Author's Note: I really have nothing against Charlie/Olivia. If it's well-written, then it is great. But, like it or not, Charlie/Olivia is becoming like Emma/Tanc, in that it is popping up all over the place for no apparent reason.
Ok, scratch all that. What I meant to say is that Charlie/Olivia doesn't really have a basis in canon. And Fidelio/Olivia does. And CharlieOlivia has nothing to do with… anything.
God, there really is no easy way to put this. If it were ManfredZelda I could just scream "ManfredZelda is the best, now shut the hell up!" but with Olivia/Fidelio, there is *no one* to back me up. Or hardly anyone, anyways.
So, you may ask, why am I being such a bitch? Because, despite the fact that ManfredZelda is definitely my otp now, Fidelio/Olivia was my first otp. Along with Ron/Hermione, of course, but that's another series. I was ten when I first read Charlie Bone and I LOVED Fido/Liv. Five years later, I still do. And I feel as if I have to defend Fido/Liv. Call it nostalgia. But there you have it.
Enjoy. Review. And, um, marvel at the audacity of these ravings.
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.
double or nothing
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
smile at me
and I'll fetch you the world.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
[per usual] It all started with Charlie.
At the time, Olivia had thought that going out with Charlie Bone was a good idea.
Now, she isn't so sure.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Liv?" Fidelio grins up at her from the base of a gnarled crabapple tree.
"Yeah?" Olivia flops down beside him, pursing her lips and blowing a stream of air upward, ruffling her indigo bangs.
"Your hair is the exact same shade of blue as the sky—at that time when it's right in-between twilight and real night— do you know that?"
Olivia pouts, smirking. "Fido, if you need a favor, all you have to do is ask."
Fidelio frowns at her a little; his face tightens, his eyebrows coming together, crinkling his forehead a bit. Impulsively, Olivia ruffles his chestnut curls.
"You look adorable when you're frowning, you know that? Like the little boy I babysit—I think he's Dave… or maybe Daemon…" She trails off, musing. Examining her speckled golden fingernails, she begins to gesticulate with a start as she thinks inexplicably of both Fidelio's neatly trimmed nails and Charlie's bitten, stubby ones. "Y'know, I really do believe that it's Daemon."
Halting suddenly, she stops the twisting of her fingers in the air, her palms outstretched in front of her, as if she's put herself into a neat little box. She hadn't noticed Fidelio's sudden, too-profound silence.
Olivia sighs again, then giggles, if only to fill up some of the empty space between them. She scooches closer to Fidelio, and, laughing, slings her left arm around his shoulders. He smiles his beatific smile, the happiness going straight to his eyes—sunlight shining out like resin.
For some reason, his face is even more crinkled now, but she doesn't mind a bit.
Fidelio turns toward Olivia, shrugging off her arm with an apologetic smile, then tweaks a lock of blue hair. "You're a piece of work, Olivia Vertigo."
She sticks her nose up in the air, playing the offended princess. "And?"
"Liv, I was paying you a compliment, you idiot!" Fidelio exhales noisily, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Really, Liv, I thought you had more sense than that…"
Olivia frowns, bemused, then throws up her hands. "I don't know whether to shove you or kiss you… tell you what, I'll do both." She digs her shoulder into his ribs, knocking him off balance, then placates him with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Fidelio turns faintly pink. The blush intensifies to scarlet when Tancred Torsson saunters up to them. Grinning that wicked grin of his and running a hand over his blonde spikes, he leers and says, "Aw, Olivia and Fidelio! Never thought of that one before…"
"Torsson!" Olivia shouts, scrambling to her feet. Fidelio notes that she is wearing her copper high-top sneakers today, and the most ridiculous pair of pink-and-navy striped socks he's ever seen.
She's chastising Tancred now, talking much too loud and disregarding everything. "He's my best friend, Torsson! I can kiss my friends if I want! Besides, I kiss Charlie on the cheek too, don't I?" Fidelio grimaces, but luckily, nobody notices.
"Yeah, but I'll wager that's for some other reason," Tancred grins slyly, elbowing Olivia. "And you'd better watch just who you're kissing, Miss Olivia. Some people… might get ideas." With another rakish grin, Tancred struts away, pausing to wink at Fidelio before his blonde spikes disappear behind an oak.
