You Never Gave Me a Reason

Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters.

3) Personal Threats and Promises of Protection

This wasn't the first death threat the Graysons had ever received, of course. In fact, it was one of many that they had been sent that year, and it wasn't much different from its predecessors - quite similar in its claims, but with one detail that had added to its credibility. At the end of the angry message, the words "Long Live David Clarke" were handwritten three times, in calligraphy nearly-identical to David's signature, which was etched into her brain like a nightmare.

After the bombing of Grayson Global, the phrase, typically referred to as "LLDC", had not only become more popularly known in the public, but was actually used during two subsequent attempts on their lives. Conrad's limousine had been drained of brake fluid between rides to and from Grayson Manor, and Victoria had barely been missed by a bullet during a press conference. It was becoming apparent that someone was desperate to cause their deaths, and since these attacks, they had been put under house arrest until further notice.

So, doing as they were told, Conrad and Victoria stayed in their respective spaces - he in his bachelor's home-away-from-Manor and she in the Manor, alone. Charlotte had actually offered to stay with her mother, but out of protectiveness, Victoria told her that it was too risky and demanded that she and her brother stay far away from the line of fire. Thus far, no one had gunned for their children, and neither father nor mother intended to break that streak.

Tonight, however, Conrad was breaking the rules. When he had been presented with the letter, he saw a wave of fear rush through his wife's eyes, a tremble in her voice; and Victoria was not one to panic at the slightest event. These near-death experiences had grown disturbing for all the family, but she appeared to be completely robbed of her sense of security, left to wait and wonder when the next strike would occur. Conrad felt a twinge of concern for her, and he put this to use by throwing caution to the wind and leaving his bachelor home to visit Grayson Manor for the night. Whether or not she would have him was entirely up to her varying level of emotional distance that evening, but either way, he wanted to be there to protect her.

Victoria had been nervously bouncing around the house: deciding on food she would not eat and bringing it to and from the kitchen as her appetite appeared and disappeared; turning the TV on, then opening a book, then closing it and turning the TV off again; trying to give into the exhaustion that attacked her body but opening her eyes to check the windows at the turn of every minute. She had been floating through the house for twenty straight minutes, barefoot in her nightgown, when the doorbell sounded and caused her to jolt. She stood up, wondering who could have been dropping by at such an ungodly hour, and cautiously approached the front of the house.

As she glanced out the window - she wasn't supposed to go near the windows, but no one successfully told Victoria what to do - she realized who was interrupting her panicking, and that was her husband... who was supposed to be hiding away at his whore house under lock and key. What could have possessed him to endanger himself like that?

Opening the door quickly, she took one look at him before asking, "Do you have a death wish?"

"Not exactly," he replied smartly, with a comfortable smile despite the rain coming down around him and the dangerous attention he might have drawn. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation inside," he added quickly.

Flustered, Victoria didn't reply; instead, she opened the door and allowed him inside, though she had half-enough sense to shut him outside. He came inside without a word of thanks, as if he still owned the home, and took off. An annoyed Victoria shut the door behind him before chasing him into the kitchen.

He had already poured himself a cup of coffee before he actually answered one of her many questions pertaining to why he was here. He began to explain that, with the increasing threats becoming far too dangerous, he had come to watch the house – inadvertently, he had admitted that someone needed to protect her, and she assumed that this was the real reason for his presence. She had made a handful of excuses, but in the end, she lost out to his stubbornness. He was staying the night in Grayson Manor.

A couple of hours later, Victoria sleepily paced her bedroom, unable to lie down for fear of being overtaken by sleep. She brushed a hand through her hair anxiously, exhaling a long breath and blinking her eyes down into her drained mug of coffee. She was going to need another cup if she was ever going to stay awake for the rest of the night; a few more, actually. Perhaps she would venture into the kitchen for a refill and pray that Conrad wouldn't notice her, since she would have no idea what to say. She wouldn't know whether to thank him or send him home, but the first was entirely too demeaning and the second... truthfully, she didn't want him to leave. For the first time in a week, she actually felt some kind of security.

Cracking the door open, she listened for any indication that he was still awake downstairs. She heard the TV play quietly - news of some sort, but Victoria wondered what kind of mind-numbing news could have been on at four in the morning - but no footsteps were to be heard. Still, she heard no snoring, which could have meant anything. There was no way to know, so she rolled the dice and tiptoed downstairs with her empty cup in hand.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, she heard the coffeemaker running, meaning that someone had recently begun a new pot. Taking a breath, she walked barefoot into the kitchen, finding no one inside. Perhaps he had set the coffee and fallen asleep before it was ready.

