuff them back into his suitcase. He checked his phone for the time, only to find it had died. Making sure he didn't wake the girls, he slipped off the couch and headed into the kitchen.

The coffeemaker still held the remains of Stephanie's coffee the previous day. Grumbling under his breath, he cleaned it out and started a fresh pot for himself, noting as he did that it was just past eight. The house was quiet, more so than usual on a Sunday morning due to his wife's absence. He had no idea what time Murphy and Vaughan had crept down to the family room, but he had a feeling they would sleep for another hour at least. Long enough for him to get his phone charged enough to check his messages, and to flip through the work he'd brought home to make sure he'd finished it all.

Coffee in hand, he carried his briefcase and dead phone to his office. While his phone charged he glanced through the papers, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw his initials on each document. Half of them he couldn't remember looking at, but after so many hours they'd all started to look alike. His phone came to life as he closed his briefcase and he gave it a moment, quirking a brow when it vibrated madly with incoming messages.

Trying to decipher his wife's ramblings gave him a headache. He scrolled through them, pausing now and then to view blurry photos. Her knee. A bathroom floor. Empty glasses cluttering a table. He assumed she'd sent them by accident, for they made no sense. Sipping his coffee, he shook his head as he scanned the rest of the messages. The last was somewhat coherent, and he suspected one of her friends had sent it.

Crashing at the hotel. See you.

He looked at the time. Nearly nine. Surely she was awake by now. He sent a message telling her he'd be taking the girls to the park if she wanted to join them when she got back. He waited a few minutes in case she replied then shrugged and set his phone down, figuring she was either still sleeping it off or taking a shower.

The girls seemed hyper after breakfast, and he was glad of his plan to take them out. He tried calling Stephanie on the way to the park, frowning when his call went straight to voicemail. Once he'd released the kids in the park and they were running off their excess energy he went through his contacts list to find one of her friends' numbers.

"Hello," a voice croaked after the third ring.

"Penny?" Thinking of the vivacious blonde that had a perpetual high-pitched voice, Paul wondered if maybe he'd put in the wrong number all those months ago when Stephanie had given them to him.

"Yeah."

"It's Paul." When she made no sounds of recognition, he cleared his throat. "Stephanie's husband?"

"Oh. Right. What's up?"

"Just wondering if you knew where she was."

"Hang on, let me think… What time is it?"

"Almost one," he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Ugh. We didn't get in until after five."

Wondering just what the hell they'd been doing out that late, Paul sighed. "My wife?"

"Steph? She's in one of the rooms. She upgraded us to a suite." There was a pained groan, then a muttered curse. "God, my head…"

"Can you power through and go check on her for me?"

"I'm not going in there. She's not alone." Penny groaned again, and in the background was the sound of water running. "I think she got the Italian. You know how she loves the tall, dark, and handsome ones. Couldn't keep her hands off him."

"What?"

"I said I'm not going in there." Penny's voice was louder this time, and she hissed in pain. "Who did you say you were?"

"Paul." Watching his daughters, he gripped the phone tightly. "Her husband."

"Oh, right. Anyway, she's busy. You want me to slip a note under the door for her to call you?"

He doubted she'd be able to write legibly, considering she was still feeling the effects of a long night out she kept forgetting who he was. "No, that's alright. Italian, you said?"

"Sex on legs," Penny sighed enviously. "Steph gets all the hotties."

"Yeah," Paul muttered. "Thanks a lot, Penny."

"Sure."

She ended the call and he lowered his phone, mind racing. He realized he had no idea what hotel they were at, and doubted Penny would be able to remember either. And knowing the name of the hotel wouldn't do him a damned bit of good. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

The same thing he'd always done, he supposed. Which was fuck-all.

"Did you just talk to Mom?"

Looking down, Paul realized Murphy had broken away from her sisters and come over to him. His head shot up and he saw with relief that Aurora and Vaughan were together at the swings. "What are you talking about?"

"You look irritated." Murphy tilted her head to one side. "You always look like that when you talk to Mom on the phone."

Shit, was he so transparent? Rubbing a hand over his face, he reached for her outstretched hand. "It was just business, Murph."

"Oh." She squeezed his hand, eyes betraying the fact that she didn't really believe him. "Will you come play with us?"

"Play what?" he asked, eyes on Vaughan as she skipped towards them.

Before Murphy could answer, his youngest slapped a hand against his thigh and darted out of his reach. "Tag!" she shouted, grinning. "You're it!"

Murphy dropped his hand like it was made of fire. "Daddy's it!" she called to Aurora.

Paul watched his daughters start to run away from him. He stayed where he was briefly, then, pushing the negative thoughts away, raced after them.


He'd packed the girls up for a few days with their grandmother. Linda was a force to be reckoned with, until it came to her grandchildren, when she became a soft-hearted, cookie-giving bundle of warmth and hugs. When asked, he'd said that Stephanie was with friends in New York, having no idea what, if anything, she'd said to her parents about her weekend plans. Linda had smiled, saying how understanding he was about Stephanie needing time with her friends. She worked so hard, and the girls kept her busy. A day or two here and there to relax and not worry was exactly what she needed.

Paul snorted as he recalled the comment, shoving things he would need for two days on the road into his suitcase. He wondered what Linda's reaction would have been had he said her precious daughter was recovering from a night of alcohol and sex with a stranger. Though, considering Vince's history, he doubted Linda would have been too shocked. But maybe she would be. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't say it. The satisfaction of having one over on his wife wouldn't be worth the fallout.

He'd packed, set his cases at the door, and was double-checked his flight time. He was taking a late flight, always traveling the night before. Stephanie would fly out the next morning with Vince. He was leaning against one of the kitchen stools waiting for the casserole he'd found in the freezer to finish cooking when he heard the garage door rattle open. A moment later it clanged shut.

