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wardenparker · 2 years

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You’re So Vain - Chapter 3

Dieter Bravo x female Reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

Rating: Teen. But this blog is *always* 18+ Word Count: 11.6k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, arguments, shouting in public, mentions of drug use, alcohol consumption, a bunch of people very upset with each other, mentions of deceased family members and a car accident. Summary: To say the first date does not go well would be an understatement, but the fallout might be even more important than what happens at the restaurant. Notes: Exploring Dieter’s backstory has been really, really fun for us as we work on developing his character. Finding the balance in where the caricature we see in The Bubble crosses with the trials and tribulations of a real person is an absolute gift and we say a giant Thank You to Pedro for giving us those amazing building blocks to play with!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

“This is less than I sleep in and I’m going to be photographed in it.” You’ve been standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom for ten minutes staring at yourself in the little black dress that showed up at your door yesterday while you were at work. The short, sleeveless number is more skin than you’ve shown anywhere but your shower in more than ten years and the sky-high heels they sent to go with it make you grateful that all you’re supposed to be doing tonight is sitting down to dinner. “This is insane, right? This is the most insane thing I’ve ever done. As my best friend shouldn’t you be talking me out of it?” Steph has been sitting in your bed the entire time you’ve been getting ready - sometimes with Nora in her lap and sometimes not depending on whether or not your niece thought her stuffed animals needed her presence.

“What? Going to one of the trendiest restaurants in all of L.A. and having dinner with a hot, famous actor who also happens to be your soulmate?” Steph rolls her eyes and grins at you. “Oh, the horror.” She huffs sarcastically. She had been impressed when you were told that the dinner would be at Spago. It was a romantic and trendy spot, sure to have high profile people see the both of you and paps were guaranteed, even if Libby had arranged for them to be there.

“And by the time I wake up tomorrow, my face is going to be on gossips websites and tabloids and sh—stuff.” Tugging on the edge of the skirt a little, you sigh resignedly. There is no way this thing is going to cover the elephant tattoo on your thigh just like it will absolutely show off the triangles on your arms. You’re sure it was chosen because of that, even though not having make up on your hand makes you feel naked, so this dress is a bit of an extreme. “This is exactly what I’ve been avoiding for years. And if he hadn’t helped you and Nora the way he did, I would be ripping up that contract right now.”

“I know.” Steph sighs and picks up the heel that had been sent over. Everything is gorgeous, expensive, and looks fantastic on you despite your reservations. “But just…keep an open mind?” She asks. “He is human, despite your skepticism.”

“I’m just glad tonight is only dinner.” Specifically, it is dinner and holding hands. The contract had that laid out extremely plainly. “I’ll be home well before midnight and I’ll be able to get plenty of sleep for the brunch shift tomorrow.” You may not have had to take extra summer work thanks to the elimination of the extra bills, but you definitely still did have to wait tables at your usual summer tourist spot.

“Unless you want it to be more.” Steph still doesn’t understand why you are fighting this so hard. Dieter is your soulmate.

“I don’t.” Flopping back onto the mattress beside her, you pick up one of the elaborate Jimmy Choo high heels and stare at it like it’s personally offended you. “My main goal for tonight is to try to figure out what’s in everything I’m eating so I can attempt making it all at home.”

She sighs heavily, afraid of this. You tended to be…headstrong when you had decided something. Sometimes the chip on your shoulder blinded your to the entire view. “Well, that’s a positive. Make sure to take pictures of the menu.” She rolls her eyes and stands up. “Do you need help with anything?”

“It’s probably about time Nora saw Aunt Gigi’s marks.” You sigh, looking up at her after you’ve wrestled the first shoe onto your foot.

“She will think they are cool.” She assures you, right as the doorbell rings. “Oh shit, I’ll go get that.” She tells you, rushing out of the room to get the door.

One last look in the mirror is what you have time for - time to minorly adjust your hair and then berate yourself for caring - before you turn to find your niece standing in the open doorway of your room. “Hey, honey.” You offer her a warm smile and your hand. “It’s time for auntie to go out, but I won’t be gone too long.”

Nora looks up from her stuffed animals and her eyes widen. “You pretty, Gigi!” She giggles and looks down at her doll. “Wearing a dress like Ginger!”

“Ginger’s pretty cool,” you can’t help but smile a little wider at Nora’s approval. “I think I have a little way to go before I’m as cool as her, but I’m glad you like it.”

She looks back up at you, spotting the completely inked out tattoo and points to it. “What’s that? Mommy said not to draw on myself with the markers.” She tells you with a serious tone.

If you were going to draw on yourself, it would be something a hell of a lot better than a triangle. “These are tattoos, honey.” You do your best to crouch down to her level but it’s hard in the cage-style heels. “From my soulmate. Like how Mommy has that little star on her skin, and your daycare teacher has some words written on her arm.” The concept is something Nora understands - all kids do to a degree - but she’s just never seen yours.

“I didn’t know you have a soulmate.” She scrunches her nose in confusion and tilts her head as she looks at the tattoos. “They are pretty.”

“You like them?” That honestly surprised you enough that you look down at them again - but they’re just the same black triangles they always have been. “Almost everyone has a soulmate. Sometimes they meet early like Mommy and Daddy did, and sometimes it takes a little while.”

“Does that mean you are going to get married and have babies?” Nora’s eyes widen happily. “I’ll be a big sister!” She cries out excitedly, not really understanding the familial connections quite yet.

“Oh.” Shaking your head quickly, you try not to look too horrified by that suggestion. “No, sweetie. I’m not getting married or having babies. I’m just going to go have some dinner with them. That’s all.” You’ll have to explain the concept of platonic soulmates to her at another point. It will be a lot easier than explaining that you’ve signed a legal document agreeing to pretend to date a man you can’t stand.

“Oh.” Her small shoulders slump for a moment before she shrugs it off. “Have fun!”

“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetie. I love you.” Bending over lets you place a kiss on the top of her head, and you give her little hand a squeeze before heading for the stairs.

******

Dieter stands in the living room awkwardly, having already accepted several tearful hugs from Stephanie, and tries not to make too much light of it. “It’s a nice home.” He tells her, looking around at the modest space. “It would suck to lose it.” He comments, not really knowing what else to say.

“Thankfully, we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Coming through the living room, you snag your blue leather and lace motorcycle-style jacket off the hook above the shoe tray at the front door and reach over to give Steph a hug. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” you tell her with certainty.

Dieter looks over at you, relieved to be off the hook talking about his good deed and raises a brow. “Wow.” He hums, surprised at how nice you look. He had anticipated you dressing down in protest.

“It’s what Libby brought over.” Tugging on your jacket is the most stubborn you’re going to get about all of this, and it’s mostly a security blanket - June in Southern California does not require extra layers.