Olivia sputters in rage. "Hmmmph. The nerve of some people…" Suddenly, she seems to remember Fidelio, still sitting there under the tree with an uncomfortable expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Fido! I didn't mean for it to look like that, promise. Look, you know who I like, and it ain't you, and you and me both know you've got a thing for Rosie Stubbs."
That'd be you, Liv. Not me, not Rosie. Just you.
But Olivia rambles on, oblivious to the despairing [pathetic] look on his face. "Fido, forgive me. Please." Her grey eyes are open so wide, her flushed face so open and earnest. Even if Fidelio chose to take offense at things like this—normal Olivia stuff—he would have flung himself at her feet, begging her mercy in an instant at the sight of the beautiful innocence on her face.
"Of course." He picks up his violin case and lopes off toward the academy at her side, the charming look on his face not even splintering at the way she gasps and digs her nails unintentionally into his arm before flitting away to greet Charlie, an oversized but graceful butterfly in purple and indigo.
Anything for you, his heart echoes. He stares after her until he can see nothing but her purple cape, flapping in the breeze before she shuts the great academy doors behind her.
It is only then that Fidelio notices that he is all alone.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Grow a brain, Fidelio Gunn," Gabe says, smacking him upside the head in the middle of second break.
"Whaa—"
This is probably the most unintelligent sentence he's ever uttered. He shuts his mouth tight, hoping to undo the out-of-character behavior.
"You're disgusting, you're foul; hell, you're downright icky." Gabe puts his hands on his hips and stares down at the nearly comatose violinist.
"Gabriel, what are you talking about?"
There it was; a halfway-intellectual response. He wishes Olivia—no-you-don't, damn it.
"Mate, she's right. there. You could at least go and talk to her, before Charlie comes along and snaps her up."
"He already has," Fidelio admits rather gloomily. "She's crazy for him, don't you see? The way she smiles at him, and the way she fiddles with her charm bracelet every time he's around, and how she always hums Zak and Sara under her breath, all the fucking time—"
He takes a ragged breath as Gabriel cuts him off. The f-word making its way into his vocabulary was, indeed, a sign of a complete mental breakdown.
"Okay. Firstly, she tells you everything. Secondly, do I even need to add another reason? She clearly trusts you, and trust is the most important thing in a relationship. Besides, you two are inseparable. You just need to add snogging into the equation, and then—"
"Gabe, you have no idea what you're talking about. She loves Charlie," he spits bitterly, "And I am going to sit here and suffer in silence and make beautiful, beautiful music come out of that sorrow, all right? Just as I've always done."
She'd sooner choose Gabe. He isn't quite sure why or how this thought slips into his head, but it disturbs him greatly.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Fido passes her a note in study period. Olivia tries not to bust up when she reads the words.
Buffoon.
Grinning, she slides it back.
Dunce.
Fidelio's eyebrows go up alarmingly, and he scribbles another one down.
Claptrap dolt.
Sharp-necked, overgrown son of a swine.
Flea-bitten wench.
Olivia manages a feigned gasp of surprise, and tries to swallow her giggles. Oh, he's going to pay for this one.
Maggoty, jelly-legged cur.
SCURVY SCOUNDREL. (Beat that, Vertigo.)
Olivia explodes into peals of laughter, and the study monitor gives her a stern glare, at which she makes her way to her feet, and, still gasping, staggers to the door.
It opens before she can even touch the doorknob. She almost gasps.
"Liv, can I have a word?"
Omigod Omigod OMIGOD!!
Olivia almost wishes Emma were here. Instead of fainting, she glances at Fidelio and grins maniacally, and turns back to Charlie, saying, "Of course."
She'd wanted to say Anything for you, but had decided against it.
It was too cliché.
But if Charlie wanted to say it, that was fine by her.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"So…" Charlie fumbles in his pockets, turning up his bare hands to her in consternation.
"Yeah?" Olivia says. She leans up against the wall and fixes him with a cool smile. If only her heart wasn't pounding so loudly.
"Um, I guess… I guess, what I'm trying to say's… um, I really, really like you, Liv." His ears are bright scarlet.
Olivia's heart is jumping so fast and so hard by now that she is forgetting to breathe. A white euphoria is overtaking her—the kind that makes her want to skip and leap and turn fifty cartwheels in a row all while singing show tunes.
"Uh, um, so I was wondering if, if, if maybe," Charlie breaks off to swallow hard. "Maybe you'd like to go out with me?"
