Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gothic-style manor Dominique Destine called home might have looked intimidating to passersby — towers shadowed in stone, iron gates with ornate spikes — yet inside, it was quietly lovely. On this Friday morning, sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, spilling across polished marble floors and catching on gilded picture frames.

Dominique and her best friend, Andrea Calhoun, were enjoying their usual Friday brunch — a tradition that had grown over the years into something comforting, almost sacred.

Maurice Ross, Dominique’s personal cook, had recently turned vegan and insisted that every meal he prepared include at least three plant-based dishes. Dominique had compromised. Sometimes, keeping good people meant meeting them halfway.

Their table was full: vegan sausage links, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, muffins, and toast, all arranged as if for a magazine shoot.

“So,” Andrea said, cutting into her food with that casual curiosity Dominique had long grown to love, “how are things really going, Dom? You’ve been through a lot this year. Feeling like yourself again?”

Dominique sipped her coffee slowly, green eyes distant for a moment. “Yes… Things are settling. I’ve made peace with my past. Goliath and I finally came to terms with what happened between us. It wasn’t easy, but it’s behind us now.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Andrea said softly, smiling as she tried a vegan sausage. “Not bad, actually. Takes a second to get used to, though.”

Dominique smirked, brushing back a loose red strand of hair. “We agreed years ago to keep trying new things. Keeps life from getting stuck.”

Andrea leaned back in her chair, legs crossed. “Speaking of new things… are you planning on giving Professor McDuff a chance? He’s got that old-world charm that makes women swoon and men jealous.”

Dominique groaned lightly. “Lennox. Yes, we’ve had coffee a few times. He’s kind, polite to a fault, and actually listens when people speak. Still… after everything with Goliath, it’s hard to just start over.”

Andrea tilted her head. “I get it. But don’t let your past keep you from a good future. He seems decent. You deserve a little joy outside work and parenting.”

Dominique exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe. We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow. We’ll see.”

Andrea grinned, lifting her cup in a soft toast. “That’s my girl. Go be charming — or at least less terrifying.”

Dominique rolled her eyes but laughed anyway.

The next morning, Saturday, Dominique walked toward her favorite downtown café. The air was warm, alive with weekend chatter, and the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon mingled with the city’s hum.

Lennox was already there — same corner table, two mugs waiting, his jacket draped casually over the chair. He stood when he saw her, smiling quietly, that old-fashioned ease Dominique had noticed from the start.

“Good morning, Dominique. It’s marvelous to see you again,” he said smoothly, pulling out her chair.

She arched an eyebrow as she sat. “Lennox, I know you’re proud of your famous ancestor, but it’s 2025. Chivalry’s mostly retired, and I can handle gravity on my own.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. My grandmother would have my hide if I didn’t show some manners. She raised me on Shakespeare and proper posture.”

Dominique smirked, stirring her coffee. “Keep some of it — just not all. Moderation, Professor.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

The café hummed softly around them: the hiss of espresso machines, murmured orders, and a street musician’s violin drifting faintly through the open window. Dominique felt the city’s weight ease for a moment, just enough to breathe.

“So,” he said after a sip, “how’s Angela doing? I only see her in class a few times, but I imagine you get a clearer picture.”

Dominique softened. “She’s thriving. Focused, still figuring things out — normal at her age. She’s more grounded than I was.”

He smiled. “She’s got your spark. You can tell she grew up with a strong example.”

Dominique chuckled. “You say that like it’s always a good thing.”

“It usually is,” Lennox replied. “Strong people make strong families.”

A comfortable pause followed.

She tilted her head. “What about your family? You don’t talk about them much.”

Lennox’s expression shifted. “Not much left to tell. My wife, Gruoch… she passed away a few years ago. Heart condition. Sudden.”

Dominique’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been difficult.”

He nodded once. “It was. Still is, some days. Our son, Lulach, is studying abroad. Same age as Angela. Keeps me proud and exhausted in equal measure.”

“Sounds like a good kid.”

“He is. Better than I deserve some days.”

