Fanfiction: Unconditional (Mary, OCs)
Absolute stream-fic. A peek into Mary's life which nobody really has a clue about. Set on Monday night when Barney and Ted were fighting and drinking themselves into oblivion....
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"Good afternoon, Douglas, O'Hallaran and Stamp, Mary Bartlett speaking...no, I'm afraid he's not in at the moment...sure, I can let him know. Hold on a sec? Yeah....okay...mmm...right, that would be typically what we'd recommend you do. It's usually a very risky scenario otherwise - a lotta red tape to get through in that situation. Yes? Alright, I'll let him know and ask him to get back to you by...tomorrow.. at 10? Not a problem, bye. "
She glances at her watch.
4pm.
Time to move.
She likes her work. She really does. And she's damn good at what she does.
Gets everything done perfectly and on time, makes sure everything runs like clockwork in the office so her bosses can do what they do best in the courtroom. So that clients have flawlessly drafted business contracts and legal documents which cover them on all sides.
Accounting, recruitment, administration, training, research, client relations. She does it all.
But this isn't it. It's not what she really does.
It's just a front.
A façade.
A title.
"Mary the Paralegal".
Nobody knows what she really does.
Ted knows something. She's let him in on it. A little bit. But he doesn't really remember.
Or maybe he just doesn't really care.
There are things he doesn't talk about with her.
There are things she doesn't talk about with anyone.
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4:30pm
She catches her reflection in the glass walls of the elevator and doesn't really recognize the woman staring back at her.
Golden hair slicked back into a tight bun.
Emporio Armani navy pinstripe suit.
A long string of pearls around her neck, reaching down to her midriff.
Lips stained deep red. Eyes lined in black.
Maria Elaina Bartlett.
Daughter of Philip Bartlett, granddaughter of Nicholas Bartlett and part-heiress to a multi-billion dollar inheritance along with three of her first cousins.
Non-executive board member and majority stakeholder of the holding company that owned forty percent of the commercial and housing real estate in the state of New York, not to mention a diversified portfolio of investments in sectors ranging from media and entertainment to freight forwarding to educational institutions.
She practically owns the building she lives in and nobody knows.
When she walks into the offices of Harrison Crane & Partners on the thirty-fifth floor of Tower One of the World Financial Centre, her escort nervously twitters meaningless pleasantries as he leads her through to the conference room overlooking the Hudson. She forces a smile and dismisses him with a distracted nod.
She's early. But she's not the only one.
"Babushka!!!"
The clunk of the heavy wooden door shutting behind her echoes through the empty room. Its sole occupant, a pale-haired, blue-eyed elderly woman swings around in her chair gracefully and smiles warmly up at her.
"Maria!"
Mary rushes to her, her happiness uncontained as she bends down to wrap herself into the woman's open arms. She feels the caress of fine silk under her fingers, breathes in the familiar scent of lavendar and honey as her grandmother Irina rocks her gently in her arms and kisses her on both cheeks, exclaiming her joy in a stream of Russian that Mary can barely keep up with.
She hasn't seen her since the funeral. She hadn't expected Irina would ever get back into the boardroom after Grandfather's passing. Clearly, she was wrong.
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6pm
The evening wears on, it's a blur of speeches, presentations, proposals, forecasts, reports, charts, numbers, advising, vetoing, debating and decision-making among the head honchos, the executives versus the people with the deep pockets, the entrepreneurs versus the seasoned investors.
She takes it all in, silent. She whispers something once in a while to her friend and financial advisor, pointing to the numbers she's scribbled on the yellow legal pad in front of her, and Jack speaks on her behalf, reducing CEOs and CFOs into blubbering idiots with hard-hitting questions and suggestions.
Her father scratches at his graying beard and frowns from the head of the table. He hasn't said so much as "Hello" to her yet.
Irina sweeps a fleeting smile in her direction, not allowing any other emotion to cross her stately features when business is being discussed.
Mary thinks her cousin Jeff's 18-year-old son Jeroen looks rather uncomfortable in his suit. The kid probably wants to get out of there and hang with his bros at some club and get totally wasted.
Bros.
She wonders what Barney's going to be doing at Saint Croix. Wonders if he has any idea that her father's currently listening to a business proposal from GNB, one she's advised him earlier not to touch until she's had her people look into the matter more thoroughly.
She wonders if Robin's ever going to tell Barney how she feels.
She thinks about her own lover, and she wonders if he has any idea that she could give him everything he wants.
Just one phone call. Just one email. Just a word from her and she could get Theodore Mosby on the 1 World Trade Centre project.
Just a few strokes keyed into her Blackberry and he could be on any number of projects designing and redesigning residential and commercial buildings coming up in the Manhattan area alone.
But she can't do this.
It would mean too much, too soon.
He would be too proud to owe her this.
He would want to earn this through recognition of his hard work and talent, not through personal influence.
It would put her morals, motives and business decisions under scrutiny. The ruthless scrutiny of her family, her business partners and employees, perhaps even the rest of the Board of Directors.
She remembers what Ted said to her on Sunday, in the pool. He hates the idea of becoming a teacher, giving up his passion.
