A/N: So, here are the rest. Again, be warned: the last one is kinda nasty. I faded to black when they physically got busy, but I couldn't do anything about de-raunchifying their dialog. Sorry!

101Witch101 – Haha I wouldn't have killed Rebecca! I like her. Or at least, I don't *dislike* her just on Max's say-so. I mean, for all we know he's a liar, and there was really nothing wrong with her in the first place… (I doubt it, but it's possible!)

Sorinapha de l'Aro – thanks! Glad you're enjoying it.


Favell was bursting with envy from the moment he stepped through the mansion's front door.

No – rather, he was bursting with envy even before that; he supposed it started the moment he started up the drive, or perhaps even the moment he saw the place looming in the distance.

She's made it, he thought. She had made it, Rebecca had made it; now she lived in practically a castle for Christ's sake. If he could invite his friends over to an estate like this once, just once, and tell them oh this is where I live, then he could die happy. He'd gladly sell his soul for a place like this.

Or his body. Which was probably how Rebecca had done it – he supposed de Winter was the one she had finally surrendered her precious virginity to in the end. De Winter certainly thought so at least. The look in the poor idiot's eyes when Rebecca smiled at him made Favell gag. Clearly the man thought the sun rose and set on Rebecca and for some inexplicable reason seemed to think she felt the same about him.

Gag. Couldn't he see the wickedness in that smile? How could he think he was the one who brought on that glow in her cheeks?

Favell supposed he was envious – just a little – about that too. Because Rebecca looked ravishing today in her wedding gown, and de Winter was the one who was going to get to ravish it right off her tonight.

Gag, gag, and double gag. It really was a shame the two of them had never managed to sneak off for a weekend together; he would have shown her such a time that the idea of settling down with old de Winter would've made her gag, too.

He sulked and fumed by turns, and eventually escaped the stodgy garden reception (the gardens, too, were beautiful!) to go sulk alone in the house.

He was just stepping into one of the (many!) sitting rooms, when he heard a sniffle. It seemed to be coming from an armchair that had been turned to face into a corner.

Ah, this room was occupied by another person who found the wedding unbearable. "Beg your pardon," he said, and went to go sulk elsewhere.

The sniffler gasped. "Jackie?"

His turn to gasp. "Rebecca? What are you doing in here?"

He hurried over to her and forcibly raised her chin so she would look at him. She had been crying. Just a little, but it was enough. "What happened?"

She shook her head and pulled free. "Nothing – it's really nothing," she assured, and sniffled again. She managed a smile. "What could be the matter on this absolutely perfect day?"


She shrugged and dabbed at her face, fixing whatever miniscule damage the sniffling had done to her makeup. "It's nothing. What's the matter with you – shouldn't you be outside marveling over the ice sculpture with everybody else?"

"I'd rather be in here." With you. "Want a cig?"

"Thanks." She snorted as she lit it. "Though I don't think Maxim would like my smoking in the house. Or smoking at all, really."

"He doesn't know?"

She shook her head and inhaled. A few deep breaths seemed to give her her composure back, and her next look was sharp. "Really – what are you doing in here?"

"I can't be out there anymore." He realized, too late, that he should have been smooth and flippant, or at least lied. But it was too late now, Rebecca was looking at him quizzically, and now he had to spill. "I'm jealous. Of you, because of this place… and of Maxim, because of you."

"Ah." She laughed a little. "And to think, here I was envying people like you, for the freedom you're probably going to have forever, while I…."

Rebecca, envious? In this house? "Freedom is overrated."

"No, it's not."

They sighed in unison, which made them laugh. Then her eyes narrowed. "Are you really jealous of Maxim, Jackie?"

He nodded. "I don't have to tell you how good you look in that dress."

"Tell me anyway."

Gallantry was not Favell's style. He had found that a few interested looks were usually enough to communicate all the important things to a girl… but for Rebecca he supposed he could make an exception. "You look beautiful," he said softly – and then, as if that wasn't weakness enough, his mouth ran away with him and added: "I'd crawl over broken glass to get to your bedroom."

Rebecca's eyes glowed. Pleased, she was utterly pleased by that, but before she could rub his face in it he moved to get some of his own back. "Well… gravel at least. I'd crawl over gravel," he amended. He took her hand and kissed it.

Rebecca bit her lip, frowning suddenly, serious.

"What?" he said.

She turned to peek out into the hallway, but it was abandoned except for the permanent fixture of old Mrs. Danvers. She leaned close and whispered into his ear: "You wouldn't have to crawl over gravel; there's only carpet upstairs."

Favell gaped at her.

"I haven't taken you on a tour of the house yet, have I?" Rebecca asked brightly. Loudly. She turned to her minder. "Danny? I'm going to show Jack the upstairs. Privately." She stood and shook out her dress, then took his hand. "Come on."



"Hello, Max? It's Jack. Favell. Is Rebecca there?"


"Er... Look… Do you know where she is?"

"I have no idea. Try her flat in London."

"I did. She's not there either. Damn it… all right, then, I'll just have to ask you instead. I need a favor. Don't hang up, Max, you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Are you drunk?"


"You sound drunk. You're slurring your words, listen to you."

"Max! Doesn't the fact that I'm standing here begging you in the middle of the night tell you something?"

