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jedibuttercupTitle: Serendipity Comes From Defying Expectations
Author:jedibuttercup
Fandom: Knives Out (2019)
Rating: T/PG-13; Marta/Ransom
Warnings/Notes: For the 2025![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
iddyiddybangbang. A Harlan-Lives AU for Iddy Iddy Bang Bang 2025: an exercise in scheming seen through a limited POV, and warping someone else's path simply by being who you are. :)
Summary: Ransom was the only one of the Thrombeys who hadn't been haunting the patriarch's doorstep with demands and pleas ever since the party. Maybe there was a little more to him than the façade of a spoiled rich kid who valued nothing and no one besides himself. 10,500 words
+
Marta had been expecting things to change after Harlan's eighty-fifth birthday party. She'd been around the Thrombeys long enough to know how they would take him using the opportunity to cut them all off financially: not well at all. Even the ones who were mostly kind to her didn't really see her, with the occasional exception of Meg. They saw the help, even if they said otherwise: someone who looked after their father and grandfather so they didn't have to. Someone convenient, who'd quickly become inconvenient if she got in the way of them trying to win back what they'd so carelessly taken for granted.
She'd been willing to put up with it, though, because at least he was still there to be petitioned. There'd been a scare with his medications the night of the party after their midnight game of Go; somehow, she still didn't understand how, the Toradol and morphine bottles had ended up mislabeled. If they hadn't been knocked to the floor with the board when Harlan tipped it over ... if he hadn't commented on how similar the bottles looked ... if she hadn't paused to look closely at them herself to make sure she had the right ones ... if any little thing had happened differently, Marta might never have noticed that the liquids inside were all wrong. He had come that close to dying right in front of her, because of her. She'd double-checked the kit again, shaken, and discovered that the Naloxone had been missing too; someone had to have been messing with it – maybe Jacob looking for drugs or something, who knew – but she wouldn't have been able to save Harlan if she'd given him a hundred milligrams of morphine instead of three.
Instead, Harlan had passed an uncomfortable night with only over-the-counter acetaminophen for pain relief, and she'd disposed of the kit the next day, unable to trust the drugs inside even if the labels could have been switched back. Harlan had laughed it off, joking about what an efficient, interesting method of murder it would have made, but the minute she brought the replacement kit he offered to lock it up in the safe in his bedroom without her even having to ask. Whoever had done it, Marta didn't want to believe for a second that they'd actually intended to kill the family patriarch on his own birthday, but it was better for everyone's nerves if they were never tempted to do it again.
And there certainly would have been plenty of opportunities otherwise. Because she was right; except for Great-Nana, who'd patted her son's face with a smile before being driven back to her luxury retirement village a few days after the party, most of the family took Harlan's ultimatums like a personal insult. They intruded on his peace more often in the next few weeks than they had the whole rest of the time she'd known them, constantly trying to get him to change his mind. There was a lot of pleading, mostly from Joni and Meg; a lot of shouting, mostly from Walt; a lot of letters from lawyers, mostly because of Richard; and Linda had moved back in entirely while her lawyers dealt with Richard's, drifting around the house with a tightly pursed mouth when she wasn't at work. The usual unpleasantness from Donna and Jacob barely registered in the wake of the rest of their hurt and hostility, and Marta even once, to her later mortification, shared something from Fran's stash with the housekeeper after a particularly trying morning spent playing gatekeeper.
Because of course that was the day Ransom finally turned up again, with his perfect hair and sexy hand-knitted sweater and the confident stride of a man who'd never had to wonder where his next rent check was coming from. Harlan's grandson let himself in the front door with a perfunctory knock, a wooden box tucked under one arm, then sniffed briefly at the air and gave her a wry, knowing smile. They'd disposed of the blunt in a fireplace before Fran left for her errands, but there was no disguising the smell.
"Why, Marta. Not such a goody-two-shoes after all, are you. I'd been starting to wonder."
There had always been something magnetically intense about Ransom. When Harlan had told Marta he saw a lot of himself in his wayward grandson, it hadn't surprised her. Whenever either of them walked into a room they immediately became its center, through some combination of charisma, intelligence, and drive that most people just didn't have. But where age and the school of hard knocks had tempered some of Harlan's sharp edges and taught him to value what he had, if imperfectly, Hugh Ransom Drysdale's life of ease had curdled him, sometimes making him careless, sometimes downright cruel.
She occupied a weird space with him; he let her call him Ransom instead of Hugh unlike the household staff, but he always treated her like an interloper anyway, even this long after she'd started working as Harlan's part-time nurse. There was genuine amusement in the lines around his eyes that day, though, and he was looking right at her rather than past her as he usually did.
A little thrown, Marta swallowed, then lifted her chin and replied. "I think that says more about you than it does about me," she said gamely, dredging up a smile from somewhere. Then she gestured further into the house. "If you're here to argue with your grandfather like everyone else, he's locked himself in his study today, but your mother's out on the back veranda."
"Nah, I already took my best stab at that the night of the party," he said breezily, one corner of his mouth twisting the smile into something uglier for a moment. Then he shook his head, refocusing on her. "But I'm not here for my mother either. She won't be fit to talk to until after she's done revenge-fucking my father by proxy; I have no desire to get dragged into the middle of that. I'm actually here for you."
"What do you mean?" she asked, taken aback. Not by how he talked about his parents; God forbid any member of the family show respect for any of the others. But what could he possibly want with her?
Ransom searched her face with his eyes for a moment, seeming to look for something; then he gave a quiet laugh and shut the door behind himself. "Granddad said something interesting about you that night before I stormed out. I always thought I was the only one who could beat him at Go. But he told me you beat him more often than I did. And it occurred to me that I'd never played Go against you."
Well, he would have had to see her as an equal for that, wouldn't he? Marta was more surprised that Ransom was thinking about it now than that he never had before, and not so sure she really wanted to spend that much time trapped across a small table from him, either. It would be one thing if his grandfather was in the room, but she didn't expect Harlan to come out of his attic study for hours; when he got into the flow of writing he tended to lose track of time. Fran would take his dinner up when she got back, and Marta would check on him then, but he'd said the incident after the party had given him ideas and he wanted some uninterrupted time to wrangle them while they were still fresh.
She'd planned to just stop by briefly in the mornings and evenings that week, so Harlan wouldn't have to pay her for the idle time while he was busy, but he'd said she was his best shield against 'all the nonsense'. So there she was, fending off the various and sundry disruptive Thrombeys on his behalf.
"Well, I'm not sure I'd actually offer you that much of a challenge; I play to build beautiful patterns, not to beat anyone," she demurred.
Strangely, that didn't seem to dissuade Ransom; his smile grew more crooked, but he didn't look away. "I suspect that depends on how you define a 'beautiful pattern'. Granddad might not be a pro, but he's no pushover, and he would never let anyone win just to let them win. He'd sooner flip the board. I'm counting on you not to be that rude." He shifted the object he was carrying, turning it so she could better see what it was; it looked like a portable Go board, the expensive kind made of beautifully finished wood with drawers underneath to hold the Go bowls and stones.
"He still does flip the board sometimes," Marta admitted, slightly tempted by the sight of it. It was a beautiful board, and she did enjoy the game, even if she wasn't a pro either. She just knew Harlan really well, and while he was capable of being pretty ruthless sometimes, he rarely was with her. She doubted the same would be true of Ransom.
But maybe it wouldn't hurt to play just one game? If she won, not only would she have proved she was more than he thought she was, maybe she'd have another refuge in future family gatherings besides standing behind Harlan. And if she didn't and he lost interest in her again instead, so much the better.
"I knew it," he laughed. "C'mon. You know you wanna." He gave the board a slight shake, still grinning.
He had to have some other hidden motive. But maybe Marta didn't have to care about that; playing the game would keep him from going up and bothering Harlan, and that was what she was there for. "All right," she decided warily. "But no further than the library; I have to keep an ear out for your grandfather."
"I'd say he can just text you if he needs you; but I think we both know the stubborn old goat better than that." Ransom smirked at her as he finally headed further into the house.
Marta might argue that; obviously none of the family knew Harlan as well as they thought, or the things he'd said to them at the party wouldn't have come as such a surprise. But then again, Ransom was the only one who hadn't been haunting the patriarch's doorstep with demands and pleas ever since. Maybe he did understand, he'd just been telling himself Harlan's disapproval didn't matter before. Maybe there was a little more to him than the façade of a spoiled rich kid who valued nothing and no one besides himself.
"Fran's out for the afternoon, so she won't be fetching your beer," she warned him as she followed.
"That's all right, I know where the kitchen is," he teased in reply. "Now sit down, or I'm going to start thinking you're trying to get out of this already." He plopped the Go board down on the coffee table in the middle of the library, Harlan's display of knives behind him, and grinned at her as he started setting it up. It wasn't quite predatory, more intrigued, like a raven who'd just spotted something shiny.
Well, Marta was sure she would find out what that was about eventually. In the meantime, they had a game to play. "All right, then, get ready to be beaten," she smiled back, taking a seat opposite.
"You're on," Ransom said, and handed her the bowl of black stones.
+
She wasn't sure how long they played before they were interrupted by the creak of old, well-worn wood. More than one game, and long enough to prompt a deep, considering crease between Ransom's brows as he stared at the board, fingers hovering as he took longer and longer to make each move. He'd started out playing as cocky and aggressive as he did everything else, peppering the game with his smug observations, but the longer they sat there, the more intense and self-contained he got. Whether that meant he was finally taking her seriously, or presaged some less pleasant reaction, Marta had yet to figure out.
Harlan's decision to finally emerge from the study was a welcome distraction from the tension winding up her nerves. As good-looking as Ransom was, between the genetics and the obvious gym time and the expensive fit of everything he wore, he wasn't pretty enough to make her forget everything else he'd ever said to her. Yet, anyway. She apologized to him, promising she'd be right back, then got up to greet his grandfather, exiting the library just in time to see Harlan coming down the last of the stairs.
"Marta, there you are," her employer said, giving her a warm, wry smile. "I'd reached a good stopping point and thought I'd come down for a snack, and then I noticed the extra car in the drive through the window. Who's come to beg me to reconsider today?"
"Actually ... no one," Marta said, quirking a rueful smile at him. "Ransom said you told him I could beat you at Go, and he decided he wanted to try it for himself."
A sudden frown drew Harlan's brows together, an expression very like his grandson's over the Go board: a Thrombey deep in serious thought. "Is that so," he said, tone unexpectedly forbidding. "I trust he has behaved himself?"
Much more than usual, actually, not that she'd say as much to Harlan. The sharp edge of Ransom's tongue had been turned mostly against himself and the rest of the family for once, joking about how the fallout of Harlan's decisions at the party might turn out to be the best thing that had ever happened to them. Marta wasn't sure she'd go as far as to agree – she thought Harlan might have over-corrected a little too far in an effort to fix all their problems at once – but it was early days yet to judge. And Harlan hadn't been the only one who was miserable the way things were; she supposed it couldn't hurt to be a little optimistic about the future.
"He hasn't tried to flip the board even once," she teased instead, "so you be the judge."
"Unlike a certain someone else, you mean," he said, wagging a finger at her. "I see how it is. If I'm not careful, you two might make common cause against me!"
Harlan's expression had softened a little with the teasing, but there was still a sharper than usual note underneath the words. Whatever harsh things the two had said to each other the night of the party must still be lingering. But whatever might happen with Ransom in the future, Harlan should know he never had to worry about that. Marta would always be his friend first.
"I think you might be getting a little paranoid in your old age, abuelo," she said, reaching out to link her arm through his and turn back toward the library. "But if you're that worried about it, come take your break with us and we can make it into a tournament instead."
Harlan blustered a little, but softened further, pleasure at being included wearing away that suspicious edge. He patted her hand on his arm and followed along, pausing only briefly at the threshold of the room to raise an eyebrow at Ransom.