He’s actually wearing a suit. He had huffed and complained but had settled down when Libby had told him he could take the jacket off as soon as you get to the restaurant. Dark blue, it highlights the maroon shirt he’s wearing underneath with no tie and the first few buttons undone. “Ready?” He asks, raising his brows at you.

“As I’ll ever be.” With one more hug for Steph you follow him out the door, noting that the car in your driveway is not one of the ones that had showed up here four days ago. “You drove?” Somehow you had expected him to show up with a driver and a flashy car, showing off for your quiet suburban neighborhood.

��Yeah.” Dieter nods and walks you out to the car, wondering if he should open the door for you for a moment before he decides to do it. “More natural that way. Plus, I fucking hate being driven around.”

“Seems like it would be weird.” Or maybe you just like driving, that could be it, too. Either way, your eyebrows raise slightly when he moves to hold open the passenger door. “Thanks.” You murmur, clearly surprised by the show of manners as you carefully get into his car.

He rolls his eyes at your expression after you turn to get into the car. You seem to think he’s a fucking savage or lacking basic manners. Still haven’t quite figured out why you hate him so much, but maybe he can find out tonight. “Okay let’s do this.” He mutters, closing the door and reaching for his sunglasses to put on as he walks around the hood to climb in beside you into the very normal looking hybrid vehicle.

“So did Libby pick out our topics of conversation for us?” The mood in the car is tense already and as much as you don’t really want to be doing this, you do owe it to him. Ugh, that’s something you’re never going to stop hating. You figure ragging on his manager a little might break the stalemate a little.

Dieter huffs, shaking his head. “No, I think that the entire getting to know your soulmate was the unspoken theme.” He pulls away from the curb and navigates his way out of the neighborhood, the GPS already programmed for the restaurant.

“I just meant that she seems extremely organized.” Alright, that definitely did not work. With your fingers twisting around each other in your lap, you stare out the window at the houses as you pass and return a wave from one curious neighbor who is sure to start to gossip mill churning. “That’s all.”

“Too organized.” He complains. “But she’s good at her job.” He grudgingly admits. “I’ve got a lot of movie deals because of her.”

“Good.” You nod a little, determined not to let this go too haywire too quickly. “That’s good. I mean…since it’s your work and all.”

“Yeah.” Libby had strictly told him not to bore the ever-loving shit out of you with work talk so he changes the subject. “High school art teacher huh? What made you chose that?”

“It’s not glamorous.” The way he asks the question rankles you, and you square your shoulders in response. “But I’ve always loved art, and thought it was a nice way to address the fact that I love kids. Teenagers can be really remarkable if you give them the space and support to express themselves.”

The way you speak instantly sets his nerves on edge. Like you are talking down to him as if he was seventeen again and being told that he would never make it in acting. It reminds him of every backhanded compliment he received. “Yeah.” He grunts shortly, wondering how the fuck the universe put someone like you with him.

“You don’t like kids, or you don’t like art?” It’s got to be one or the other, for him to react so stiffly.

“Love art, adore it.” Dieter turns carefully, sure that you are one of those to side seat drive and he doesn’t want to hear it. “Don’t mind miniature humans. They are simple.”

You aren’t sure that you would ever call teenagers ‘simple’, but maybe he just doesn’t actually know many teens. Being combative early in the night isn’t going to help either of you - surely later on something frustrating will happen and being worked up before then isn’t a good idea. “What kind of art do you like?”

“Impressionist, classical, abstract.” Dieter answers, keeping his head on the road. “Pretty much most forms of art can grab my attention.”

“Portraiture?” Thinking of those rare projects you’ve gotten in that area of him might make you chuckle now and again if it’s an art form he doesn’t mind. Hopefully. Maybe. It’s probably grasping at straws to think so.

“It’s cool.” Dieter shrugs. “Just hate doing a self-portrait.” He never really cared for how he viewed himself, although doing portraits of others often inspired him.

“You are an artist?” You’re surprised in a way you hadn’t expected, like the idea of him giving thought to form and beauty just doesn’t compute. “Visual artist, I mean? Obviously you’re a performing artist.”

“What? Don’t believe me?” He snorts and pulls into the valet lane. “Switched my major about halfway through when I was in college.”

“Just didn’t expect the answer, that’s all.” It’s odd to think you actually have something in common with him besides your marks, if you’re honest with yourself.

Pulling up to the valet saves him from the snarky comment he had on the tip of his tongue. The valet, a tall, probably mid-twenties man, opens the door for you and Dieter gets out to hand his keys to him in exchange for a ticket as he rushes around the back. Moderately happy that you waited for him, Dieter had forgotten to take his sunglasses off and decided to say fuck it and keep them on. “Ready?” He asks when he joins you next to the valet stand.

“Your—” You start to point out that he’s still wearing his sunglasses as you go inside but he’s entirely stopped paying attention to you as the doorman ushers you both inside and the maître’d greets Dieter with all the pomp and circumstance that you suppose he must be used to.

“Mr. Bravo!” The maître’d practically coos his name and Dieter just flashes him a grin. He would prefer to not have his ass kissed but he was used to it at this point. “We have a wonderful table, all ready for you and your lovely date.”

Libby must have called and set everything up, knowing that he will have a table that is in full view of everyone, he just jerks his head up in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

You’re not supposed to look like you hate each other. That would completely defeat the purpose of this entire exercise, and you won’t have this whole thing be useless. “Thank you so much.” You flash the young man a smile and step just an inch closer to Dieter. “We’re so excited for tonight.” It’s a blatant lie, and you normally wouldn’t ever consider yourself a liar. But you did do some school plays back when you weren’t so horrified about who your soulmate was, so you’re just going to think of it as acting.

Dieter licks his lips, more out of a nervous habit or previous drug use than anything and gives a small smirk. “Yes we are.” He knows that people are watching him, so he reaches behind you and puts his hand on the small of your back.

There is a simple, psychologically scientific reason that you feel like your skin is on fire. Simple. Scientific. It’s just the soulmate connection. It’s just that - like it or not - this is the person the universe bound you to. You are absolutely not actually attracted to him, you tell yourself sternly, as the warmth of his hand hits your skin through the cut out in the back of this miniature dress that his manager picked out. It’s just that you haven’t fucked anybody in almost a year, and even then you hadn’t let the saucier at the restaurant actually undress you for that frenzied quickie in the back of his car. It had only been about release.

So when was the last time anyone actually touched your bare skin with any kind of intimacy? No. No. This is not intimate.

The table is practically in the middle of the restaurant’s courtyard, and you definitely spot someone sitting with a camera at a table you pass on the way through. The maître’d holding out your chair is a blessed excuse to get away from Dieter’s side, and you thank the young man and sit. Tonight cannot possibly go fast enough.

“I think we deserve a drink.” Dieter dives face first into the wine list, eager for anything that can maybe warm you up and mellow him out. You had stiffened when he touched you and it fucking irritated him. Acting like he was going to fucking jump you in the middle of the restaurant.

