Who's Your Daddy?


Grant_icon.gif Gwen_icon.gif

Summary: Gwen meets Grant's baby momma.

Date It Happened: January 19, 2002

Who's Your Daddy?

Grant's Mansion

It's early in the morning, but despite the interruption in sleep the night before, Grant is up and has been since at least two hours prior. He has a set routine, and he follows it with almost obsessive fervor. Awake at five, let the dogs out at five-thirty, orange juice at five-forty, walk the grounds until six-fifteen, feed the dogs at six-twenty, swim until seven, shower at five after seven, breakfast at seven-fifteen. He's in the tail-end of the swimming portion at this precise moment and is using the indoor swimming pool, as it's a little too cold yet to be utilizing the outdoor pool.

Honestly, if Grant thinks that Gwen will be rising anytime before the clock is pursuant of double digits on the left side, he's in for disapointment. It'll be closer to 10 am before Gwen bothers to rise, and even that's early - she's more a crack of noon kinda girl, given the late hours that her job demands. And so it's by that time she wakes up, considers her options, and upon realizing a shower would result in her having to put on the same day old clothes, just resolves to - painstakingly, given her shoulder - put her shoes back on and attempt to slip quietly outside of the house. Normally that's an easy feat, but her shoulder's throbbing and well, it's daytime.

Ten in the morning would typically find Grant at work. However, these are extenuating circumstances. One does not go to work when one has an injured woman recovering in one's guest room. He called in, then went out to pick up some clothes for said woman. Much as he wouldn't mind her running about topless, Gwen does need a shirt after the previous one was cut off last night, and some pants that aren't bloodied, and some underthings that are also not bloodied.

So it's almost pure coincidence that he's ascending the stairs carrying a shopping bag just as Gwen starts to descend. He pauses upon spotting her, then recovers quickly with a smile. "Ah, good morning. I would have expected you to sleep longer after all the blood you lost." He raises the bag. "I brought you some clothes. How are you feeling?"

Gwen pauses on the stairwell. She'd been hoping to sneak out, not really minding much that she was down to a bra, spotted red though it is. "Like I've been beat with a bullet stick." she says casually, as if she stands around in only pants and a bra all the time, dammit. "I think once I get home, me and Mr. Vicodin are going to have a nice, cozy chat."

Grant's smile widens in quiet amusement. "I have painkillers here, and the added luxury of breakfast." He extends the bag again; it contains not only a top similar to the one she was wearing the previous night, but also a soft button-down blouse (much easier to put on with a shoulder wound than a regular shirt), pants, and underwear. "Get dressed and perhaps cleaned up a little. There's a bathroom connected to the spare bedroom. I'll see to breakfast." He grins a little and adds, "You're tough, Gwen, but rushing off isn't going to make you heal any faster."

Gwen accepts the bag with some dignity. "It's not that. I should go see my usual guy. I mean, it's not like I can just go to a hospital, you know?" A pause, and she eyes him suspisciously. "You've got Vicodin?"

Grant retrieves a bottle from his slacks pocket and holds it up with a smirk and an enticing little rattle. "I have means." The bottle is offered toward her as well and he casually adds, "The price was fairly low, too. I only had to promise them your soul." He winks — it's a lighthearted joke.

Gwen eyes him suspisciously. "You do realize that considering who you work for, that is a completely unfunny joke?" Nonetheless, she swipes the bottle, uncaps it, and downs to Vics in the blink of an eye, without even drinking anything.

"Only if you actually believe that I ever would do such a thing," responds Grant with a smirk. Then he turns and starts back down the stairs. "Take your time getting cleaned up. Breakfast will be ready when you've finished."

And so she does. She's a little dubious about the fact that Grant seems to have sized her correctly, but long story short, she's changed in the light shirt and other clothes, the Vicodin's working its way through her electro-heightened system, and she even manages the stairs back down to the bottom floor, albeit slowly. After that, she gets a little turned around, not sure if she's supposed to go to the kitchen or the dining room, or…well, exactly where. LA people can be wierd.

While Gwen tries to sort herself out, the front door opens and in waltzes a rather pregnant, tall blonde, elegant and well-dressed. She doesn't even notice Gwen at first and calls out in a sing-song, "Grant~ it's your— " She cuts herself off immediately upon spotting Gwen, whom she eyes up and down in a catty sort of way. "Oh," she sniffs, then smiles coldly. "Hello."

Gwen stops at the foot of the stairs, her eyebrows going up. "Hello." she replies, completely unable to keep the amusement from her voice. "Grant's in the kitchen, I think. Or maybe the dining room."