Dominique smiled faintly. “You give off that father energy. Calm, patient… secretly judging everyone’s grammar.”

He laughed. “Disturbingly accurate.”

The conversation drifted after that — travel stories, books, a few harmless jokes about students treating Shakespeare like a new influencer. Dominique found herself laughing more than she expected; the weight she usually carried felt lighter.

As they prepared to part ways, Lennox hesitated. “I’ve been meaning to ask… my family has a small vacation home in Paris. I’ll be there for a few weeks, and I thought you might like to visit. No expectations — just a change of scenery. You’ve been working too hard.”

Dominique blinked, surprised but not entirely against the idea. “Paris, huh? That’s a bold offer for a man who barely survived me critiquing his coffee etiquette.”

He smiled softly. “I can handle a little critique. Paris would be better with company.”

She paused, then nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

He gave a small, teasing bow. “That’s all I ask.”

Stepping back into sunlight, the city noise wrapped around her again. Dominique felt something unfamiliar but welcome — a cautious, fluttering hope. Maybe Andrea was right. Maybe it was time.

And maybe, just maybe, there was more to Lennox McDuff than a distant royal lineage and perfect manners.

Chapter Text

It was a stunning autumn Sunday. The air was crisp, carrying that clean chill that made everything feel alive. The trees were painted gold and red, and the streets were busy but full of warmth.

Two women walked side by side down the avenue, both turning heads for different reasons. The younger one, Angela David, shared her mother’s poise but had dark sable hair and warm, toasty skin. Dominique, her red-haired mother, had fair skin that glowed in the afternoon light.

Angela gave her mom’s freshly manicured hand a gentle squeeze as they crossed the street.

Dominique adjusted her tailored caramel coat—the kind that looked effortless but said she had excellent taste. She glanced at her daughter. “Come on, Angela. You can’t just walk past those boots,” she teased.

Angela rolled her green eyes, hands deep in her pockets. Her outfit was comfortable: jeans, a cropped hoodie, an oversized denim jacket, and sneakers. “Mom, seriously,” she said, half-laughing. “You like walking more than you like shoes.”

Dominique grinned. “Touché. But you’re still trying them on.”

Angela groaned, though she couldn’t hide her smile, and looped her arm through her mom’s. They wandered past small shops and cafés, catching bits of music from a nearby street performer. Dominique talked about everything—colors, patterns, the weather—and Angela just listened, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

By lunchtime, they found a cozy Italian restaurant with tall windows and soft music playing. The aroma of roasted garlic filled the air. Dominique looked relaxed, radiant in that casual way that always drew people’s eyes. She poured sparkling water for both of them.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said gently. “How’s college? And… Professor McDuff?”

Angela twirled her fork through her salad. “Busy,” she said with a sigh. “Intense. I’m trying not to overthink it.”

Dominique leaned back, observing her closely. “Okay,” she breathed out, realizing she’d been holding her breath. Her thumb brushed over the napkin as she gathered her thoughts, searching for the right words. It wasn’t easy bringing this up, not to the one opinion that mattered most.

“Here’s the thing. Professor McDuff asked me to join him in Paris. Just a short vacation. I felt it was only right to know what you think of the offer. Does it feel all right? Or… weird, since he teaches at your university?”

Angela froze mid-bite. “Paris?” she echoed. “For you?” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It could be fine… but complicated, right? He’s your friend, but also my professor. It just feels odd. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but… yeah. A little uncomfortable.”

Dominique reached across the table and took her hand. “I didn’t want to put you in an awkward spot,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Angela let out a slow breath. “I think you should do what feels right for you,” she said finally. “Just think about how it might look, and how it might affect me. I’m not saying don’t go. I just want you to make this choice for you, not because he asked.”

Dominique smiled, touched. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

Later, they strolled through Central Park, the late light spilling through the trees. The ground was covered in vivid red leaves that crunched underfoot, their faint earthy scent mixing with the distant aroma of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor. Dominique’s coat brushed against her legs as she walked, the soft fabric whispering with each step. Angela’s sneakers scuffed the path, her sleeves pushed up, the cool air brushing her cheeks and ruffling strands of hair around her face.