"Like, be your girlfriend, you mean?" Olivia's eyebrows are, she is sure, threatening to fly off her forehead in surprise, and she can feel her mouth forming a perfect letter 'O'.
"Um, yeah," Charlie finishes. Laughing awkwardly, he fiddles with his tie, pulling it tight.
Olivia twirls round once, then, catching his hands in hers, she stage-whispers, "Yes!"
Whirling, she blows him a kiss, and then waves her hand before speeding away.
She skips back to the study room as fast as she can, and now, her heartbeat can barely keep up with her.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
After study period, she dances around the rapidly-emptying classroom several times before prancing up to Fidelio. He is sifting an immaculate stack of paper into five different folders, all labeled clearly and crisply. Olivia feels a rush of fondness for his neatness, and wonders if he'd do her folders like that, only maybe make them out of silver glitter wrap rather than blue poster board.
"Fido! You'll never guess—"
For some reason, it strikes her that she can't just sit back down and exchange medieval insults with her best friend. She's a girl with a boyfriend now, for God's sake!
"Mm?" Fidelio asks lazily, not even looking up from his homework.
Olivia feels a stab of frustration—don't you care?—but carries on hurriedly, her words almost bursting out all jumbled together: "Charlie asked me out."
"You're going out with Charlie?" Fidelio's ear is cocked toward her in his usual questioning fashion.
"How'd you know I said yes?" She frowns, biting her lip.
"It's Charlie. Of course you said yes," says Fidelio sensibly.
Olivia sighs, dejected. "So. I'm going out with Charlie Bone." She wonders why she didn't just say this in the first place.
"I'm happy for you," Fidelio says. His charming smile is [a little tight, a little strained, don't-blink-or-it'll-disappear] plastered neatly across his freckled face.
He walks up the stairs to the 3rd year boy's dormitories without a backward glance. He's humming some inane tune to himself under his breath, and Olivia wants to say something—anything—because that'll shut him up.
Stupid, oblivious, violinist…
But she can only stand there, glaring hotly after him, and clench her fists until she has little half-moon shaped nail marks engraved on her palms.
It hurts that out of all the boys she knows, Fidelio—certainly the funniest and most understand, not to mention the only one who's caught a glimpse of the real Olivia Vertigo—is also the only one who can make her this angry.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Olivia bounces up-and-down on her bed. She's got the best one out of the twelve, for it's right next to the window. Emma had begged softly for this one, since it is situated wonderfully for a possible night of flying, but secretly, Olivia likes being a little selfish. Besides, Emma is a bit of a [such] a pushover, even if she is Olivia's best friend in all the world.
"Em! Em! Em!"
Emma sighs, shaking her head in mirth. "What is it, Liv?"
"Guess what I am! Guess!"
"A girl who's finally cracked. I always knew you were crazy."
Olivia sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I'll give you a hint: It has to do with Charlie." She grins.
Emma gasps, dropping her stuffed owl, Hector. Olivia retrieves it for her and tosses the purple plush into her arms.
"NO!"
"YES!"
Em laughs in delight, letting Hector drop to the ground once more. She scrambles onto Olivia's bed with her, and the two girls jump to their feet to perform a victory chant, flapping imaginary wings and squawking like egrets until Gwyneth Howells chucks a pillow at Emma, knocking both her and Olivia to the floor, where they collapse in fits of helpless, hysterical giggles.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"I've done it!" whoops Charlie, pacing round the dormitory in euphoria. He slaps high-fives with every boy in the room, including Bragger Braine and Rupe Small.
The boys cheer, all congratulating Charlie for landing the sexiest [beautiful] girl in their year. Fidelio can't bring himself to join in, though. He sits on the edge of his small bed, pretending to be engrossed in his Schubert quintet score.
After the celebratory pats on the back and the cheers subside, Charlie flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling with his head atop his hands. "Wow," he breathes. "Wow."
Fidelio has this horrible urge to punch him. It would feel good, all that pent-up desire and attraction and love for Olivia released in the glorious wreckage of Charlie Bone's face.
Charlie is turned toward him now, laying on his side. "Fido, did Liv ever say anything about liking me?"
"How should I know?" Fidelio says, straining to keep the cheery note in his voice. [Everything's okay, you're okay, just breathe, breathe, remember your music, see?]
"Well, you and Liv have been friends since the beginning of first year, right? And she talks to you constantly, she's gotta have told you something."
