Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.
Rating: PG 14
Genre: Angst
Spoilers: The whole series.
Summary: A chance meeting late one night on the pier. (Part I of the "Undisclosed Desires" series.)
Night.
The black Jaguar hugged the curve of the road, the foreign engine humming. Bright headlights illuminated the darkened street, catching on the reflectors buried in the black top. Gregory sighed, rubbing his chin tiredly as he blew through a deserted intersection. He vaguely registered the time, the digits glowing from the shadows of the dash. Wheels up was in less than an hour and the night sky stretched to infinity, hinting at potential.
He braked, the car slowing to a stop as he looked up tiredly. Thousands of stars glittered in the dark, sparkling diamonds against a back drop of black velvet. The same points of light had watched over the universe for millions of years, silent witnesses to the triumphs and tragedies of humanity. His head went back as the car idled at the stop light, nestled against a cushion of leather. Triumph and tragedy. There was only a line that separated them, a minute difference that meant the world to one person and desperation to another. There it was. The unrelenting bond that entwined every action. A win was a win, except that it was also a loss for someone else.
An absurd chuckle rose in his throat as he gripped the steering wheel. Here he sat, less than a mile from the airstrip and reflecting on philosophy of tragedy. The events of the past afternoon had left a bitter taste in his mouth and stung the open wounds of his soul. With a tired sigh, he opened his eyes and looked up at the still red traffic signal. She would say that he didn't have a soul, that it wasn't even a possibility.
"And tonight is just the night of possibility," he murmured, not without some sarcasm, as the light blinked to green. Main Street was alive with light, bright white that chased away the dangerous shadows. He barely noticed the sea of people that clustered the sidewalk and surrounded the entrances to The Deep and further up, Grenadine's. They were nothing new. He had seen them all for the several decades, especially the one he was making a right onto.
Driving down the long road that was Ocean Avenue, chords of familiarity rang within him like church bells on Christmas morning. Soft laughter from long ago sighed in the silence as his chest tightened. He pulled off to the side of the road, staring blankly through the windshield. It was the same road he had driven down every day for over twenty years. He could have made the trip in his sleep, knowing every curve and bump in the road like he knew the back of his hand. Just like he knew it was twenty-nine steps from the car to the massive door of glass and wood. Now, home was a too new mansion where the smell of fresh paint still wrinkled his nose and he didn't care to note the number of steps.
He shook his head, reaching for the door and stepping quickly from the car. The unseasonably cool night washed over him like a wave as he glanced around the lonely street. There was a biting chill in the air, rare for southern California at any time of the year. The cacophonic nightlife of downtown was barely a whisper in the dark and the roar from the ocean faded to the background. He turned away from the street as a strange mist descended over the beach. It was only with some effort that he could make out the signal lights from the pier.
Gregory reached into the pocket of his suit, his hand going around the slim case. The lighter sparked brilliantly, the flame catching on the tip of the cigar. A cloud of spicy smoke surrounded him, following him like the plague as he began the long walk up the pier. There was a spot, halfway up, where the angle with the beach was just right and one had a full view of One Ocean Avenue.
He exhaled slowly, his footsteps echoing in the night. Dull lights dotted the length of the pier, a warning to wayward boats lost in the night. He reached out, running his hand along the rough wood surface of the railing. Twenty-five years ago, he brought her to the pier, to the very spot he was drawn to now. His mouth set, recalling the way she gasped as the silk blindfold slipped from her face and she saw the oversize bow perched on the roof.
That was then. Now, the promise of that day had disintegrated into a putrid mess, barely recognizable. From the halls of greatness came the fall, forever a reminder of mortality. Yet with the fall came resurrection, an enduring theme in the novel of humanity. In less than five hours, he would secure a new mistress for the House of Richards, the stock in Liberty an incidental perk. "The only one," he whispered to himself.
A bitter wind kicked up, groaning down the deserted pier. He went further into isolation, leaving the ties to the Earth behind as he crossed into a realm that was somewhere in between the world he knew and a dark world that threatened to invade. It was no longer at bay. He was at the crossroads, the cusp of the point of no return. It was a slippery slope and it was Annie who waited in the hollow of the ravine. Annie and the Liberty stocks.
He could wait for an eternity, but he wouldn't feel it. The thrill of victory that came with every triumph was absent. It was a hollow win and he loathed the feeling. He stopped, listening closely and he could almost make out Del's chuckle from the depths of hell. The pieces had been long laid out, only coming into play when the stage was set and all the players were in line.