"Hey, good looking," she greeted as she entered the house through the side door of the kitchen. She was wearing jeans and a light jacket, and it occurred to him that she must have prepared for a full night and day away from home. "Where are the girls?"

"With your mom," he answered, not moving from the stool.

"Mm. Are you cooking?" She dropped her large purse on the counter.

"Heating up one of those casseroles from the freezer. You hungry?"

"I grabbed a bite before catching the train." She was pulling off her jacket, revealing a snug t-shirt. Then she was rounding the counter, her lips curved. "How much longer until it's done?"

"Fifteen or twenty." Exhaling in surprise when she straddled his outstretched legs, he instinctively grabbed her hips to keep them both from falling.

"That's long enough to get started," she whispered, pushing her lips to his for a sultry kiss.

Her tongue still held the flavor of alcohol. He broke the kiss and leaned back. "Start what?"

"You know." Her hands were scrabbling at the hem of his shirt. "The girls are gone. You're leaving. I want to fuck."

"Steph—"

"I want to fuck, Paul," she snapped, eyes glinting.

"Didn't you fuck last night?"

She loosened her grip on his shirt and narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I talked to Penny this afternoon."

"That loudmouthed bitch," Stephanie sneered. "Why the hell were you talking to her?"

"Because I was worried about you. And she told me about you and the Italian."

She rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his shirt again. "Oh well, so you know. He wasn't even that great. And I made sure he wore a condom—"

"Christ," he hissed in disgust, pushing her off him.

"Paul!"

He saw the ring he'd given her glitter as she stumbled against the counter. He saw the indignation growing in her, too, but bitterness won over common sense. "Did you at least take off your wedding ring before you let him fuck you?" he spat, pushing himself to his feet. "Hell, did you at least get his name?"

"What difference does it make? And why the hell do you care?"

"You said you were done with that shit," he reminded her. Appetite ruined, he stalked over to turn off the oven. "Remember?"

"Like you haven't gotten drunk and plowed the nearest woman in the past nine years," she retorted.

"I haven't. And I know you don't want to believe it, but I never plowed women before you made that little promise after Aurora was born." Grabbing a potholder, he took out the casserole and set it down forcefully on top of the cooktop. It was done, he noted blankly, throwing the potholder onto the counter.

She snorted, showing her disbelief, yanking open a cabinet to take down plates. "Please. You were all over—"

"This isn't about me!" he shouted, slamming the oven door shut. She reared back in surprise and he turned away, disgusted. With her. With himself. "I can't go through this again, Steph."

"Paul." Her voice was gentler now. Pleading. She touched his arm.

"We've got three daughters. I'm not going to stand by and watch you ruin their lives." He turned, shaking her hand off, and was surprised when she took a step back. Pulling open a drawer, he grabbed forks. "I won't let you shatter their image of you by acting like a…"

"A what?" she challenged when he trailed into a sigh. "A whore? Is that what I'm acting like, Paul?"

"Don't—"

"Funny that you don't want me acting like a whore, considering that's how I got your interest to begin with. Remember?" She lowered her voice, tone mocking. "'I'm going to fuck you like a whore tonight.'"

"Stephanie—"

"Such a good little whore. Ride me, whore. Bend over, whore. Swallow it, whore!" She was screeching now. "What's the matter, Paul? Don't want other people to know you married a whore?"

"They already know, trust me," he fired back.

Her palm crashed against his cheek before he could react. Silence descended upon the kitchen, broken only by the sounds of their breathing. Paul raised a hand to his stinging cheek and stared at her, wincing at the sudden taste of blood. Easing his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he felt a gouge left by his teeth.

Shoulders rising and falling with each breath, she backed away. "Never, ever say that again," she snarled.

"Stephanie," he began, reaching for her. But she slipped away before he could catch her arm.

"Eat your dinner."

"We need to talk," he insisted.

"No, we don't. I'm a whore, and you're perfect. Eat your dinner," she repeated, grabbing her purse and striding from the room.

He watched her go, then listened to her footsteps on the stairs. The master bedroom door slammed, the sound echoing throughout the empty house. He could hear her stomping across their room, then her high-heeled shoes clattered in the bathroom. When he heard the water in the tub start, he let his shoulders sag and dropped his gaze to the steaming casserole.

He wanted to throw it. He wanted it to crash against the wall and for the dish to shatter and for the food to go everywhere. But he knew that if he did, if it did, he would have to be the one to clean it up.

Grim, he grabbed the potholder and picked up the dish. He considered throwing it in the sink and leaving it for her to deal with, but knew the reaction wouldn't be worth the momentary satisfaction. And he didn't want to be childish. Well, he did, but he couldn't be. Marching through the side door and to the corner of the garage where the curb bins were stored, he bid farewell to his dinner and wrenched open the lid. He dropped it, dish and all, inside, then threw the potholder in after it for good measure.

He'd wanted to grab a nap before heading to the airport. He had a feeling she wouldn't let him, though. Closing the trashcan lid, he sighed. He felt lost, despite being in his own home. He longed to go upstairs and confront her again. The word 'divorce' burned in his mind, but he ignored it, recalling her reaction the last time he'd mentioned it.

She would make sure he lost everything. The house. The money. His position within the company. And, worst of all, the kids. She'd snatch it all away from him before his signature could dry on the filing. And what would he do? Start all over? At his age?

Her mocking laugh rang in his ears as he went back into the house. It echoed while he gathered his bags and loaded them in his car. It was a faint, teasing beat as he left without saying goodbye.

And it stayed there, long after he'd arrived at the airport. It lingered throughout his long wait for his flight. When he arrived at the hotel it followed him to his room. And, like a second heartbeat, it thrummed through his body as he tried to fall asleep.