He probably thinks she doesn't understand, doesn't have a clue what he's going through.
He has no idea what it's really like to be forced into living a life not of one's choosing. To have the path laid out for you from the day you were born.
To have to grow up on conditional love.
To have to fight for it to be unconditional.
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9pm
Jack signals to her from across the crowded room and she deposits her champagne flute on the nearest table, touches Irina's elbow as she passes and presses a cheek against hers in farewell. Jack offers her his arm as they make their way out of the office and she takes it gladly, grateful for his presence and his counsel.
"Boy, am I glad that's over!" She exhales sharply, leaning against her old friend and taking some of the weight off her three-inch heels.
"God, woman you were on *fire* in there tonight! I could hardly keep up with all that spontaneous number crunching you were doing - and *I'm* the one with the Chinese finance brain here!" He laughs, his eyes crinkling. "I think my girl's going to kill me for coming home this late!"
"Hey, if you need me to talk to Tamara..."
"Nah, she knows you and your crazy family well enough to know you needed me here tonight," he replies softly, looking down at her arm that's wrapped around his and pressing his cheek against the top of her head that's resting on his shoulder.
She waits till they're stepping out of the elevator and into the basement parking lot before she speaks.
"Jack....there's something I need your advice about."
"Yeah?" He looks over at her intently.
"You know that guy I'm dating? The architect - Ted Mosby?" She bites her lip, not really sure how to put it. "I want to help him get a steady job, but I want it to not have anything to do with me or my family. What - how can I...I don't know what to do..."
He considers her question as they reach her car, and he drums his fingers against the roof as he thinks.
"I think I can help you there. Old waterpolo buddy of mine from college is an architect at Perkins Eastman, mentioned he was looking for someone to take on some of his extra projects for a while, he's landed a project in Beijing he's been hankering after for a while now and he needs someone to take care of the projects in progress here while he's away. I'll give him a call..."
"Perkins Eastman?" Her eyes light up instantly. "It's one of the best firms in the country! And I don't have *anything* to do with it financially!"
"Hey, woah, slow down honey," he laughs, holding a palm up to quiet her. "I can only make the call. He'll have to earn the position..."
"Yeah...definitely, that would be amazing! I'm sure he'd want to try that...thanks, Jack..." She shouldn't be so excited about this, but she's been tired and worried for far too long. She hugs her friend tight, wonders what she would do without him.
"Not a problem at all, Mary." He throws her a smile as he pulls back, his eyes dancing, like he sees something in her and is laughing at the fact that it's written so clearly all over her features for all the world to see.
"You're really serious about this one, aren't you?" he asks, softly.
She answers without missing a beat.
"I love him."
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"Good afternoon, Douglas, O'Hallaran and Stamp, Mary Bartlett speaking...no, I'm afraid he's not in at the moment...sure, I can let him know. Hold on a sec? Yeah....okay...mmm...right, that would be typically what we'd recommend you do. It's usually a very risky scenario otherwise - a lotta red tape to get through in that situation. Yes? Alright, I'll let him know and ask him to get back to you by...tomorrow.. at 10? Not a problem, bye. "
She glances at her watch.
4pm.
Time to move.
She likes her work. She really does. And she's damn good at what she does.
Gets everything done perfectly and on time, makes sure everything runs like clockwork in the office so her bosses can do what they do best in the courtroom. So that clients have flawlessly drafted business contracts and legal documents which cover them on all sides.
Accounting, recruitment, administration, training, research, client relations. She does it all.
But this isn't it. It's not what she really does.
It's just a front.
A façade.
A title.
"Mary the Paralegal".
Nobody knows what she really does.
Ted knows something. She's let him in on it. A little bit. But he doesn't really remember.
Or maybe he just doesn't really care.
There are things he doesn't talk about with her.
There are things she doesn't talk about with anyone.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
4:30pm
She catches her reflection in the glass walls of the elevator and doesn't really recognize the woman staring back at her.
Golden hair slicked back into a tight bun.
Emporio Armani navy pinstripe suit.
A long string of pearls around her neck, reaching down to her midriff.
Lips stained deep red. Eyes lined in black.
Maria Elaina Bartlett.
Daughter of Philip Bartlett, granddaughter of Nicholas Bartlett and part-heiress to a multi-billion dollar inheritance along with three of her first cousins.
Non-executive board member and majority stakeholder of the holding company that owned forty percent of the commercial and housing real estate in the state of New York, not to mention a diversified portfolio of investments in sectors ranging from media and entertainment to freight forwarding to educational institutions.
She practically owns the building she lives in and nobody knows.
When she walks into the offices of Harrison Crane & Partners on the thirty-fifth floor of Tower One of the World Financial Centre, her escort nervously twitters meaningless pleasantries as he leads her through to the conference room overlooking the Hudson. She forces a smile and dismisses him with a distracted nod.
She's early. But she's not the only one.
"Babushka!!!"
The clunk of the heavy wooden door shutting behind her echoes through the empty room. Its sole occupant, a pale-haired, blue-eyed elderly woman swings around in her chair gracefully and smiles warmly up at her.
"Maria!"
