A/N: Soundtrack: Daughter - "Smother"

Curious what you think...

Preferred Stock 25

Mary saw chaos, but could not hear it, could not hear Matthew calling to Eddie, could not hear Sybil's voice raised in anger, could not hear Jemma trying to calm Eddie. She could only hear a scream telling her over and over again that Papa lied, Maman's dead, Papa lied.

Papa lied.

"Stop it, Eddie!" She snapped, and the room went silent as her arms went around her sister and she whispered it again in her ear. "Stop it, darling."

She felt the nod, heard the cry become a whisper of breath, and Sybil's voice, low and urgent, suddenly spiked in pitch and volume.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm a columnist for fuck's sake. Can't I be the one to say it?" She stared at Mary as the person on the mobile droned on, and Sybil's eyes grew dark. "You've already put it out online that I've decided to stop my column to be with my family. You fucking assume he's my family? You fucking assume that's how we should handle this? You… You know what? Fine. We will talk about this rationally and calmly in the morning. We'll also talk about your irrational love of the phrase 'some say.' And you'll stop fucking adding fucking adverbs to my fucking columns." She threw the phone down on a chair. "Needless to say, I'm off the paper until Rob either gets executed or cleared. I'm betting executed. Anyone?" She crawled over the back of the sofa and wrapped herself around the other side of Eddie, who pulled her sister's hand against her heart.

"But it would only solve so much," Mary murmured.

Felix picked up Sybil's phone and slipped it into his pocket. "Sybil, you are aware they don't execute murderers anymore?"

"Je veux le tuer." Sybil's whisper barely reached Mary's ears. "Je veux le tuer," Sybil screamed when the promises were never kept and a broken sister turned her eyes to the wall. "Je veux le tuer," she hissed when forced to acknowledge her father's remarriage. "Je veux le tuer," she cried when she saw the jet waiting to take them to their mother's funeral. "Why can't he let us be?"

"It's not that simple," Mary said. "You've said it yourself."

"It should be. He made his choices. All of them." Her voice dropped, and it was as if there were only three people in that vast room. "Maman died because he wouldn't listen to her."

"That's not why Maman died."

"She didn't want to stay in the hospital and she ended up with pneumonia. You think I shouldn't blame him for that? Eddie... Patrick should be in prison for what he did, and Rob protected him when he told us.. he told us, Mary that he would fix it. He let people try to destroy you. He should be nothing to us and yet he can ruin our lives. I hate him, Mary."

Mary shifted so that both sisters were in her arms, heads tucked together, and a thousand rages like this one flashed through her mind. Sybil at fourteen, refusing to get on the jet, screaming on the tarmac that all this fucking money meant nothing, and she wanted nothing to do with it, Sybil blithely ignoring her father's overtures for years, Sybil's clear and cold demand that he respect her autonomy as a journalist above all other things, and finally, after her wedding in which no one gave her away, her seeming acceptance of him, her willingness to be kind, to smile at him, to call him Papa. And now his last ally... "My strong girl," she whispered.

"I hate him," Sybil's voice rose and she began to sob.

"Calm down. It's not good for the baby." Mary kissed her forehead.

Sybil let go of them both. "Calm down? After being told I'm out of a job?"

"You're not fired," Felix said

"By the time this is settled, no one will care what Sybil Maier thinks about anything."

"Take advantage of it," Felix replied. "You can relax before the baby's born."

Mary knew that look, and she wound her arm back around her sister. "He's right," she said before Sybil could respond. "Take advantage of it." She could sense the fight in Sybil, feel the struggle to stop from lashing out at Felix, but it did not last for long, and after a long, shuddering breath, Mary let her slip from her arms and into Felix's.

Eddie shifted, wiped her eyes, and kissed Mary on the cheek. "Better?" Mary whispered, and Eddie let her go without a smile or a look, only a sigh as she limped away. The world grew to size again as she watched Eddie take Holly's hand and lead her into the studio, saw Nate come in, heard Jemma's low voice explaining it all, and turned at the sound of a voice.

"Mary?"

What a mess, she thought as she regarded Matthew. She understood his look, that odd combination of helplessness and sorrow, and wanted to wipe away that frown.