He looked ahead, pushing through the mist to get to the middle of the pier. A hook had secured him, drawing him forward to the spot he remembered so vividly in his memory. A force beyond him that called to the very heart of him.
The filmy veil began to lift and he saw the spot where they stood, watching their future. He narrowed his eyes, making out a dark figure that already stood in his spot. He exhaled, a stream of silver smoke that hung in the night as he stopped abruptly. A dull hum filled his ears and he gripped the railing. He knew that stance, the controlled grace that rivaled the elegance of Aphrodite. And she was standing in his spot. His frown grew in intensity, hardening to a glare. A glare that he delivered to her with a silent flourish.
He had never feared anything, certainly not any mortal. However, it was just possible that Olivia had the power to terrify him. She could do it with a look, a string of words, but certainly just with her presence. She had the power to consume him, filling him with an unquenchable thirst. Like a narcotic, she tortured him and had the relentless power to break his heart a thousand times over. And like an addict, he could never get enough.
Gregory chuckled softly to himself, realizing the irony. Their respective addictions had wrecked havoc on their marriage and each other. Hers to the bottle and his to her. Dependence was thought to be a downward spiral, a never-ending cycle of pain. Yet, with a pen and anger to mask the heartache, it finally came to an abrupt end this afternoon.
His footsteps signaled his nearness and she flinched, looking up. Their eyes met, bridging the vast canyon between them. He stood still, watching as she slowly turned to him. "What are you doing here?" Olivia gasped, clutching the lapels of her trench coat.
He gazed stonily at her, willing away the sweet relief he felt at the sight of her. She leaned away from him as he took a step closer. "I could ask you the same question," he growled. "You always seem to be in my path."
He watched her eyes fall and her lips part in reply. Her hair hugged her face, a soft halo of chestnut with a hint of curl. She lowered her hands, her black coat falling open as she shook her head. When she looked up, her neck was visible and the pearls around her throat caught the weak light. An urgent memory slammed into him, nearly knocking the breath out of him as he watched her.
Caitlin tore down the hall, her long hair flying behind her as she passed him with an excited, "All pomp, Daddy! No circumstance!"
The bedroom was quiet when he entered it, still as he closed the door behind him. Olivia looked up, a weak smile coming to her lips as she met his stare. An open photo album sat in her lap, her finger marking the heavy page. "Do you remember Caitly's first day of school?" she asked softly, gazing back down at the thick album. "How she cried when she realized we weren't staying with her?"
He nodded, sinking to the bed to sit across from her. "And now, she's graduating."
"And going away to university." She shook her head incredulously, turning the page. "It's gone too fast," she whispered, her eyes softening as they rested on a photo of Caitlin dressed as a butterfly. "Wasn't it only yesterday that she was this small?"
"It seems that way, doesn't it?" he asked as she turned the album to him. "Yesterday always seems so long ago."
She stood slowly, the black slip a striking counterpoint to her alabaster flesh. With a melancholy sigh, she moved to the mirror and began pulling at her hair. "Time is marked by the progressive milestones of our children," she sighed.
He followed, standing behind her as he met her eyes in the reflection. "And for all the times in between," he trailed off, placing a rope of pearls at the base of her throat. He fastened the clasp and rested his palms against her shoulders as her fingers grazed the Japanese pearls. "Somewhere along the way, we did something right," he whispered in her ear, squeezing her shoulders.
"Are you alright?"
He winced at the concern threaded in her question as he inhaled strongly. Her blue eyes hinted of worry as she looked back at him, moving over the breadth of him with a painstaking slowness. "Fine," he replied, looking away from her. He leaned against the railing, the sea black beneath them. "It's late."
Olivia nodded, shivering within her coat as she drew it tighter around her. Her throat burned as she swallowed, pulling her trembling hands into the sleeves of her trench. He looked uncomfortable, standing as stiff as a board against the railing, only moving to tap the ash over the side.
"I suppose," he began slowly, as if he was making an effort to choose his words carefully, "that you are pleased with this afternoon's performance?"
She sighed, her shoulders falling dejectedly as she moved towards him. "Why would you think that?" she asked softly.
"Deschanel certainly was," he shot back, looking out at the beach. One Ocean Avenue stood out like a sore thumb, pitiful in the dark and fog. The houses surrounding it were brilliantly lit, sparkling jewels in the crown of the shore, while their home was a black night with no stars.
"Why do you do that? Throw AJ in my face?"
He chuckled to himself as he shook his head disbelievingly. "From what I understand, you and Deschanel have been practically inseparable since you came back from the cruise."
