It wasn't until he'd spoken it aloud that Thomas realised how true it rang. Not just in regards to the events of the day, but the events of the past two or so weeks. It had never been Danielle's fault – though she most certainly could have handled things better, and it had been quite naïve of her to enter into a contract with someone like Montmartre when she knew nothing about him – and he'd been treating her most unfairly.
He recalled that night in her apartment and how, though he'd wanted so badly to trust her, he simply couldn't. He recalled asking for insurance – for blackmail material, essentially – and he recalled the box that was sitting in a desk drawer in his office at home. He'd told her he would never use what was in it against her, and he'd wanted to mean it then, but he knew he didn't. He knew that he never could believe that she truly wasn't out to get him, and he knew that he'd expected to find an article about him and alleged indiscretions towards his students any day.
He also knew that he, upon leaving her apartment, had had half a mind to release what he'd held in his hands right away – to be the quickest to draw – and he wasn't sure he'd ever felt so ashamed of his own thoughts before. He was, however, sure that he'd never been so relieved to not have done what he'd meant to do, then.
"Dear Lord," he breathed, hoping she wouldn't hear, but knowing she was paying far too much attention to his every word or action, just as she always did.
When he felt her hand on his shoulder, squeezing ever so lightly, and heard her quiet question of "Thomas, what's wrong?", he was afraid to lift his eyes to hers because he knew just what he'd find. Sympathy he didn't deserve from her and worry for him. He knew, from her tone of voice and the way she used his given name, because despite the insults they'd traded on so many occasions, despite her aloofness in response to his, she'd always cared.
And just now that meant she was worried, because she always could read him well enough to know something troubled him, and to his absolute horror, it also meant that she apologised again. "I'm sorry for getting you into this. I'm so—"
"Stop," he said, with a little more force behind it than he intended, and Danielle quieted immediately. The look of worry on her face stayed, however, and Thomas took a deep breath before he continued. "I should be apologising to you."
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion and she shook her head. "No, you shouldn't. You didn't do anything." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Did you?"
"I shouldn't have asked for it," he said quietly, putting that confused look right back on her face. "And I certainly shouldn't have taken it. I'll give it back to you right after we wrap for the day, I promise."
She seemed to realise then what he meant, and she shook her head. "You were right to ask for insurance. You couldn't have known if I—"
"But I should have," he said urgently. "I should have known you better than that. I did – I do – know you better than that."
Danielle shook her head again, a faint smile on her lips. "Just because we've worked together once doesn't mean you have to trust me. I understand. At the end of the day, I was just one of your students."
Though he'd told her many a time while she'd been at the university – he remembered at least three distinct instances when the words 'you're just a student' had been uttered – Thomas found himself vehemently disagreeing. "You never were just a student, Danielle," he said with a rueful smile. "You were the student."
"The student?" she asked, her tone somewhere between amused and bewildered.
He nodded. "The student. You must have noticed I tortured you a fair bit more than most of your classmates."
"Everyone just assumed you hated me more than the others," she said with a chuckle.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "And why did you think I did it?"
Her smile turned bashful. "I knew you were doing it to push me to succeed. You wanted me to succeed."
"I still do," he said. It took quite a bit of effort for him to get out his next words, having been reluctant to let her know for so long. "You've come a long way since you walked into my classroom that first day and I – I'm proud of you."
Danielle simply stood and stared at him for what felt like an eternity before she broke into what must have been the brightest smile he'd ever seen on her. "You are?"
"I am," he confirmed, his lips forming a smile of his own. "Very."
She bit her lip in an obvious attempt to tamp down her grin, which fell off her face all too soon. Thomas found he missed it immediately and wished he knew what to say to put it back on her face again. "I still screwed up. And I'm still sorry. God, Hunt, I'm so sorry."
He bristled at the way she'd returned to calling him that after she'd used his first name earlier. It felt wrong now, somehow, and before he could stop himself, he told her as much.
"Thomas," he said abruptly. "I think I'd prefer if you called me Thomas."
She looked at him with a puzzled expression, then gave him a little half-smirk. "You always told me not to call you that. I remember. Hated it more than when I dropped the Professor before the Hunt, and that's saying something."
"You were my student then," he said with a bit of a shrug.
She inclined her head and studied him for a moment too long before asking, "And what am I now?"
"You're… you're…" He was at a loss then, unable to find a word for it. Was she a friend? A colleague? Neither sounded quite right, but there wasn't anything else he could think of. "I don't know."
The smile she gave him then was a far cry from the ones he'd received just moments ago, and he cursed himself for having brought it on. It looked sad more than anything else, and it shouldn't have. "I thought as much," she said, losing even that trace of a smile along the way. "Well, I suppose I'll let you get back to work then. You've Zoe and Chris here, maybe you can get to reshooting that scene in the tavern cellar."