"Mary." It was not his voice, but Ben's, and she dragged her eyes away from Matthew's to look at him. "We need to talk about what to do."

"For him?"

"That's a different conversation. My priority is the protection of the firm. I took the liberty of alerting PR. This happened during his tenure, but..."

His voice blurred like his face, and Mary sat down quickly, only half-listening to insulating the firm against the potential damage, criminal investigation into that call, now your involvement will be in question, instability, leave of absence. "What?"

"You might want to consider a leave of absence."

"I will not be pushed aside because of the crimes of my father. The shareholders trust me. To step aside would only make things worse. No."

His eyes were kind. "I think you and I should meet with PR and with John to discuss the way forward."

"I think you ought to let me make that determination," she murmured, and she was pleased to see the effect of her tone. My home, my firm, my decision, she thought, and the anger flared anew. "And I need to see Rob. Can you arrange that?"

"I don't advise.. Mary, the optics on you going to see him.."

"I don't care. Get me in a back door, find some way so you prevent the optics problem. That's what I pay you for. I need to see him."

He nodded, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Jemma's hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. "What can I do?" Jemma whispered.

"Nothing," she said.

A few terse words, and Ben hung up. "It'll take a few," he said to Matthew. "So when were you going to tell me the chairman was fucking the group finance director?"

"I thought the last person who was supposed to know anything was corporate counsel," Matthew replied. "And the former chairman wasn't fucking anyone. The group finance director wasn't fucking anyone."

"What do you call it then, when you've violated policy?"

"Love," Matthew said, and was greeted with a snort. "You don't believe me?"

"Do you understand the level of disaster you would have caused? At least now we can pretend it only just started. Possibly that predator on CNBC will stop looking at you as if you're candy during interviews if she thinks you have a girlfriend, although the old CEO of Bosworth Standish might dispute that assessment. Matthew, this isn't 2007. You people aren't invincible anymore." His phone rang and he picked it up.

He did not feel invincible. He looked at Mary, slumped on the sofa, and anger flared in him at the presumption of Ben, of anyone to misunderstand what they had, to misunderstand why they had taken such risks. Ben, indulged by living parents, loved by siblings and an extended family, could not begin to comprehend it, not even if Matthew could explain it, not even if he wanted to. Only his sister, only her sisters, only Mary understood.

"Matthew?" Jemma leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "This is my husband, Nate." She watched them shake hands. "I want you two to have a real conversation at some point, but she's kicking us out. Make sure she sleeps tonight. She'll worry about them." She darted a look at Mary, who was hugging Percy. "And I don't think she should see her father, but I'm going to lose that argument. You might have better luck."

"Go," Mary said. "I'm fine."

"No," Percy said. "You're not, and I'm not leaving until I know what you're going to do that doesn't involve going to see Rob."

"I need to see him," Mary said. "Ben?"

"Still working," he said. "But if anyone wants to leave, just know they're going to run the gauntlet outside. Sky, ITV, BBC, FT, they're already out there."

"Christ," Percy said.

"They won't have found the freight dock," Felix said. "It's inside the building. I parked there. Anyone wants to duck out with us, they're welcome."

"Holly!" Percy called out.

There was a long moment of silence before the studio door opened. "This one time, I will allow you to bellow for me," Holly muttered. "Are we leaving?"

Matthew sat down next to her and his hand found hers.

"You should have gone with them," she said.

"No," he said against her hair.

She pulled his arm over her, around her shoulders as she put her cheek to his heart, and he let her breathe there for a bit, her eyes half-closed against the things that made her shake.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "All of it."

She put her fingertips against his lips, and then her hand around his neck as she kissed him, in full view of Ben. "You should be," she murmured against his mouth.

"I should tell you how brilliant you were," he replied, smiling as he let his lips trail across her cheek.

"Did Alice tell you to say that?"

He laughed. "No, but she'd agree with me." She nestled closer to him just as Ben put down his phone.

"Ready?" Ben asked.

"I can see him?"

"Briefly. We'll need to go out through that freight dock if you don't want to be seen on this end. On that end, we'll have to take you through the..." He did not continue, and Mary knew what he meant. "Mary, I still don't think it's a good idea."

"Things need to be said," Mary muttered.

"I'll come with you," Matthew said.

