Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alana Bloom is not devoid of thoughts the afternoon she meets Margot Verger, would-be heir to her father’s empire.

Quite the opposite; her mind is flooded with such a deluge of considerations that it takes considerable effort not to drown.

The figure emerges from a rolling fog right as Alana realizes she’s taken the wrong road. The building in front of her reveals itself to be stables, underlined by the fact that the broad silhouette approaching her is on horseback. Alana does not normally find herself troubled by directions, but the Verger property is exhaustively large and her mobility is not what it was.

Alana blinks twice, eyes adjusting as the woman (is it a woman?) sheds her cloak of mist to trot closer. It is a woman, though not in any sense Alana would’ve expected from modern-day nobility. To call her presence intimidating would be an understatement; from atop her meticulously groomed steed, Margot cuts a figure better-suited to war.

“You must be here for Mason.”

The first of her many thoughts is that she can’t believe neither Hannibal nor Will ever mentioned that Margot Verger is built like a brick house. It certainly frames Will in a new perspective, one she'll have to interrogate later. Granted, the horse gives the heiress twice the height, but she suspects that even without it she’ll dwarf Alana’s petite stature. She’s wearing a man’s riding outfit, tailored to accommodate what appear to be wide shoulders and thickly-muscled arms.

Interesting.

“I am. I think I got turned around.”

She is regarded with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“Hmm. That means you’ve still got a chance to leave,” Margot muses, pulling the horse up broadside to Alana. From here, they can see one another clearly. Alana hears herself swallow tightly as she’s pinned by piercing green eyes and a smooth, square jaw. Fierce intelligence and fiercer strength, simmering at the ready. “I’d take it, if I were you.”

The proximity of the large animal stirs an instinct in Alana to retreat a few steps, yet there’s an obviousness in the tactic that teases out her defiance. She’s already relying on her cane more than she’d like. The idea of tottering backwards on it summons a flinch. The old Alana would cede ground, which is all the more reason to stay put. 

Disturbed, she does what she always does – dissect. Margot is making an entrance, something she’s likely spent a lifetime perfecting. Bowling into frame with her head high, presence domineering. She surely walks into a boardroom with the same gravitas. Couldn’t be her father’s beloved son, so she became… What, exactly? Alana squints her nose at what feels like lazy psychology, even to her.

“Unfortunately, he and I have business to discuss.”

Margot tilts her head to the side, observing. She runs her gloved hands through the horse's soft mane, soothing the creature as it waits to be dismounted and put away. It’s a strangely gentle gesture from someone so clearly seeking to put Alana on her back feet.

“That is unfortunate,” she hums, sounding faintly intrigued. 

Alana can sense Margot growing impressed with her contrarian refusal to back down. Wheels turn behind her laser-focused gaze, and for a moment, they hover in a standoff. Then, in one graceful motion, Margot lifts a tree-trunk thigh over the saddle and drops to the ground with a solid thunk. 

Alana sees right away that she was correct; Margot must be nearly six feet tall. Her muddied boots have barely a heel to speak of, yet even off her horse Alana still has to tilt her head up to maintain focus. She’s aware of a faint tinge of pinking rising in her cheeks. She blames it on the chill.

“What does Mason want with you?”

She steels herself, gripping her cane tightly. “We have… complimentary interests.”

Then Alana does back up a step – though only one – because two stablehands have appeared from nowhere to collect her horse. It startles her more than she’d like to admit. The surprise is followed quickly by sharp resentment when she catches Margot smirking at her distress. It would be far more egregious if she weren’t so… What is she, exactly?

“I find that hard to believe,” Margot grins, peeling off her helmet and handing it graciously to one of the silent workers. “You don’t seem nearly depraved enough.”

Alana is cooking up several responses, but they buffer flatly as she takes in Margot’s newly-revealed appearance. Her hair is cropped short at the sides, a brief, elegant chestnut swoop curving messily over her brow. She combs the dark strands back into place with a gloved hand. Alana follows the movement closely, darting her eyes away when Margot catches them. 

It’s not her fault, she reasons; the woman is distractingly attractive. Dashing. Handsome, even. Her skin glows from the ride, faint dark lashes blinking catlike in the grey light. She’s entirely unadorned by jewelry or makeup, masculinity softened by naturally pretty features she doesn’t seem ashamed to use to her advantage.