Thomas was inclined to stop her – use his authority as a director to turn the suggestion down – but he knew they wouldn't get anywhere if both Montmartre and she were on set, and since one of them he couldn't make leave, he let her go. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said, and it sounded much more like a question than he thought it should have.
"See you tomorrow," Danielle said and left him standing there by himself.
She was glad no one was in the room when she got to wardrobe because she wasn't sure she could stand having company just now. It was a strange feeling that she had – nothing bad had happened, after all – but it wasn't as if she could help it. Those knots in her stomach were there for one reason or another, and they weren't going to go away just like that.
Perhaps once she got home, and made herself a nice cup of hot chocolate with loads of whipped cream and a few marshmallows, they would go away. Or at least be replaced with a proper stomach ache.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem like that was going to happen anytime soon, as there was a knock on the door before she could even get started on taking off her costume. She closed her eyes for a moment, then called out, "I'm going home, Hunt. You won't change my mind."
It wasn't Hunt, though, and she supposed she might've known if she hadn't been so in her head. No, the person she saw step into the room when she glanced at the door was, of course, Viktor.
She very much did not feel like dealing with him at the moment, but it was just as well, since she wanted to free Hunt of his blackmail more than ever now. She turned fully towards him, a forced smile on her lips. "I was just going to get out of my costume," she said, noting the gleam in his eye and trying very hard not to shudder. "We've decided it's best to proceed with another scene, as this one clearly didn't work today."
"We, is it?" Viktor remarked, an eyebrow raised.
Danielle bit back a sigh. "Well, I guess it was more Hunt's decision than mine. But I agree," she half-lied.
Viktor hummed. "I suppose that means you're free for the rest of the day, does it?"
An unpleasant shiver ran down her spine at that, but she nodded, trying to find another smile in her. It wasn't convincing by any means, but Viktor didn't appear to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. "I suppose it does."
There was a moment of silence during which he almost seemed to be waiting for something. Eventually, he said, "Do you need help getting out of that?"
Danielle swallowed as he stepped closer, but she didn't tell him no just yet. It wouldn't do to make him angry, not if she wanted to go through with her plan. Which she had every intention of doing.
She startled when she felt his hand on her back, fiddling with the top button. There was a chuckle that may as well have come from a Bond villain as far as she was concerned, but she let him go on until he'd undone all the buttons. His hand found its way inside the garment, and that was where she stopped him.
"Viktor," she said as softly as she could manage, trying for a tone somewhere between disappointed and seductive, "Not here."
Here would have been marginally safer, she knew. There were people not too far that she could call out to, but just the thought of Hunt walking in and finding them had her feeling sick for reasons she couldn't bear examining just now. She knew why, though, after that talk they'd had. She knew very well.
Viktor clucked his tongue behind her, startling her yet again, before he said, "Will you accompany me to lunch, then?"
It wasn't a question or invitation, Danielle knew. She made herself put on the smile that had slipped when she'd felt his hands on her and turned back to him. "Of course."
"Then I shall leave you to it," he said with a vaguely triumphant grin. "I'll meet you out front."
She gave a quick nod, and Viktor blessedly slipped out of the room again, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, she took a moment to sit down and calm herself. She'd never have admitted it to anyone, really, but she was scared shitless. Because even though she had a plan – and all arrangements had already been made, luckily – there was no guarantee that it would work.
Eventually – she wasn't quite sure how long it took her to compose herself and she only hoped it wasn't so long as to make Viktor suspicious – she quickly took off her costume and got into her everyday clothes. She was glad that she'd chosen a fairly form-fitting dress for the day, if not originally intended for Viktor's benefit but rather someone else's, and decided that it would do just fine.
She took another moment, perhaps a minute, before she went to meet Viktor. She took a longer way to the front gate than necessary so as to not run into Hunt, and perhaps to give her even more time, but found him standing by his town car.
"I'd almost begun to wonder if you'd run away," he said, though he seemed to be teasing rather than suspicious.
Danielle was glad for it and responded in kind, "Well, perhaps I should have asked you to stay and help me out of the costume."
The gleam in his eye was as predatory as his grin and Danielle suppressed the urge to throw up. "I should have quite liked that." He took another good look at her, then turned to open the door of the car. "But I suppose I won't have to wait much longer now, will I?"
She steeled herself with a good, deep breath, and then climbed into the car, Viktor following right after. "No," she said, rather quietly. "Not much longer."
Once the door was closed, the driver started the engine, clearly having received instructions as to where they were going before Danielle had got into the car. She briefly wondered if that should worry her, but decided that it couldn't be helped now, anyway. She only hoped they were going where she'd thought they would.
Just as they drove off, she chanced another look out of the window, and her heart nearly stopped upon seeing Hunt standing right there, having quite obviously seen her get into the car. She tried her best to ignore the crestfallen expression on his face – though she supposed the sight would be burned into her brain until the end of her days, heart-breaking as it was – and consoled herself with the knowledge that he'd understand tomorrow.