Mary shook her head. "You can't."

"You can't do it alone."

"Yes, I can. I have." She sat back. "And I will."

"Mary..."

A ragged voice called from the studio. "I'm coming with you."

He felt the tremor go through her as Eddie walked out, ebony and silver stick in one hand and a pair of black Converse trainers in the other. "I'm coming with you," Eddie repeated as she sat down next to her sister and slipped on the shoes. "Stay," she said to Matthew. "Please stay. This won't take long."

It was Mary's turn to be silent as the freight lift descended, her hand in her sister's, mind whirling, my sister talked to me, my sister can speak, Eddie...

Eddie's hand flexed atop the old stick, tapping the silver one-two-one-two-three. The brushed steel of the lift doors twisted her face, and blurred her scars, but it did nothing to mask the fact that Ben was staring at her. She looked at him, a dare to look her full in the face, to acknowledge the mess of her, and he did, with a smile that fit none of her expectations. A warmth she hadn't felt in a long time flickered inside and she couldn't stop herself from smiling back.

"There," Mary said as the doors slid open on the dock. She pointed to a battered old Land Rover. "Can you drive it?"

Ben took the keys from her and opened the door. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Mary said as Eddie climbed into the back.

They escaped without notice, the dock entrance coming out two blocks away from the glut of reporters and trucks parked outside. Mary waited for Eddie to say something else, but she was silent as she watched the night city go by, and Mary had nothing to say, not in front of Ben, who she did not trust, especially not with Eddie.

It only took a few words with the man at the gate, and a short phone call before they were inside the secured perimeter, and within a minute they were at the door. "Last chance to listen to me," Ben murmured as they were ushered inside.

"She's listened. She just knows better," Eddie said. "Thank you for bringing us."

"Eddie, maybe you should wait.."

"No."

"Ms. Crawley?" The guard handed Mary a lanyard with a pass on it. "If you could step this way." He gestured toward a metal detector.

"I have something of yours," Ben said under his breath, and Eddie tilted her head toward his, not taking her eyes off her sister being patted down. "This piece of canvas. It's not normal canvas, is it?"

"Define normal."

"If I carbon-dated it, would it tell me it was from the early seventeenth century?"

She tapped her nose and followed her sister through the metal detector.

The hallway was bright and silent, save for the wails of someone behind one of those doors, a woman's terrified voice denying whatever she was being accused of, and Mary shivered. "Really, Eddie, if you want to wait."

"I have as much to say as you do," Eddie said. "And it's about time he heard it from me."

The officer escorting them stopped in front of a door. "You have five minutes. No touching. There's a guard with him and cameras. If you want to leave, press the button by the door."

She knows he reads the pink-coloured paper first, and she brings it to him before she can read. Papa is tall and smart, she tells her primary school teacher. Papa hangs my school reports in his office, Papa laughs at Sybil's stories at the dinner table, Papa puts up every drawing Eddie gives him. Papa is tall and handsome, and not like other fathers.

She is proud to hold his hand on special days.

He did not look up as they sat down, his fingers digging into his hair, too-big clothes not his own hanging from his frame. "I didn't do it," he said.

"Do what?" Mary's voice was soft, and she saw his shoulders tighten.

"I didn't kill Alix." He pushed his eyes into the heels of his hands.

"Did you have an affair?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

"Did you cheat on our mother?"

"Never."

"Look at her when she's speaking to you." Eddie's rough voice banged against the walls, and Rob's head snapped up. "Did you cheat on our mother?"

"Never," he whispered. "Edith..."

"Eddie," she said. "We don't ask much, so please call us by the names we've chosen. Or is even that too much for you?"

He was silent, eyes roving over her face, and she tilted it to the light so he could see the scar, and his face crumpled back into his hands.

"Do you have a good lawyer?" Mary asked.

He nodded.

"You understand not one of us will be there for you in the courtroom?" His head bobbed again. "I imagine Charlotte won't be either. I don't think I need to tell you why."

"You just came to tell me that?"

"I came to get one answer, and I'm not sure I believe it."

"I didn't kill her."

"Who didn't you kill?"

He said nothing, and a wave of exhaustion swept over Mary. "If your money gets tied up, let me know. I probably owe you a few million for my upbringing."

