Thursdays were among Blake's favourite days of the week; it meant the week was almost over, soon she would be able to spend the weekend playing with friends or her parents, and best of all; Thursdays were Daddy-Daughter nights. These were the nights Cinder often stayed late "at the office," Blake thinking her mother was a successful Realtor instead of a weapon smuggling, domestic terrorist drug lord. These were the nights she and her Papa would sit down and watch movies, gorge themselves on ice cream, and just have fun. Granted, Blake could have fun easily with both parents or just her mother, but she loved spending time with her Papa, and him alone. Most nights would find them sitting in a walled off section of the basement affectionately dubbed "The Kitten Cave," which was a hidden bunker masquerading as a secret playroom, where they would watch movies, play games, or read.
Tonight however, Blake sat on the couch of the living room and read as Roman bustled about in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Soft classical music played from the stereo shoved to the side on the breakfast bar and Roman softly swayed in place to the steady beat of strings and woodwinds. He had always preferred small ensemble classical, whereas Cinder enjoyed larger symphonies and swing. Light crescendos and softer mordents lured his mind away to a hazy time where Roman's own fingers could just as easily traipse over ivory and ebony much to the same effect, only to have his thoughts shaken by a slight tugging at the hem of his shirt. Looking down, he met the bright eyes of Blake, having silently moved from the couch to where he stood, startling him slightly.
"Papa, what's a waltz?" She asked, placing extra emphasis on the "z." Normally one would wonder where a seven year old stumbled across such words, but Roman knew easily that she picked it up from one of the many books she was reading.
"It's a kind of dance." He answered simply, turning back to the sudsy pot in his hands and listening to Blake hum softly in understanding.
"Papa, do you know how to waltz?"
Does a bear shit in the woods? Despite his rather humble beginnings as a petty thief, Roman now found himself seated near the top of a criminal empire, and to be the right hand of the Empress meant he regularly found himself at soirees and numerous other uppercrust functions. Business partners or clients would regularly extend invitations to Cinder to keep themselves in her good graces; to spurn the benevolence of Cinder Fall was to sign one's own death wish, regardless if you were paying her or she, you.
Many of Roman's best memories were of such events, a smaller hand clad in a satin evening glove slipping into his own as the other rested upon his shoulder while he rested a palm against a hip draped in the finest silks and satins money could buy. Together they floated across gilded tiles and gaudy ballrooms, muttering obscenities and venomous japes to the other at the expense of their fellow partygoers and delighting as their partner snickered. In these moments, they were not merely business partners and co-workers, but something more intimately mundane and yet infinitely more dangerous; they were friends laughing over an unspoken joke as they reveled in the pageantry of those far more conceited than they, hands and arms brushing provocatively until next they found themselves chest to chest and hip to hip.
"Yes, I do." The shift in Blake's face was immediate, her next question already leaping to her tongue.
"Can you teach me?" Gold eyes sparkled with hope and the hand loosely clinging to Roman's shirt was joined by its twin and tugged lightly but insistently in the hopes of pulling him away from his chore.
"Alright, after I finish the dishes."
"No, Papa! I wanna learn now!"
Roman was never the disciplinarian between himself and Cinder, Mama managing to lay down the law in a way that allowed for no questioning, but discipline was always treated like a learning experience. Something shifted within his girlfriend, motherhood making her softer and more mature in comparison to the crime lord who would shoot a man for standing a step left of where she told him.
He was much less direct, always choosing to let her learn on her own, but then Blake very rarely went against her beloved papa. So in an attempt to divert the impending tantrum when he said no again, set down the pot in his hands.
"Not right now," immediately he saw the furrow between her brows and her ears tip back. "But if you want to dry for me, we can get to it faster." Ears perked up and forehead smoothed: crisis averted.
Little hands grabbed the dishtowel and the nearest dripping pan and the two got to work, Roman occasionally swatting flotsams of bubbles down onto his daughter.
Ten minutes later, the last pot was put away and the sink drained while Blake bounced on the balls of her feet waiting for Roman to round the corner. A few quick taps on the stereo and the CD skipped to a new track, a simple waltz starting up as he followed her into the livingroom.
Slowly he explained to her the beat structure, the one-two-three rhythm, and walked her through a basic box waltz. Her little feet eventually found the patterns and it turned to a wobbly off-tempo waltz as he moved beside her in the same form. Soon she looked up at him, excitement and pride radiating from her form, and Roman thought it time to move on to the next step: partnered dancing.
Roman swiveled in front of Blake and took her hands, taking the lead and telling her to watch her feet and move when he moved his. They started slow, every other step tripping over the other foot as Blake tried her best to reverse the pattern until gradually they managed to nearly move through one set of three before one foot ended up trapped under another, Roman rocking onto his heels to keep his weight off Blake's feet. Slowly but surely, Blake was starting to get it, but apparently it wasn't fast enough learning for the little girl, and Roman could see the frustration building on her face in the tight draw of her lips, the way her nose wrinkled the same as her mothers does when she gets upset. Glittering yellow eyes looked up at him for guidance before she gives up completely, and Roman knows just what to do.