“Hey, your business manager set everything up, I’m sure you can just order whatever you want.” His team seemed to baby him in a lot of ways, and you suspect he requires it. “It’s not like the wine list here is lacking.” It’s…fucking impressive, now that you look at it. It’s been so long since you had anything but boxed wine or Arbor Mist that you’ve forgotten what the good stuff tastes like.

He grunts, not even bothering to mention that despite Libby setting everything up, he would be paying for it. She had already put his card on file with the restaurant. “I am going to have the Pierre Morey.” He announces after a look at the menu. “Not a bad wine.”

You manage not to choke on the price tag of the bottle he’s picked out as the nearby waiter scurries away, remembering solemnly that he dropped a few hundred thousand dollars to help total strangers just about a week ago. While you still don’t understand why he did it, the fact remains that he did. “So you like wine and art and don’t mind kids.” It feels like pulling teeth, but you’re not sure if it would be any better to sit through dinner in uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah.” He looks around, sighing when he sees the cameras pointed at the two of you already. The entire night will be scrutinized. “What about you? Lovers? Party scene?” He asks, reaching over and popping the napkin ring off the table and fiddling with it.

“A few. Here and there.” You nod vaguely and pick at the fresh nail polish you bothered to put on for tonight. “Nothing serious, ever.” The party days had been exceptionally brief - just like every single ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in. The more marks you gained, the more impossible it became to be intimate with someone on an emotional level. “You probably think I’m boring for that.”

“I think people do what they want.” Dieter comments offhandedly. “Not like I’ve ever been in a committed relationship either.” He reminds you.

“Too busy dreaming about your soulmate?” You practically snort, half rolling your eyes at the notion. He’s been around with nearly every top starlet at some point or other - clearly never giving a second thought to whoever you might be. And that was fine with you.

“Well, you knew who I was.” Dieter grunts, annoyed at how snotty you sound. “It’s not like you were actually on Mate Marks. Or came forward.” No, the last person who came forward as his supposed ‘soulmate’ had been this crazy, albeit gorgeous, guy about eight years before. Faking his tattoos and completely duping Dieter for about three days of drug fueled sex and proclamations of love before he woke up to find his sports car and credit card gone. When they caught him, the tattoos had come off. He had copied them using the waterproof fake tattoos. Dieter had vowed never to go looking for his soulmate after that.

“I was trying to stay out of your way.” You admit, looking down at your hands in your lap under the table. “Let you live your life. A life you seemed to be enjoying, by all accounts.”

“You obviously hold some kind of grudge against me.” Dieter looks over and nods his head at his last director, out with his wife and their lover. It had been an interesting set atmosphere when they had all invited him to their suite. “So it was probably more pretend I don’t exist.”

“It’s physically impossible for me to pretend you don’t exist.” To prove it, you hold one arm out in his direction but quickly snatch it back when the waiter returns with the wine he ordered. Glasses are poured and your dinner orders are taken, with you just selecting the first thing your eyes land on, on the menu and being grateful you didn’t accidentally pick anything too expensive.

The comment makes him rock his jaw, gulping down the glass of wine and the waiter quickly pours him another. Reminding himself to keep it cool, his every move is being recorded. “Yeah, I’ve got some marks from you too.” He chuckles. “The one on the hip is from shaving?” He shakes his head in amusement.

“I got slightly aggressively with myself in early attempts to shave my legs.” The wine glass in front of you is sort of its own gorgeous work of art with how the dim light hits it, and it almost manages to make you smile in its simplicity. “I wasn’t an especially graceful kid.”

“Try being a nerdy, queer, art dork in Arizona.” He huffs. “If I didn’t get my ass kicked that day, I was not at school.”

“You came out young?” There had been a whole thing in the media about eight or nine years ago when he was spotted with some guy at a bunch of clubs over the course of a few months and then released a statement about being bisexual, but just like anything controversial about a successful male, it had been wiped under the rug and forgotten about except by the people it specifically affected. You had never personally cared that much - Shawn’s queerness being much more relevant and meaningful for you growing up. “My, um…my brother was bi. So I’m not judging or anything. Just asking.”

“I guess you could say that.” Dieter had an unusual upbringing where his mother didn’t really care what he did, or with who. His sister more of a mother to him, and she loved him no matter what. “I think I was ten? In love with a boy and a girl. And asked them both to be my dates to the spring fling dance.”

“I don’t think I even knew what bisexuality was when I was ten.” Shawn was older, yes, but only by a few years and your childhoods had been fairly sheltered. “Did they say yes?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “No, Bradley Morrison was firmly straight, and I got punched in the mouth.”

“Bradley Morrison probably brags to other dudes in the bar that a movie star liked him.” You predict and take a sip of your wine. Almost anybody would consider that a bragging point in their life, even if they don’t say which one it was.

“Who cares?” The rejection had been crushing when he was younger, but he had grown up. Kind of. “His loss.”

“Sure. Of course.” Barely managing to contain a huff behind another sip of wine, you have to remind yourself that any attempt to actually have a human conversation with this man is probably completely in vain. Even when you’re doing your damnedest to be nice he doesn’t seem to give a shit at all.

Dieter looks around, people watching as much as people are staring at him. He nods, waves to a couple of people he recognizes. “Well, at least we have good food to look forward to, right?” He asks, sensing you would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’ve heard good things.” It’s not like you know anyone who’s actually eaten here. The place is way out of your price bracket.

“Yeah.” Dieter taps his fingers on the table, wondering why nothing seems to be clinking between the two of you. Most of the time people loved him, or at least loved the crazy shit he would do. Sober him apparently was a dud. “Shit.” He huffs, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uh…sure.” You have no idea what just happened beyond this being the single most awkward date you’ve ever been on in your life, and the fact that he’s just left you alone at the table with no explanation actually seems pretty on brand for how the night was leading up to this. If he’s gone more than a few minutes you might pull out your phone, but for now you plaster a smile on your face and sip your wine, desperately trying to avoid the way everyone around you is glancing in your direction.

******

Dieter rushes to the bathroom, nearly in a cold sweat, his phone in his hand and a contact pulled up. It would be so easy; he’s right fucking there. He would just give him a little taste, take the edge off, mellow out his rough nerves. Hovering over the little icon that would connect him to his supplier. Leaning over the bathroom sink that is way too crowded with flowers and baskets of hand towels, he almost slips into his old habits. Until the door opens, making him jump when another man enters and gives him a wary look, and skitters into one of the stalls. Dieter’s shoulders sag and he quickly changes screens to his favorites and hits the number to connect the call.

“Dee!” Libby’s voice is forced cheeriness as she frowns at her watch. He’s been on his date for maybe forty-five minutes, if he picked the bitchy teacher up on time. Why is he calling? “What’s going on? How’s dinner?”