"Like you and Annie?"
Her shrill question rested like electricity between them, charged with anger. "Well, I don't know," he said simply, turning back to her. "What exactly goes on with you and AJ?"
"Go to hell," she snapped, turning to leave.
He glared out at the beach, her footsteps heated against the pier. "You forced my hand," he said aloud, causing her footsteps to come to an abrupt stop.
"Forced your hand?"
He glanced over his shoulder, watching her. "With Deschanel. Having him there."
"He was there to- you'd prefer me to wallow in despair and stumble around alone for the rest of my life?"
"Remember your vow? 'Forsaking all others'?"
"You vowed too," she hissed, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.
He sighed, the appeal of the cigar lost as he dropped it to the sea. The ocean rippled beneath him, lapping against the base of the pier. A quiet monster, so unlike the palpable fury between them. He rested his hands on the railing as a gust of wind swept over them. A long ago giggle murmured in his ear and he flinched, shaking it away. "What does it matter?" he sighed, lowering his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
She neared him slowly, shivering within her coat as she rested against the railing. She watched the house regretfully as a heavy weight pressed into her chest. "I suppose it doesn't," she whispered, her words breaking as her eyes burned. "Not anymore."
"Right."
She drew her arms around herself, turning her face away their home. It was too sad to look at, locked up and neglected. The wind howled, a mournful cry in the night as the silence stretched between them. The unseasonable chill sang to their cause, no hint of a thaw. It seemed Mother Nature was grieving the end of their marriage and here they stood, side-by-side on the pier.
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
Olivia sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "Just out for a walk."
"At ten o'clock at night? In this weather?"
"It would appear that way," she replied faintly, pulling the collar up and around her neck. "Bette had a gentleman over and-"
"You know," he interrupted, "you're going to need to get used to being the third wheel if you stay in that house."
She chuckled ruefully as she glanced over at him, her blue eyes bright. "And just what do you suggest I do?"
"Move."
"Where?"
He looked up at the challenge in her question. She cocked her head, waiting expectantly as a reply danced on his lips. "I haven't sold the house yet."
"You mean, we haven't sold the house yet."
"Whatever." He turned to her, clearing his throat as he glanced down. "Take it."
Her brow furrowed, deep in thought. He watched her thoughts dance across her face and her eyes narrow before she finally shook her head. "No."
"Take it," he insisted.
She turned away, her throat tightening as her head continued to wave from left to right. "I don't want it," she gasped.
He sighed, leaning a fraction of an inch towards her. "Look at it, sitting there," he whispered, close enough to capture a trace of her perfume. "It's just a waste to leave it like that." She stiffened, biting the corner of her lip as she played with the pearl choker. "And wrong."
"Wrong? Who moved us out?"
Gregory's face hardened, melting to a defeated frown as he turned away and looked back over the ocean. A flood of memories came back to him, echoes of the dark days they lived through before they moved out. His lips disappeared to a tense line as he swallowed back the sick feeling rising in his throat. An unruly tremor conquered his hand and he hid it away, locking his fingers together. It was another moment before he could summon the willpower to force out three simple words: "Take the house."
"No."
"Why-"
"You can't live there? Well, neither can I!"
Her tortured exclamation reverberated for a moment before being swallowed by the howling wind. He watched her eyes widen to horrified bottomless pools, an ocean of pain swirling in the blue. The tip of her nose reddened in the cold, her knuckles white as she clutched her coat closed. "Fine," he said softly, straightening his suit coat as he took a great interest in the tip of his shoe.
She cleared her throat, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she watched him. He was the same, yet so different. Gray licked at his temples, a touch of distinguish in his thick dark hair. Lines ran deep in his face, etched by years of anguish and frustration. Both their bodies bore the scars of war, inflicted by torturous battles of the heart. Her eyes filled, her vision swimming in a psychedelic trance. "I- I should go," she said softly.
His head snapped up as if his thoughts had been a thousand miles away. His eyes were heavy as he nodded slowly, returning to himself. "Of course."
Olivia exhaled shakily and turned away, a shiver racing down her spine when he joined her. Their steps echoed in time as they walked slowly down the pier, a harmonious sound in the tense silence. He heard her sigh and glanced over in time to see her wipe her eyes. Resignation settled in his chest as their shoulders brushed together. She flinched, wrapping her arms around herself and covering the spot on the shoulder where they met. An ugly feeling twitched deep in his stomach as she moved away. Anywhere but him. "Chaos," he whispered.
"I'm sorry?"