"I don't want your money, Mary."

She shrugged and stood up. "It's all I can give you."

He shrugged in response, and his breath began to hitch.

"Let's go," Mary said, and his head rose again.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," he said. "I can't stop him."

"You never did," she replied.

"I tried."

"Not enough." She stood, her hands on the table, balancing for a moment before letting go. "Good luck, Papa."

Grey eyes met grey eyes. "Do you believe me, Eddie?"

"Patrick told me you were a murderer three years ago. I didn't believe him then."

"But you do now." His voice cracked, and something began to break inside Mary.

Eddie turned away, and limped toward the door to press the button. "You left me for dead," she said.

"I'll drive," Eddie said when they reached the car. "Thank you, Ben." She tossed her stick in the front and hopped up.

"You remember how?" Mary asked.

"I learned on this car. You taught me. If you forgot to tell me anything, now would be a good time."

"Mary?" She turned back to Ben. "I'm sorry about earlier. I overstepped."

"Yes, you did." She smiled up at him. "We'll talk tomorrow about what to do. In the meantime, thank you for this."

"You're welcome." He looked at Eddie, who was revving the engine with no small amount of pleasure. "I won't tell anyone."

She nodded, and let him help her into the Land Rover.

Mary let the gates slam shut behind them before show spoke. "How long?"

Eddie shrugged and signaled a turn. "For a while."

"And you couldn't tell me?"

"You didn't ask."

"Eddie, for God's sake.."

"It only just started to sound right," she said. "And I like our quiet. I like that it's all simple and down to only what must be said. Simple," she repeated, and Mary could hear the struggle, the slight oddness of the diction.

It started to rain, and Mary turned on the windscreen wipers before Eddie could find them. "What did he mean? He couldn't stop Patrick?"

Eddie did not answer.

"Why were you in the car with him?"

"No," Eddie said.

"Eddie, what happened.."

"No," she repeated, a little louder. "No."

They drove in silence, the squeak of the wipers masking the struggles not to cry. "I'm glad," Mary finally said. "That you're here, and that you've let us back in. All of us." She rested her hand on top of Eddie's. "You and Holly seem to have bonded."

"Jealous?"

"Eddie.."

"She keeps Percy from being too serious." The dock entrance loomed ahead, and Mary pressed the remote button to open it. "And I like her. She doesn't wrap me in silk and feathers."

"I see."

Eddie shut off the engine and took Mary's hand. "I don't mean it like that. I love you. I love that you saved me. You have a life to live. I want you to live it. Things are going to change and.."

"Eddie, how are things going to change?"

"I said no."

They were silent on the way up, and Eddie let Mary hold her tightly in the foyer, felt her sister's tears against her cheek, and only when she saw Matthew did Eddie let go. "Thank you," she said to Matthew. "I'm going to paint." She smiled up at Mary. "It's all right. I'll turn up the music."

Mary watched her go, her chin wobbling. "We talked," she said in wonder. "We talked."

"It's all right," he said as he put his arms around her. "Let it out."

"No," she said. "All I do is cry around you, and you're the one person who doesn't make me cry." She took his hand just as PJ Harvey began to blast through the door. "Come," she said.

"Mary, we..."

"Your slightest look easily will unclose me," she whispered.

It was different now, different here, the music muted by walls and their own sighs and breaths, the weight of secrecy all but gone. He kissed her as he had not had time to in months, and she found the places along his throat she had forgotten to taste the last time when had it been too long never enough and it became what it was the first time, the last time, every time. "I love you," he whispered over and over against her skin, her hip, her breast. "Love you," she gasped as he took her yet again as lightning cracked the sky with splinters the colour of his eyes. They had time where they had never had it before, all the time in the world, and they used it that night as the rain pounded against the windows, as reporters wrote and breathlessly told stories about a murder in which every fact was correct, but every conclusion was wrong, and a lone reporter in Germany filed a story that was lucky to make page three of The Times that day. It was front page news in New York.

NEW YORK TIMES: ONCE BELIEVED DESTROYED, CARAVAGGIO'S 'SAINT MATTHEW AND THE ANGEL' UNCOVERED IN BERLIN BASEMENT.

tbc...