"No. She didn't say anything at all, actually," Fidelio says.
At the sight of Charlie's downcast face, he feels a thrill of victory, then a thought—[why should it matter?], then a stab of regret.
"Um, actually, she did say something. She said she liked you about a year ago. Sorry, I forgot. I was too distracted."
Charlie smiles, radiant, and Fidelio wants to punch himself. But instead he slides out of bed, saying, "Charlie, tell your Aunt I've got some emergency practicing to do. I'm going to take a walk."
He really does practice, though. There are two things in the world that Fidelio Gunn does not, under any circumstances, lie about, and practicing the violin is one of them.
It's only once he's tuned up and scraping the bow across the strings, playing out his heart in mournful strains, that he remembers that he has already [just] broken the second one.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Em?"
"Yeah?"
It is midnight, and Emma and Olivia are still whispering. Emma hugs Hector close, and Olivia lies cocooned in a haze of satisfaction.
"How should I wear my hair tomorrow?"
"Hmmm… well, how does Charlie like it best?"
Olivia thinks for a moment, then answers slowly, "He's actually never said. What do you think?"
Emma yawns. "I think it looks best purple." Yawning again, she adds, "Fido reckons it does too."
Olivia ignores her stomach clenching around her dinner of over six hours ago, and says, "Okay. Purple it is. And the motorcycle boots or the heels?"
"I think Charlie likes heels. Plus, 'member that Lydia Pieman girl? She had half of last year's senior class falling over her, and she always wore heels, always."
"But she was a boyfriend stealer."
"What?"
"Or a would-be boyfriend stealer, she…" Olivia sighs, trailing off. It really isn't all that important.
Emma flings her arms out suddenly and giggles softly. "Liv! We're growing up, and you've got a boyfriend, and I think Tancred will ask me any day now… just think, we'll probably double-date in highschool! Won't that be fun?"
"Yeah," Olivia laughs, 'cause it does sound like fun. The only problem would be convincing the other three to see a concert or show instead of a movie.
"Night," says Emma, after a sleepy pause. Olivia pretends that she is already asleep.
Emma snuggles up with Hector, and Olivia stares and stares at the ceiling. She doesn't want to tell Emma that she is much more compatible with Gabe than with Tancred.
As for herself and Charlie, they were nearly perfect.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
On Friday afternoon, Charlie hugs Olivia goodbye and kisses her on the cheek before dropping her off at the steps of the drama bus. Fidelio only watches gloomily from the blue bus, managing a halfhearted wave back at Olivia when she waves her arm wildly at him from the window of her bus.
Charlie sits down beside him and says, "We're all meeting at the Pet's Café this weekend."
Fidelio represses the urge to shrug. "Do you need me there?"
"What?" Charlie looks puzzled. Fidelio can't imagine why. He squirms in his seat, hoping Charlie will get it before he has to spell it out.
He does. Fidelio is surprised but not really shocked.
"Oh, Fido, it does have something to do with this box I nicked from Manfred's office this Tuesday… we think it's got something really important in it, and we're going to try to open it on Sunday."
So you don't need me?
Fidelio coughs. "Sorry, I have to practice with my brother's band this weekend. Can't come."
[You dirty rotten liar, liar, LIAR, what kind of a friend are you?]
He almost feels bad. But he's used this excuse so many times that he barely feels the sting of betrayal anymore. He's just failed to mention, for the millionth time, that Felix's band meets on Saturday evenings, not Sundays.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Olivia almost drops the phone when Charlie calls to tell her that he'd like to meet her at the park on Saturday night. She can hear Masie giggling in the background, and she jumps for joy as soon as she can hang up.
It takes her the entire day to pick out a reasonable outfit—shredded tulle indigo skirt, pale pink tights, silver tank with the glitter, and iridescent white silk ballet flats that lace in the front with bows. She looks at herself in the mirror, and applies makeup—icy lips and wild dark blue eyelids, a magenta star on her left cheek. She dyes her hair dark brown and blows a kiss to her reflection—she is ready.
Charlie meets her at the swings, looking hunched and excited. He's wearing an orange t-shirt; bright orange, like a highlighter. It kind of annoys her.
He stiffly puts one arm on her waist and another on her face, and leans in, his pale face getting bigger and bigger and bigger. Olivia doesn't really have any time to form coherent thoughts, but the last thing she perceives before his lips touch hers is Charlie's nose, surely the biggest thing she's ever seen in her life.