"Hold on, kittycat." In one swift motion, he hefts Blake up by the hands and manages a peal of giggles from the frown marring her expression and sets her bare feet down on top of his own sock clad ones. "Lean back a bit, alright?" She leans slightly, a trusting yet skeptical look sent up his way before Roman takes one step, moving his foot and hers to the first position of the box, second foot following.
Long, short short, long, short short; soon they made it through one circle, and then another and another, Blake's eyes lighting up and giggles bubble over from her and Roman smiles back at her. Around and around danced papa and daughter, so easily losing themselves in the tender moment between them neither noticed the sound of the front door opening and closing and the gentle click-clack of heels on hardwood.
Cinder stood in the doorway, coat in hand and watched as her family turned round and round in her home, and was nearly overwhelmed with burning affection for both Roman and her daughter as they turned and danced and smiled like nothing in the world could ever be wrong. For just a moment, the tension and stress between her shoulder blades melted away and her feet didn't ache from hours in stilettos. For just a moment, she was content with the world.
Halfway through a turn, Blake noticed the figure standing in the entryway watching them with a soft grin, and broke away from Roman to greet her mother with a shout.
"And what are we doing tonight?" Cinder asked, bending to return the tight hug her daughter wrapped her in, glancing over Blake's shoulder and levelling a playfully accusing look Roman's way.
"Papa was teaching me how to waltz!" came Blake's excited chirp.
"Really? And how is that going?"
"Just fine, until you interrupted." Roman said, walking over and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Well Blake, you should feel lucky." Cinder teased, walking past them to throw her jacket over the back of the couch. "Your Papa hasn't taken me dancing in years."
This admission drew a gasp from her daughter and Cinder chuckled to herself but immediately choked on the sound when small hands pressed into the small of her back and tried to maneuver her towards her boyfriend, Roman nearly doubled over with laughter at the sight of a determined Blake did her best to push a rather startled Cinder into his arms. Either Cinder let it happen, or Blake's faunus traits shining through and boosting her strength, but in a matter of seconds Cinder found herself pressed into Roman's front and Blake immediately retreated, sitting back with a pleased grin.
"Then you should dance with Papa!"
"I- I don't think- I" Cinder stammered, a light blush dusting her cheeks. A gentle hand taking her right hand while the other rested gently on her hip broke her from her babble.
"Dance with me." Roman asked, softly, and she had no choice but to give in.
With a soft laugh, she shook her head and squared her shoulders, right hand coming to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her even closer and everything fell into place, muscles remembering steps from long ago.
She took a breath, ribs pressing into his as he inhaled, both steadying themselves as they waited for the right moment in the music, and they moved as one. Every move he made, she mirrored perfectly, never once looking down to her feet and never once did he stumble. A simple waltz slowly became much more as they added steps; a twirl here, a dip there, and soon they were no longer in the cherry and mahogany of their home.
The pair stepped and twirled through memories of lavish and gilded ballrooms, mirrors along the walls reflecting other dancers and the light of crystal chandeliers winking and dancing across them as they moved. They heard the distant echoes of violins long silent and the idle chatter of the upper class that turned to a gentle hum, reality lost to them as they took in the sheer sensation to be pressed this close to one another, trusting the other with every step and every movement.
Round and round they turned, dipped, reached, lifted, until they ended in a particularly deep dip, Cinder nearly upside down in Roman's arms, her own flung around his neck and they held the pose, chests heaving and pressing against each other still in the most intimate of ways. Neither could tear their eyes from their partner, the tension between them achingly familiar yet softly foreign; a sweet and warm yearning spreading across their bodies and seeping out as a heated desire on heavy, heaving breaths. Lips moved closer together, one intent on both minds and immediately shattered by the sound of small hands clapping.
"That was amazing!" Blake cheered from her spot on the sofa as Roman pulled Cinder back into a standing position, a blush creeping up her neck and across her chest. "Can you teach me to do that, Mama?"
"Maybe," Cinder croaked, trying her hardest to find her voice, "but I think it's time for little girls to be getting ready for bed."
"But Mama, I d-"
"'But Mama' nothing, sweetheart. Time to get ready for bed. If you're fast, we can even read two chapters tonight." Cinder chided, knowing full well that the moment she steps out of the room, Blake will be under the covers with another book and a flashlight. "Now say goodnight to Papa."
With a kiss on the cheek from Roman, Blake skittered upstairs, Cinder hot on her heels to change out of her workwear.
