Chapter Text
The Television Station looked much smaller from the parking lot, as Vincent killed the engine.
He wasn’t sure if it was comforting, or terrifying. Of course, he worked there for the past two months as a weatherman, of course. He knew it was always small. But now it felt tiny.
He sat there in the car, just looking for a moment. His mind was swarmed with worry - about Victoria (was she doing okay? Were the other children nice? Was she acting nice?), about performing well as the freshly promoted New’s Anchor, and… About anyone finding out what happened to his predecessor.
The bloody memory was still fresh, as it flashed behind his eyes.
“No. No, I am not thinking about that now. Everything is just as it was.” Vincent scolded himself in the quiet of the car, fingers tightening around the wheel. He glanced down at them.
Steady. At least they were steady, and not shaking. He couldn’t seem nervous now.
Okay, he could seem remotely nervous, for someone who just got a new position at the job, but not as nervous as someone hiding a murder. So, Vincent took a deep breath and adjusted the rear-view mirror to look at himself.
Dark circles - he had a four year old daughter, was a single father and a widower. That was an amazing excuse. His hair a little messy - wind, or again, daughter messing it up. The tie was an easy fix as he straightened it up one last time.
After making sure he looked alright, Vincent opened the door, closed it and locked the car. The cool air of Virginia soothed him further. This was just another day in the busy world. Morning rush carried on around him, cars driving past on the road, his coworkers in neat suits hurrying to the entrance of the station, some delivery truck driver shouting cheerfully to a pedestrian. Just another day.
Life continued as if nothing happened. And so, he hurried inside too - just like everyone.
Inside, the station was already awake, filled with the usual noise. Clattering of typewriters somewhere deeper in the newsroom, telephones ringing. Someone laughed, someone else swore loudly after dropping a stack of fresh papers. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke mixed with freshly brewed coffee and warm electrical equipment lingered in the air.
Everything felt… Alive. And of course, a little overwhelming after the weekend.
“Morning, Mr. Whittman!” A young secretary offered him a bright smile as she hurried past him, carrying a clip board.
The cheerful greeting pulled Vincent out of his thoughts in an instant. Right. He was there too, alive as well. A part of everything. He shook the last of his worries off, stuffing them deep in his mind to preferably decompress at night, after Victoria went to sleep, and smiled back. The secretary was too fast to answer properly, so he opted for a simple nod of the head.
Mr. Whittman.
That sounded nice. If Vincent was being honest, it completely stroked his ego. No more “weatherman Vinnie” - God, how he hated that nickname. Surely he would hear it again, but not from everyone, not all the time. He basked in the satisfaction of being taken even remotely seriously. That was, until a warm, steady hand clasped onto his shoulder.
“Well, if it isn’t our rising star!” One of his coworkers said warmly, gently shaking the shoulder he was holding. George. He worked on the scripts, eventually helping with the cameras a bit if someone was absent. Smart guy, always talking, smiling. Vincent liked him.
“Congratulations again,” George’s smile widened. “Can’t believe they picked you.”
Vincent forced a chuckle. Normally he’d enjoy the teasing, but every single congratulation he got made his stomach twist.
“Neither can I.” He said in a casual tone, smoothing out the slight wrinkle on his shoulder, now that George has removed his hand.
“No, seriously- you deserve it. You perform well on camera. I haven’t seen a weatherman that good in a while! Can’t wait to see you as a New’s Anchor!” The man patted his back, saying something else after, but Vincent stopped listening.
Deserve it.
It eased his nerves and made him feel the dreadful guilt all at once.
“Thanks.” Vincent uttered the word quietly with a polite nod, when George stopped rambling. He didn’t push for a better answer - just shrugged, thinking that maybe Vince had a rough night.
Whittman then wandered over to the staff lounge to get himself a coffee. A few other coworkers were talking about something. He wasn’t the type to stuff his nose into an ongoing conversation - especially in the morning, where people could still be cranky - so he just listened. Who didn’t enjoy a little gossip here and there?
“You hear anything new about Mr. Carter?”
Vincent felt every muscle in his body tense up at the name.
“No.” One of the people shook their head.
“They still haven’t found him…” A woman sighed, swirling the coffee in her cup.
“Poor Margaret. She’s probably worried sick.”
His wife. She worked at the station, wrote and corrected scripts. Absent ever since that day.
“Imagine just… Disappearing.”
“Maybe he left town? Affair?” Someone suggested.
“Nah.” Another voice chimed in. “Not Carter. He loves this place, and his wife even more.”
Vincent looked at the coffee cup in his hand, steam curling quietly in the air. His own reflection trembled across the surface. His hands started shaking again.
“...Terrible thing.” he said quietly, not wanting to seem heartless. Normally he’d stay quiet. But this wasn’t a normal serving of gossip. Everyone silently nodded, and the conversation carried on, steering into some lighter subject. Just like that. Nobody saw his hand tightening slightly around the cup, making a dent on one side.
