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A/n: So, like, remember this from last time? It's my awesome story about the DIA and some other ppl and anyway i'm reposting the third chapter (seriously, NO REVIEWS WERE HAD and that is sad--haha, a rhyme! :D :D)) Anyway, so the first chapter is HERE and the second chapter is HERE! And now the third chapter!!!

Oh, and, so yeah this story is uh I mean
I don't really have inspriation for it anywmore but i have this new friend and she's TOTALLY INTO TACITUS/GASPARD and the gardsman and everyone so she's going to take over and it's gonna be TOTALLY AWESOME! XD U'll love it. Don't worry.

But fiiiirst...here's chapter three!!! Compleat with my a/ns 'n' everything :) :) :)

a/n SO I'M SO EXCITED THAT YOU'RE LIKING THIS STORY
Anyway
So I'm starting off with a flashback because I was in such a hurry to get up the last chapter that Iforgot a detail
but that's fine because a recap at the beginning of a chapter is very useful!!
So without further ado read on
and Ihope you like it
(PS: here's where we meet Tacitus!! Really, this time!! Aaaah!!!)

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Of all times for the Guardsman to get injured.

An elegantly dressed geth walks out of Tacitus' office. Every bit of its armor is in perfect condition; I am obviously underdressed.

"Golf, this week, Tacitus," it says firmly. I don't hear the reply. The geth nods at me as it passes, and Alex jumps out of his seat to go call the elevator.

It leaves.

"Mr. de Grasse?" Charlie is back with her perfect smile and her long legs. "Mr. Tacitus will see you now."

"Oh--thank you," I say. I put the glass down and get to my feet, straightening my shirt. Slowly, I walk towards the door. Charlie's smile follows me, stays fixed in perfect, professional falseness.

Alex opens the door for me. I try to smile at him, and then take a deep breath and walk through.

I'm completely focused on not making a fool of myself: just get through this interview, go home, give the Guardsman his notes. I can do this.

So, of course, the very first thing I do in Tacitus' office...is trip.

*

"You utter klutz," says my Monologue. He's utterly bored, and looking down at me where I've landed on my hands and knees. "You can't even enter a room anymore. How...pitiful."

Gentle hands grasp my elbows and help me to stand. I can't bring myself to look up for a minute, but when I do--wow. Just wow. Red-tipped black hair and an intense look that makes me even more embarrassed--and he's young. He's so young.

He lets go of me and steps back. For a moment--I blink, thinking I'm imagining it--but for a moment, he's some sort of grey and red fox as he leaps back to the desk. Suddenly, he's back to the beautiful young man who helped me up, and he grabs a pad of paper and a pen from the desk. He writes something and holds it out to me; I approach carefully and read the message.

That was quite a fall, Mr. Guardsman. Are you alright? Would you like to sit?

"Oh, uh--I'm alright," I say. Why can I never be smooth? I sound like I've been hit in the head--dull and uninspired. "And, actually, I'm Gaspard. Gaspard de Grasse. The Guardsman's been injured, so I'm here in his stead."

I'm Tacitus Dives, he writes back, and offers me his hand. I take it, and we shake; static electricity shocks me, and I pull away as casually as I can. It must be from my fall on the carpet.

We take our seats, and I set up the Guardsman's clunky-looking tape recorder. It doesn't run on tape, exactly--but he's upgraded it since the last time I asked. The on button seems to be in the same place, though.

"I have some questions, Mr. Tacitus," I say once everything is in place.

He smirks, and writes, I thought you might.

I find myself blushing red, and push my shoulders back to try to look less cowed. I raise the Guardsman's first cue card, and do my best to read his scribble--thankfully, most of these were typewritten. “You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” When I look up at him, he's disappointed but still smiling that wonderful smile.

Business is all about people, Mr. de Grasse, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well. He stares at me, and then writes another set of sentences and hands them over. His handwriting is just this side of neat, spiky, dark, and precise. Nothing like my own boring letters. My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” I blurt out. He's arrogant. I don't usually like arrogant people.

I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Mr. de Grasse. he writes. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their
energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Oh, I exercise control in all things, Mr. de Grasse, he writes. His smile is humorless; he holds my stare impassively. I find that I'm blushing again. Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that. I look down at the Guardsman's next card; time to change the subject.

“You invest in manufacturing," I say. "Why, specifically?” Why does he make me so uncomfortable?

I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say? What can he write, really...why does he write all the time? The Guardsman never mentioned he was mute. No one does. And surely someone with his money could go around that...

But I stay on task. “That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me.

Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.

“Why would they say that?”

Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

I don’t have a philosophy as such. he writes. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie’s: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.

“So you want to possess things?” I try not to raise an eyebrow; he really is a control freak.

I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.

I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely this is enough material? I glance at the next question.

“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows.

I have no way of knowing.

My interest is piqued, but I don't ask him how old he was when he was adopted--I can always ask the Guardsman later. I read the next question. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

I have a family. he writes. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.

“Are you gay, Mr. Tacitus?”

Well... He stops writing and looks at me with his smoldering eyes. What do you think, Gaspard?

My breath catches in my throat as I try to stammer a reply. It's the first time he's used my name, and even though he isn't speaking out loud, there's something about seeing it in his handwriting that makes my heartbeat accelerate.

