Archive of Our Own ^beta

“The slightest words you said have all gone to my head

Light on my heart, light on my feet

Light in your eyes, I can’t even speak

Do you even know how you make me weak?”  

–‘Lightweight’, Demi Lovato

(Preceding scene at the end of 2.04 ‘Curse of the Grandmas’)

Maxwell: It’s been a marvelous year, Miss Fine, and you are a wonderful nanny, and I’m sorry if I don’t say it enough.

Fran: Oh, well, if I’m so wonderful, how come nobody wants to hire me away?

Maxwell: Oh, that? Well, there - there’s a perfectly simple explanation to that. As a matter of fact, it’s so simple that…explaining it to you would really be rather insulting.

Fran: Mmmhmm, go ahead.

Maxwell: Umm, well, the reason you haven’t had any other job offers is - is simply because, uh…… Niles, is there any more tea?

Niles: ….I’ll go to China and see.

Fran: ….Hi…..

Maxwell: …Well….. 

Maxwell Sheffield is in trouble. Miss Fine has put him firmly on the spot and his butler has all but thrown him to the wolves. There’s no way out of this one that he can see, and he simply can’t think of a way to answer her question without upsetting her—or exposing too much of himself. 

The truth of the matter is, on paper, she’s not hardly qualified to be a nanny. At least, not by the standards of the families in his usual social circle. No formal training, brash and loud, flashy and insouciant; she’s a far cry from the staid, strict, homely nannies his peers favor. She’s too visible, too opinionated, not the type of woman to fade into the background or comport herself in the way widely considered to be “proper”. 

She’s vocal instead of docile, emotional instead of placid, her wit is too sharp, her tactics are practically backward. She’s overtly demonstrative, unapologetically stubborn, virtually incapable of respecting any sort of boundaries—

And she’s perfect for his family. 

Somehow, someway, she’s everything they didn’t know they needed; everything he never imagined he’d want for his children. For his home. For himself, even. 

She wasn’t his first choice. Hell, she wasn’t even his eighth choice and yet, after their trial run, he’d found himself asking her to come back. There was something about her—something different, something wonderful—and, against all odds, that indefinable something had a notable impact on them all, right from the start.  

She helped them in a way no other nanny could have, in a way he never would have thought to ask for. Her ineptitude at being what high society would consider a “proper nanny” turned out to be the very thing that made her effective. She fit herself into their lives and they’re all better for having her with them. Yet, at the same time, he can’t imagine her fitting in with another family the same way. Quite possibly because he doesn’t want to imagine it. 

Being on the receiving end of calls requesting Niles’ services always leaves him feeling self-satisfied, proud that he has something others don’t, that his butler is competent and professional enough to be in high demand. 

Conversely (for some reason he refuses to think on too deeply), the thought of getting similar calls for Miss Fine unsettles him. He rather enjoys that others don’t know what a diamond in the rough she really is; that they can’t possibly understand the value of her tenacious dedication, her boisterous affection. She’s become essential and he guards that truth closely, hoards her selfishly—he doesn’t want to share.

He likes her right where she is. Here. With him—or rather, he should say—with his family. 

But how to put all of this into words that won’t upset her? How to elucidate the necessity of her in their lives without sounding as possessive as the thought of her with another family makes him feel? 

He can scarcely explain it in any rational manner to himself, let alone to her. 

This exact moment is, in point of fact, a perfect example of her variance from the norm. 

A “proper nanny” would never square off with her boss; challenge written in every inch of her body, from her teased-up hair to her fuzzy bathrobe and slippered feet. 

She’s the very picture of audacity; compelling and conspicuous and unavoidably vibrant wrapped up in yellow chenille, white flowers highlighting the pink in her cheeks and deepening the fawn freckles smattering her chest, all a perfect accompaniment to those candy-apple-red lips curved up in teasing provocation.

She’s irreverent and irritating and argumentative. 

And she’s maddeningly lovely. 

Too lovely. Eye-catching in a way she shouldn’t be, not to him; her employer, the father of the children she has charge of. And therein lies his answer. An honest response, not nearly encompassing the extent of things, but truthful in its simplicity.