Ransom looked up from the Go board to raise an eyebrow right back, the familiar old smirk tugging at his mouth. "Granddad." Then he shifted his gaze to Marta, smirk still in place, and immediately began clearing the stones back into their bowls. Marta was reminded of nothing so much as Harlan joking about being saved by an earthquake and raised an eyebrow right back at him.
"Grandson," Harlan replied dryly. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you here again so soon."
"Ah, well." Ransom shrugged carelessly. "I suppose I was pretty steamed when I left. But you know, I've had some time to think since then. And I know better than to think any amount of pleading and complaining is going to change your mind." He threw a pointed glance toward the back of the house, where Marta had told him his mother was, one corner of his mouth tucking further in for a moment. "So sue me if I've decided to try and make the best of things instead."
A strange sense of challenge seemed to lie under those words; his blue eyes seemed unnaturally cold for a moment, like glinting chips of ice. And for that same moment, Harlan's expression seemed like a forbidding granite cliff, giving the impression of two implacable foes squaring off across a battlefield.
But then Harlan glanced back toward Marta, and the moment passed; he smiled briefly at her, patting her hand again, and tipped his chin toward Ransom. "I suppose we'll see how that goes," he replied, almost cheerfully. "I have the feeling we both might be surprised."
"By all means," Ransom said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "Winner plays Marta, then?"
"Winner has the honor of getting trounced by Marta, perhaps," Harlan joked, lowering himself onto the seat. "That is, if you don't mind, my dear?"
"As long as you don't turn the board over on me again," she said, wagging a finger at him as she settled into another of the room's chairs. The library's main seating area had several, mostly grouped around the coffee table in the center of the large, ornate area rug. The one she chose was a little closer to Harlan's side of the table, allowing her a three-quarter profile view of Ransom as he turned his focus back to the game. "Do you do that to your grandson, too?"
"Only if you mean metaphorically," Ransom replied for him, reaching to place his first stone. "Though that might be because he knows better than to do unto me without expecting me to do unto him."
"Ah, so it's like that, is it?" Harlan clucked his tongue, lifting his eyebrows a little as he placed his own stone in response.
Men, Marta sighed to herself with a wry smile and settled in to watch.
+
Normally, Ransom and Harlan went at each other as if every word was a dagger; Meg had told her they used to be on better terms back before Ransom spent a summer playing research assistant for his grandfather, but something something expectations had had them at each other's throats ever since. Marta would have said that she didn't need to know any more, but something about the way they traded carefully neutral small talk through sharp-toothed smiles that afternoon made her itch with reawakening curiosity.
Could there really be more to Ransom after all than just another rich white boy dissatisfied with the life he'd been handed and taking it out on everyone else? With his direct attention off her, Marta was free to study him in a way she hadn't dared when he was sitting across the table, watching the emotions pass over his face and the tense, almost defensive way he held himself as he played. He hadn't actually relaxed once since he'd arrived that day, she realized belatedly; not even when he was playing against her.
Harlan seemed to realize it, too. As they transitioned from the early phase of the game, setting up their territories, to the midgame, where they began to invade each other's, he gave his grandson a sharper look and shifted the line of conversation. "Now, as much as I appreciate the attempt to pretend nothing's changed, we both know otherwise. You wouldn't be here at all if that were the case; you're too much like me. So, out with it, my boy. What's your next move?"
Marta might have missed Ransom's quick, thoughtful glance in her direction if she hadn't been watching so closely; she felt heat rush unexpectedly to her cheeks as he turned his attention back to his grandfather with a shrug and a wry smile. "Oh, I haven't decided yet. Still thinking through my options."
"Is that so," Harlan replied, apparently dissatisfied with the answer. "Need I inquire about the legality?"
Ransom snorted. "Despite what my parents might think, I'm not actually on any kind of 'fashion drug' and I've never had to pay for any of my dates, so no, you don't have to worry about me dragging the family's name into some kind of trafficking scheme to recoup my allowance. I like to keep a little bit of a cushion in my accounts, anyway, just in case I need a new car or a lawyer unexpectedly; I like to think I've learned at least a little from my father's example. So like I said, I'm taking the time to think about it."
"One might say you've had over a decade to think about it already," Harlan parried back, no longer even pretending to play the game. "If you'd only chosen a career like your mother...."
"Chosen what career?" Ransom scoffed, temper finally escaping its leash again. "Yours? Hers? Or God forbid, the publishing company? Just what I never wanted: standing at the bottom of someone else's pedestal for the rest of my life. I suppose traditionally I could have gone into the military, or the law, or become a doctor, but what can I say, that much discipline never really appealed to me."
"Yes, that much was always obvious," a new voice added tartly; Marta was startled to realize Linda had come back inside while they were all distracted. "Ransom. I didn't know you planned to visit."
"Mom," Ransom replied, looking up with a tight smile. "I didn't, actually. I came to play Go with Marta."
"Did you," Linda said carelessly, glancing between her son and Marta with lifted eyebrows. "Well, since you're here anyway, I'm sure you won't mind helping me with a few things."
"Are you," Ransom replied in the exact same tone. "Well, I guess being handy for 'a few things' is a step up from yet another lecture about my uselessness. Unless that's code for another lecture, in which case, I'm sorry to say I'm gonna have to pass."
Linda sighed, the lines of her face tightening as she bit back her immediate response. She took a calming breath, glancing at her father, then turned back to her son with a tight-lipped, "Ransom. Please."
Ransom blinked, a wrinkle coming and going between his brows, then sighed in echo of his mother and turned back to Harlan. "Sorry, Granddad, I guess that's my cue. I'll have to come back for that tournament and interrogation another time."
"Well, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, am I?" Harlan tsk'ed at him, tone sharpening as though he'd scored some kind of point in their argument.
Ransom paused, then turned to Marta. His shoulders were still as tense as they'd been since he'd arrived, but he actually did look as though he regretted forgetting she was there, another first in her experience. "Sorry, Marta," he said, with every evidence of contrition. "Can I interest you in a raincheck?"
"Any time," she replied; and realized she actually meant it. If only to see whether today's strange behavior was a whim, or if he really was finally trying to change. She actually felt a little more hopeful about that after the argument with Harlan and the exchange with his mother; the lingering resentment buried under the surface cordiality made the rest of the visit feel more real by contrast. "You know where to find me."
"I definitely do," Ransom replied, a sudden, flashing grin briefly lighting up his face again. Then he pushed back from his chair, nodding to the table. "Look after the board for me?"
"Of course." Marta found herself smiling back. "Although I can't promise it won't get knocked to the floor a time or two between now and then."
"Incentive to hurry back, then," he teased; then caught the look on his mother's face, cleared his throat, and gestured toward the door. "After you, Linda?"
"Hmph," Linda replied, eyeing Marta again with a frown, then turned and strode decisively out of the room.
Silence fell again; when Marta turned back to Harlan, she found him still staring after his daughter and grandson with a thoughtful expression. "Now that's set the cat amongst the pigeons," he murmured, then shook his head and braced his hands against the arms of the chair. "Ah, but that gives me an idea!"
"Back to the study, then?" Marta said, teasingly.
"Back to the study," he agreed, patting her arm as he got to his feet and shuffled past her, heading toward the kitchen. "Snack first, though! Don't think I didn't notice you were trying to distract me."
"Would I do such a thing?" Marta smiled, trailing after him. He wasn't on a particularly restrictive diet, but he did tend to make better choices when she was there to give him the 'Eyebrow of Commentary'.
And afterward, back to gatekeeping duties for her. Though the prospect felt a little less intimidating, with the promise of more afternoons like this one to liven things up.
+
Ransom didn't return the following day, or the next; but on the third day after their first game of Go, a text message appeared on Marta's phone while she was accompanying Harlan on his afternoon walk. The older man's shoulder was healing well – he'd transitioned to oral pain medication as needed – so he was back to his three-mile-a-day routine, though she'd bullied him into leaving the dogs behind. He was in good health for his age, but eighty-five was still eighty-five, and he was lucky his injury hadn't been more severe.
She heard the notification ding in her pocket as she walked; normally she would have ignored it until they were back at the house, but Harlan heard it and stopped short on the path.
"Don't you want to check that?" he asked, breaths misting in the cool afternoon air. "You don't normally get messages this time of day."
"I'm sure it's not important," Marta replied, shaking her head. They were about halfway around the looping trail around the property; the odds were about even that he was actually interested, or that his legs were tired after a week's break and he was in a contrary mood. "For all you know it's my sister asking me to go by the grocery store on my way home. You can just say if you want to stop for a moment, you know."
"Too late, I'm curious now," he insisted, giving her an amused, imperious look. "Go on, take a look."
"Fine, but I'm sure it's really not that...." Marta began, slipping the phone out of her pocket. Then she caught her breath as she glimpsed the name appearing over the message bubble on the lock screen. "Oh. It's Ransom. He says he wants that rematch, and wonders if it's a good time to stop by?"
"Curiouser and curiouser," Harlan muttered, then gave a dismissive wave as she looked back up at him. "Oh, don't look at me, my dear. It's entirely up to you; I have a few more hours of writing in me yet today, I think. Although I daresay I should be giving you hazard pay for dealing with my family so often of late."
Marta would have liked to tell him it wasn't that bad, but since she couldn't tell a lie without getting sick to her stomach, she settled for teasing him further instead. "What did you have in mind? A sliding scale depending on the degree of hazard? I can see that, I think. With Meg and Great-Nana at the bottom...."
"And Donna and Joni at the top?" Harlan chuckled, finishing the sentence. "And where would Ransom rank on that list, I wonder?" He gestured toward the phone still clasped in her hand.
That was a good question. "Before the party or after the party?" Marta answered with another question, the corner of her mouth curving in a wry smile. "And directly or by comparison? Too soon to tell. I suppose I should tell him 'yes' then, if only to get a larger sample size."
"You should tell him that in your reply, in exactly those words," Harlan replied, waggling his eyebrows at her.
"Only if I want to defeat the purpose," Marta laughed, then tapped on the message bubble and texted back a careful: Out with your grandfather. Back at the house in half an hour.
He still does those walks? I guess someone has to admire the statues, Ransom replied back, quickly enough that he had to be using voice-to-text. See you in forty then. Prepare to be trounced.
You wish, Marta typed back, amused. Then she slipped the phone back in her pocket and gestured toward the path. "We better finish your walk, then; he says he'll be here within the hour."
"Hmph." Harlan shook his head as they started moving again, shuffling his feet along the path. "Twice in one week. And he announced himself this time! That kid is up to something."
Marta knew he was probably right. But her nerves were fluttering as though she'd swallowed butterflies, and ridiculous or not, she found herself hoping otherwise. "I know you enjoy the drama. But not everything has to be as complicated as the plots of your novels, you know."
"I suppose there's a first time for everything," Harlan joked. But he looked thoughtful and intrigued again as they finished their walk, engaged in a way he usually only was when he was writing; for that alone, Marta decided she'd keep giving Ransom the benefit of the doubt.
Linda was in Boston for a big real estate deal, so it was just the two of them and Fran in the house for most of the day; Ransom seemed a little disappointed not to see his grandfather when he arrived, and a little wary of the dagger eyes Fran aimed at him every time she looked into the library to see if Marta needed anything. But otherwise, the afternoon went even more smoothly than his first post-party visit.
He was wearing another cable-knit Aran sweater, this one in a shade of blue that nearly matched his eyes; between that and the continued lack of the usual bitter, condescending sneer, he looked distractingly soft and touchable that afternoon. It was almost enough to make her fumble the placement of her first few stones. But she was wearing one of her own favorite sweaters that day, a multicolored striped one that she was reliably informed made her skin look like it glowed and contrasted well against her dark hair; that was armor enough for her to not feel entirely cast in the shade by his mere presence. She rallied in defense of her pattern, cheeks constantly warm under his considering looks, and slowly but steadily captured her way to a narrow first win.