Forty-five minutes later, Cinder descended the stairs wrapped in sweatpants and a cardigan, exhaustion lying heavy in her limping gait as she shuffled into the common room where Roman awaited her with a glass of her favourite merlot in hand. A groan of approval slipped from her lips as she took a heavy swig from the glass, relishing the warmth that swept through her system while she set the glass down on the coffee table beside her, stepping into Roman's chest and wrapped her arms about his waist. Arms coiled across her back and held her safely in place, Roman beginning to gently sway back and forth in a gentle rocking motion. Without her heels she barely stood up to his shoulders, and here in his arms, she felt so insignificantly small, yet infinitely protected. It was a beautifully warm feeling she had never felt in all her days, and she wanted to savour every second of it she could get.
Her head tipped back and she rested her chin on his chest, jaw barely atop his sternum, and she could feel and hear the steady lubdub of his heart reverberate through her jaw. "So you're exposing my delicate seven year old daughter to the lascivious and debaucherous world of ballroom dancing, hmm? You know how these things go; one minute it's a waltz, the next, she's doing the tango, or, dare I say it, a tap routine."
A chuckle reverberated through his chest as he craned his neck to look down at her. "Of course. Better she learns the cruel, terrifying ways of the aristocracy from us than some disgusting viscount."
This time it was Cinder's turn to laugh, pulling her hands from around his hips to move and circle his neck, pulling him closer and pushing herself up onto her toes to place a soft kiss against his lips, fingers combing through wild ginger curls. Roman leaned back in to steal another kiss, lingering longer this time, savouring the warm touch of her lips and the way he could feel her smiling against him. They pulled apart to rest their foreheads together, savouring the simple and endearing contact between them for as long as they could, until Cinder spoke up.
"The Fang is angry." She whispered.
So the White Fang was growing restless again; gnashing their teeth at the idea of being "owned" by a human. The gang being a subsidiary of the Fall Criminal Empire, Cinder funded their war, they did her dirty work, easy as that. Every so often they would get their dander up, thinking they could easily get by without Cinder's contribution and silent guidance, and would make their protests known. In recent years, the faunus got their hands on a rather large pool of weapons and Roman sincerely hoped their barrels didn't end up trained on their employer, though it looked as though they might.
"You're gonna meet with them?" He asked, just as quietly, tightening his hold on her.
"I have to. If they get away from us, we lose nearly half our revenue, a quarter of our force, and could easily see a turf war. We can't afford that, especially with Blake." She turned her head, tucking her chin into her shoulder and cheek against his chest. "I'm meeting with Adam tomorrow; hopefully he'll see reason."
"As if those filthy mutts could see reason." He snorted.
"Hey now, your daughter is one of those 'filthy mutts.'"
"No, she's not. She's beautiful and perfect and my little girl. Big difference."
"Roman," Cinder sighed into his chest, fists balling and tightening in his shirt, "if anything happens to me tomorrow, I want you to take Blake and go. You'll be the first one they come after next, and if the find Blake-"
"If anything happens, there's no way I'm just gonna leave you here!" He started, pulling back a bit to look Cinder square in the eye. "I'll take her to Junior's or something. I won't just leave you to die!"
Hands moved to cup Roman's face and Cinder's voice was even, "Roman, if you come chasing after me, and something happens to you, what will happen to Blake? One of us has to be there for her. I have to be the one to go tomorrow." Again, she brought their foreheads together. "Can you promise me you'll take her and run if something happens?"
"I just- I- Cinder there-"
"Roman." Her voice stern and hard, shaking him to the core.
"Yes. We'll run."
"Thank you." She whispered, holding him there for a moment before moving again to kiss him, this time a bitter reluctance coating her tongue and lips. The sharp taste of melancholy dripped from Roman's lips, poisoning her with an aching sadness at the thought of losing her family. It chilled her and set the blood in her veins to stone, the weight of it threatening to send her crumbling in on herself at the first sign of weakness.
Roman broke away first and wrapped her in a tight hug, crushing her to his chest in a meagre attempt to protect her.
"Roman, I'll be okay, I promise." It's muttered into his chest in a vain hope that it will calm the rapid thrumming of his heart beneath her ear, and he merely grunts in response. Pulling back, she looked up again, an almost playful look burning in her eyes.
"Tell you what, let's make a bet; I come back from this, you win and I'll get rid of the kid for a night or two and you can spend as much of that time telling me how much of a bad idea this was and how I'm such an idiot."
"And if you win?"
"If I win, I get to spend the rest of your natural life haunting you and making snide comments about your wardrobe."
A full laugh shook its way from Roman, and he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.
"Cinder Fall, you morbid bitch, you know I'm not much of a gambling man."
"Yes or no, Roman." The challenge was clear on her face.
"Deal." He said, leaning back in to kiss her, sealing his deal with the devil.