“Paris,” Angela murmured. “It’s tempting. But it’s more than a trip. It’s a choice. I just want Mom making it for her reasons… not anyone else’s.”

Dominique squeezed her daughter’s hand, her smile quiet. For now, that was enough. The day was theirs—crisp air, laughter, and the city alive around them.

Chapter Text

About ten miles outside New York City stood a mansion that looked more like a castle. Occasionally, historians and architecture buffs would stop by to explore it. The house was part of the remnants of King Macbeth’s famous castle, brought to America for his distant descendants.

By the 2020s, the mansion had been modernized, though much of its old charm remained. Visitors loved stepping inside to feel history firsthand. Fortunately, today wasn’t a visiting day—Lennex McDuff had more pressing matters than hosting enthusiasts.

In his private office, Lennex tried to connect with his 19-year-old son, Lulach, studying abroad. With a tap on his laptop, Lulach’s face appeared—handsome, dark brown hair loosely tied back, headphones around his neck. He lounged in a worn leather chair, textbooks and notebooks scattered around him.

Behind Lulach, a tall window showed the gloomy Scottish sky, while tapestries on the stone walls added old-world charm. He twirled a pencil in his fingers, sharp eyes fixed on the screen.

Lennex looked around his own office. Dark wood panels climbed to the vaulted ceiling. Shelves packed with leather-bound books lined the walls. A massive oak desk sat near an arched window, sunlight catching the brass handles of a filing cabinet. Papers were stacked, but not perfectly. A Persian rug softened the stone floor. A leather jacket draped over a chair. Lennex ran a hand along the desk edge, exhaling slowly, his chest tightening for just a moment.

“Hey, Dad,” Lulach said, squinting slightly. He pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, one leg tucked under the other.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s Scotland?” Lennex asked, pacing slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing the wood panels as he passed.

“Cold. Boring if I’m not buried in archives,” Lulach replied, letting the pencil spin between his fingers for a beat before catching it. “Found more evidence of our family bloodline and its link to Macbeth, but… you didn’t call about history, did you?”

Lennex shook his head, shoulders slumping slightly. “No… I wanted to check in about Dominique. I invited her to stay with me in Paris for a short trip. But I thought it was only right to get your opinion first.”

Lulach furrowed his brow, leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand. His eyes searched the screen. “Right… Dad, are you sure this is a good idea? You’ve only been seeing her for a month and a half. Isn’t that… kinda fast?”

“I know it seems fast,” Lennex admitted, pressing his hands to the desk. He let out a low sigh, glancing at the wedding ring he still wore. “But it feels right. I can’t ignore it.”

Lulach’s pencil rolled idly between his fingers. “Yeah… but it’s only been five years since Mom died—heart attack, remember? Are you really ready? You might still be sorting things out without realizing it.”

Lennex closed his eyes for a second, his chest tightening. Then he looked back at the screen. “I… I still miss her, son, every day. And yes, I’m still figuring things out. But Dominique… she makes me happy. I want to see where this goes.”

Lulach leaned back slightly, arms crossed, his gaze sharpening. “So… you’re still seeing the mother of one of your students? Isn’t that… a problem? For her? And for your reputation at the university? People notice that stuff.”

Lennex rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. “I know. I’m careful. I keep things professional. Dominique knows too. It’s complicated, but we’re managing.”

Lulach shook his head, frowning, pencil tapping softly against the desk. “I just don’t want you to mess things up, hurt anyone, or get caught up in it just because it feels exciting. There’s a difference between being in love and thinking you’re in love, you know that, right?”

Lennex allowed a small, rueful smile to tug at his lips. He leaned against the desk, fingers brushing over scattered papers. “I get it. Thanks for being upfront. I’m not rushing blindly. I’m trying to be careful, even if it’s moving fast.”