“Well, just look at you, Miss Fine! I–I mean–I mean, I’m a single father, but what married woman in her right mind would want someone as attractive as you in her home, right under her husband’s nose?”

He has to admit to enjoying the way she preens at his words, surprised and flattered, and he sighs in relief as she bids them goodnight. 

“Nice save, Sir.” Sarcasm ladens his butler’s tone and Max wonders, for upwards of the millionth time, how much Niles knows, or suspects, about the jumbled-up mess of emotions he harbors for Fran Fine. Best to keep things light and simple all around.

“Thanks, Niles. I came up with that at the last minute.”

“I heard that!” Miss Fine reappears at his side in an instant, a whirlwind of bristling indignation and perfume, swatting at his arm with perfectly manicured nails and a mulish set to her jaw. 

He doesn’t have to look at Niles to know his butler is smirking, but he glances over his shoulder anyway, imploring, only to see the man backing out of the kitchen with his hands up; throwing him to the proverbial wolves for the second time in mere minutes. 

“Alright, out with it. Just what aren’t you saying?”

She’s even more determined now that she knows there’s more to know, and he knows, from copious experience, she won’t let him off the hook. Surrender is imminent, as it always is when it comes to her.

“Miss Fine–”

“I want the truth this time, Mister.” Her interruption comes with a finger jabbed into his chest and a pout more adorable than it should be. 

That she thinks he was lying doesn’t sit well with him. For better or worse they have always been unflinchingly honest with each other; he supposes he does owe her the whole truth.