Not anymore he isn't. At just that moment, Grant appears in the kitchen doorway amid the smells of cooking breakfast and hastily pulling off a dark green apron (because god knows getting food spattered on his clothes is a sin). Despite the situation, he is cool and calm as always, unruffled, and at ease. He smiles at the pregnant woman and moves to greet her with a kiss to the cheek — which she attempts ungracefully and unsuccessfully to turn into a kiss on the lips. Someone is feeling a bit threatened. "Angela, what an unexpected surprise," intones Grant. "I see you've met Gwen. Gwen, this is Angela Scarletti, a client; Angela, this is Gwen Stacy— " he does not give her real last name, though he knows it "— an associate. We were just having a late breakfast."

Angela doesn't look all that thrilled about Grant or Gwen, or really any of this, but she tries and fails to mask this under that same steely smile. She extends a hand in greeting toward Gwen. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Stacy." No, no it's not really.

"When's the baby due?" Gwen asks brightly, and does not take the hand. "You and Grant must be so excited." Her eyes flick to Grant, so wide, so sweet, just daring him to deny it's his. Gwen? Not born yesterday. The next words out of Angela's mouth, she predicts, would have been 'Baby Momma'.

Oh, he doesn't deny it. But Angela does. She smiles, and it's an odd mixture of expressions — pleased, but affronted. "Why would you assume it's his?" she asks icily. It's not very convincing, probably because she's inwardly puffed up with pride. Yes, that's right. Grant's baby. Just so Gwen knows her place.

Grant, however, is not so thrilled, though it doesn't show through much. "Ah, Angela? If you would be so kind as to wait for me in the entertaining room while I see to Gwen's breakfast." He gently guides the woman toward the other room, and she goes with a rippled, "Don't keep me waiting too long."

Once she's gone, Grant turns back to face Gwen, and all the charm and smiles are replaced by a flat expression. "Angela is a client," he intones. "She is also a former lover, and yes, the child is mine. Why do you think she is in need of a divorce attorney?"

"Whatever, I don't judge." Gwen's hand goes up in a talk-to-it motion, "Except that you're kind of a pig." she adds gleefully. "I think I'll skip breakfast. Thank you very much for helping me. I'll try not to disrupt Family Circle hour again." She turns around and starts heading for the door. "Don't keep her waiting, Daddy!" she chirps, and aims for her car. Apparently she's not deterred by the Vicodin.

Perfect. Grant lets out a sigh through his nostrils, lips pursed, and hesitates only a moment before turning and going after Gwen. For one thing, she just took a bunch of painkillers. Driving in such a state is dangerous. For another, well, he obviously doesn't want her running off on that note. When he catches up to her, he reaches out to grab her by the elbow — the one that isn't attached to a wounded shoulder. "Now wait just a minute," he utters. "How does one mistake make me a pig?"

Gwen is faster than he is, and moves her arm back and away before he can grab it. "What, you mean besides the whole getting your own client totally PG like Mary was with Jesus only she knows who the father is? There's the whole trying to get into my pants thing in conjunction."

Grant's face remains stony and his tone level. "She became my client after she got pregnant, not before," he states. "Her husband filed for divorce and she needed an attorney. I offered as a favor, and now I'm offering to support the child. It's not as though I impregnated a client just to break her marriage." He shakes his head. "For someone who claims she doesn't judge, you are certainly getting wound up over a simple mistake."

Gwen lets out a laugh. "Grant, even I know the phrase 'conflict of interest' and what it could mean for your license. That would be me not judging." She reaches for her car door, digging for her keys carefully.

But Grant presses his hand to the window to hold the door shut. "Which is why," he intones in a low voice, "I'm not listed as the child's father in the suit, and I would prefer to keep it that way." Watching her dig for her car keys, he adds, "You can't drive. You've just taken painkillers."

"I can drive, and probably better than you when you're clean and sober." Gwen says with a tight smile. "In point of fact, I could probably kick your ass, even if I've got a clipped wing, and even if I'm on a painkiller, and even if you don't go crispy when I touch you. So if you'd like your capacity to father children to remain intact, get the hell out of my way."

For a moment, it looks as though Grant might not comply, like he might argue. But he doesn't. Instead, he lifts his hand off the window and moves it to the door's handle, which he pulls to open the door for Gwen. Odd. She hadn't reacted this way upon meeting Cordelia at the club, despite the fact that the possibility of his sleeping with Cordelia was quite real. Now's not the time to brainpick, of course; she needs time to cool off. "I'm sorry you think ill of me for attempting to help a woman I had wronged," he grunts flatly.

Gwen takes her seat. "Yeah, Angela looks like a real victim." She reaches out to shut the door, puts the keys in the ignition, and is prepared to zoom off without even waiting for him to step back. Gravel spits behind her tires as she makes her way onto the street.

Grant doesn't have any time to make a reply, though he's got one. He's always got one. He does step back in time to avoid flying gravel, though some does smack against his body in Gwen's wake. He watches the car disappear down the drive toward the gate, then quietly turns and heads back to the house. Angela wouldn't have come if it wasn't important, and with Maria due any day now, it is probably very important. Gwen will need time to calm down at any rate, and then he'll be better able to explain things. It is, perhaps, not a hopeless cause just yet.

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