Ransom sat back as that game concluded, shaking his head as he considered the board. "It really isn't luck. You're actually good at this," he said, ruefully.
Normally, Marta would bite her tongue on her instinctive response to a remark like that from a member of a client's family; but it had been a long time since she thought of Harlan as just a client, and being the full focus of Ransom's positive attention like this was a surprisingly intoxicating experience. "And that would almost be a compliment, if you didn't sound so surprised," she replied, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a wry smile.
He snorted, but didn't bother to act embarrassed at the callout, casting her an amused look through his ridiculously thick fringe of eyelashes. "C'mon, after that Mafia game last summer? Okay, maybe I shouldn't have generalized your complete lack of talent at that to games that don't require so much lying, but you have to admit, the surprise didn't come out of nowhere."
Of course he'd have to bring that up! It had been one of her worst experiences since she'd started helping Harlan. "I still don't know how I even got roped into that," she lamented. "It's not that I don't understand the strategy. It's just a physical thing. Like that friend of Meg's at her college who gets lightheaded in crowds."
"Clearly you have unexpected depths," Ransom drawled, grinning at her. "Best two out of three, then?"
If he kept not being an asshole like this, Marta might be in danger of having to actually revise her opinion of him; in the meantime, she decided, she was going to give herself permission to enjoy it while it lasted.
"Sure. If you think it'll end any differently, though, I don't know what to tell you," she replied, arching an eyebrow at him as she scooped her stones back into their bowl.
He actually laughed, smile lines crinkling up around his eyes as he followed suit.
Down, girl, Marta told herself, biting her lip, and did her best to focus back on the game.
+
The pattern continued like that for the next several weeks; every couple of days, Ransom would text to see if Marta and/or his grandfather were free for a game of Go, and if they were, he'd turn up at the house for a few more rounds of play and snappy conversation. He continued to watch his tongue around Fran and the rest of the household staff, though their mutual glares still said plenty; insisted to Harlan that he wasn't up to anything with a sparkle in his eye that hinted otherwise; only sniped half-heartedly at anyone else who might be visiting, which made more than one other family member ask if he was high; and won perhaps one game out of every four. At least, against Marta; against Harlan, it was more like three out of five.
It was baffling, and more enjoyable than it had any right to be; Marta still wasn't sure quite what to make of him. Ransom didn't actually seem much changed in essentials, which probably said something about her taste in men that she didn't want to look too closely at; the difference was in his level of self-control and focus. And a lot of that focus, for whatever reason, seemed to now be aimed her way.
She finally took a deep breath one day, a week or so before Christmas when it was just the two of them in the library again, and decided to just ask him what was going on.
"Why are you really here, Ransom?" she asked him as they cleared away the stones from their latest game. He'd come for lunch this time; Fran had made them both a plate of sandwiches at Marta's apologetic request, and a pair of half-full beer bottles kept company with the empty plates bracketing the game board.
He paused in reaching for his beer and furrowed his brow in her direction. "Getting my ass kicked at Go, obviously."
"I'm not stupid, you know," Marta replied, giving him an impatient look. "Before the party I was just set dressing to you; don't try to pretend otherwise. And as much as I've enjoyed our games, I know I haven't done anything to change that. What are you looking for? What did Harlan say to you?"
He took another long pull on his bottle, and she could almost see the calculations going on behind his eyes as he decided on his answer. That look ran in the family; she'd noticed it in all of them, even Harlan sometimes, as if every conversation between them was a battle to be won or lost. Although, she realized to her surprise, none of them had aimed it at her before, as if Ransom was the first of them to decide she was worthy of being a combatant. A dubious honor, to be sure, but it caught at her breath anyway.
He definitely noticed, a slow smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he finally replied. "Only what he thought I needed to hear, I'm sure. He didn't tell you?"
Marta shook her head cautiously. There was something sharp hiding under the question, but she wasn't quite sure what; hopefully the truth was the answer he was looking for, and that would bring her the answer she was looking for. "No, not the specifics. Just that he was planning to 'cut the line' on all four of you. I told him he should be kinder, but...."
"This is my grandfather we're talking about," Ransom completed the sentence with a rusty chuckle. "Huh. Bold of him to throw you to the wolves like this, then."
"He did say he should probably start giving me hazard pay," Marta offered in return, keeping her voice light. "I asked him what sort of scale he had in mind."
To her surprise, he gave a sudden bark of laughter in response, flashing his teeth at her in a wide, white smile. "Wow. That's perfect. This family really does keep underestimating you, don't we? I've been trying to figure you out these last few weeks, but you do keep surprising me."
"Really?" she blinked at him, taken aback. "I'm not that complicated."
"Maybe from your perspective," he shrugged casually, lounging back further in his chair and studying her with an appreciative expression that she wasn't sure how to respond to. "And probably from Great-Nana's, now that I think about it; I bet that's why Granddad took to you from the start when the rest of us didn't get it. We've all heard the story of the rusty Smith Corona, but it's hard to really grasp what that means when you grow up with a trust fund or a million-dollar loan to start your own business. You just don't treat him like most people do, or any of us really, but especially him. You don't flatter him, or suck up to him, or ask him for anything. I guess we just thought you must be doing it in private, and that's why he was cutting us all off, but you genuinely don't give a shit about the fame and fortune, do you?"
"So that's what all this was about," Marta realized, feeling unaccountably disappointed. But also even more sympathetic at the same time; she never would have guessed the month before that she could ever feel so warmly toward someone who was still mostly the model of a spoiled upper crust jerk. "You wanted to protect him from what you thought was a vicious opportunist?"
Ransom chuckled again at that, almost beaming at her, and she felt it like a shock to the limbic system; like every cell in her body was taking notice. "I guess that's one way to look at it. I mean, I've heard you call him abuelo, but you never act like that place in his life is something you deserve."
Down, girl, she reminded herself again ruefully. He might be actually looking at her now, but he'd said himself he was evaluating her as a threat; even if he did appreciate what he saw, that didn't necessarily mean anything more. From his side, anyway. In Marta's experience, people at his social level didn't reach out to those they perceived as being beneath them; they were too afraid they'd get pulled down, too. But she did respond in maybe more detail than she would have, otherwise; her days of blending into the wallpaper were clearly at an end with him anyway.
"Well, it wasn't hard to see that the last thing he needed was more family," Marta told him with a crooked smile. "What he really wanted was a friend."
"Have courage and be kind," Ransom replied, holding his fingers up as if they were quote marks. "That would be some real faux-Cinderella bullshit, if it wasn't so obviously true. I hope you did tell him you wanted that hazard pay. Or maybe something more in-kind? Like an introduction to an immigration lawyer, maybe."
Marta felt the blood drain from her face at the topical whiplash; even if she doubted after the rest of the conversation that he'd meant that as a threat, she couldn't help the dismayed response. "W-what? Why would you say that?"
"Don't worry, no one's told me anything. If any of them even know; I'd guessed Meg might, but for all you can't tell a lie I've noticed you do keep some things pretty close to the chest, so I couldn't be sure."
He still looked so smug; it was baffling, a little infuriating, and still more attractive than Marta knew what to do with. "How could you possibly know that, when none of you even know where my family's from?" she couldn't help but ask.
He shrugged carelessly. "You might have noticed we're all pretty massive narcissists, even Meg. It would do her some good to look up from her navel every once in a while and notice how all those loud opinions of hers play out in real life. She lives in an echo chamber every bit as much as Jacob does, she just thinks hers is the more ethical one. And maybe it is, but it sure doesn't make her any more likely to positively impact the lives of all the people she performatively cries over. And really, Granddad's not much better, even if he seems to be trying out an eleventh-hour redemption arc these days. Do you know, once I realized how little we all really knew about you, I deliberately called you his Brazilian nurse to his face and he didn't contradict me?"
"Meg will learn once she graduates and gets a job; at least she cares. And did you say Brazilian?" She would have taken that for the usual Thrombey bullshit – Richard had confidently, and wrongfully, announced her family was from Uruguay when he was trying to rope her into his argument at Harlan's birthday party, so guessing another random South American country would seem on brand for his son – except for the twinkle in Ransom's eye that told her he absolutely knew why that was such an egregious guess. "You're such a troll!"
Ransom clasped a hand over his chest, feigning being struck as he laughed again. "You got me. The one Latin American country that doesn't actually speak Spanish, and he didn't even blink. But then, maybe he really thought I was that clueless. The signs are there, though, if you look. Don't worry, I didn't hire a PI or anything; I just put a little thought into how that quirk of yours might have developed. It reads like a trauma response to me – but why would the concept of not telling the truth weigh heavily enough on the mind of a kid to make them sick to their stomach over it? It would have to be a pretty big truth you had to choke down, I figured."
"That's a little bit of a leap," she pointed out, swallowing. "It could be something else, you don't know."
"But is it?" He shrugged. "I don't think so; you'd just have said you didn't need the help if it was. So go on; ask Granddad about it. He'd be glad to; it's not like it would cost him much, and believe me, the fewer vulnerabilities you offer to someone like Uncle Walt when he's clearly on a vicious downward spiral, the better. You're obviously not going anywhere anytime soon. So maybe do something for yourself for once."
He was clearly earnest about that; Marta shook her head again, overwhelmed by the conversation, and changed the subject back to her original question. "So that's it? Harlan said something that made you realize you didn't know me, so you just – wanted to know more? Surely that didn't take you a month."
"I couldn't have realized I was enjoying getting to know you, and decided not to deny myself the pleasure?" Ransom replied, smirking as he finished his beer.
"…The pleasure of repeatedly getting your ass kicked at Go?" she managed, making wide, innocent eyes at him as she fought to keep her cheeks from flushing again.
He laughed outright at that. "Exactly. So don't keep me waiting; I want to see that superior look in your eyes when you realize you're getting the upper hand over me yet again."
"Did I say you were a troll? You're a beast," Marta insisted, shaking her head.
"If the shoe fits," Ransom said, grinning, and gestured invitingly toward the board.
+
After that roller coaster of an afternoon, Marta was looking forward to having some time to decompress and figure out how she felt about Ransom now after all the recent changes. She'd asked for her usual week off for the Christmas holidays, and with the family in so much turmoil Harlan wasn't planning to hold the usual family get-together anyway; it'd be just Linda and Wanetta staying over this year. Ransom would probably drop by the house on the twenty-fifth, but otherwise, he'd probably be too busy to miss her.
... Probably. The memory of him saying he'd decided not to deny himself the pleasure kept flashing back to her at random times; it threw her off enough that when Harlan asked again if there was anything else he could do as thanks for all she'd had to put up with lately, Ransom's suggestion was the first thing that came to mind.
She almost immediately backpedaled with an insistence that she would pay the fees, of course, it's just that things were moving so slowly – but Harlan cut her off with an 'of course, of course, I should have thought of that!' and patted her hand, asking when would be the best time to fit a meeting into her mother's schedule. Before Marta knew it, an appointment with his fancy law firm had been scheduled for right after the holidays, and he'd even already paid the retainer, though he did finally yield – or at least pretend to yield – about the rest. Mamá was flustered about it, reluctant to really expect it would go anywhere when years of talking to cheaper lawyers still hadn't fixed things, but Marta had seen the hope flicker in her mother's eyes despite her doubts and counted that as one of the best Christmas presents she herself had received in years. Some of that weight Ransom had talked about so casually was actually, finally starting to lift.
Her vacation was cut unexpectedly short, though, when Harlan called to say they were doing a New Year's party after all, mostly at Linda's encouragement. It didn't sound like Walt or Richard would be there – the one still too angry at his father, the other on his way out of the family – but all the rest of them were expected. And Ransom had particularly insisted he inform her that she would be there as a guest and not an employee, so she'd have no reason to turn down the champagne.
