AN: It's going to take me a bit of time to find my Oliver and Grace voices, so here's a little something to enjoy as I seek them out.
Bedlam.
The one word that Oliver Warbucks could find to label the summer of 1933 was bedlam. Utter and complete bedlam. The uproar and confusion that had followed a single orphaned girl was unfathomable. Gone was the strict schedule his household – and life - had followed. No longer was he able to spend long evenings in his office, pouring over the latest ticker tapes and plotting his next move in a shaky economy, before retiring to a cold, and lonely, bed. Quiet mornings reading the paper over breakfast was only something he could look back on longingly; the same for his afternoon exercise. The ruthlessness and rigidness that had made him a billionaire by the age of forty was no more.
And he loved it.
He sat now in his office, surrounded by the multitude of staff that helped to ensure his vast empire continued to function. 'Bedlam indeed,' he mused, watching as two women hurried in, the clump clump of short heels muffled in thick oriental carpeting as they handed numerous files to his private secretary. Another woman stood at the ticker tape machine, receiving the continued updates from New York's Stock Market, marking off the various companies he would follow-up with later in the afternoon. Across the desk, one of his countless advisors rambled on, explaining some potential change or invention; what he couldn't exactly remember; as the lawyer next to him arguing about the logistics of such a feat.
"Enough," he said, the knot of a headache forming along the base of his skull. The staff seemingly ignored him, continuing on with their various tasks at hand, and he ran a tired hand down his face.
"Mr. Warbucks!" a high-pitched voice called out, followed quickly by a young woman coming through the door. "The afternoon post has arrived." Behind her, another staff member appeared, a thick folder in his hands, glasses perched low on his nose.
"Enough," he roared, slapping his hands to his desk as he stood. Silence ensued as all turned to look at the man, the only sound in the room the continued running of the ticker tape machine. "Everyone get out."
For a moment, he was afraid no one would listen as they continued to stare at him, and then suddenly, a sneeze filled the room. One of the secretaries gasped, hand covering her mouth before she said excuse me and rushed from the room. This seemed to shake the others from their stupor, as chairs were pushed back and people scurried for freedom.
"Ms. Farrell," he said loudly, watching as his private secretary paused to turn to him, the question apparent in her gaze. Left hand rising, he rubbed his temple as he said "please stay and close the door behind everyone."
Nodding, she waited until the last of the staff members were in the hall, smiling slightly at the pitied looks she was receiving. Taking a breath, she closed the door before turning to meet the gaze of her employer. "Sir?"
He said nothing for a moment, his hands still splayed across the desk as he watched her, lower lip sliding under her teeth, her body focused and ready for whatever he commanded. Silence continuing, he moved around the desk, crossing to stand in front of her a moment to take her hand. With a smile, he brought it to his lips before saying "take a walk with me?"
The afternoon sunlight was warm, casting shadowed rays through the branches of tall trees. This late in September, the leaves upon the oaks and the maples were beginning to change, bursts of color mixed with greens filling the air. Somewhere, a bird chirped – another responded – and in the distance, the noise that was America's greatest city could be heard. But here on the carefully manicured grasses that was the Warbucks city estate, a peace could be found.
It had been many years since Oliver had spent any time quietly outdoors, just walking and taking in the sights, but here and now, with Grace, it was what he needed. She was silent, walking next to him with her hand tucked in his, and he wondered again what he had done to deserve both a wonderful daughter and this intelligent woman. Somehow she knew what he needed, her presence more than anything helping the headache he had been feeling recede.
Turning towards her, he watched her a moment, taking in the way her lips pulled into a content smile. Wondering what it was that had her eyes darting here and there, taking in the private sanctuary that was theirs. Taking joy in knowing he could spend a quiet afternoon with his fiancé and the financial markets wouldn't crash. She turned now, bringing that smile to him, and he found himself smiling in return.
"Are you alright?" she asked, bringing her hand to lightly brush against his cheek.
"Hmm," he muttered, leaning forward to kiss her softly. "Yes. I just had the sudden desire to spend time with you."
Her smile brightened and she leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his in the slowest of kisses. Delight filled her that he wanted to spend time with her, still finding it difficult to believe this same man only three months before had believed that all he could love was power, money, and capitalism. Eventually the lack of air pulled them apart, and with a quiet grin at one another, began walking again.
Together they reached a small clearing, the canopy of trees ending before the hedges leading to the English maze. It's here that Grace takes his hand and sits, pulling him beside her. They're quite a moment, sitting in the warm grass, hands entwined. Not turning to him, Grace raised her gaze to the sky and sighed. "Have you ever spent an afternoon gazing at the clouds?"
"I can't say I have," Oliver answered, following her eyes to the blue sky above. "One doesn't have the time or inclination when making billions."
Her response to this is to lean back, pulling him down with her, quietly shushing his concerns of grass on a hand-tailored suit. Now, before he can move, she tucks his arm behind her head, cuddling gently into his side. A sigh escapes him, and she can feel his arm tightening around her shoulders, keeping her close as both gaze for a moment in the vast blue above. As a fluffy white cloud moves into their view, Grace shifts, letting her cheek press against his.
"What do you see?" she asks softly, eyes following the large mass above.
"A cloud," is his response, eyebrows crinkling at her question.
"Oliver!"
"It's a cloud Grace. Large, white, and fluffy," he pauses here, turning his head slightly to catch her eyes.
"Well yes," she admits, smiling softly at him, "but look at it closer. Doesn't it look like a dragon, swooping through the sky?" Lifting her hand, she points towards the thin piece on the right. "See that? There's his tail. And if you follow along you'll see his body and wings give way to his face."
"If you say so."
She sighs at this, turning back to the sky. They're quiet for a few moments, watching her dragon shift away into little wisps of nothing. As another cloud moves into their line of sight, she points again, asking him what he sees.
"A smaller cloud," is his response, followed by a loud hey as she begins to press into his side with her fingers, tickling him as she says his name.
Quickly he rolls, pinning her to the ground with his body, hands moving to grasp her wiggling fingers. For his own protection and nothing else is his thought as he smiles down into the eyes of the woman he loves, softly pressing kisses onto her lips. Time passes slowly as he eventually moves to her side again, pulling her against him to gaze once more at the clouds.