There’s a boldness to her that isn’t feminine at all. 

“Or maybe it’s just more well-disguised?” She asks, teeth flashing as she absorbs Alana’s barely-concealed response.

Alana clears her throat, then plants her cane in front of her. She knows why Margot isn’t eligible for her father’s inheritance. Proclivities and parts, Will had said. Alana had ignored it; she knows where her proclivities lie.

Doesn’t she?

“I’ve found myself more malleable in recent months,” she finally replies, drawing herself up straighter. She’s still at least six inches too short to go head to head, but the heels are doing their best.

Margot’s smile widens at this. She shrugs out of her jacket, passing it off to yet another silent steward that vanishes into shadow. Alana’s jaw clenches. The crisp white dress shirt clings to her ruthlessly, proving Alana’s guesses about her build far too correct. The fabric clings to her biceps hungrily as she straightens and cuffs the sleeves, sheer in places from exertion. Not that she’s looking, but she can easily picture a thousand-dollar sports bra damp with sweat from riding.

Focus, Alana.

“Amazing what a little defenestration can do for the spirit,” Margot chirps, watching Alana closely for a reaction. 

She gets one, albeit not as pouty as perhaps she’d hoped for. “I’ve adapted," Alana confirms.

A small, sly smile. “So it would seem.”

I know about you, you know about me. It’s a dance she hadn’t expected when she arrived at the estate, but she isn’t complaining. In fact, she finds herself losing track of exactly what it is she did come here for in the princely way Margot dusts herself off and strides toward the stable doors, gesturing outward.

“If you take a left through the archway, you’ll find the path to the side door. It’s near the hideous pig statue.”

Not that she’s looking, but even in her thickly muscular shape, there’s a distinct curve to Margot’s hips that has Alana nipping at the inside of her cheek. That is not the ass of a man. The contrast to her obvious strength sends a small shiver of appreciation up the back of Alana’s neck, which she shakes off roughly as Margot turns to investigate why her new friend hasn’t said anything in response.

“Pig statue. Got it,” Alana huffs, glancing off sharply. 

She can hear the self-satisfaction in Margot’s voice. “I hope your meeting is fruitful, Dr. Bloom.”

Alana responds without thinking, something she hasn't done in quite some time. “Alana. Please.”

Margot preens. “I hope you're not intending to treat him. We’ve had trouble with psychiatrists.”

A sharp, knowing laugh peels from Alana’s throat. Its roughness seems to delight her companion. She taps her cane on the stones. “I can certainly relate.”

The air crackles sharply as they catch each others’ gaze, confirming the mutual suspicion that something has just occurred between them. Alana had already been so preoccupied preparing to deal with Mason that she hadn’t had any defenses up for the off-chance that his sister would be… This. She feels a foreign, forgotten sort of giddiness that is entirely inappropriate for the direction her afternoon is about to take.

“Margot Verger,” Margot Verger offers, though she knows Alana knows. It’s polite, after all, and gives the statuesque woman an excuse to pull off her glove and shake Alana’s hand. “Can’t say I like the idea of you working with my slimy excuse for a sibling, but I hope it means we’ll run into each other again.”

Alana’s tongue darts out to wet her lower lip before she catches herself – Lipstick, Alana. It’s a new habit she keeps forgetting to mind. She can’t go around smudging her armor before she goes into battle.

“I’ll see if I can’t find my way to getting lost again,” she replies, chuffed with herself for the clever turn of phrase, then chuffed further when it draws a charmed smirk across Margot’s lips.

“Be careful with him,” she warns, a bitter note of fear tainting her otherwise smooth cadence. “If he offers you chocolate… don’t take it.”

Alana’s eyes narrow, noting the weight of the sentence. Layers upon layers, there. She nods carefully to demonstrate her understanding, definitely not stealing another glance at the rise and fall of those powerful arms.

“I’ll remember that,” she promises, bowing slightly as her cane precedes her towards the exit. “Until then, Margot.”

Her last glimpse of the secondary Verger is of wide shoulders leaned against brick, defined forearms crossed over each other as she openly savors Alana’s exit. She turns away with no shortage of reluctance, dizzy with so much to process.

Margot Verger, heiress-slash-bodybuilder. Elegantly butch, crafted like a lumberjack and whip-smart, to boot.

Suddenly, visits to the Estate don’t seem like quite the nightmare she’d expected them to be.