“There’s got to be a mistake.” Dieter tells her. “There’s no fucking way that woman is…it.” He’s cautious because of the other man, even though he doesn’t know what Dieter is talking about. “It’s bad, really bad.”

“It’ll all be just fine.” She hums down the phone, having expected some resistance after that horrific first meeting. ‘Fuck you, Bravo!’ is now the most popular meme in circulation on social media sites and she needs tonight to go well. Well, she needs all of these dates to go well, but tonight is what’s going to set the tone. “Just order something indulgent and ask just enough leading questions to keep her talking about herself. Fake a laugh when appropriate. Layer on some of that Bravo charm I know you have stored up.”

“Yeah, except I’m high when I fucking charm people.” He reminds her. “I— I can’t do this. This is just— there’s no way.” He huffs, shaking his head as if she can see him. “The universe fucked up.”

“Dieter.” Libby sighs slightly and rests her chin on one fist as she holds the phone in her other hand. “You need this. Once the contract is fulfilled there will be plenty of material of the two of you together and you can say some polite bullshit in interviews about respecting her privacy, and you’ll never have to see her again if you don’t want to. But this summer, Bravo? This summer better be the best acting you ever do if she’s actually that bad.”

He huffs, wanting to whine but he knows it won’t make a difference. He’s stuck. “Fine.” He answers after a moment. “But don’t blame me when this shit doesn’t work.”

“Attaboy, Dee, get back on the horse.” It’s a goddamn relief that he’s not pushing back too hard. She’ll send him his favorite pizza and a six pack to his house for dinner tomorrow as a reward - and also sign him back up for time with a personal trainer from the studio. “Don’t forget the first date is hand holding, okay? We need one good shot of the two of you getting moony at that table and we can call the whole night a success.”

“That’ll be worth another Oscar.” Dieter rolls his eyes and hangs up the phone, looking in the mirror for far longer than he probably should have before he decides to take a piss, wash his hands, and go back out to his date. It’s not his fault that he was met in the hallway by the one producer that would not shut the fuck up. Making Dieter’s eyes glaze over while the man rambles on about this project that Dieter would be perfect for. Basically begging him to come onto the project in order to pique the interest of the studios. “Sorry, I just don’t like it.” He finally manages, sliding by him and walking back out into the main area of the restaurant.

“Where have you been?” Thirty minutes. It’s been thirty minutes since he abruptly abandoned you at the table with no explanation and it had seemed easily to be thirty years instead. The click of a camera shutter isn’t all too common a sound anymore but you can certainly identify it, and you are definitely not immune to whispering. It’s like the worst parts of school - the snide comments and the pitying stares - all over again. This shit is why you’re the way you are as a teacher. Trying to provide a safe haven for kids like you never had. Grown ass people acting like children sets you off in a way you can’t quite explain.

“I had to take care of something and then I got waylaid.” The food is on the table, thank god. He won’t be expected to talk with food in his mouth. He frowns, wondering why him going to the bathroom managed to piss you off.

“It’s been half a damn hour.” You mutter through a tense smile, trying not to let any of the eyes on you see how your heart is pounding.

“It wasn’t that long.” Dieter scoffs, sure that he had only been gone for ten minutes. Sure, Raphie can talk anyone to death, he had cut him off before the man really got on a roll.

“It was.” With your phone discreetly beside you, you had watched every minute tick right by. Sliding the electronic back into your purse, you remind yourself to breathe and to just fucking get through this meal. You pick up your fork and raise your head to say something to him to that affect but all you can see is your own fucking reflection in his infuriating sunglasses that he somehow still hasn’t taken off. “Would you take those things off, please? Pretend you don’t mind looking me in the face?”

He rolls his eyes before he takes them off, sliding them into his jacket pocket and standing up so he can take it off. He hates the damn thing, sleeves already rolled up underneath, showing off the tattoos and bracelets that he is still wearing. “Better, mom?” He snarks, annoyed that you just can’t go five seconds without bitching about something.

“And here I thought you liked being bossed around.” As soon as it’s out of your mouth you wish you hadn’t said it - digging into your meal so you don’t have to see the look on his face when he finds out that you actually - very secretly - watched the stupid Beasts of the Bubble documentary.

Dieter smirks, leaning in and chuckling. “So you do check up on me.” He hums, enjoying the way you refuse to look him in the eyes.

“So I know how best to avoid you,” you mutter, kicking yourself for slipping up.

The idea that his soulmate avoids him stings, especially since he’s never done a fucking thing to you. So Dieter lashes out to cover up his own hurt feelings. “Not hard, we don’t exactly run in the same circles.” He hisses at you.

“Thank god for that.” The one bite of your food you’ve had is delicious, but you can’t even see to enjoy it through your anger. He’s exactly like you thought he would be - exactly like they were - and it makes you so disappointed in everything that you could throw things. So you throw your words, the only weapon you currently have at your disposal. “Better a boring suburban existence than wasting time on a selfish asshole who says he loves art but slaps two ugly fucking triangles on our arms for the entire world to stare at.”

Dieter’s jaw tightens, grinding his back teeth and he doesn’t give a fuck who is watching. His eyes narrow angrily on you and his voice comes out in a harsh growl. “There’s nothing wrong with my tattoos.” He spits.

You’ve struck a nerve and as petty as it is, you’re glad. “They’re meaningless, edgy drivel.” You scoff under your breath. “Let me guess. Triangles because you like threesomes?”

Dieter lurches out of his chair before he even realizes he’s on his feet, making you jump, looking up at him with wide, shocked eyes. “Why would I explain them to a conceited, stuck-up bitch who wouldn’t even give a fuck about the meaning?” He hurls at you. “This was a fucking mistake. Fuck the universe and you know what? Fuck you too.” Grabbing his coat, he storms out of the restaurant, ready to fucking bury himself in the biggest fucking pile of cocaine money can buy.

For just a split second you almost get out of your seat to follow after him, but you just can’t. You’re glued to your chair in shock as the whispers become murmurs and you know there will be photos of you sitting alone at this table splashed all over the internet tomorrow. The one thing you would never give him is the satisfaction of tears, but the utter humiliation combined with the fact that there is no way in hell that you can pay for this meal is making you shake a little as you flag down the waiter and ask for the bill. What’s a little more credit card debt - provided your card doesn’t decline? It can go along with the absurd Uber charge you’ll have to deal with courtesy of the fact that he’s just stranded you over an hour away from home.

The waiter comes back, he shakes his head and gives you an apologetic look. “The bill has already been paid.” He assures you, glances down at the nearly full plates. Dieter hadn’t even touched his food. “Would you like me to box these up for you?” He asks kindly, mortified that you apparently have been abandoned during your date.

“I’ve lost my appetite.” Is an honest answer, at least, and you clutch your phone in one hand as you make a beeline for the front door. The nearest Uber is only two minutes away, and you have two texts to send in the meantime.