Marta thought about the prospect of missing her family's usual routine, turning on the TV to catch the ball drop and blowing cheap noisemakers. It was fun, nostalgic. Safe. Whereas going to Harlan's would mean watching the private fireworks show the family always arranged instead of tuning in to Ryan Seacrest hosting Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve; drinking bubbly more expensive per glass than anything currently hanging in her wardrobe; and maybe standing next to Ransom when the countdown began....
"Are you sure?" she had to ask, through a suddenly dry throat. "I'm not exactly family."
"Well, neither is this girl Meg's supposed to be bringing, but close enough," Harlan assured her, a mischievous note in his voice. "She seconded Ransom's invitation, by the way; though personally, I think she just doesn't want to be the only one there with a plus one when the clock ticks over to midnight."
Shit, Marta'd been hoping he hadn't noticed; at least not until she'd finished figuring herself out. "Aren't you a little old for a plus one, abuelo?" she managed to tease back.
"Aren't you always telling me, age is only a number, my dear?" he chuckled. "Do tell me I'll be able to inaugurate the year with a midnight game of Go."
"Well, if you insist," she replied. Then the moment the conversation was done, dropped her phone on the coffee table and pressed her hands to her face. "This is such a bad idea."
Bad idea or not, though, she'd already said yes. And then, when she tried to talk it over with her mother, half looking for an excuse to back out anyway, Mamá rang a peal over her head for even thinking about it and insisted on helping her go through her wardrobe to pick out a sexy dress. Because apparently she'd been concerned that Marta had been too responsible and dutiful to really enjoy herself lately instead of worrying so much about the family, and what was a youth well-lived without taking a few risks? As long as it wouldn't impact her position with his grandfather, why not enjoy the moment?
And in the face of that logic, how could Marta disagree?
+
Even with the dress to fortify her, though, Marta's heart was in her throat as she pulled her old Hyundai up the gravel drive in front of the big house. It looked shabby next to the family's BMWs and Porsches and so on; it reminded her of playing wallflower at the last several Thrombey celebrations, valiantly trying not to get dragged into the various family arguments and mostly failing. Would this one really be any different? But the way Meg whistled when she greeted her at the door, and the slow smile that spread over Ransom's face when he caught sight of her across the room where the family had gathered, calmed her down enough to actually make an attempt at enjoying the evening.
She managed to avoid Donna and Jacob, exchanged a few stiff, pleasant words with Linda, mhmm'ed through a brief pitch from Joni about her latest skincare product, and then escaped to the corner with Meg and her girlfriend without so much as a single reference to her family background or anyone carelessly handing her their plates. So far, so good. Emily-call-me-Em turned out to be a surprisingly normal young woman, too; she looked around at the family circle as though she'd fallen down a rabbit hole somehow, which made it easy to find things to talk to her about. Harlan also came by at one point to smile at her and Meg and tell them he was glad they were there, but despite that initial smile Ransom kept his distance.
It stung a little; and the longer the party went on, the less sense it made. What had been the point of Marta coming as a guest if he wasn't going to talk to her at all? Had something happened? She glanced his way several times over the next couple of hours, telling herself she was ridiculous to have got her hopes up at all after only a few weeks of attention following years of ignoring her, and always found him talking to someone else. But then, sometime between eleven and midnight, he completely disappeared from view.
He wasn't the only one missing, either; sometime after the last trays of snacks had been delivered and the groundskeepers came in to talk about the fireworks setup, Harlan had wandered out of the room. But all the cars were still visible out the front windows, and she hadn't heard the stairs creak once that evening. Had they snuck away to play Go without her? That would have been the usual reason before the last month or so – either that, or another dramatic screaming match – but neither made sense after what Harlan had said when he'd invited her. Marta made her way to the edge of the room to snag a fresh flute of champagne, then ducked out into the hall when she was sure no one was looking.
Faint voices drifted her way from the ground floor office overlooking the back lawn, and she took a fortifying swallow before heading that direction. Harlan's was the first she made out, addressing someone in a smug, conversational tone: "... an interesting call from the son of an old friend the other day."
"Yeah?" she heard Ransom reply warily as she approached the door to the office. It was pulled mostly shut, but enough of a gap had been left that she could see a profile view of them sitting at the desk, facing one another across its empty surface interview-style.
"I take it you've figured out what you want to do with yourself, then?" Harlan continued, steepling his fingers on the solid wood of the desktop.
What the hell was going on? Marta drained the rest of the champagne, then cast around for someplace to get rid of the glass, worried that she might drop it or bump it against something. There was a little decorative table nearby; she held her breath for a long moment as she carefully set it down, but the conversation continued as though they hadn't heard a thing.
"And if I have?" Ransom replied, slouching further back in his chair as if to express his displeasure with the line of conversation.
His grandfather shook his head. "Well, it isn't what I would've expected for you, but...."
"Yeah, well, I know what you always expected," Ransom interrupted, raising his voice a little. "But like I told you, I'm not going to follow in anyone's footsteps. Even if I wanted to, clever plots just don't pop fully formed into my head like they do yours. I was never gonna be the next great mystery novelist."
"But true crime, Ransom?" Harlan wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Marta caught her breath as she realized what they were talking about, then bit her lip to keep from accidentally announcing her presence. She'd heard all about the business degree Ransom's parents had pushed him into getting, and his complete avoidance of anything that might be termed a job afterward ... except for the summer he'd spent assisting his grandfather. Expectations on all sides, and no motivation to chart his own path free of them, until Harlan finally drew a line in the sand. So he'd picked one ... but only if he could do it on his own terms. But why hadn't he said anything sooner?
"What? It's really popular right now," Ransom shrugged. "And it's something I actually have the skills for. You know, after I left the party that night, I was driving. Nowhere, just in the night, and I had this sense of… clarity." He gave his grandfather a sharp, knife-edged smile. "Like from here on out, I was gonna have to fend for myself. But like fuck was I gonna work a nine to five. So I took a couple of days to stew about it. And then I thought about who had the most interesting life I knew, and the rest of it just fell into place. I know Blanc's already had pieces written about him – obviously; that's why I thought of him in the first place – and some of the cases he's solved have had their own articles and documentaries. But a lot of them haven't, and what's there is all piecemeal. If he's supposed to be the Last Great Gentleman Sleuth, there seems like an obvious market for someone to give him the Sherlock Holmes treatment. I mean, if he lets me keep shadowing him. What did you tell him?"
"What do you think I told him?" Harlan shrugged, fondly exasperated. "You're bright and capable enough to do whatever you set your mind to. You just have yet to find your true purpose. So, he might as well give you a try."
"Damned with faint praise, huh," Ransom said, mouth curved in a bitter smile.
"Not at all," Harlan said firmly, shaking his head. "I look forward to the results. Particularly if it keeps you too busy for a repeat of your… stewing, shall we say, and the consequences that nearly came of it. I'd like to be around to brag about finally seeing your name in print, you know. Though I did wonder if the idea came to you before or after you started thinking about playing Go with Marta."
Something about those last couple of sentences startled Ransom; he stiffened in his seat, replying with a carefully dismissive tone. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you don't," Harlan replied dryly. "I'd have been more worried if you still seemed to be thinking in terms of obstacles rather than opportunities, but I'm old, not blind, and from my chair, it looks like you're finally learning to tell a prop knife from the real thing. Just keep in mind – if you're feigning it all in an attempt to do an end run around that conversation that disturbed you so much, I've already taken legal steps to make sure the book closes with a flourish, no matter how the last chapter ends."
Marta had lost track of what they were talking about, other than that it involved Harlan implying he might be proud of Ransom after all and Ransom bristling like he always did. Or maybe she just wanted to think she had; she'd been very determinedly avoiding thinking about what had nearly happened the last time she'd heard Harlan talking about a prop knife, after all, and all the ways in which everything had changed afterward. It was easier when Ransom's next words shifted the topic to something much more flustering.
"You sure picked the right protagonist, then. You know I thought for sure she had you fooled when I started coming around more. Just another vicious bitch preying on someone vulnerable to get ahead. But the truth is, she's sharper than even you give her credit for, and kinder with it than any of us deserve. I mean, did you see her in that dress this evening, deflecting Joni and placating my mother without once giving away how she really feels, before swanning over to welcome Meg's girl more graciously than either one had bothered? Outclassing both of them by just existing. You might as well pick up a wand and commission a pair of crystal shoes."
Harlan chuckled, expression softening as Ransom gestured dramatically. "Then you'd better get back to the party before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, to mix the metaphor a little further. And maybe invite her somewhere other than this old house on her next day off."
Marta was surprised to see Ransom look away from his grandfather at that remark, a brief flash of vulnerability flashing over his face – something she'd never seen from him before. "And if she sees right through me, too, and decides she doesn't like what she sees?"
"If that was a real risk," Harlan said, looking fond again, "I doubt we would have reached this crossroads to begin with, because she never would have stayed beyond that initial fifteen hours a week to become my friend. Clearly, she has a soft spot for redeemable rascals. And like you said, I have seen that dress. I did tell her you were the one who insisted I invite her as a guest, you know."
Blushing furiously, Marta decided she'd heard quite enough and hurried back down the corridor, slipping back to the party just in time to join the others streaming out onto the porch. Linda guided her grandmother to a chair and took up station next to it, Donna was busy harassing her son into looking up from his phone, Joni was pestering one of the catering staff, and Meg and Emily were deep in whispered conversation, arm in arm. None of them noticed Marta standing a little apart from the rest, apart from a brief flashing smile from Meg, too distracted by themselves or looking around for Harlan.
The man in question appeared a few moments later, a cane braced under one hand in deference to the uncertain outdoor footing but otherwise at full pomp, loudly inviting them all to commence the sixty-second countdown. Marta smiled wryly at him as she quietly joined in, feeling a wave of fondness wash over her at the sight despite all that she'd just overheard. Whatever else may come of her association with the Thrombeys, she never would regret becoming Harlan's friend. He'd made her life so much more colorful by inviting her into his.
And as for his grandson....
A sudden presence loomed beside her, and she looked up to see that Ransom had finally made it to her side. It was dark enough outside, with most of the house lights turned off in deference of the show to come, that his expression was mostly outlined in shadow; it lent him an almost wolfish air as he smirked down at her. "Hey there, Cabrera. Fancy seeing you here."
A well of matching hunger welled up in her, and she swallowed dryly before lifting an eyebrow in response. "Hey there, Drysdale. Ready to say goodbye to the year?"
"Ready to start the new one off with a bang," he replied, lifting a hand to pass her another champagne flute. "Oh, whoops – sorry, that's the empty," he added with a smug grin, pointedly turning it to show off a faint but still visible lip print before setting it on the tray of a nearby server. "Love the color, by the way. Very ... striking."
Oh shit, Marta thought again, face flushing as she remembered where she'd left that empty glass; then, casting caution to the wind for once, what the hell. Whatever else he might be, Ransom was always honest about it, unashamed in a way she'd often wished she could be; and she could do worse than starting a relationship based on open appreciation, barely-veiled scheming, and genuine lust.
"I chose it to go with the crystal shoes," she said huskily, gaze fixed on those piercing blue eyes as the count around them loudly reached ten. Her stomach didn't even quiver.
"Kinky," he said, grin widening, then glanced up at the sky as the first rocket launched.
Marta tipped her head back to watch the first starburst exploding overhead, red and green sparks lighting up the night; then a warm palm brushed against her cheek, and she looked back down to find Ransom leaning in to meet her. Her breath caught; and then she was leaning back, soft lips slanting over hers as an electric thrill lit her up from head to toe.
This really was such a bad idea. Most of his family were going to lose their minds, and there was no way it could end well. But oh, was she going to enjoy it while it lasted.
More fireworks exploded overhead, and she lost herself in the consuming kiss.