There’s a knock at the door, and Charlie enters. “Mr. Tacitus, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

Tacitus nods at her. She blushes bright pink; at least it's not just me, thank God. He gets up, and she leaves.

I collect the cards and the Guardsman's recorder and get to my feet. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Tacitus.”

He shakes my hand; I find myself hoping it's not as sweaty as my mind thinks it is.

If I am sweaty, he doesn't seem to notice. Are you driving back? he asks through the pad of paper. It's raining.

"Uh--yes. I'm driving back."

Well, you’d better drive carefully. he writes. He underlines it, and gives me a stern look. I wonder why he cares. Did you get everything you need? he adds.

“Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. His eyes narrow, speculatively.
“Thank you again for the interview, Mr. Tacitus.”

The pleasure’s been all mine, he writes, polite as ever. He stands and holds out his hand. Until we meet again, Mr. de Grasse. And his expression makes it a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Mr. Tacitus.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele. he writes, holding it up for me to see and giving me a small smile. Obviously, he’s referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I flush.

“That’s very considerate, Mr. Tacitus,” I snap, and his smile widens. I’m glad you find me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I’m surprised when he follows me out. Charlie and Alex both look up, equally surprised.

Alex rushes to bring my coat; Tacitus puts down his pen and pad of paper and takes it from him, holding it up for me to put on. I do so, feeling extremely self-conscious. Tacitus places his hands for a moment on my shoulders; I gasp at the contact. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. His burning teal eyes gaze at me.

Gaspard, he writes as a farewell, holding up the ever-present pad of paper.

“Tacitus,” I reply, my mouth dry. And mercifully, the doors close.

--------

a/n:Whew! That was such a long chapter!! But Ireally hope you liked it!! Isn't Tacitus so hott?? Gaspard certainly thinks so!!

Don't forget to RnR!! Reviews make me write fasterrr. Next up--Gaspard and the Guardsman talk about what happened! And Tacitus may show up again ;)) Aaaaand...if you really want it....Imay even write something from Tacitus' pov!! You'll have to convince me, though :D if there's enough interestm I'll totally do it!!!

Reviweres are love!!! ~*DW**

PS: DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT MY NEW STORY! It's actually something I rwote really quickly last month but it's awesome and you should totally read it! I'll be putting it up really soon. Quick and fun and fluffy!! Look for it at the top of the new releases!! xoxoDW**~

REAL AN: so like hope you enjoyed!!! Next chappie will be written by my friend but posted by me because she doesn't want her own account cuz her parents said no. but shes a REALLY awesome writer and its' gonna be SO GOOD I PROMISE

and maybe i'll write something new too.......you never know!!!

xoxoxoxo ~~~DW**~

((So yes. A necessary disclaimer--a good chunk of this chapter is from the real 50 Shades book, because last year I was foolish enough to go 'THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT DUSKWATER WOULD DO, JUST CHANGE THE NAMES AND SOME OF THE WORDING AND DESCRIPTIONS'. Never again. The book--undiluted by sporkings and so on--is *awful*. The 'next writer' is going to drop that idea entirely, and...well, I have some fun things planned :D We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, welcome back to 50 Shades of Tacitus! I look forward to hopefully amusing y'all and scarring SeaTurtle's characters :) Keep an eye out for familiar faces in...the next chapter, probably... ~DF))

A/N okies MidnightMariposa097, ill keep writting JSUT FOR YO.

"I sense a darkness within you... a darkness that comes from your baby... a darkness that has a name..."

"Acacia!"

Jaycacia span around. "That's exactly what I was going to say!"

Behind her, standing in the middle of the corridor, was a creature of lightning - a lion in blue and black - Zeb. "I don't know how," he said, stalking forward, "but when the badfic made the Avatar pregnant (A/N u see?! i Hav read teh sotries!!), it made her baby the dreaded Acacia Byrd."

"That's weird though," said Jaycacia, "because Acacia is supposed to be Dafydd Illian and Aurora E. Lorra's baby, and also how do you know?"

"That was what Lux told you, " Zeb said, "but she cannot be trusted, because her black magickckck was tricked, and also I know because I have evolved from electric type to magickckck type! But my magickckck is blue and not black, so it's better and doesn't lie."

"Wow," said Jaycacia. "But how does that even work?"

Zeb reached her side and looked up/down at his partner (A/N not sur how tal he iss?). "Where did you think Lux got her magickckck from?" he asked. "I was a Luxray - now I am a LUXURY, like her! The male ones look like me and are blue magickckck type but the female ones look like her and are black magickckck type, it's like the colours on my fur."

"Wow," said Jaycacia. "But she is sexy and you're a cat."

"That's true," Zeb said, "but I can turn into a man, look." And he turned into a man and then he turned back.

"Wow," said Jaycacia. "So what do we do now?"

"There's only one thing we can do," said Zeb.

~

"So Lux is a Pokemon now?"

"Hmph."

"And magic-type... I don't follow the fandom, but I'm pretty sure that's not a thing."

"Hmph."

Jay glanced over at her friend. "And you are in a massive sulk, be-cause...?"

Acacia's finger stabbed down on the paper. "I'm supposed to be dead."

"Well, you know, dead, evil baby taking over your mother's mind..." Jay tipped her head to the side. "When you think about it, there's a lot of similarities..."