"That you're drunk?"

"That I'm in trouble! In real trouble, you bastard – the kind that can get you killed. Do you hear me? I need help. You have to help me. How do you think Rebecca would like knowing that her favorite cousin died because you couldn't stand to extend him some common courtesy?"

"Well… if you actually die, she'll never know."


"What do you want, Favell?"

"I need to come over. I need to stay at your place for maybe a couple of days. You need to not tell anybody that I'm there."

"Not tell anybody…? Are you hiding from someone?"

"Well aren't you a damned genius. Yes. I'm hiding from the same guys who broke my ribs and smashed up my face tonight. I apologize if I can't quite enunciate clearly enough for you through all this blood."

"What did you do?"

"Me? I didn't do anything! I owe people some money, that's all, and I said I'd have it, you know, but they want it by today and my guy is a little late giving me the rest of what I need for it. That's all. I'll have it by tomorrow, I just need a place to wait and maybe to borrow a guy to pick up the money for me and deliver it, that's all, because to be honest Max I'm not too keen to go over there in person again. … All right?... Max?... Are you there?"

"You are a worthless human being, Favell."

"Suck on it. Some of us have to make our own way in the world. So can I come to your place or not?"


"Yeah? Sure about that? Because so help me I will find a way to live through this, and I will tell Rebecca what happened. I guarantee she won't appreciate it any more than I do."


"Max? Hello?"


"I mean it."

"Do not come up the main drive when you get here. And do not set foot in my house proper – you can hide in the boathouse, where rats belong."

"Oh Max, you're too damned kind. Rot in hell. I'll be there in a couple of hours."


They'd had sex and then had wine – everything as usual. Rebecca had put the flowers he'd brought her in a vase, they'd lit some lamps since it was full dark now, and then they twined up comfortably together to talk. Everything as usual.

Until Jackie got up unexpectedly and went to stand by the window instead. "Say I married you," he said, out of nowhere. "Would it still be like this, do you think?"

She looked over at him, sharply, but he was seemingly too busy lighting a cigarette to make eye contact. She waited until he managed, and then just flashed her ring at him.

"Yeah, well, suppose I took care of that." He sat in a chair and leaned all the way back – a look she had privately termed his gangster pose and had never had the heart to tease him about. "What then?"

She sighed. "We're cousins."

"So? Anyways, if you were alone nobody'd fault me for moving in with you. To take care of you. Or if we were worried about it we could move away. How would anyone know?"

She went to a mirror and began fussing with her eye makeup. "You couldn't afford me, Jackie."

She peeked at his reflection and saw his cheeks redden. "That's disgusting. You're a whore," he said at last.

She shrugged. "An expensive one." He was sensitive about his (constant!) financial troubles, and it was cruel to needle him. So she waved over shoulder and added, off-hand: "Anyhow it's better like this. You know it wouldn't be the same if we were entitled."


"Well, would it? I adore that you can't stay away from me – even though I am, as you said, disgusting."

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"Forget it. I suppose after all it is probably true. Max certainly agrees with you."

"Fuck Max! Don't you listen to a thing he says, you hear me?"

She faced him and smiled. "Look at you, so protective! Darling Jackie. Listen: you come here because you want me, and because you like me. And I know that. But if you came just because this is where you lived…"

He took a long drag on his cigarette and shook his head. "You know I'd still want you."

"Maybe. I'd like to think so. But I wouldn't know." She laughed then. "And what about you – don't you feel the same? Don't you love knowing that I could turn you down any time you come over – slam the door in your face and laugh at you?"

He put his cigarette out with entirely more force than was necessary. "Why the hell would I love knowing that?"

"Because I don't. Because every single time you come over I go to bed with you – and you know it's because I want to. You know that today – right now – I want to lie down and do terribly dirty things. Just for you."

He had risen, seemingly without even noticing. At the mention of terribly dirty things his eyes had glazed over and he seemed to forget all about marriage for the moment. He reached out to draw her in, and pulled one leg up over his hip. Her robe fell open and he reached inside. He was gentle with his fingers, tender even, too gentle, until she clung to him and gyrated and whimpered. So he gave her more and harder, so that soon she would say anything he wanted. He made her beg, abjectly. He made her offer herself in the most vulgar terms she could think of. He made her say she adored him.

Finally he tossed her down on the couch and wiped his hands. "Jesus H., you're sloppy," he said. It made her sloppier. "Now, if I get in that sweet cunt of yours and find it's all fucked-out and slack because you've been whoring around, I'm going to get very angry." She shivered, delighted. Jackie said the loveliest things. "So you squeeze me tight like a good girl, you hear?"

"I will, I will I will," she promised. "Come on, please? Anything you want. Please?"

He kissed her hard, and fucked her harder.

Afterwards she was lying on his chest and he waited til her breathing evened out. "Rebecca?" he whispered at last. No answer. He waited a little longer. "Rebecca – you awake?"

Nothing. So finally, finally he licked his lips and breathed: "I love you."

She gave his nipple a swift painful twist. He winced – she was awake after all. And probably about to kill him.

But she didn't say anything more. And eventually he drifted to sleep, wondering whether that had been just acknowledgement, or punishment, or reciprocation, or what. Knowing Rebecca, he'd never know for sure.

The End.

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