+
(or read at AO3)
Author:
jedibuttercupFandom: Knives Out (2019)
Rating: T/PG-13; Marta/Ransom
Warnings/Notes: For the 2025
iddyiddybangbang. A Harlan-Lives AU for Iddy Iddy Bang Bang 2025: an exercise in scheming seen through a limited POV, and warping someone else's path simply by being who you are. :)Summary: Ransom was the only one of the Thrombeys who hadn't been haunting the patriarch's doorstep with demands and pleas ever since the party. Maybe there was a little more to him than the façade of a spoiled rich kid who valued nothing and no one besides himself. 10,500 words
+
Marta had been expecting things to change after Harlan's eighty-fifth birthday party. She'd been around the Thrombeys long enough to know how they would take him using the opportunity to cut them all off financially: not well at all. Even the ones who were mostly kind to her didn't really see her, with the occasional exception of Meg. They saw the help, even if they said otherwise: someone who looked after their father and grandfather so they didn't have to. Someone convenient, who'd quickly become inconvenient if she got in the way of them trying to win back what they'd so carelessly taken for granted.
She'd been willing to put up with it, though, because at least he was still there to be petitioned. There'd been a scare with his medications the night of the party after their midnight game of Go; somehow, she still didn't understand how, the Toradol and morphine bottles had ended up mislabeled. If they hadn't been knocked to the floor with the board when Harlan tipped it over ... if he hadn't commented on how similar the bottles looked ... if she hadn't paused to look closely at them herself to make sure she had the right ones ... if any little thing had happened differently, Marta might never have noticed that the liquids inside were all wrong. He had come that close to dying right in front of her, because of her. She'd double-checked the kit again, shaken, and discovered that the Naloxone had been missing too; someone had to have been messing with it – maybe Jacob looking for drugs or something, who knew – but she wouldn't have been able to save Harlan if she'd given him a hundred milligrams of morphine instead of three.
Instead, Harlan had passed an uncomfortable night with only over-the-counter acetaminophen for pain relief, and she'd disposed of the kit the next day, unable to trust the drugs inside even if the labels could have been switched back. Harlan had laughed it off, joking about what an efficient, interesting method of murder it would have made, but the minute she brought the replacement kit he offered to lock it up in the safe in his bedroom without her even having to ask. Whoever had done it, Marta didn't want to believe for a second that they'd actually intended to kill the family patriarch on his own birthday, but it was better for everyone's nerves if they were never tempted to do it again.
And there certainly would have been plenty of opportunities otherwise. Because she was right; except for Great-Nana, who'd patted her son's face with a smile before being driven back to her luxury retirement village a few days after the party, most of the family took Harlan's ultimatums like a personal insult. They intruded on his peace more often in the next few weeks than they had the whole rest of the time she'd known them, constantly trying to get him to change his mind. There was a lot of pleading, mostly from Joni and Meg; a lot of shouting, mostly from Walt; a lot of letters from lawyers, mostly because of Richard; and Linda had moved back in entirely while her lawyers dealt with Richard's, drifting around the house with a tightly pursed mouth when she wasn't at work. The usual unpleasantness from Donna and Jacob barely registered in the wake of the rest of their hurt and hostility, and Marta even once, to her later mortification, shared something from Fran's stash with the housekeeper after a particularly trying morning spent playing gatekeeper.
Because of course that was the day Ransom finally turned up again, with his perfect hair and sexy hand-knitted sweater and the confident stride of a man who'd never had to wonder where his next rent check was coming from. Harlan's grandson let himself in the front door with a perfunctory knock, a wooden box tucked under one arm, then sniffed briefly at the air and gave her a wry, knowing smile. They'd disposed of the blunt in a fireplace before Fran left for her errands, but there was no disguising the smell.
"Why, Marta. Not such a goody-two-shoes after all, are you. I'd been starting to wonder."
There had always been something magnetically intense about Ransom. When Harlan had told Marta he saw a lot of himself in his wayward grandson, it hadn't surprised her. Whenever either of them walked into a room they immediately became its center, through some combination of charisma, intelligence, and drive that most people just didn't have. But where age and the school of hard knocks had tempered some of Harlan's sharp edges and taught him to value what he had, if imperfectly, Hugh Ransom Drysdale's life of ease had curdled him, sometimes making him careless, sometimes downright cruel.
She occupied a weird space with him; he let her call him Ransom instead of Hugh unlike the household staff, but he always treated her like an interloper anyway, even this long after she'd started working as Harlan's part-time nurse. There was genuine amusement in the lines around his eyes that day, though, and he was looking right at her rather than past her as he usually did.
A little thrown, Marta swallowed, then lifted her chin and replied. "I think that says more about you than it does about me," she said gamely, dredging up a smile from somewhere. Then she gestured further into the house. "If you're here to argue with your grandfather like everyone else, he's locked himself in his study today, but your mother's out on the back veranda."
"Nah, I already took my best stab at that the night of the party," he said breezily, one corner of his mouth twisting the smile into something uglier for a moment. Then he shook his head, refocusing on her. "But I'm not here for my mother either. She won't be fit to talk to until after she's done revenge-fucking my father by proxy; I have no desire to get dragged into the middle of that. I'm actually here for you."
"What do you mean?" she asked, taken aback. Not by how he talked about his parents; God forbid any member of the family show respect for any of the others. But what could he possibly want with her?
Ransom searched her face with his eyes for a moment, seeming to look for something; then he gave a quiet laugh and shut the door behind himself. "Granddad said something interesting about you that night before I stormed out. I always thought I was the only one who could beat him at Go. But he told me you beat him more often than I did. And it occurred to me that I'd never played Go against you."
Well, he would have had to see her as an equal for that, wouldn't he? Marta was more surprised that Ransom was thinking about it now than that he never had before, and not so sure she really wanted to spend that much time trapped across a small table from him, either. It would be one thing if his grandfather was in the room, but she didn't expect Harlan to come out of his attic study for hours; when he got into the flow of writing he tended to lose track of time. Fran would take his dinner up when she got back, and Marta would check on him then, but he'd said the incident after the party had given him ideas and he wanted some uninterrupted time to wrangle them while they were still fresh.
She'd planned to just stop by briefly in the mornings and evenings that week, so Harlan wouldn't have to pay her for the idle time while he was busy, but he'd said she was his best shield against 'all the nonsense'. So there she was, fending off the various and sundry disruptive Thrombeys on his behalf.
"Well, I'm not sure I'd actually offer you that much of a challenge; I play to build beautiful patterns, not to beat anyone," she demurred.
Strangely, that didn't seem to dissuade Ransom; his smile grew more crooked, but he didn't look away. "I suspect that depends on how you define a 'beautiful pattern'. Granddad might not be a pro, but he's no pushover, and he would never let anyone win just to let them win. He'd sooner flip the board. I'm counting on you not to be that rude." He shifted the object he was carrying, turning it so she could better see what it was; it looked like a portable Go board, the expensive kind made of beautifully finished wood with drawers underneath to hold the Go bowls and stones.
"He still does flip the board sometimes," Marta admitted, slightly tempted by the sight of it. It was a beautiful board, and she did enjoy the game, even if she wasn't a pro either. She just knew Harlan really well, and while he was capable of being pretty ruthless sometimes, he rarely was with her. She doubted the same would be true of Ransom.
But maybe it wouldn't hurt to play just one game? If she won, not only would she have proved she was more than he thought she was, maybe she'd have another refuge in future family gatherings besides standing behind Harlan. And if she didn't and he lost interest in her again instead, so much the better.
"I knew it," he laughed. "C'mon. You know you wanna." He gave the board a slight shake, still grinning.
He had to have some other hidden motive. But maybe Marta didn't have to care about that; playing the game would keep him from going up and bothering Harlan, and that was what she was there for. "All right," she decided warily. "But no further than the library; I have to keep an ear out for your grandfather."
"I'd say he can just text you if he needs you; but I think we both know the stubborn old goat better than that." Ransom smirked at her as he finally headed further into the house.
Marta might argue that; obviously none of the family knew Harlan as well as they thought, or the things he'd said to them at the party wouldn't have come as such a surprise. But then again, Ransom was the only one who hadn't been haunting the patriarch's doorstep with demands and pleas ever since. Maybe he did understand, he'd just been telling himself Harlan's disapproval didn't matter before. Maybe there was a little more to him than the façade of a spoiled rich kid who valued nothing and no one besides himself.
"Fran's out for the afternoon, so she won't be fetching your beer," she warned him as she followed.
"That's all right, I know where the kitchen is," he teased in reply. "Now sit down, or I'm going to start thinking you're trying to get out of this already." He plopped the Go board down on the coffee table in the middle of the library, Harlan's display of knives behind him, and grinned at her as he started setting it up. It wasn't quite predatory, more intrigued, like a raven who'd just spotted something shiny.
Well, Marta was sure she would find out what that was about eventually. In the meantime, they had a game to play. "All right, then, get ready to be beaten," she smiled back, taking a seat opposite.
"You're on," Ransom said, and handed her the bowl of black stones.
+
She wasn't sure how long they played before they were interrupted by the creak of old, well-worn wood. More than one game, and long enough to prompt a deep, considering crease between Ransom's brows as he stared at the board, fingers hovering as he took longer and longer to make each move. He'd started out playing as cocky and aggressive as he did everything else, peppering the game with his smug observations, but the longer they sat there, the more intense and self-contained he got. Whether that meant he was finally taking her seriously, or presaged some less pleasant reaction, Marta had yet to figure out.
Harlan's decision to finally emerge from the study was a welcome distraction from the tension winding up her nerves. As good-looking as Ransom was, between the genetics and the obvious gym time and the expensive fit of everything he wore, he wasn't pretty enough to make her forget everything else he'd ever said to her. Yet, anyway. She apologized to him, promising she'd be right back, then got up to greet his grandfather, exiting the library just in time to see Harlan coming down the last of the stairs.
"Marta, there you are," her employer said, giving her a warm, wry smile. "I'd reached a good stopping point and thought I'd come down for a snack, and then I noticed the extra car in the drive through the window. Who's come to beg me to reconsider today?"
"Actually ... no one," Marta said, quirking a rueful smile at him. "Ransom said you told him I could beat you at Go, and he decided he wanted to try it for himself."
A sudden frown drew Harlan's brows together, an expression very like his grandson's over the Go board: a Thrombey deep in serious thought. "Is that so," he said, tone unexpectedly forbidding. "I trust he has behaved himself?"
Much more than usual, actually, not that she'd say as much to Harlan. The sharp edge of Ransom's tongue had been turned mostly against himself and the rest of the family for once, joking about how the fallout of Harlan's decisions at the party might turn out to be the best thing that had ever happened to them. Marta wasn't sure she'd go as far as to agree – she thought Harlan might have over-corrected a little too far in an effort to fix all their problems at once – but it was early days yet to judge. And Harlan hadn't been the only one who was miserable the way things were; she supposed it couldn't hurt to be a little optimistic about the future.
"He hasn't tried to flip the board even once," she teased instead, "so you be the judge."
"Unlike a certain someone else, you mean," he said, wagging a finger at her. "I see how it is. If I'm not careful, you two might make common cause against me!"
Harlan's expression had softened a little with the teasing, but there was still a sharper than usual note underneath the words. Whatever harsh things the two had said to each other the night of the party must still be lingering. But whatever might happen with Ransom in the future, Harlan should know he never had to worry about that. Marta would always be his friend first.
"I think you might be getting a little paranoid in your old age, abuelo," she said, reaching out to link her arm through his and turn back toward the library. "But if you're that worried about it, come take your break with us and we can make it into a tournament instead."
Harlan blustered a little, but softened further, pleasure at being included wearing away that suspicious edge. He patted her hand on his arm and followed along, pausing only briefly at the threshold of the room to raise an eyebrow at Ransom.