Vincent left the lounge. It felt too crowded (even if there were just a few people), and he had to get ready for the camera. And like clockwork, as soon as he walked out in the busy hallway, someone called out.
“Vincent! You’re in makeup in five!” A producer leaned out of an office, not even looking at him properly. To the higher, higher ups he was… Still just a guy.
“Right.” Whittman nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He finished his coffee quickly, threw out the cup and walked right to the makeup area, taking steady steps. Counting them in his mind just to ground himself.
The makeup room was painfully bright. Vincent squinted his eyes, glancing away from the light. He still wasn’t used to this, even after all this time working here. And oh, how he hated the feeling of cosmetics on his skin.
“Sit.” The makeup artist barely looked at him as she pointed to the stool in front of the mirror, already reaching for supplies. He reluctantly obeyed, observing her hands as she applied some stuff to his face. He didn’t care what it was, just sat through the process, trying not to grimace at the texture on his skin.
“You’ve got good skin.” she said casually. “Lucky.”
Vincent just hummed in response, as the artist dabbed some powder across his forehead. Then she paused.
She tilted his chin more towards the light, maneuvering him like some doll. Honestly, he felt like a doll. One of Victoria’s specifically, when she decided daddy absolutely needed red crayon lipstick.
“You sleeping alright?” The woman asked, running a finger under his eye, where the dark circles sat.
“More or less. Got a four year old daughter at home. She’s my joy and executioner…” he huffed out a quiet laugh, earning the same reaction from the woman.
“You’ve got little lines here. Stress’ll do that.” She tapped the skin beneath one of his eyes, before moving on to apply concealer there.
“If only the viewers knew…” Vincent smiled politely, letting out a tired sigh.
“Oh, honey, viewers never know anything.” The artist chuckled again, powdering his face one more time.
That sentence lingered more than it should’ve. His shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
No one knew. And no one would ever know.
Later, after makeup was done, Vincent was rehearsing his lines, crossing out what he didn’t like, adding ‘character’ in some places, right before going live. The camera crew hurried behind cables, adjusted cameras, lightning, passed scripts around. He had his own already in hand, flipping through the pages. Local politics, a weather segment (not his anymore!), a church fundraiser, some road construction, other local news (which included a missing person’s report - that one part he feared). Mostly wonderfully normal stuff. He could push through.
“Places!” Someone shouted, and the entire room fell silent, shifting into their designated spots. The crew settled, cameras rolled into position, and Vincent sat behind the desk, polished wood reflecting studio lights. A stage hand clipped a microphone to his tie.
“You ready?” Someone from behind a camera asked.
Vincent looked into the dark lens, almost seeing his reflection. For just a second, he smiled. Not the polite coworker smile, not the nervous Vincent smile, not the goofy dad smile… The real television one.
One that somehow made everything else disappear into the background.
“Five, four…” The countdown continued silently, three fingers lowering one by one behind the camera.
The red light flickered on, and Vincent straightened almost imperceptibly, every trace of uncertainty vanishing from his form.
“Good morning, Virginia.” His voice was warm, confident, effortless.
“Thank you for joining us this Monday morning…”
…
Tiny leather shoes shuffled uncertainly across the polished wooden floor, as Victoria wandered in the corner of the classroom, staring at everything around. She was excited before but now… Without daddy, everything felt big. So, so big.
Although the nursery was full of warm colors, soft lightning, toys and laughter, she felt completely out of place. Maybe it was because she arrived a little late - everyone already had their playmate, building towers together or playing with wooden animals and rag-dolls. It was hard to join in, especially since there wasn’t any adult who could guide her… Well, there was, but as welcoming as Mr. Hartfelt looked, he was also rather intimidating. Like every stranger was to a tiny child.
Victoria decided to stop walking in the same spot, and sat down in the corner of the classroom instead, hugging her plush bunny - Button, she named it, after the cute, pink button nose. Everything was so new and scary… So she did what any other child would do in such a situation without a parent - curled up and cried. She didn’t wail and scream or anything like that - no, she quietly sobbed. Until a certain someone interrupted her sad little moment.
“Why the tears, miss? I don’t see flowers in need of watering here.” A gentle, soft as a cloud voice disrupted Victoria’s sadness.
The girl lifted her head up slowly, her big, glossy mismatched eyes staring up at the man as she sniffled. Alastor didn’t loom over her like some scary adults do, no. He was kneeling in front of her, exactly at her level. That made him a little less scary.
Victoria didn’t speak for a while, just observing him. The man didn’t get mad at her for taking so long, didn’t yell, just stayed in place, waiting patiently. So, she uttered a few words quietly.
“...I-I want my daddy…” the girl sniffled once again, hugging the plush toy tighter in her little arms. Alastor’s face softened further at the quiet words.