To Libby Carlisle: I want out.

To Stephy: Somehow that went WORSE than I thought it would. Calling an Uber. Be home as fast as I can.

******

“Shit!” Dieter hisses, seeing Libby’s name flash across the screen of his car as he speeds towards his house. He hits ignore, unwilling to talk to her right now, this is just as much her fault as it is yours. Glaring at the road and ignoring the other calls that come in. He is unavailable.

******

When you finally make it home it’s well past Nora’s bedtime and Steph is already sitting in the living room waiting for you to come through the door. “I never want to lay eyes on that inconsiderate asshole ever again,” you tell her, slamming your purse down on the table by the door and practically ripping the high heels off your feet.

“Oh god, what happened?” Steph feels horrible, you look like you are on the verge of tears. She feels so guilty, knowing that the only reason you went on the date was because he had paid her bills.

The throw blankets on the living room couch cover your legs, shoulders, and arms as you curl up in the corner of the plush piece of furniture, effectively blotting your marks out so you don’t have to see them to think about the inescapable connection. “He’s rude, careless, absolutely infuriating. I mean who goes to the bathroom for thirty fucking minutes? Just gets out of his seat with no explanation and disappears while there are cameras pointed at me?!” You feel like you’re shaking but who knows if that’s anger, the chill of the air conditioning in the house that you were finally able to turn on again, or some kind of deeply ingrained response to being abandoned. “By the time he came back I was pissed, and we kept arguing and he just fucking took off. Stranded me there.”

“Kept arguing?” Steph’s brows raise and she doesn’t know what to think. You’ve never been an exceptionally argumentative person, except when she was battling you over letting her help so it’s surprising you hadn’t tried to get along with Dieter. Although maybe because it’s Dieter is why you didn’t. “Tell me what he said.”

“I just think it’s completely impossible for us to have a conversation without biting each other’s heads off.” So far you’ve done nothing but fight, and while you know you’re not totally innocent in all this, you’re definitely not the only one at fault. The deep breath you take to gather yourself is interrupted by your phone ringing, and Steph pops up to grab it from your purse just in case.

Incoming call: Libby Carlisle

Groaning at the device in your hand, you burrow deeper into your blanket pile and shrug at Steph. “I guess I can explain it to both of you at once.” You tell her, swiping open the call. “Libby. Did you talk to him yet?” You’re curious how exactly he portrayed you in his version of the night.

His manager blows out a frustrated breath and shakes her head, even though you can’t see her. “No, calls are being ignored. Although I’ve already seen the video of him storming out of the restaurant. What happened? Dieter never gets that mad.” She not blaming you, at least not yet, but she needs to know so she can fix this.

“Oh good, so it’s already all over the internet. Superb.” Sarcasm drips from your voice and you tap the Speaker Phone icon on your screen. “He was argumentative and combative the entire night. Kept his damn sunglasses on the whole time. Left me sitting alone at the table for a half an hour so he could go to the bathroom and probably get high again. And then when he came back it took about five minutes before he completely stormed out and stranded me there.”

“Dieter’s been taking daily drug tests, so I doubt it was to get high.” It doesn’t mean it’s not possible, but she had been strict with him about staying clean this time. She doesn’t mention that he called her, but it was only for a few minutes and his conversation with her was private. Nor does she mention the glasses are used when he’s uncomfortable. A buffer between him and world. “What caused him to storm out? Just the bickering?”

“Apparently the last straw was me calling him out on having horrible taste in art.” You scoff, too angry to even consider that the comment may have been a little too far over the line. “Triangle tattoos are what brainless teenagers would pick. I teach brainless teenagers. I’ve seen what they draw on with markers during study hall.”

“Oh shit.” Libby breathes out, sighing heavily. Of all the things that you could have insulted Dieter with, that was probably the worst thing you could have chosen. She shoves her fingers into her closed eyeballs and rubs them, trying to figure out a way to get Dieter to answer the fucking phone. “Shit, no wonder he’s not answering.” That comment was more for herself than for you, understanding now why Dieter had left you at the restaurant.

“I want out of the contract.” You tell her, not bothering to pursue any kind of question about why he did what he did. Because he’s an asshole. That’s why. “There’s no way this is going to work. We can’t stand each other.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not going to happen.” Libby can sympathize, but at the end of the day, you signed the contract without coercion, and she needed this to make Dieter more marketable. “That contract is ironclad.” She tells you. “However, I will alter your next outing. Make it something that has less interaction.”

“It better be the theater with us going in two different cars so we never have to speak.” Libby can’t see you pouting from the other end of the phone but she can probably hear it. Steph, on the other hand, reaches to wrap you up in a hug and pulls you into her lap to rub your back soothingly. She’s not going to say a word while you have this other woman on speaker phone, but maybe she can help calm you a little.

“Just- I’ll let you know.” She huffs out. “I’ve got to go talk to Dieter.” This was not how she wanted to spend her night. “Talk him down.” She hangs up without another word and grabs her keys.

“Shit.” The word comes out of you in a hiccup and you bury your face in your best friend’s shoulder. “Shit shit. Soulmates are bullshit.” For more than a decade you’ve been certain that your soulmate pairing was a cosmic joke, and nothing has proven that to you more than tonight.

“It’s okay.” Now is not the time to remind you of all the successful soulmates out there, including her and your brother. You seem hurt, humiliated and upset. “It’s okay, hun. It’ll work out.”

“Fucking how?” When the tears finally come, they’re hot and endless, an angry river tracking down your cheeks and soaking Steph’s shirt. “The entire world is gonna know what happened tonight. That’s exactly what I never wanted.”

“So what?” Steph knows that you are stronger than this. “Dieter is the one that looks like an ass, not you.”

“He’s an ass, but I’m the pathetic sack of shit who was screamed at and ditched in public.” Abandonment is not something you take lightly and she knows that. “How am I supposed to be a good role model for my students? For Nora? When I can’t stick by my own morals long enough to stay away from that bastard.”

“You can always poison him.” Steph suggests, although she’s joking. “I’ll give back the money.” She doesn’t know how, but she would do anything for you. “That way you don’t feel like you have to do this.”

“He didn’t give it to you, honey.” As much as it pains you now, you did do this for a reason. “He gave it to the bank and the hospital. Besides,” you look up at her and sniffle, wiping the water from your eyes. “I already signed the contract. Never mind the fact that I can’t afford a lawyer so there’s probably shit in there I didn’t understand fully. Apparently, it’s iron clad.”

“I’m so sorry.” Steph apologizes quietly. “I should have never meddled.” She hates that you are upset because of what she had done. She was going to fix it, even if it meant kicking your soulmate’s ass herself.