Ransom looked up from the Go board to raise an eyebrow right back, the familiar old smirk tugging at his mouth. "Granddad." Then he shifted his gaze to Marta, smirk still in place, and immediately began clearing the stones back into their bowls. Marta was reminded of nothing so much as Harlan joking about being saved by an earthquake and raised an eyebrow right back at him.
"Grandson," Harlan replied dryly. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you here again so soon."
"Ah, well." Ransom shrugged carelessly. "I suppose I was pretty steamed when I left. But you know, I've had some time to think since then. And I know better than to think any amount of pleading and complaining is going to change your mind." He threw a pointed glance toward the back of the house, where Marta had told him his mother was, one corner of his mouth tucking further in for a moment. "So sue me if I've decided to try and make the best of things instead."
A strange sense of challenge seemed to lie under those words; his blue eyes seemed unnaturally cold for a moment, like glinting chips of ice. And for that same moment, Harlan's expression seemed like a forbidding granite cliff, giving the impression of two implacable foes squaring off across a battlefield.
But then Harlan glanced back toward Marta, and the moment passed; he smiled briefly at her, patting her hand again, and tipped his chin toward Ransom. "I suppose we'll see how that goes," he replied, almost cheerfully. "I have the feeling we both might be surprised."
"By all means," Ransom said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "Winner plays Marta, then?"
"Winner has the honor of getting trounced by Marta, perhaps," Harlan joked, lowering himself onto the seat. "That is, if you don't mind, my dear?"
"As long as you don't turn the board over on me again," she said, wagging a finger at him as she settled into another of the room's chairs. The library's main seating area had several, mostly grouped around the coffee table in the center of the large, ornate area rug. The one she chose was a little closer to Harlan's side of the table, allowing her a three-quarter profile view of Ransom as he turned his focus back to the game. "Do you do that to your grandson, too?"
"Only if you mean metaphorically," Ransom replied for him, reaching to place his first stone. "Though that might be because he knows better than to do unto me without expecting me to do unto him."
"Ah, so it's like that, is it?" Harlan clucked his tongue, lifting his eyebrows a little as he placed his own stone in response.
Men, Marta sighed to herself with a wry smile and settled in to watch.
+
Normally, Ransom and Harlan went at each other as if every word was a dagger; Meg had told her they used to be on better terms back before Ransom spent a summer playing research assistant for his grandfather, but something something expectations had had them at each other's throats ever since. Marta would have said that she didn't need to know any more, but something about the way they traded carefully neutral small talk through sharp-toothed smiles that afternoon made her itch with reawakening curiosity.
Could there really be more to Ransom after all than just another rich white boy dissatisfied with the life he'd been handed and taking it out on everyone else? With his direct attention off her, Marta was free to study him in a way she hadn't dared when he was sitting across the table, watching the emotions pass over his face and the tense, almost defensive way he held himself as he played. He hadn't actually relaxed once since he'd arrived that day, she realized belatedly; not even when he was playing against her.
Harlan seemed to realize it, too. As they transitioned from the early phase of the game, setting up their territories, to the midgame, where they began to invade each other's, he gave his grandson a sharper look and shifted the line of conversation. "Now, as much as I appreciate the attempt to pretend nothing's changed, we both know otherwise. You wouldn't be here at all if that were the case; you're too much like me. So, out with it, my boy. What's your next move?"
Marta might have missed Ransom's quick, thoughtful glance in her direction if she hadn't been watching so closely; she felt heat rush unexpectedly to her cheeks as he turned his attention back to his grandfather with a shrug and a wry smile. "Oh, I haven't decided yet. Still thinking through my options."
"Is that so," Harlan replied, apparently dissatisfied with the answer. "Need I inquire about the legality?"
Ransom snorted. "Despite what my parents might think, I'm not actually on any kind of 'fashion drug' and I've never had to pay for any of my dates, so no, you don't have to worry about me dragging the family's name into some kind of trafficking scheme to recoup my allowance. I like to keep a little bit of a cushion in my accounts, anyway, just in case I need a new car or a lawyer unexpectedly; I like to think I've learned at least a little from my father's example. So like I said, I'm taking the time to think about it."
"One might say you've had over a decade to think about it already," Harlan parried back, no longer even pretending to play the game. "If you'd only chosen a career like your mother...."
"Chosen what career?" Ransom scoffed, temper finally escaping its leash again. "Yours? Hers? Or God forbid, the publishing company? Just what I never wanted: standing at the bottom of someone else's pedestal for the rest of my life. I suppose traditionally I could have gone into the military, or the law, or become a doctor, but what can I say, that much discipline never really appealed to me."
"Yes, that much was always obvious," a new voice added tartly; Marta was startled to realize Linda had come back inside while they were all distracted. "Ransom. I didn't know you planned to visit."
"Mom," Ransom replied, looking up with a tight smile. "I didn't, actually. I came to play Go with Marta."
"Did you," Linda said carelessly, glancing between her son and Marta with lifted eyebrows. "Well, since you're here anyway, I'm sure you won't mind helping me with a few things."
"Are you," Ransom replied in the exact same tone. "Well, I guess being handy for 'a few things' is a step up from yet another lecture about my uselessness. Unless that's code for another lecture, in which case, I'm sorry to say I'm gonna have to pass."
Linda sighed, the lines of her face tightening as she bit back her immediate response. She took a calming breath, glancing at her father, then turned back to her son with a tight-lipped, "Ransom. Please."
Ransom blinked, a wrinkle coming and going between his brows, then sighed in echo of his mother and turned back to Harlan. "Sorry, Granddad, I guess that's my cue. I'll have to come back for that tournament and interrogation another time."
"Well, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, am I?" Harlan tsk'ed at him, tone sharpening as though he'd scored some kind of point in their argument.
Ransom paused, then turned to Marta. His shoulders were still as tense as they'd been since he'd arrived, but he actually did look as though he regretted forgetting she was there, another first in her experience. "Sorry, Marta," he said, with every evidence of contrition. "Can I interest you in a raincheck?"
"Any time," she replied; and realized she actually meant it. If only to see whether today's strange behavior was a whim, or if he really was finally trying to change. She actually felt a little more hopeful about that after the argument with Harlan and the exchange with his mother; the lingering resentment buried under the surface cordiality made the rest of the visit feel more real by contrast. "You know where to find me."
"I definitely do," Ransom replied, a sudden, flashing grin briefly lighting up his face again. Then he pushed back from his chair, nodding to the table. "Look after the board for me?"
"Of course." Marta found herself smiling back. "Although I can't promise it won't get knocked to the floor a time or two between now and then."
"Incentive to hurry back, then," he teased; then caught the look on his mother's face, cleared his throat, and gestured toward the door. "After you, Linda?"
"Hmph," Linda replied, eyeing Marta again with a frown, then turned and strode decisively out of the room.
Silence fell again; when Marta turned back to Harlan, she found him still staring after his daughter and grandson with a thoughtful expression. "Now that's set the cat amongst the pigeons," he murmured, then shook his head and braced his hands against the arms of the chair. "Ah, but that gives me an idea!"
"Back to the study, then?" Marta said, teasingly.
"Back to the study," he agreed, patting her arm as he got to his feet and shuffled past her, heading toward the kitchen. "Snack first, though! Don't think I didn't notice you were trying to distract me."
"Would I do such a thing?" Marta smiled, trailing after him. He wasn't on a particularly restrictive diet, but he did tend to make better choices when she was there to give him the 'Eyebrow of Commentary'.
And afterward, back to gatekeeping duties for her. Though the prospect felt a little less intimidating, with the promise of more afternoons like this one to liven things up.
+
Ransom didn't return the following day, or the next; but on the third day after their first game of Go, a text message appeared on Marta's phone while she was accompanying Harlan on his afternoon walk. The older man's shoulder was healing well – he'd transitioned to oral pain medication as needed – so he was back to his three-mile-a-day routine, though she'd bullied him into leaving the dogs behind. He was in good health for his age, but eighty-five was still eighty-five, and he was lucky his injury hadn't been more severe.
She heard the notification ding in her pocket as she walked; normally she would have ignored it until they were back at the house, but Harlan heard it and stopped short on the path.
"Don't you want to check that?" he asked, breaths misting in the cool afternoon air. "You don't normally get messages this time of day."
"I'm sure it's not important," Marta replied, shaking her head. They were about halfway around the looping trail around the property; the odds were about even that he was actually interested, or that his legs were tired after a week's break and he was in a contrary mood. "For all you know it's my sister asking me to go by the grocery store on my way home. You can just say if you want to stop for a moment, you know."
"Too late, I'm curious now," he insisted, giving her an amused, imperious look. "Go on, take a look."
"Fine, but I'm sure it's really not that...." Marta began, slipping the phone out of her pocket. Then she caught her breath as she glimpsed the name appearing over the message bubble on the lock screen. "Oh. It's Ransom. He says he wants that rematch, and wonders if it's a good time to stop by?"
"Curiouser and curiouser," Harlan muttered, then gave a dismissive wave as she looked back up at him. "Oh, don't look at me, my dear. It's entirely up to you; I have a few more hours of writing in me yet today, I think. Although I daresay I should be giving you hazard pay for dealing with my family so often of late."
Marta would have liked to tell him it wasn't that bad, but since she couldn't tell a lie without getting sick to her stomach, she settled for teasing him further instead. "What did you have in mind? A sliding scale depending on the degree of hazard? I can see that, I think. With Meg and Great-Nana at the bottom...."
"And Donna and Joni at the top?" Harlan chuckled, finishing the sentence. "And where would Ransom rank on that list, I wonder?" He gestured toward the phone still clasped in her hand.
That was a good question. "Before the party or after the party?" Marta answered with another question, the corner of her mouth curving in a wry smile. "And directly or by comparison? Too soon to tell. I suppose I should tell him 'yes' then, if only to get a larger sample size."
"You should tell him that in your reply, in exactly those words," Harlan replied, waggling his eyebrows at her.
"Only if I want to defeat the purpose," Marta laughed, then tapped on the message bubble and texted back a careful: Out with your grandfather. Back at the house in half an hour.
He still does those walks? I guess someone has to admire the statues, Ransom replied back, quickly enough that he had to be using voice-to-text. See you in forty then. Prepare to be trounced.
You wish, Marta typed back, amused. Then she slipped the phone back in her pocket and gestured toward the path. "We better finish your walk, then; he says he'll be here within the hour."
"Hmph." Harlan shook his head as they started moving again, shuffling his feet along the path. "Twice in one week. And he announced himself this time! That kid is up to something."
Marta knew he was probably right. But her nerves were fluttering as though she'd swallowed butterflies, and ridiculous or not, she found herself hoping otherwise. "I know you enjoy the drama. But not everything has to be as complicated as the plots of your novels, you know."
"I suppose there's a first time for everything," Harlan joked. But he looked thoughtful and intrigued again as they finished their walk, engaged in a way he usually only was when he was writing; for that alone, Marta decided she'd keep giving Ransom the benefit of the doubt.
Linda was in Boston for a big real estate deal, so it was just the two of them and Fran in the house for most of the day; Ransom seemed a little disappointed not to see his grandfather when he arrived, and a little wary of the dagger eyes Fran aimed at him every time she looked into the library to see if Marta needed anything. But otherwise, the afternoon went even more smoothly than his first post-party visit.
He was wearing another cable-knit Aran sweater, this one in a shade of blue that nearly matched his eyes; between that and the continued lack of the usual bitter, condescending sneer, he looked distractingly soft and touchable that afternoon. It was almost enough to make her fumble the placement of her first few stones. But she was wearing one of her own favorite sweaters that day, a multicolored striped one that she was reliably informed made her skin look like it glowed and contrasted well against her dark hair; that was armor enough for her to not feel entirely cast in the shade by his mere presence. She rallied in defense of her pattern, cheeks constantly warm under his considering looks, and slowly but steadily captured her way to a narrow first win.
