Henry Crawford was electrifying. There was something in his face, something in his voice, that told you that he was telling the absolute truth; the secret expression of the deepest part of his soul was laid out bare, only for you. I hadn't seen, at first, what Mireille and Julia were fighting over. I could see it clearly now.

The camera panned across Henry's face, the high cheek bones, the freckles, the expressive brown eyes. His auburn hair was in disarray, and the look of desperate earnestness he was giving Mireille made me believe, truly believe, that he had run his fingers through it in a moment of frustration over his one true love, engaged to someone else. I believed that, even having seen the hair stylist muss it in the first place. God only knew what he would do to the women of America.

That week had brought in changes. Guy Fearsome had put Ned in hot pink polos and embroidered khakis, which had made Tom laugh himself hoarse. Mireille wore a triumphant, flushed expression, Rush one of dazed anxiety. But the general changes to the people I knew was nothing like what happened to Henry and Mary Crawford when they were on camera.

Henry leaned in toward Mireille, and the kiss they shared was one of such tender sweetness that I almost forgot about Rush, standing right next to me. These two were lovers, truly. Henry Crawford had brought her out of her cold, WASPy shell, had shown her what true passion was with his sweet, sensitive devotion. This was love, this was pure, this was real.

I didn't trust a minute of it.

Henry Crawford was an actor. That much was clear. The way he lit up on camera was something extraordinary. He drew the eye, he took the breath away, he had you and everyone you knew in the palm of his hand. But he was an actor, and it was his act that was persuasive. I had seen the way he looked at Mireille, the way he looked at Julia, and even sometimes the way he'd look at me. I didn't think he was really in love with Mireille. Mary's warning from the first time we'd met, about Henry being a terribly womanizer, came to mind. Maybe this passionate, earnest man was what women saw when he looked at them. Maybe it was only when they weren't looking that he lost interest.

I shouldn't have gone to watch the filming. I should have hidden in my room. I couldn't stand to watch this, watch how Mireille blushed and flirted, the way Rush fumed and pouted. And more than anything, I didn't want to watch Henry Crawford seducing someone in front of me. This week had been confusing enough without that.

Maybe I was torturing myself. Earlier that day, I had watched as Mary Crawford became the perfect match for Ned in the blink of an eye, watched as she supported the dreams that Guy Fearsome had made up for him, listened without judgment to his problems, held his hand when he needed comfort. I watched Ned fall in love with her in the middle of the commandeered living room while shooting a reality television show. And now here I was, watching Henry Crawford do the same thing to Mireille.

I wasn't a believer like Ned, but I admit I prayed for an act of God to come and interrupt the filming. I wanted my house back, the house that I had never before considered to be mine. I wanted my friend back, I wanted my life back, wanted space and silence, and most of all, most of all I wanted my feelings back. I wanted to take back the wave of jealousy I had felt watching Mary Crawford take Ned's hand, even though I had held his hand a thousand times before. I wanted to take back the hate that I felt for her as she put her hand on his shoulder, leaned against him, and told him that everything would be alright. I wasn't someone who hated people. I'd thought that I didn't know how to do it. Now it was twisting inside of me, tainting everything I thought and everything I did.

It wasn't her fault. She didn't know how I felt. Even if she had, I had no claim over Ned's affections. Ned didn't love me, not the way he was starting to love Mary. If two people cared about each other, they should be together. They should be. Of course. My feelings, my confusion, shouldn't enter into it. It was my own fault that I had hopes in the first place. I should never have started.

After everyone went inside to go to bed, I sat out on the lawn, looking back up at the house. My eyes traced the corners of the building, its windows, it decorative elements, its very stones, while my mind kept bringing back the kiss that Henry and Mireille had shared. What would it be like to kiss someone like that? What would it be like if someone kissed me? Who would kiss me, the way I was? Henry's lips on Mireille's. Henry's fingers lifting her chin. What was it like to want someone, and to get what you wanted? To open your arms, knowing someone will fall into them?

I was a child compared to these people. I was an infant, taking my first steps. Still unable to speak. What I knew about love and lust could fill no more than a page, no more than a thimble. I didn't understand. I realized then, sitting on the grass, my palms wet with dew, my eyes full of stars, that I would probably never understand. How could I leave this place, when I couldn't even speak? Who else would I ever meet? The next eighteen years of my life stretched out before me, then the next, then the next, and in all of them I was the child I was at that moment, provided for and tolerated by well-meaning patrons.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

The sadness I felt then was too much for tears. I hauled my exhausted body off the grass, silently let myself back into the house. In the mudroom I paused in the middle of taking off my shoes, hearing a noise in the kitchen. And again. Someone was inside. I hesitated, my hand over the doorknob. Should I got to the front? That door made noise when it opened, and I doubted I could turn the key in the heavy lock to get it open in the first place. I just wanted to go to bed. Making up my mind, determined to act before I thought better of it, I turned the doorknob and stepped into the kitchen.