******

“Dieter!” Libby has had a key to his mansion and known his security codes for fifteen years, so when she flings herself into the house it’s not a matter of getting to him, but wondering what kind of state he’ll be in when she does. She’s relatively lucky, considering all the different levels and types of intoxication she’s seen from him over the years, and the one member of his security team on duty at the house tonight because he was supposed to be out directs her to the pool. Rico watched Dieter raid his bar cabinets on the security feed and tells Libby as much, glad that it’s nothing anything harder. He cares about the guy - Dieter Bravo might be a fuckin eccentric but he has a heart. God only knows what happened tonight. “Dieter!” Libby screeches to a halt in the backyard, stopping to catch her breath. “Jesus, Dee. I’m—how are you doing?”

Dieter swings his head around, stripped down to his underwear, blinking and then pointing the wine bottle in his hand at Libby. “You!” He growls dramatically. “Fixxx iiiiittttt. N-never want to seeee that bitch again.” He emphasizes the ‘bitch’ loudly, and then holds up his phone. “D-didyouknowyoucanhavesoulmatemarksremoved? Plasssshtik suuuurgery.” He informs her, blinking primly.

“I know tonight wasn’t great.” Boy is that a goddamn understatement. Libby shakes her head and walks to the side of the pool, sitting down on the end of a lounge chair so she can talk to him without shouting. Hopefully. “I’m sorry about what she said, Dee. It wasn’t fair.”

“Fuck her.” He scowls and shakes his head. “Not like— l-literally.” He huffs, before he takes another long swig off the bottle and belches. You’d probably cut his dick off and he happens to like his dick. It’s fun.

“I know.” Getting up from her seat, Libby moves behind his outdoor bar, emptying the bare end of a bottle of vodka and filling it up with water instead. At this point he’s so gone he probably won’t even notice, and he needs to hydrate. “You should have told her what they mean.” She tells him, offering him the vodka bottle of water in return for the empty wine bottle in his hand. “She might have apologized if she knew.” Of course it’s not as simple as all that, but it would be a step in the right direction.

“She w-wouldn’t caaaaare.” He insists, spinning around after he takes the bottle and tossing it back for several long gulps. “She hates me.” That makes him pout, still not understanding why. He huffs and mumbles under his breath. “She’s mean.”

You definitely do hate him, she has to admit to that, but she smiles to see him drinking water without realizing it. Sometimes Dieter was his own worst enemy in taking care of himself. “Next time will be better,” she promises. An idea is forming but she needs to check on some things first. No matter what, though, her original plan of sending them to walk the Santa Monica Pier is definitely scrubbed for now. They’ll never survive.

“No next time.” Dieter shakes his head so hard he gets dizzy, groaning and stumbling over to the lounger where he had been sitting before getting up to get the wine bottle and wander. “Not good.”

“Dee, I need you to trust me on this.” The side-by-side comparison of you screaming ‘Fuck you, Bravo!’ And yelling ‘Fuck you, too!’ In the restaurant are already popping up all over social media and she’s already had the PR team from Mate Marks down her throat because no one takes Friday nights off in LA. She has to fix this. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yesssssss.” Despite being a ball buster, she’s had his back. Helped him whenever she could. “Why’s she soooooo mean?”

“I don’t know.” Libby sighs, sitting down beside him on the lounger and shaking her head. It’s a complete mystery to her, to be honest, because Dieter’s not so bad in reality. Sure his image sucks, but those twerps on the Cliff Beasts franchise are to blame for a lot of the current predicament. “But I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the next time you see her, everything goes okay. Do you trust me to do that?”

Dieter sighs and takes another sip of the water in the vodka bottle. “I guess.” He huffs, turning and looking at her with a drunk serious expression. “But thiiiisssss is it.”

“This contract is it.” There are clauses in the damn thing. Damage control to be used for situations like the one you caused tonight. He’s not going to be a fan of it when he realizes that it means extra time with you, but it has to be done. She’s worked too hard over all their years together to just let him flounder. “No more after that unless you want to.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and letting it drop back onto the lounger. The bottle slips out of his hand and thunks against the concrete, spilling water, but he doesn’t pay attention. Busy reaching over and tracing the solid triangle tattoo on his arm.

“I know.” I’m not going to want to. Is what that sigh means, and she reaches over to right the bottle gently. “I’m get Malcolm to book you something with a nice location shoot after all this is over.” She’s still confident in her plan. That the offers will start rolling back in after the public is reminded that Dieter has a heart and doesn’t just think with his dick or a pile of drugs. “You loved Switzerland. We’ll find you something filming in Croatia.”

“Yeah.” Dieter’s loved Sitzerland since he had filmed there ten years ago, healing emotionally through a difficult time. “Sounds good.”

“Good.” She nods, reaching over to rub his back a little now that he’s calming down. “Danica would be proud of you, Dee. You’ve been doing so well these last couple of weeks. Don’t toss it out just because she made you mad. Okay?” His sister was his rock - his guiding light and his support system. Losing her nearly destroyed him, and you poked that wound hard tonight.

“Okay…” Dieter closes his eyes, sighing heavily, trying not to cry when he thinks about what you said. How you judged him, judged his sister.

“Do you want me to help you go inside? Or should I get Rico to check on you in a little bit?” She has some work to do, and probably needs a drink of her own now that she knows what set him off. Danica Bravo was an amazing person, and she knows you’ll feel guilty as fuck when you find out what you actually said to him. There’s no way you’re heartless enough to not care.

“Imma stay here.” Dieter murmurs, a little calmer now that he’s talked it out, that someone knows his pain. The sounds of the waterfall feature in the pool are soothing to him. Humming to himself quietly as he tries to remember the little prayer Danica would work him through when he needed to meditate.

“Okay.” Libby sighs quietly, hoisting herself up from the lounger, and squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“M’kay.” His eyes don’t open, he just lifts his hand in a sloppy wave goodbye, letting his hand fall to his lap after a moment.

On her way out, Libby stops to check in with Rico, asking the young man to make sure Dieter makes it to bed and to shoot her a text if anything happens that she should know about. He isn’t exactly phased by this kind of night since working for Dieter Bravo isn’t a low-key environment, but the man does seem a lot more upset tonight than he has since his last premiere. Maybe he’ll cook something after his boss goes to bed and leave it in the fridge for the morning. A quiche for him to warm up or he could bake some fresh pastries - Mr. Bravo would like that. The little things mean a lot to him.

******

Steph is pissed, actually stopping and buying one of those ‘Homes of the Stars’ maps to figure out where Bravo lives. You had cried yourself to sleep, especially after watching the implosion on social media and the memes being created. #dud4dieter was trending on Twitter. Surprised by the lack of gate around his house, she marches right up to the front door. “Open up Bravo!”