Ransom sat back as that game concluded, shaking his head as he considered the board. "It really isn't luck. You're actually good at this," he said, ruefully.
Normally, Marta would bite her tongue on her instinctive response to a remark like that from a member of a client's family; but it had been a long time since she thought of Harlan as just a client, and being the full focus of Ransom's positive attention like this was a surprisingly intoxicating experience. "And that would almost be a compliment, if you didn't sound so surprised," she replied, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a wry smile.
He snorted, but didn't bother to act embarrassed at the callout, casting her an amused look through his ridiculously thick fringe of eyelashes. "C'mon, after that Mafia game last summer? Okay, maybe I shouldn't have generalized your complete lack of talent at that to games that don't require so much lying, but you have to admit, the surprise didn't come out of nowhere."
Of course he'd have to bring that up! It had been one of her worst experiences since she'd started helping Harlan. "I still don't know how I even got roped into that," she lamented. "It's not that I don't understand the strategy. It's just a physical thing. Like that friend of Meg's at her college who gets lightheaded in crowds."
"Clearly you have unexpected depths," Ransom drawled, grinning at her. "Best two out of three, then?"
If he kept not being an asshole like this, Marta might be in danger of having to actually revise her opinion of him; in the meantime, she decided, she was going to give herself permission to enjoy it while it lasted.
"Sure. If you think it'll end any differently, though, I don't know what to tell you," she replied, arching an eyebrow at him as she scooped her stones back into their bowl.
He actually laughed, smile lines crinkling up around his eyes as he followed suit.
Down, girl, Marta told herself, biting her lip, and did her best to focus back on the game.
+
The pattern continued like that for the next several weeks; every couple of days, Ransom would text to see if Marta and/or his grandfather were free for a game of Go, and if they were, he'd turn up at the house for a few more rounds of play and snappy conversation. He continued to watch his tongue around Fran and the rest of the household staff, though their mutual glares still said plenty; insisted to Harlan that he wasn't up to anything with a sparkle in his eye that hinted otherwise; only sniped half-heartedly at anyone else who might be visiting, which made more than one other family member ask if he was high; and won perhaps one game out of every four. At least, against Marta; against Harlan, it was more like three out of five.
It was baffling, and more enjoyable than it had any right to be; Marta still wasn't sure quite what to make of him. Ransom didn't actually seem much changed in essentials, which probably said something about her taste in men that she didn't want to look too closely at; the difference was in his level of self-control and focus. And a lot of that focus, for whatever reason, seemed to now be aimed her way.
She finally took a deep breath one day, a week or so before Christmas when it was just the two of them in the library again, and decided to just ask him what was going on.
"Why are you really here, Ransom?" she asked him as they cleared away the stones from their latest game. He'd come for lunch this time; Fran had made them both a plate of sandwiches at Marta's apologetic request, and a pair of half-full beer bottles kept company with the empty plates bracketing the game board.
He paused in reaching for his beer and furrowed his brow in her direction. "Getting my ass kicked at Go, obviously."
"I'm not stupid, you know," Marta replied, giving him an impatient look. "Before the party I was just set dressing to you; don't try to pretend otherwise. And as much as I've enjoyed our games, I know I haven't done anything to change that. What are you looking for? What did Harlan say to you?"
He took another long pull on his bottle, and she could almost see the calculations going on behind his eyes as he decided on his answer. That look ran in the family; she'd noticed it in all of them, even Harlan sometimes, as if every conversation between them was a battle to be won or lost. Although, she realized to her surprise, none of them had aimed it at her before, as if Ransom was the first of them to decide she was worthy of being a combatant. A dubious honor, to be sure, but it caught at her breath anyway.
He definitely noticed, a slow smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he finally replied. "Only what he thought I needed to hear, I'm sure. He didn't tell you?"
Marta shook her head cautiously. There was something sharp hiding under the question, but she wasn't quite sure what; hopefully the truth was the answer he was looking for, and that would bring her the answer she was looking for. "No, not the specifics. Just that he was planning to 'cut the line' on all four of you. I told him he should be kinder, but...."
"This is my grandfather we're talking about," Ransom completed the sentence with a rusty chuckle. "Huh. Bold of him to throw you to the wolves like this, then."
"He did say he should probably start giving me hazard pay," Marta offered in return, keeping her voice light. "I asked him what sort of scale he had in mind."
To her surprise, he gave a sudden bark of laughter in response, flashing his teeth at her in a wide, white smile. "Wow. That's perfect. This family really does keep underestimating you, don't we? I've been trying to figure you out these last few weeks, but you do keep surprising me."
"Really?" she blinked at him, taken aback. "I'm not that complicated."
"Maybe from your perspective," he shrugged casually, lounging back further in his chair and studying her with an appreciative expression that she wasn't sure how to respond to. "And probably from Great-Nana's, now that I think about it; I bet that's why Granddad took to you from the start when the rest of us didn't get it. We've all heard the story of the rusty Smith Corona, but it's hard to really grasp what that means when you grow up with a trust fund or a million-dollar loan to start your own business. You just don't treat him like most people do, or any of us really, but especially him. You don't flatter him, or suck up to him, or ask him for anything. I guess we just thought you must be doing it in private, and that's why he was cutting us all off, but you genuinely don't give a shit about the fame and fortune, do you?"
"So that's what all this was about," Marta realized, feeling unaccountably disappointed. But also even more sympathetic at the same time; she never would have guessed the month before that she could ever feel so warmly toward someone who was still mostly the model of a spoiled upper crust jerk. "You wanted to protect him from what you thought was a vicious opportunist?"
Ransom chuckled again at that, almost beaming at her, and she felt it like a shock to the limbic system; like every cell in her body was taking notice. "I guess that's one way to look at it. I mean, I've heard you call him abuelo, but you never act like that place in his life is something you deserve."
Down, girl, she reminded herself again ruefully. He might be actually looking at her now, but he'd said himself he was evaluating her as a threat; even if he did appreciate what he saw, that didn't necessarily mean anything more. From his side, anyway. In Marta's experience, people at his social level didn't reach out to those they perceived as being beneath them; they were too afraid they'd get pulled down, too. But she did respond in maybe more detail than she would have, otherwise; her days of blending into the wallpaper were clearly at an end with him anyway.
"Well, it wasn't hard to see that the last thing he needed was more family," Marta told him with a crooked smile. "What he really wanted was a friend."
"Have courage and be kind," Ransom replied, holding his fingers up as if they were quote marks. "That would be some real faux-Cinderella bullshit, if it wasn't so obviously true. I hope you did tell him you wanted that hazard pay. Or maybe something more in-kind? Like an introduction to an immigration lawyer, maybe."
Marta felt the blood drain from her face at the topical whiplash; even if she doubted after the rest of the conversation that he'd meant that as a threat, she couldn't help the dismayed response. "W-what? Why would you say that?"
"Don't worry, no one's told me anything. If any of them even know; I'd guessed Meg might, but for all you can't tell a lie I've noticed you do keep some things pretty close to the chest, so I couldn't be sure."
He still looked so smug; it was baffling, a little infuriating, and still more attractive than Marta knew what to do with. "How could you possibly know that, when none of you even know where my family's from?" she couldn't help but ask.
He shrugged carelessly. "You might have noticed we're all pretty massive narcissists, even Meg. It would do her some good to look up from her navel every once in a while and notice how all those loud opinions of hers play out in real life. She lives in an echo chamber every bit as much as Jacob does, she just thinks hers is the more ethical one. And maybe it is, but it sure doesn't make her any more likely to positively impact the lives of all the people she performatively cries over. And really, Granddad's not much better, even if he seems to be trying out an eleventh-hour redemption arc these days. Do you know, once I realized how little we all really knew about you, I deliberately called you his Brazilian nurse to his face and he didn't contradict me?"
"Meg will learn once she graduates and gets a job; at least she cares. And did you say Brazilian?" She would have taken that for the usual Thrombey bullshit – Richard had confidently, and wrongfully, announced her family was from Uruguay when he was trying to rope her into his argument at Harlan's birthday party, so guessing another random South American country would seem on brand for his son – except for the twinkle in Ransom's eye that told her he absolutely knew why that was such an egregious guess. "You're such a troll!"
Ransom clasped a hand over his chest, feigning being struck as he laughed again. "You got me. The one Latin American country that doesn't actually speak Spanish, and he didn't even blink. But then, maybe he really thought I was that clueless. The signs are there, though, if you look. Don't worry, I didn't hire a PI or anything; I just put a little thought into how that quirk of yours might have developed. It reads like a trauma response to me – but why would the concept of not telling the truth weigh heavily enough on the mind of a kid to make them sick to their stomach over it? It would have to be a pretty big truth you had to choke down, I figured."
"That's a little bit of a leap," she pointed out, swallowing. "It could be something else, you don't know."
"But is it?" He shrugged. "I don't think so; you'd just have said you didn't need the help if it was. So go on; ask Granddad about it. He'd be glad to; it's not like it would cost him much, and believe me, the fewer vulnerabilities you offer to someone like Uncle Walt when he's clearly on a vicious downward spiral, the better. You're obviously not going anywhere anytime soon. So maybe do something for yourself for once."
He was clearly earnest about that; Marta shook her head again, overwhelmed by the conversation, and changed the subject back to her original question. "So that's it? Harlan said something that made you realize you didn't know me, so you just – wanted to know more? Surely that didn't take you a month."
"I couldn't have realized I was enjoying getting to know you, and decided not to deny myself the pleasure?" Ransom replied, smirking as he finished his beer.
"…The pleasure of repeatedly getting your ass kicked at Go?" she managed, making wide, innocent eyes at him as she fought to keep her cheeks from flushing again.
He laughed outright at that. "Exactly. So don't keep me waiting; I want to see that superior look in your eyes when you realize you're getting the upper hand over me yet again."
"Did I say you were a troll? You're a beast," Marta insisted, shaking her head.
"If the shoe fits," Ransom said, grinning, and gestured invitingly toward the board.
+
After that roller coaster of an afternoon, Marta was looking forward to having some time to decompress and figure out how she felt about Ransom now after all the recent changes. She'd asked for her usual week off for the Christmas holidays, and with the family in so much turmoil Harlan wasn't planning to hold the usual family get-together anyway; it'd be just Linda and Wanetta staying over this year. Ransom would probably drop by the house on the twenty-fifth, but otherwise, he'd probably be too busy to miss her.
... Probably. The memory of him saying he'd decided not to deny himself the pleasure kept flashing back to her at random times; it threw her off enough that when Harlan asked again if there was anything else he could do as thanks for all she'd had to put up with lately, Ransom's suggestion was the first thing that came to mind.
She almost immediately backpedaled with an insistence that she would pay the fees, of course, it's just that things were moving so slowly – but Harlan cut her off with an 'of course, of course, I should have thought of that!' and patted her hand, asking when would be the best time to fit a meeting into her mother's schedule. Before Marta knew it, an appointment with his fancy law firm had been scheduled for right after the holidays, and he'd even already paid the retainer, though he did finally yield – or at least pretend to yield – about the rest. Mamá was flustered about it, reluctant to really expect it would go anywhere when years of talking to cheaper lawyers still hadn't fixed things, but Marta had seen the hope flicker in her mother's eyes despite her doubts and counted that as one of the best Christmas presents she herself had received in years. Some of that weight Ransom had talked about so casually was actually, finally starting to lift.
Her vacation was cut unexpectedly short, though, when Harlan called to say they were doing a New Year's party after all, mostly at Linda's encouragement. It didn't sound like Walt or Richard would be there – the one still too angry at his father, the other on his way out of the family – but all the rest of them were expected. And Ransom had particularly insisted he inform her that she would be there as a guest and not an employee, so she'd have no reason to turn down the champagne.