The light was dim, but I could still see Mireille sitting up on the counter, her arms around Henry Crawford's neck. Several buttons of her shirt were undone, and I could see the lacy bra underneath, a frothy pink color. This time Henry's hair really had been mussed by fingers, and Mireille's hands roamed from the top of his head to the sides of his face, to wrap around his shoulders again. Their lips were locked fiercely, passionately, but they broke apart when the door swung shut behind me. I didn't know where to look. I stood frozen, and Mireille's glare made the bottom of my stomach drop down to my shoes.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

I opened my mouth to explain, realized I couldn't, then closed it again.

"Oh, Jesus, here we go," Mireille's voice was thick with derision and something else. "Just spit it out, why don't you?"

Panicked, embarrassed, I glanced at Henry, who was watching me quietly. When I met his gaze, he flicked his eyes toward Mireille, his hands still on her hips, then down at the floor.

It took me three seconds to get to the stairs, ten seconds to climb them, then seven seconds to make the headlong dash to my room, close the door, and prop a chair under the knob. It took considerably longer for my racing heart to calm down. Sleep didn't come until the sky was almost light again.

Ned took one look at my exhausted face and thrust a cup of coffee into my hands. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

I checked the clock. "Maybe three hours. Maybe."

"Did something happen?" My eyes flicked to Henry first, then Mireille, sitting on opposite sides of the table at the other end of the room. They ignored each other studiously. Of me they took no notice.

I shook my head. "No, just couldn't sleep."

Ned's brow furrowed as he watched me. He glanced back up to the table, following my eyes, and his frown deepened. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing." I handed him back the cup of coffee, then stood up.

"Fawn." His eyes were dark with concern, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Mireille's hand, caressing Henry's cheek, running through his hair.I turned my eyes away, smiled, then looked back.

"Ned, I'm fine. It was just one of those nights." Which kind of night I was referring to, I didn't say. I went back to my room and closed my door, pushing the chair back into its place. I didn't think I could handle Ned being in my room just then. I wondered if I would ever be able to from now on.

I lay in bed most of the day, staring up at the ceiling, hugging my pillow. I didn't have the will to move, didn't have the ability to sleep. The day dragged on and on.

A knock on my door brought me out of my reverie. The sky was dark, my lamp still unlit. Another knock, this time stronger.

"Fawn?" It was Henry Crawford's voice. I sat up on my bed, watching the door. There was another knock. "Fawn? Are you awake?"

I was awake. Should I lie? Pretend I was asleep? Should I let him leave, thinking something that wasn't true?

"Fawn, I know you're awake." He sounded so sure.

"Your aunt needs your help downstairs. She sent me to get you." He let that sink in for a moment. If Nola wanted me, there was nothing I could do to avoid her. She would come up here and knock the door down if she needed to. Would it be worth my dignity to go down without making her come up?

I sighed. I had already humiliated myself several times that week. I might as well be graceful where I could.

The chair made a small scraping sound as it moved away from the door. I placed it against the wall with care. Henry let me open the door, stepping back a bit so we weren't face to face. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I looked at him, thankful once again that I didn't get red in the face. He seemed serenely calm, unflappable. If he were at all embarrassed about last night, I couldn't see it.

"Ned said you looked tired. Looks like he was right. You've got crazy dark circles." He cocked a humorous eyebrow and smiled at me. When I didn't return it, he sobered, and gestured in the direction of the stairs. "They're looking for you down there. Want me to tell them you're asleep?"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. He grinned. "I've been known to not be a dick in the past. Not all the time, but it's been known to happen."

In the dark of the hallway, away from other people in the house, in front of a man I didn't even like, I breathed in and out once. No one in the world is better than you are. "W-w-why did you c-come up?" My voice came out shaky, with a stutter I'd never had before, but it came out.

He grinned again, casually rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, then back down to look at me. "Oh, you know, change of scenery. Ned wanted to come up himself, but they were just finishing his scene so...and anyway, the company's not too bad, so why not?" I couldn't tell if he was surprised to hear me speak. I guessed it was getting more common now, anyway.

"Do you want to come down?" He leaned against the doorframe, holding his hand out to make a sweeping, welcoming gesture in the silent hall. His face was close to mine, and I took a small step backward, thinking of the look on Mireille's face the night before, the way their lips had been locked together. He noticed the shift, but didn't comment. Instead, he added, "I get the feeling Nola really wants you around right now."