Mary rushes to her, her happiness uncontained as she bends down to wrap herself into the woman's open arms. She feels the caress of fine silk under her fingers, breathes in the familiar scent of lavendar and honey as her grandmother Irina rocks her gently in her arms and kisses her on both cheeks, exclaiming her joy in a stream of Russian that Mary can barely keep up with.
She hasn't seen her since the funeral. She hadn't expected Irina would ever get back into the boardroom after Grandfather's passing. Clearly, she was wrong.
--------------------------------------------------------
6pm
The evening wears on, it's a blur of speeches, presentations, proposals, forecasts, reports, charts, numbers, advising, vetoing, debating and decision-making among the head honchos, the executives versus the people with the deep pockets, the entrepreneurs versus the seasoned investors.
She takes it all in, silent. She whispers something once in a while to her friend and financial advisor, pointing to the numbers she's scribbled on the yellow legal pad in front of her, and Jack speaks on her behalf, reducing CEOs and CFOs into blubbering idiots with hard-hitting questions and suggestions.
Her father scratches at his graying beard and frowns from the head of the table. He hasn't said so much as "Hello" to her yet.
Irina sweeps a fleeting smile in her direction, not allowing any other emotion to cross her stately features when business is being discussed.
Mary thinks her cousin Jeff's 18-year-old son Jeroen looks rather uncomfortable in his suit. The kid probably wants to get out of there and hang with his bros at some club and get totally wasted.
Bros.
She wonders what Barney's going to be doing at Saint Croix. Wonders if he has any idea that her father's currently listening to a business proposal from GNB, one she's advised him earlier not to touch until she's had her people look into the matter more thoroughly.
She wonders if Robin's ever going to tell Barney how she feels.
She thinks about her own lover, and she wonders if he has any idea that she could give him everything he wants.
Just one phone call. Just one email. Just a word from her and she could get Theodore Mosby on the 1 World Trade Centre project.
Just a few strokes keyed into her Blackberry and he could be on any number of projects designing and redesigning residential and commercial buildings coming up in the Manhattan area alone.
But she can't do this.
It would mean too much, too soon.
He would be too proud to owe her this.
He would want to earn this through recognition of his hard work and talent, not through personal influence.
It would put her morals, motives and business decisions under scrutiny. The ruthless scrutiny of her family, her business partners and employees, perhaps even the rest of the Board of Directors.
She remembers what Ted said to her on Sunday, in the pool. He hates the idea of becoming a teacher, giving up his passion.
He probably thinks she doesn't understand, doesn't have a clue what he's going through.
He has no idea what it's really like to be forced into living a life not of one's choosing. To have the path laid out for you from the day you were born.
To have to grow up on conditional love.
To have to fight for it to be unconditional.
---------------------------------------------
9pm
Jack signals to her from across the crowded room and she deposits her champagne flute on the nearest table, touches Irina's elbow as she passes and presses a cheek against hers in farewell. Jack offers her his arm as they make their way out of the office and she takes it gladly, grateful for his presence and his counsel.
"Boy, am I glad that's over!" She exhales sharply, leaning against her old friend and taking some of the weight off her three-inch heels.
"God, woman you were on *fire* in there tonight! I could hardly keep up with all that spontaneous number crunching you were doing - and *I'm* the one with the Chinese finance brain here!" He laughs, his eyes crinkling. "I think my girl's going to kill me for coming home this late!"
"Hey, if you need me to talk to Tamara..."
"Nah, she knows you and your crazy family well enough to know you needed me here tonight," he replies softly, looking down at her arm that's wrapped around his and pressing his cheek against the top of her head that's resting on his shoulder.
She waits till they're stepping out of the elevator and into the basement parking lot before she speaks.
"Jack....there's something I need your advice about."
"Yeah?" He looks over at her intently.
"You know that guy I'm dating? The architect - Ted Mosby?" She bites her lip, not really sure how to put it. "I want to help him get a steady job, but I want it to not have anything to do with me or my family. What - how can I...I don't know what to do..."
He considers her question as they reach her car, and he drums his fingers against the roof as he thinks.
"I think I can help you there. Old waterpolo buddy of mine from college is an architect at Perkins Eastman, mentioned he was looking for someone to take on some of his extra projects for a while, he's landed a project in Beijing he's been hankering after for a while now and he needs someone to take care of the projects in progress here while he's away. I'll give him a call..."
"Perkins Eastman?" Her eyes light up instantly. "It's one of the best firms in the country! And I don't have *anything* to do with it financially!"
"Hey, woah, slow down honey," he laughs, holding a palm up to quiet her. "I can only make the call. He'll have to earn the position..."
"Yeah...definitely, that would be amazing! I'm sure he'd want to try that...thanks, Jack..." She shouldn't be so excited about this, but she's been tired and worried for far too long. She hugs her friend tight, wonders what she would do without him.
"Not a problem at all, Mary." He throws her a smile as he pulls back, his eyes dancing, like he sees something in her and is laughing at the fact that it's written so clearly all over her features for all the world to see.
"You're really serious about this one, aren't you?" he asks, softly.
She answers without missing a beat.
"I love him."
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