“Alright, while I will admit that I offered you the short answer instead of the long one, Miss Fine, I swear that I was not being dishonest. I, myself, have employed many nannies over the years and encountered countless more through other families, and I can say with certainty that none of them have had your style or your flair. And none have been near so beautiful as you.”

~~~~~

Fran blinks up at her boss, momentarily speechless. When she’d called him on his evasive answer she honestly hadn’t expected that he’d double down on her looks. Of course, it’s not like she doesn’t know he’s attracted to her (and vice versa). It’s only natural, after all, that two good-looking adults would notice and appreciate each other’s various attributes. That alone wouldn’t be any big thing but, more than simple attraction, they have a certain chemistry. 

Chemistry that makes it abundantly clear a physical relationship between them would be…gratifying, to say the least. Chemistry they long ago came to an unspoken agreement to ignore. Although, it has, on occasion, slipped through the cracks because, as it turns out, there’s really no denying something so breathtaking. 

And speaking of which, the way he looks tonight is utterly distracting. He’s all dark hair and bright eyes, tux artfully rumpled; bowtie unraveled and hanging down to frame the tanned skin of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt… Oy, it’s no wonder she’d been wooed by his words. And the way he’d looked at her—his gaze catching on her lips before taking her in from head to toe, heated and with evident appreciation—what else could a girl do but melt when faced with that?

Meanwhile, unacknowledged mutual attraction aside, such a bald verbal declaration from him is unusual, to say the least, and no matter how flattered she is that Maxwell Sheffield thinks she’s beautiful (and she is flattered, very flattered), she’s not gonna let him put off answering her original question. She’s a confident woman, unused to feeling inadequate, but this whole thing has left a sour fear that she’s not good enough festering in her gut and, wow, does she ever hate the feeling. Trying to will away the blush his complement has brought to her cheeks, she pushes for the whole truth.

“That’s awfully sweet of you to say—and thank you, by the way—but don’t you go thinking flattery’s gonna distract me again! I want the long answer.” 

She sharpens her glare and crosses her arms for good measure, softening slightly as he nods and abandons his sandwich on the counter beside them. He’s silent for a long moment, staring over her shoulder into the distance, seemingly gathering his words. 

His hesitation is giving her more anxiety than not knowing, what could possibly be so bad that he doesn’t even want to say it? She reaches up to tweak his chin, offering a small encouraging smile when their eyes meet.

“Come on, Boss. Good, bad, or ugly, just lay it on me.” 

“It’s just that–well you... You’re unconventional, Miss Fine! Even leaving aside the fact that you have no formal training in child care, you’re decidedly not what my peers would classify as a 'proper nanny'. The people in this social circle, we’re a stuck-up bunch, I know, and we have all these haughty engrained ideas of the way things should be done. Nannies are supposed to be formal, professional, exacting. They defer to the masters of the house, enforce strict discipline with their charges. They wear uniforms and eat in the kitchen, away from the family. You buck tradition, Miss Fine.”

She watches with wide eyes as he throws his hands up in exasperation. This isn’t the first she’s heard of this (having that Nanny Muller in the house was definitely an eye-opening experience) but the floodgates have opened and his rant only seems to be picking up steam.

“You–you’re argumentative and informal and so...just so visible. You’re dynamic, flashy in both wardrobe and personality; you don’t fade into the background, oh no, you stand out. You dress to impress and you turn heads everywhere you go, and even your vibrant outfits pale in comparison to how strikingly lovely you are. You make yourself seen and heard—definitely heard—and you charge ahead at full steam with no regard for customary boundaries or rules or societal expectations. You’re unpredictable, ungovernable, and these stodgy Upper East Side families fear that. They like things they can control, and you, Miss Fine, are not one of those things.” 

Fran finds herself speechless for the second time in less than ten minutes which, in and of itself, is baffling, but this… 

She’s never been so thoroughly confronted with the differences in the worlds the two of them come from, and she suddenly can’t meet his eyes anymore, rendered uncharacteristically nervous by the daunting divide he’s so eloquently laid out between them.

“But–” His voice has gone soft, the urgency of his rant abated. 

Gentle fingers cup her chin, startling her gaze back up to his, and she’s taken aback by the tenderness she finds there. 

“But, despite all of those things, or rather—perhaps it would be more accurate to say, because of all of those things—you are perfect for this family.” 

Her heart thuds hard, lodging a bubble of hopeful delight in the vicinity of her windpipe and leaving her breathless.

“Oh, Mister Sheffield–” His fingers curl at her jaw and she loses her words to a sigh at the arresting sensation of his knuckles skating the curve of her cheek before falling away. He’s no longer touching her, but the look in his eyes holds her fast.

“You are unapologetically—wonderfully—yourself, Miss Fine. And we wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

He’s as sincere as she’s ever seen him, and it leaves her chest hitching as she blinks rapidly to stave off tears even as a smile tugs at her lips. That’s about as glowing an endorsement as she ever could have hoped for from her stoic British boss, and she’ll take it, most definitely. But it seems he’s not finished.

“And, frankly, I’m really rather relieved I don’t have to compete with anyone else. Any–any other families, that is. You’ve become quite essential. To all of us.” 

She’s smiling fully now, amused by his apparent jealousy over the hypothetical possibility of having to share her. Maxwell Sheffield is a possessive man, unfailingly protective of those things, and people, he considers to be his and—though she’s a modern woman who refuses to be labeled as property—it’s gratifying to know she makes the list. It’s good to belong.

“For the record, I didn’t want other offers because I’m hoping for a better option,” She reassures, eager to reward his honesty with her own, “I love the kids so much, and I’m more than happy here. It’s just–it’s nice to feel wanted, ya know?”

“You’re wanted.” 

His words land in the scant air between their bodies, voice earnest and rumbling; laden with an intent and finality that resonates more profoundly than she suspects he intended.  

For a charged moment they’re suspended, caught in each other's gaze, unwittingly drawn in by the strange gravity they seem to generate.

He looks away first, clearing his throat, and the spell is broken. They gather themselves for a moment, both slightly pink in the cheeks. 

“Good to know,” She murmurs to herself, one part vindicated, one part humbled by everything that just transpired. 

“You are an integral part of this family, Miss Fine. Never doubt it.” He punctuates this statement with a firm nod, and she knows the discussion has been closed.  

He bids her goodnight and leaves her alone in the kitchen with his long-abandoned sandwich and giddy delight flourishing within her. 

Happy anniversary, indeed.

“Oh, I’m a lightweight, better be careful what you say

With every word I’m blown away

You’re in control of my heart

I’m a lightweight, easy to fall easy to break

With every move my whole world shakes

Keep me from falling apart”  

–‘Lightweight’, Demi Lovato