I didn't even try to hide my disbelief, and he laughed. In spite of myself, I smiled back at him. "O-o-o-kay. I'll c-come down." I followed him out into the hall, closing my door quietly behind me. We walked down the stairs in companionable silence, and it was only when we entered the living room that I noticed the tension in the air. Ned's eyes narrowed as Henry led me into the middle of the room, then moved to flop down onto one of the couches.

"Got her," he said. "Can we keep going now?"

I looked from him to Ned and back, confused. Ned opened his mouth to explain, but Nola cut him off. "Julia's dropped out of the show. We need you to do her part."

I gaped at her. Guy Fearsome strode up, throwing an arm companionably around my shoulders. "Fawn, babe. Am I getting that right, Fawn? We need your help for a couple seconds. It doesn't even have to be that big of a deal. You won't even have many lines, or any, or whatever, just stand around and look pretty and...you are over eighteen, yeah?"

The more he spoke, the more alarmed I got, and I glanced wildly around the room, hoping desperately that it was a joke. I would prefer them laughing at me. I looked at Tom, who bore a put-upon expression, and at Mireille and Nola, whose eyes glinted, and at Henry, who had lied to me. Ned's face was serious as he watched me, and Ned would never joke about something like this.

"Maybe we should explain it instead of springing it on her," came Mary's voice from behind me. "It looks like Henry didn't really do a good job in that department." Her voice was disapproving. Henry smirked at her and shrugged, then met my eyes for a moment before looking away. I turned to meet Mary's eyes.
"Julia decided last minute that she didn't want in, but we've already done all the other scenes and we talk about her, so it's kind of awkward. We're supposed to be done with everything but the party by tonight, and we don't have time to get anyone else. Please," she caught my hands as I stepped back. "Could you please help us?"

Without words, there was no way to tell her how ridiculous this was. Without words, there was no way to tell her that I couldn't ever do it. Not even if I could have spoken. Not even if they paid me.

"Fawn, you'd better do it," said Mireille.

"It's time you helped out around here," said Nola. Ned glared at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced at me, and saw that I'd seen. He looked away.

Tom came up to stand by me. "You know I wouldn't ask if we didn't need your help. I need this," his voice was proud. His eyes were desperate. "Please. I need this. Please help me."

Tom's face was beautiful. Really, the similarity he shared with Ned was striking. When Ned was angry, a muscle in his jaw twitched. When Ned was concerned, the small furrows in his brow grew more pronounced. When Ned smiled at something he thought was genuinely funny, his eyes lit up and his face transformed in impish, childish delight. When he smiled politely, he tended to bow his head a little in respect. Ned would never demean someone he cared about, would never make them uncomfortable unless he thought it was absolutely necessary. Ned would never, never beg unless it was his only option. Not unless every other alternative had been explored and discarded. Not unless it was his only hope. Tom looked so much like Ned.

I glanced at Ned, and met his eyes as he pulled them away from his older brother. Maybe it was the desperation in Tom's voice that convinced Ned, too, because he just looked at me, and his expression was a request.

It was ridiculous. It was impossible. I couldn't speak, couldn't act, and would never be believable as someone's love interest, especially not on a reality show called Party Castles that aired on the Wild! Channel on Wednesday nights. If anyone remembered me from this, I would be a laughingstock for the rest of my life. I would have to pretend to like Yates. I couldn't do it.

But Tom was begging me, and Ned was asking me, and I knew that if there were two people in this house for whom I would do anything, it was them. I opened my mouth to agree, started to nod, when the door to the living room blew open, and a loud, angry, and instantly recognizable voice boomed, "What the hell is going on here?"

Tom dropped my hand and turned. Everyone in the room sat frozen, watching with something akin to awe as Dr Bertram, pharmaceutical magnate and president of Mansfield University, stepped into the room, his shoes making an authoritative clicking on the floor. He clasped his wrists behind his back and glared us each down in turn, his eyes lingering with extra scorn on Guy Fearsome and the Party Castles crew. When he spoke again, his voice was vaguely polite and utterly full of contempt.

"Would someone care to explain what is going on in my house?"

A/N: Oh God you guys. Seriously. Grad school=hard. I'm so sorry I've put off updating (though for people who know of old, this gap isn't too bad). It's partly because I'm super busy, and partly because this is my least favorite part of Mansfield Park, and so I've put off doing it for as long as possible. I'm going to have some issues updating until the beginning of December, but I'll try to put something out before then, if it isn't absolute crap. Which it well might be.

Also, I promise things will start to look up soon. I know we've been in Sadville, Population: Fawn for awhile, but it gets better. Somewhat.

In other interesting news : I think that for the first time ever, someone may have appropriated my idea in a modern fic (Mansfield Ranch, I am side-eyeing you so hard right now...)

Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I hope to have something up sooner than December, but I'm not so sure. And Happy Halloween!