“I know, darling… First days are scary, aren’t they?” He asked. “Can I sit with you, dearie? Everything is better with a friend.”
“...okay…” She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes with the plush bunny’s ear. Alastor chuckled quietly at the gesture, passing her a tissue instead as he sat down beside her.
“I’m sure daddy misses you too. He looked really nervous when he dropped you off!” He watched Victoria dry off her tears, helping only a little with her nose, before taking the crumbled tissue and hiding it in his pocket for the moment.
Victoria didn’t answer him this time, but shifted a little closer.
“What is the scariest thing here today, hm? Talking about our fears with a friend sometimes makes them smaller.” Alastor prompted, brushing a strand of hair away from the little face of hers.
Victoria thought for a short while, glancing around, before focusing on the teacher again.
“Strangers…” She muttered, one hand fidgeting with the plush ear of her bunny. A reasonable fear for a child. Luckily, Alastor had an easy fix.
“Then why don’t we go make some friends, miss? I’m sure others would love to play with you and your bunny.” He stood up slowly, offering a hand to hold. “What’s its name?”
“He’s named Button… Because he… He has a little button nose, here…” She held up the toy, showing the adorable feature of her plush. Alastor smiled wide, happy that she was talking a little more.
“That’s a really cute button nose! Almost as cute as yours.” He booped Victoria’s nose gently, earning a small giggle from the girl. It always felt good seeing a child finally smile.
“You’re silly, Mr. Hartfelt…” She giggled again, a little more jump to her step now. Somehow, the big stranger turned into a friend really quickly!
They walked over to a group of children playing with blocks nearby, Victoria glancing at them curiously. Two boys and two girls, building a little structure from wooden blocks.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your playtime, dearies, but this here is Victoria… She wanted to join your amazing building site. Would that be okay? She’s a little nervous, but so, so eager to be friends with you!” Alastor kneeled down to their level again - he never spoke from up there, unless it was the whole classroom, or he needed the children’s attention.
The children looked between themselves, blocks frozen in hands mid air, before nodding happily, taking Victoria into their little group eagerly. Button the bunny became the main focus immediately!
Alastor watched them play for a moment, before smiling to himself and walking away. Another successful friendship between the kids. He walked to one of the classroom corners, where a small lounge area was. A story telling corner… But when children played, it was a little corner for himself.
He could see the whole class, and still have a bit of quiet.
And of course, there in one of the arm chairs sat his dear wife, Rosalina. Or, what everyone called her, Rosie. A slightly older woman with white hair, brown eyes so dark they looked black, and the softest smile he ever saw.
“I see you’re a friendship match maker as always, my dear?” She teased, watching as Alastor lowered himself slowly into the armchair beside her.
“What can I say, I’ve got natural talent, darling.” He chuckled, smiling as always, though it was softer. If there was one person he could take every mask off around, it’d be her.
And one of those masks was the husband's role. Of course, they were really married. And he did love her dearly! Just… Platonically. Alastor was a closeted bisexual man, she simply played a cover for him. Not that he had any romantic affairs before… No one had quite awakened the sweet feeling of love in his heart yet.
So, in public or around adults (sometimes kids if they wanted to giggle about kissing), he’d kiss her knuckles gently, or she’d peck his cheek softly. Though she sometimes indulged that habit even in private, either while teasing or simply to make him feel better. Alastor wasn’t a huge fan of affection and touch - unless he trusted the other person completely. Little cheek-kisses from Rosie were uplifting at moments.
“Natural? Oh please. You learned it all from me. We both know that.” Rosie hummed, talking to him while still watching the children. No accidents in her nursery!
“Do we?” He passed her a toothy smile, leaning in a bit, those sharp canines glinting in the light.
“Yes. We do. And I swear to God, Alastor, I’ll buy ya a chew toy if you keep threatening me with teeth.” She flicked his forehead gently with a chuckle.
“I wasn’t threatening, my dear.” Alastor rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair again, his eyes observing the group of children Victoria was playing with.
“You know… This little girl is quite interesting. Her father too…” He hummed, watching as all the little hands bounced Button the Bunny in the air.
“I must say that I agree… The eyes are just beautiful.” Rosie nodded, eyes following Victoria. Her mismatched eyes were shining with happiness as she played.
“But why her father? Don’t tell me you suspect him to be one of those.” She huffed, brows furrowing a tiny bit in internal disgust.
“No, no, not that kind of interesting, my dear. I believe he loves and cares for the girl deeply. He’s just so… Nervous. It’s entertaining! Like a nervous little puppy wondering if it did a trick right.” Alastor chuckled to himself at the memory of Vincent stuttering and tripping over his own words, that embarrassed blush spreading down his neck.
“So he’s a different kind of victim. Not your torment, but your bullying… I don’t know what’s worse, darling.” Rosie sighed, shaking her head with a fond smile.