No matter the circumstances, she took advantage of his mishap and poured fresh coffee into her mug, closing her eyes as the steam swirled up to hit her face. It was difficult to open her eyes again, sleep nearly taking her then and there, but she forced herself to stay awake and downed some of the cup, likely burning her mouth but beyond the point of caring. After so many days of exhaustion, it was difficult to care about anything except sleep.

Victoria then turned away from the coffeepot, about to return to her bedroom, but her eyes were caught on the way, finding Conrad seated in front of the TV. He sat up straight, scratching his head; he was still awake. And for some reason, his refusal to sleep tugged at her heartstrings. It struck her for the first time that he might have actually been worried about her, enough to remain awake for hours on what she knew must have been his fifth cup of coffee. How oddly... loving.

Feeling somewhat guilty for causing him to drive over and stay up all night, she turned back to the coffee and poured another cup, carrying it in her other hand. Though she had no clue what she would say, she brought the beverages into the den, walking behind the couch.

Conrad heard her entrance and glanced backward to find her practically sleepwalking, looking so tired that it was both troubling and, somehow, cute. "I thought you'd be asleep by now," he remarked, eying her carefully.

Victoria nearly laughed at such an idea. "I could say the same." Handing him the second cup, she walked around the couch and took a seat on the opposite end, looking at the TV. A local story played that could not have interested a soul, so she narrowed her eyes and glanced sideways at him. "Conrad."

He looked up from his cup. "Yes?" he replied promptly, blinking. His eyes looked tired, half-open as the skin below them darkened. Victoria, leaning her elbow on the arm of the couch, simply shook her head.

"I just don't know what you're doing here," she admitted, sipping her drink and averting her eyes.

This statement seemed to confuse him, and he leaned forward to respond quietly; "I already told you why I'm here. Has your exhaustion made you forgetful?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes and began to rub her forehead. "Whatever," she relented uncharacteristically, showcasing just how little energy she still reserved. "I don't even know what to make of all this. It's insane."

Conrad sighed, setting his mug on the coffee table. "I'm sure this hysteria will die down eventually, and we'll be able to get on with our lives."

Victoria chuckled sarcastically. "The fact that you're so sure makes me even more doubtful that this will ever end."

"It will," he reassured her, turning the TV off. "Until then, I'm staying here."

She nearly choked on her coffee at this statement, eyes widening. "What was that?" she questioned, straightening up. Surely he didn't think he was moving back in with her…

"I'm going to be here to protect you," he declared without leaving room for argument, "whether you like it or not."

Setting her own drink down, she practically snorted. "Sleep deprivation may have taken some of my mental awareness, but you, my dear, have been robbed of it all." Voice deepening, she stared him down. "You are not staying in my house."

He remained firm. "I'm not looking for a fight, Victoria. I'll either stay inside, or I'll stand guard outside. It's your choice."

Victoria was prepared to fight back, of course, but sharp pain was developing in her temples and it stifled the words. She inhaled a large breath and closed her eyes, trying to stop the swirling pain, but it had been flaring up for days and tonight it was persistent. She couldn't go much longer like this.

Her thoughts were contradictory to her argument. If she truly did need sleep, and Conrad was willing to sacrifice his own rest for her, perhaps it was better to let him. Maybe she should just give in.

"You look like a disaster waiting to happen," he remarked unceremoniously - she would have glared at him if it weren't for the pain swelling between her eyes.

"Thank you," she said sarcastically, not at all grateful for anything except for his hushed tone. Anything louder might have knocked her out at this rate.

Victoria didn't have to look up to know that Conrad was closer, and watching her intently. She had no doubt he knew exactly what was going through her head, and he played to it by speaking in a soothing voice so as to relax her into consenting. "Go to sleep, sweetheart," he requested, throwing in a term of endearment that incited a strange discomfort in her - though she wasn't entirely sure she disliked it, but it was for this reason she hoped he never used it again. "You can easily kick me out tomorrow."

Taking this as permission to leave the conversation standing, she nodded slowly. "You're leaving in the morning," she muttered, although she wasn't sure this would actually happen. She stood and opened her eyes to look at him. "Goodnight."

He offered a small smile. "Sweet dreams."

Victoria was leaving the room, groaning at his sickeningly-sweet farewell. She knew he must have had some reason to have been so nice to her lately, but she couldn't for her life piece together what he wanted from her. What was his endgame?

He did have an endgame, of course. She just hadn't realized of what color his desire was.

Thanks for reading :) Don't forget to leave a review! Feedback is an author's best friend!

Also, you'll notice over the course of this story that there will be many instances of Victoria's insomnia, either pertaining to these threats or other situations. I've never thought of the Queen of the Hamptons as one who sleeps well at night, but this isn't simply a plot device - this insomnia plays a role in the growth of their relationship, so pay attention...