Marta thought about the prospect of missing her family's usual routine, turning on the TV to catch the ball drop and blowing cheap noisemakers. It was fun, nostalgic. Safe. Whereas going to Harlan's would mean watching the private fireworks show the family always arranged instead of tuning in to Ryan Seacrest hosting Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve; drinking bubbly more expensive per glass than anything currently hanging in her wardrobe; and maybe standing next to Ransom when the countdown began....
"Are you sure?" she had to ask, through a suddenly dry throat. "I'm not exactly family."
"Well, neither is this girl Meg's supposed to be bringing, but close enough," Harlan assured her, a mischievous note in his voice. "She seconded Ransom's invitation, by the way; though personally, I think she just doesn't want to be the only one there with a plus one when the clock ticks over to midnight."
Shit, Marta'd been hoping he hadn't noticed; at least not until she'd finished figuring herself out. "Aren't you a little old for a plus one, abuelo?" she managed to tease back.
"Aren't you always telling me, age is only a number, my dear?" he chuckled. "Do tell me I'll be able to inaugurate the year with a midnight game of Go."
"Well, if you insist," she replied. Then the moment the conversation was done, dropped her phone on the coffee table and pressed her hands to her face. "This is such a bad idea."
Bad idea or not, though, she'd already said yes. And then, when she tried to talk it over with her mother, half looking for an excuse to back out anyway, Mamá rang a peal over her head for even thinking about it and insisted on helping her go through her wardrobe to pick out a sexy dress. Because apparently she'd been concerned that Marta had been too responsible and dutiful to really enjoy herself lately instead of worrying so much about the family, and what was a youth well-lived without taking a few risks? As long as it wouldn't impact her position with his grandfather, why not enjoy the moment?
And in the face of that logic, how could Marta disagree?
+
Even with the dress to fortify her, though, Marta's heart was in her throat as she pulled her old Hyundai up the gravel drive in front of the big house. It looked shabby next to the family's BMWs and Porsches and so on; it reminded her of playing wallflower at the last several Thrombey celebrations, valiantly trying not to get dragged into the various family arguments and mostly failing. Would this one really be any different? But the way Meg whistled when she greeted her at the door, and the slow smile that spread over Ransom's face when he caught sight of her across the room where the family had gathered, calmed her down enough to actually make an attempt at enjoying the evening.
She managed to avoid Donna and Jacob, exchanged a few stiff, pleasant words with Linda, mhmm'ed through a brief pitch from Joni about her latest skincare product, and then escaped to the corner with Meg and her girlfriend without so much as a single reference to her family background or anyone carelessly handing her their plates. So far, so good. Emily-call-me-Em turned out to be a surprisingly normal young woman, too; she looked around at the family circle as though she'd fallen down a rabbit hole somehow, which made it easy to find things to talk to her about. Harlan also came by at one point to smile at her and Meg and tell them he was glad they were there, but despite that initial smile Ransom kept his distance.
It stung a little; and the longer the party went on, the less sense it made. What had been the point of Marta coming as a guest if he wasn't going to talk to her at all? Had something happened? She glanced his way several times over the next couple of hours, telling herself she was ridiculous to have got her hopes up at all after only a few weeks of attention following years of ignoring her, and always found him talking to someone else. But then, sometime between eleven and midnight, he completely disappeared from view.
He wasn't the only one missing, either; sometime after the last trays of snacks had been delivered and the groundskeepers came in to talk about the fireworks setup, Harlan had wandered out of the room. But all the cars were still visible out the front windows, and she hadn't heard the stairs creak once that evening. Had they snuck away to play Go without her? That would have been the usual reason before the last month or so – either that, or another dramatic screaming match – but neither made sense after what Harlan had said when he'd invited her. Marta made her way to the edge of the room to snag a fresh flute of champagne, then ducked out into the hall when she was sure no one was looking.
Faint voices drifted her way from the ground floor office overlooking the back lawn, and she took a fortifying swallow before heading that direction. Harlan's was the first she made out, addressing someone in a smug, conversational tone: "... an interesting call from the son of an old friend the other day."
"Yeah?" she heard Ransom reply warily as she approached the door to the office. It was pulled mostly shut, but enough of a gap had been left that she could see a profile view of them sitting at the desk, facing one another across its empty surface interview-style.
"I take it you've figured out what you want to do with yourself, then?" Harlan continued, steepling his fingers on the solid wood of the desktop.
What the hell was going on? Marta drained the rest of the champagne, then cast around for someplace to get rid of the glass, worried that she might drop it or bump it against something. There was a little decorative table nearby; she held her breath for a long moment as she carefully set it down, but the conversation continued as though they hadn't heard a thing.
"And if I have?" Ransom replied, slouching further back in his chair as if to express his displeasure with the line of conversation.
His grandfather shook his head. "Well, it isn't what I would've expected for you, but...."
"Yeah, well, I know what you always expected," Ransom interrupted, raising his voice a little. "But like I told you, I'm not going to follow in anyone's footsteps. Even if I wanted to, clever plots just don't pop fully formed into my head like they do yours. I was never gonna be the next great mystery novelist."
"But true crime, Ransom?" Harlan wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Marta caught her breath as she realized what they were talking about, then bit her lip to keep from accidentally announcing her presence. She'd heard all about the business degree Ransom's parents had pushed him into getting, and his complete avoidance of anything that might be termed a job afterward ... except for the summer he'd spent assisting his grandfather. Expectations on all sides, and no motivation to chart his own path free of them, until Harlan finally drew a line in the sand. So he'd picked one ... but only if he could do it on his own terms. But why hadn't he said anything sooner?
"What? It's really popular right now," Ransom shrugged. "And it's something I actually have the skills for. You know, after I left the party that night, I was driving. Nowhere, just in the night, and I had this sense of… clarity." He gave his grandfather a sharp, knife-edged smile. "Like from here on out, I was gonna have to fend for myself. But like fuck was I gonna work a nine to five. So I took a couple of days to stew about it. And then I thought about who had the most interesting life I knew, and the rest of it just fell into place. I know Blanc's already had pieces written about him – obviously; that's why I thought of him in the first place – and some of the cases he's solved have had their own articles and documentaries. But a lot of them haven't, and what's there is all piecemeal. If he's supposed to be the Last Great Gentleman Sleuth, there seems like an obvious market for someone to give him the Sherlock Holmes treatment. I mean, if he lets me keep shadowing him. What did you tell him?"
"What do you think I told him?" Harlan shrugged, fondly exasperated. "You're bright and capable enough to do whatever you set your mind to. You just have yet to find your true purpose. So, he might as well give you a try."
"Damned with faint praise, huh," Ransom said, mouth curved in a bitter smile.
"Not at all," Harlan said firmly, shaking his head. "I look forward to the results. Particularly if it keeps you too busy for a repeat of your… stewing, shall we say, and the consequences that nearly came of it. I'd like to be around to brag about finally seeing your name in print, you know. Though I did wonder if the idea came to you before or after you started thinking about playing Go with Marta."
Something about those last couple of sentences startled Ransom; he stiffened in his seat, replying with a carefully dismissive tone. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you don't," Harlan replied dryly. "I'd have been more worried if you still seemed to be thinking in terms of obstacles rather than opportunities, but I'm old, not blind, and from my chair, it looks like you're finally learning to tell a prop knife from the real thing. Just keep in mind – if you're feigning it all in an attempt to do an end run around that conversation that disturbed you so much, I've already taken legal steps to make sure the book closes with a flourish, no matter how the last chapter ends."
Marta had lost track of what they were talking about, other than that it involved Harlan implying he might be proud of Ransom after all and Ransom bristling like he always did. Or maybe she just wanted to think she had; she'd been very determinedly avoiding thinking about what had nearly happened the last time she'd heard Harlan talking about a prop knife, after all, and all the ways in which everything had changed afterward. It was easier when Ransom's next words shifted the topic to something much more flustering.
"You sure picked the right protagonist, then. You know I thought for sure she had you fooled when I started coming around more. Just another vicious bitch preying on someone vulnerable to get ahead. But the truth is, she's sharper than even you give her credit for, and kinder with it than any of us deserve. I mean, did you see her in that dress this evening, deflecting Joni and placating my mother without once giving away how she really feels, before swanning over to welcome Meg's girl more graciously than either one had bothered? Outclassing both of them by just existing. You might as well pick up a wand and commission a pair of crystal shoes."
Harlan chuckled, expression softening as Ransom gestured dramatically. "Then you'd better get back to the party before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, to mix the metaphor a little further. And maybe invite her somewhere other than this old house on her next day off."
Marta was surprised to see Ransom look away from his grandfather at that remark, a brief flash of vulnerability flashing over his face – something she'd never seen from him before. "And if she sees right through me, too, and decides she doesn't like what she sees?"
"If that was a real risk," Harlan said, looking fond again, "I doubt we would have reached this crossroads to begin with, because she never would have stayed beyond that initial fifteen hours a week to become my friend. Clearly, she has a soft spot for redeemable rascals. And like you said, I have seen that dress. I did tell her you were the one who insisted I invite her as a guest, you know."
Blushing furiously, Marta decided she'd heard quite enough and hurried back down the corridor, slipping back to the party just in time to join the others streaming out onto the porch. Linda guided her grandmother to a chair and took up station next to it, Donna was busy harassing her son into looking up from his phone, Joni was pestering one of the catering staff, and Meg and Emily were deep in whispered conversation, arm in arm. None of them noticed Marta standing a little apart from the rest, apart from a brief flashing smile from Meg, too distracted by themselves or looking around for Harlan.
The man in question appeared a few moments later, a cane braced under one hand in deference to the uncertain outdoor footing but otherwise at full pomp, loudly inviting them all to commence the sixty-second countdown. Marta smiled wryly at him as she quietly joined in, feeling a wave of fondness wash over her at the sight despite all that she'd just overheard. Whatever else may come of her association with the Thrombeys, she never would regret becoming Harlan's friend. He'd made her life so much more colorful by inviting her into his.
And as for his grandson....
A sudden presence loomed beside her, and she looked up to see that Ransom had finally made it to her side. It was dark enough outside, with most of the house lights turned off in deference of the show to come, that his expression was mostly outlined in shadow; it lent him an almost wolfish air as he smirked down at her. "Hey there, Cabrera. Fancy seeing you here."
A well of matching hunger welled up in her, and she swallowed dryly before lifting an eyebrow in response. "Hey there, Drysdale. Ready to say goodbye to the year?"
"Ready to start the new one off with a bang," he replied, lifting a hand to pass her another champagne flute. "Oh, whoops – sorry, that's the empty," he added with a smug grin, pointedly turning it to show off a faint but still visible lip print before setting it on the tray of a nearby server. "Love the color, by the way. Very ... striking."
Oh shit, Marta thought again, face flushing as she remembered where she'd left that empty glass; then, casting caution to the wind for once, what the hell. Whatever else he might be, Ransom was always honest about it, unashamed in a way she'd often wished she could be; and she could do worse than starting a relationship based on open appreciation, barely-veiled scheming, and genuine lust.
"I chose it to go with the crystal shoes," she said huskily, gaze fixed on those piercing blue eyes as the count around them loudly reached ten. Her stomach didn't even quiver.
"Kinky," he said, grin widening, then glanced up at the sky as the first rocket launched.
Marta tipped her head back to watch the first starburst exploding overhead, red and green sparks lighting up the night; then a warm palm brushed against her cheek, and she looked back down to find Ransom leaning in to meet her. Her breath caught; and then she was leaning back, soft lips slanting over hers as an electric thrill lit her up from head to toe.
This really was such a bad idea. Most of his family were going to lose their minds, and there was no way it could end well. But oh, was she going to enjoy it while it lasted.
More fireworks exploded overhead, and she lost herself in the consuming kiss.
+
(or read at AO3)