Never a dull moment. Rico huffs to himself when he hears pounding on the front door. A woman’s voice but not one he recognizes, so he washes his hands and pulls the pan of bacon off the burner lest his quiche become burnt bacon, cherry tomatoes, and spinach. Mr. Bravo isn’t in bed yet but he definitely can’t hear the front door from the pool.

“Can I help you?” He asks the woman standing on the front steps, after having watched enough security footage of her standing there to ascertain that she definitely doesn’t have a weapon. Only a temper. Must be a lover.

“Where is he?” Stephanie demands, stepping closer with the face that only a mother could produce, one that promises a swift knock upside the head. “Jerk! He humiliated her!”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in, miss.” Carefully stepping outside, Rico is maybe two inches taller than this woman in his work boots, and the kitchen apron probably doesn’t help him look any more intimidating, but whatever. “Mr. Bravo’s not seeing visitors right now.”

“I’m not a visitor.” Steph grits out. “I’m the best friend, sister, of the soulmate he fucking abandoned at dinner tonight.” She tells him. “I’m going to calmly listen to his reasons and then I’m going to kick his ass, now let me by.”

“O-okay.” He doesn’t want to laugh, as this woman is clearly upset, but he’s never seen anyone make angry look so adorable before. She’s like a grumpy Care Bear…but hot. “I’m afraid even having a reason doesn’t stop you from being a visitor, and he’s not seeing any more visitors tonight. If you want, I can pass alone message that you stopped by.”

“I don’t think you heard me.” She huffs, drawing herself up to her not-so-impressive full height. “He made my fucking best friend cry, and she wants to cancel the contract she has to appear with him. Let. Me. By.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” He holds up both hands, understanding that this is not the normal situation of nosy fan or spurned lover. “Can you give me your name, miss? I’ll see if he’s willing to speak to you.”

“Stephanie Valeria.” She tells him. “He should know it, he just paid off a shit ton of my debt. But I’m still going to kick his ass.”

“I’m gonna ask you to stay right here, Miss Valeria. I’ll be back in just a second.” He doesn’t necessarily think she’s going to listen considering the state she’s in, but the intercom panel that reaches the pool is right inside the front door. “Mr. Bravo. You have a visitor, sir.” He’s watching her through the peephole in the door, surprised when she actually does stay put as the intercom crackles to life.

“If it’s herrrr, tell her we aren’t soulmates anymore.” Dieter huffs.

“Her name is Stephanie Valeria, sir.” It has a ring to it that Rico likes, and he watches her closely purely for work purposes. “She’s pretty upset, but insists she needs to speak with you. I can send her away.”

“Steph - Steph- ohhhhh Stephy!!” He had decided he liked her, she had manners. “Sure. Let her in.”

“If you’re sure, sir.” Rico clicks off the intercom after a moment of hesitation and moves to open the front door. “Come inside,” he tells her, admittedly surprised at the development. “I’ll bring you through to the pool.”

Steph follows the man, obviously some kind of butler, through the surprisingly gorgeous house. Dieter dressed like a slob but he either had a fantastic designer or he had taste. Her money was on a designer. “Is he always an asshole?” She demands. “Or does he save that for his soulmate?”

Rico glances back at her and almost laughs again, but catches himself. He doesn’t know what she’s referring to and doesn’t want to seem like an asshole himself. “He hasn’t had it easy, despite what you might think. But he’s a good boss and a decent man. Just…maybe a little mercurial.”

She’s quiet while he brings her out to the patio. Watching as Dieter stumbles over and greets her. “Heyyy Stephy. You’re nice, I like you.”

You’re not going to like me right now. She thinks, storming past the butler to point one finger directly in Dieter’s face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing humiliating her like that? What is wrong with you?!”

His friendly grin falls and the look he gives her is positively insulted. “Me? I didn’t do shit!” In the hours since Libby left, Dieter has managed to sober up slightly. He backs away from Steph and shakes his head. “I did nothing to her, she insults me the second she meets me and now she doesn’t like matching energies? Fuck her. She insulted my tattoos.”

“So you ditch her at the restaurant? Do you even know what people are saying about her now?” She holds up her phone, the screen full to bursting with the whole world’s proclamation that her best friend is scum. “You can’t tell me she’s the first person to ever dislike your tattoos.” Stephanie doesn’t belief that for a second.

Dieter squints at the screen and winces before he remembers that he’s not supposed to care. He scoffs and looks away. “Too fucking bad. She told me that my tattoos were, and I quote ‘meaningless edgy drivel’. The tattoo that my sister had.” He points at the filled-in triangle. “And the fucking empty one I got in her memory. Empty like my fucking heart.” He tells Stephanie as he points at the one on his other arm. “She said I got them because I like threesomes. So again, fuck her.”

“Ah shit.” Steph’s face falls, understanding deep grief in that way that she is a widow and an orphan. Her heart would be just as empty if she didn’t have you and Nora to keep her afloat. “You should have told her,” she murmurs, pocketing her phone and shoving her hands into the meager pockets of her jeans as well. “Sh—she would have apologized.”

“I don’t want a stuck-up bitch’s apology.” Dieter shakes his head and turns, walking over to his bar again. Bringing it all up meant he needed another drink. “She fucking hated me the second she saw me. Don’t have a fucking clue what I did, but she would probably laugh. Want a drink?” He asks. Just because he’s pissed doesn’t mean he doesn’t have manners.

“She wouldn’t.” Steph knows that for sure. Losing a sibling is a pain you know all too well. “She’s loyal. Like to a fault sometimes. One time…look, it’s going to sound stupid to you, and I’m not mad about it. But she clearly holds a grudge like an Olympian.” She takes a deep breath, half wishing she had never come and half glad that she has. At least now she has a better idea of what’s going on and can maybe help. “About ten years ago I was hanging out outside the Chateau Marmont because I heard you were there for an interview or something. I wanted to get your autograph...tell you that my best friend was your soulmate…all that stuff. And when you came out of the hotel you just looked right through me and turned away.” She shrugs, knowing it sound stupid and trying to assure him that she’s not upset about it anymore. “I was crushed, and I made the mistake of going home and telling her about it. It just sort of…confirmed her bias. After that was when she started covering her marks and never wanted to acknowledge you.”

Chateau Marmont…Dieter pales, setting down the bottle of whiskey he had been about to pour two shots from. He has never stepped foot in that place since that day. “What day?” He demands. “What day did I blow you off?”

“January third.” It feels silly to remember the exact date like that, but it was a huge turning point for her best friend, and she remembers it vividly. “January third, 2012.”

He blinks at her, feeling like his heart has a vice around it. “I remember you.” He murmurs. “I think.” He swallows harshly and looks down at the tattoo on his arm, the full one. The one that Danica had on her own body in the exact same spot. Representing past, present and future. “I— I had just gotten the call.” He explains. “‘Mr. Bravo? This is Trooper Chris Thomas with California Highway Patrol. I regret to inform you that your sister, Danica Bravo, has been involved in a major vehicular accident on the 101. I’m sorry sir, she died on scene.’.” They were words that had been repeated in his head a million times. “So, I’m sorry.” He looks back over at Stephanie. “I wasn’t really there. You know?”