He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's a mad world, run by chaos."
"What are you-"
"I don't really know," he sighed, looking off into the distance. The absurdity of the afternoon, signing the divorce papers, seemed a distant nightmare as they walked together. But her shaky breathing and the pain in his chest was too real to be denied. This was the last time they would ever be like this, he realized. They would never know a moment again that would be just them. That pleasure was lost to them. "It's chaos," he repeated softly.
"Chaos?"
"Us. Chaos," he said simply, shoving the thought out of his mouth. He looked up into the night, the stars white pinpricks in the dark. The cold numbed him as an uncomfortable surrealism set in. "A professor once told me that chaos was the one thing in this world he respected." She stepped closer to him, her brow wrinkled in thought as her cheeks burned rosy in the cold. "I listened as he waxed poetic about the inherent beauty of chaos. If you study it long enough, patterns emerge. Fine lines are drawn, forever uniting that which was so unstable and destructive. When you look closer, it doesn't seem that vicious." A rock lodged in his throat and he swallowed it away as he looked back at the agony twisting her face. "Maybe there was a beauty to it, Liv."
She cleared her throat, looking away as she swallowed back a rising tide of sorrow. "Beauty to what?" she finally croaked.
"Us." The breath caught in her throat, searing to his memory. He rolled his shoulders, shaking away the emotion threatening to overtake him. It was too late now. "That despite everything that happened, there was a beauty to us."
She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as her chin trembled. "Maybe- once…"
He lowered his head, sighing heavily as he said aloud, "I suppose that doesn't matter anymore either."
Her eyes filled, testing the fragile control she had left. "I- I really should be going," she said again as the pier ended and they stepped back to the solid ground. She looked at him for a long beat, searching the heaviness of his eyes. Thought died within her as the finality of the moment sunk in: they were over. Really and truly over. Her body rocked violently and she covered her mouth, a long exhale filling the quiet. An emptiness swept through her, freezing her insides as their eyes met. If the eyes were the gateway to the soul, then regret was mirrored in theirs. "Good night," she murmured sadly. She watched him nod and pull away as an impenetrable barrier settled between them.
He nodded stiffly against the ache in his chest, throbbing in agony. The wind groaned over the beach, blowing the frond straight and stirring her hair as she began to walk away. His heart leapt into his throat when she turned suddenly, determined.
"Have a safe trip."
Gregory bridged the distance between them, wonder softening his frown. "How did you know?"
A wistful smile curled her mouth as she reached out, tentatively fingering the lapel of his suit. "It's a Black Label," she whispered. "You always wear them when you travel."
Her palm lay flat, resting over his heart as he reached up and covered her hand. It twitched within his and he tightened his hold, locking his fingers around hers. A gasp parted her lips as she looked up, her eyes shining. Remorse consumed him as she sighed, tilting her head as she watched him. It was beyond late, he realized as he lost his fragile grip on her. She pulled her hand back, blinking as his face fell. "I'll see you at the baptism tomorrow," she said quietly, pulling the collar up.
He watched her walk away, waiting and hoping for her to turn around one last time. She didn't. Instead, she disappeared into the misty night, leaving him alone at the beginning of the pier. Ghosts whispered from the dark recess of his mind, reminding him that the past could never be recaptured. The past was gone and their future dead, as dead as their two sons. He moved slowly, swimming through the heavy night as static filled his consciousness. All they had now was this present, a cruel testament to their suffering. Suffering that sentenced them to an eternity apart, cast out to the dark corners of the globe.
The car was where he left it, a silent shark in the quiet street. He slumped against the hood as the world crumbled to dust around him. Solitude was an unpleasant reality and he shivered, clenching his fist until the bones of his hand cracked faintly. He winced, reaching for the simple gold band on his ring finger. With trembling hands and a look that gazed straight to the core of him, she had slid the ring onto his finger. Now, with a tremor that sang of regret, he pulled it off. The gold band rested in his palm, catching the yellow beam from the street light before he surrendered it to the safety of his coat pocket.
He looked down at his watch, realizing the time as he exhaled deeply. At the airfield on the edge of town, a jet waited to spirit him to Las Vegas. Resignation momentarily revived him as he opened the door, sliding into the interior of the car. It had all changed too suddenly, his carefully constructed world. Outside forces had invaded, destroying his life at the moment it was at it's most peaceful. All he had left was to gather the pieces and rebuild. History was a testimony to the instances of destruction and resurrection.
Las Vegas. Annie. The Liberty stocks.
His Reconstruction began tonight.
THE END