Lulach’s frown softened, though his fingers drummed lightly on the desk. “Okay… just promise me you’re really thinking it through. Don’t dive in just because it feels good.”

“I promise,” Lennex said, his voice quiet but firm. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Lulach rolled his eyes, a faint grin spreading across his face. He tapped the pencil again. “Someone’s gotta. Now… tell me about this trip. What’s got you all giddy?”

Lennex chuckled, shaking his head, letting himself lean back in his chair and relax just a little. “Okay… I’ll tell you everything.”

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Angela and Luchal called them out. Seven days of awkward silences, half-finished texts, and too many nights replaying the same small moments. Saturday morning felt like the right place to stop pretending everything was fine—so they fell into their old routine: the same corner table, the same chipped mugs, coffee that tasted like someone else’s attention to detail.

Dominique wrapped her hands around her cup and let the steam warm the skin at her knuckles. “I’ve been turning their words over all week,” she said. “And—” she cut herself off, because saying it out loud sounded different, “—they weren’t wrong.”

Lennox set his mug down like he was putting down something fragile. “We’ve been moving like we’re twenty again,” he said. “Only now we have rent and health insurance and kids who actually read our social media and roll their eyes at us.”

She snorted. “You definitely deserve the eye roll. You tried to plan a vacation like we’re in a rom-com and forgot to ask basic stuff. Like, do we even know each other’s morning routines?”

“Fair.” He rubbed his face. “I was thinking about that. About how fast it all happened. Truth is I wanted—” He paused. “After my wife died from a heart attack, I thought I was okay. I thought I was ready to feel something again. But maybe I chased the idea of not being alone more than I chased someone I actually knew.”

Dominique’s jaw softened. “Me too. After the divorce, I wanted to feel wanted. I thought if I moved fast, I could skip the hard parts. Instead I… I just messed with the timing. I had Angela when I was seventeen. I didn’t get teenage years, I didn’t get that slow, dumb time. Maybe now I try to force it.”

He laughed, a small, embarrassed sound. “We were kids when we became adults. You at seventeen, me at eighteen—suddenly parenting and bills and no room for messing up. Maybe now we’re trying to have the messy, reckless part of youth and the grown-up part at once. It’s confusing.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward, more honest than she’d intended. “We’re confusing spark for foundation. Infatuation is loud and pretty, and it makes you do impulsive things. Love—it’s quieter and it’s mostly showing up when it’s boring. Doing the small things. The ones you can’t Instagram.”

Lennox looked at her, and for the first time that morning, his eyes held a little relief. “So what do we do about the Paris thing? About everything?”

Dominique folded her napkin, the motion steady. “We slow it down. No grand gestures to cover the gaps. Eighteen months. That’s long enough to see if we’re still here for the real stuff. If we can live together, argue about dishes, handle the messy days, then we can go. Together. Not because it feels thrilling, but because it means something.”

He grinned, a soft, grateful thing. “Eighteen months. That’s a trial with benefits.”

“Trial with cobblestone-related benefits,” she said, warming to the joke. “And if we make it, you owe me full luggage duty. I am not hauling my suitcase through Paris like a bargain hunter.”

“Deal,” he said quickly. “And I’m posting one dramatic photo. But only one.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She smiled. “And I love that you’re ridiculous.”

They clinked mugs—small, grown-up cheers—and let the promise settle between them. Not fireworks, not a cinematic finale, just two people who’d had to grow up too fast deciding to grow slowly now, on purpose.

“Also,” Lennox said as they stood, slipping on his jacket, “if we make it to month eighteen and you still want to go, Angela better not leak our plans to her friends. I don’t want my mother doing a slideshow.”

Dominique pushed past him, laughing. “Deal. But if Luchal posts a selfie with our matching sunglasses, I’m unfollowing him.”

They walked out into the bright, ordinary Saturday—kids, jobs, small disasters waiting as usual—but this time the next steps felt measured. They’d given each other the space to be honest, to admit their pasts and their impulse to fix things too fast. They’d agreed to try again, slowly. That felt like more than a compromise. It felt like careful hope.