“I’m so sorry.” She steps forward immediately but stops herself, unsure if a hug would be completely inappropriate even though she’s desperate to offer some kind of comfort. “You do not need to apologize to me for that day. And I know without a doubt that she’ll regret what she said if you let me tell her.”

“Don’t tell her.” Dieter pours the shots and holds one out to Steph. “I’d rather not find out my soulmate really hates me after all.”

“She used to adore you.” She shouldn’t say it. It’s not her place. But this is just — it’s too goddamn important and she can’t stomach the idea of you not knowing your soulmate. After all, that’s why she answered the ad campaign on your behalf in the first place. Steph takes the shot with a nod and downs it, appreciating the burn. “What happened back then…it wasn’t your fault at all. She was such a big fan when we were teenagers.”

“Well, that changed.” Dieter tosses back his own shot and pours both of you another round. “You lost your husband, right? The little one’s dad?” He asks. “Was he your soulmate?”

"Yes. He was." She takes the second shot as a peace offering and appreciates it as exactly that. "Shawn was three years older than us. "We're both from San Francisco originally. First day of seventh grade, we both started at a new school, and we were inseparable. The day I met Shawn I knew he was it for me, even though we didn't know we were soulmates yet."

“That’s good to know.” Dieter sighs and snorts. “My first experience with my ‘soulmate’ was getting scammed.”

"That guy. What was it, like seven or eight years ago?" She remembers reading about it, always keeping track of what was going on with him even when you insisted you wanted no part of it.

“About nine.” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes. “It was - I was still messed up from Danica dying and latched onto him like he was my saving grace.” Liquor makes him chatty and despite her yelling at him a few minutes ago, he likes her. She doesn’t fight him on everything. “Said he knew when I got the triangle tattoos.” He bites his lip and motions for her to bring her glass over for another shot.

"I'm sorry." Steph holds out the empty glasses and promises herself that it will be the last one, since the drive back home is an hour long and her baby is at the other end of it waiting. "Some people have no conscience. For him to take advantage of you like that...it's just...it's horrible. You didn't deserve that."

Dieter shrugs pours another round for both of them. “Sure, I do. I’m just a rich, famous asshole.” He quips, giving her a mocking grin and lifting his glass in a toast before tossing it back.

"You're a person." She insists, raising her glass the same way and taking the shot he's poured her. "And people deserve respect. Well...people and dollies, according to my four-year-old."

“What’s wrong with her?” He asks, wincing when he hears himself. “If you don’t mind me asking. I just— all the bills…”

"They don't know all of it." Steph's head hangs low near her shoulders. Nora's illness is one of those things that keeps her up at night, telling her she's a bad mother and the universe is punishing her for not finding a way to save Shawn by taking her daughter, too. "I mean, she has Crohn's Disease. It's...digestive. They used to say it was an auto-immune disorder, but some people say differently now. There's a lot of stuff she can't eat because of it and a lot of medicine she has to take but...but there's other stuff. Stuff that doesn't line up with the Crohn's that her doctors can't figure out. So on top of the bills for her treatments there's also loads of tests and...and some emergency room trips." She huffs out a sigh and shrugs, wrapping her arms around her own waist. "Thank you. For what you did. You have no idea how you've changed our lives."

“I— don’t thank me.” Dieter flushes, not just from the alcohol in his system. “I made a call, that’s it. I wasn’t asking about that to get you to thank me.”

"I know you weren't. But you did something extraordinary for my daughter and me and I'm grateful." What is simple to him means the world to her. "We were about two months away from losing the house and it's the only home Nora's ever known. Her Gigi moved in when her dad got sick and...I'd hate for her to lose the memories of him that she actually has. His memory is in that house."

“Damn.” Dieter rubs the cheek in embarrassment, but also pride, knowing that he helped them out. Not you, he’s ignoring that the original intent was to help his soulmate out, but that’s soured. “So, she hadn’t gotten to really enjoy much, has she? With the struggling to make ends meet?”

"We took her on vacation once, when she was about a year old." It was when the whole world looked bright and the future was sunny, and sometimes Steph brought out those pictures when she couldn't sleep at night from worrying just to remember what it felt like to be optimistic. "My husband was big into the national parks and the three of us went to the Grand Canyon. But she doesn't remember it."

“Well, now you can start planning more vacations that she will remember.” Dieter tells her, happy that he could contribute.

“She can have all new school things for kindergarten in fall.” She tells him, perfectly aware that she’s swelling with happiness at being able to give Nora all the normal parts of childhood that she thought her daughter would have to miss out on.

“What if she into? Other than dollies?” Dieter asks, interested in what she considered important. He liked kids; they were cool little humans.

“She’s big into cowgirls and space because of Toy Story.” Steph digs into her purse and pulls out her wallet, eventually digging out a picture of Nora dressed up like Jessie from Toy Story 2 from last Halloween. Steph had taken it herself, and you are kneeling beside Nora in front of the house wearing the white robe and cinnamon bun hairdo for Princess Leia that you had worn to school that day. “Someday I’m going to take her to Disneyland. Maybe sooner rather than later, now. Thanks to you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dieter suddenly yawns, exhausted by the emotional bullshit and the booze. “So, are you still going to kick my ass?” He asks, smirking slightly at how ferocious she had sounded when she showed up.

“I still think you should tell her what they’re for.” She gestures to his tattoos, knowing that you’ll feel horrible for insulting them when you finally find out what they mean to him. “But I’ll reserve my right to kick ass for the future.” She sighs again, stifling a contagious yawn of her own - it’s way past her bedtime. “I know neither of you is happy with the situation but just…will you give her another chance? I swear she’s actually a sweet, fiercely loving person. You just…you have to crack the surface first.”

“I’ll give her a chance when she gives me one.” Dieter offers after a moment, unwilling to give more than that. “You need to go home.” He decides, walking over to the intercom and pressing a button. “Rico? Order a car for Ms. Valeria.” He tells his security.

“Never been anywhere with a butler before,” Steph jokes, awkwardly trying to leave the night on a higher note than it started. “Well, um…good night, Dieter. And…thank you, again. I swear that’s the last time I’ll say it.”

“Thank me by giving her a great life.” Dieter tells her, feeling bittersweet about his own upbringing.

Steph nods, reaching out to squeeze his arm instead of the hug she wants to give him. “I will.”

“Goodnight.” He offers, waving awkwardly as she walks into the house. Snorting to himself as he puts the cap back on the whiskey. You would give him a chance when hell froze over.

______

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #The Bubble #soulmate au #enemies to lovers #Trash Can Man #tw family death #tw car accident #tw alcohol consumption

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