She closes her eyes then, like in the movies, so she doesn't have to see anything. Charlie's lips touch hers, and then—
All of a sudden, it occurs to her that this is her very first kiss. Charlie just kind of stands there with his mouth pressed against hers, so she clumsily moves her lips around a bit to kiss him back. He tastes faintly of sausages.
After Charlie figures out how to kiss her back, it isn't half bad. Olivia smiles to herself as she pulls away and thinks, We're gonna need some major practice.
They sit on a bench, alternately kissing and talking, and once in a while, Olivia laughs out loud, and thinks that this is the most wonderful date ever. It doesn't matter that it is her first.
A chill sweeps through the air. Olivia wraps her arms round herself, and suddenly asks, "Have you ever been all alone in the dark—like in your bedroom late at night—and afraid, really afraid, of what's out there?" She shivers, then continues. "But you're most afraid of simply reaching out and ending it all by turning on the light?"
Charlie stares at her for a long moment. He runs a hand through his hair, then asks, "Liv, what kind of a question is that?"
"Just answer it."
"Um, no, I guess. Wouldn't you want to turn on the light? That way, you can see who your enemies are."
Olivia swallows hard around the lump in her throat that [isn't quite supposed to be there], and whispers, "Exactly."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Fidelio, Fidelio-o-o!"
Mimi is sprawled across Fidelio's bed, clutching Pudding under one arm and an old violin in the other. Fidelio wonders when—or why—his parents thought it was a good idea to replace the stuffed toys normal children certainly had with broken instruments and a deaf cat.
"What is it, Mims?"
"I've gotta secret! And I'm not going to tell you-u-u-u!"
He absentmindedly puts down his violin bow and ruffles Mimi's curly head. "Of course you're going to tell me, Mims."
Mimi sticks out her tongue at him, and when he scoops her up to hug her, wriggles away. "Ewww you nasty boy! Get away from me! Of course I'm not going to tell you my secret."
"All right," Fidelio says, shrugging and picking up his violin. He smiles to himself as he begins to play; he's always said that Mimi could keep a secret from anyone—anyone, that is, except her older brother.
Cross-legged, Mimi rocks back and forth on the bed, sucking her teeth and looking uncannily like Manfred Bloor. She hugs Pudding so tight that her yellow eyes bulge, and clasps the violin hard in her little arms. Fidelio sighs and raises his eyebrows at her; in truth, she looks more than a little deranged.
"That purple hair girl is bad. I'll protect you from her, okay?"
Fidelio almost chokes. "Mimi, why would you want to protect me from Olivia?"
"Because she-e-e-e-ess getting toooo close to you," says Mimi, her eyes huge and her little fingers grasping at nothing, "and I won't let anyone steal my Fidelio away from me-e-e-e."
She crawls up his legs and torso until she's resting in his arms, then hugs his curly head tight in her little arms. "Fido Fido Fido nom nom nom." Mimi sucks her thumb loudly in his ear.
Fidelio wonders when every second thought in his head started to be about Olivia, and when certain people [like Gabe and Mimi] began reminding him about her in every spare moment when he was able to forget her.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Olivia doesn't like painting.
She supposes that painting is a bit like applying makeup, and so theoretically she should be very, very good at it.
But she's not, and so she just sits on the edge of her bed with a tray of watercolors, splashing a bit of mauve here and some sunset orange here, and, in a few minutes, realizes that her painting looks pathetic.
This frustrates her. If painting is this fun, why shouldn't the results be amazing as well? It certainly worked that way for acting.
That was just it, she thinks, scowling. The world doesn't work logically. You've gotta try real hard to get anything out of life. And the talents you do have—well, they really aren't all that special.
She grits her teeth at this thought. Sometimes, in the most secret part of her heart, she wishes that she were still the different one of the group. She had tried all those years to look different, to act different, to be different—and for what? By and by, she came to realize that she was exactly the same as the rest of them.
Olivia used to harbor a secret wish to fit in. Now, she only wishes that the monotony of Olivia Vertigo, Illusionist would end and she could go right back to being just Olivia Vertigo again.
Someday, she'll see her name in lights, and it'll make her heart near burst with fizzy euphoria. Someday, she'll have to fight a battle for a cause she nearly doesn't know, and even while her face is smiling wide she'll be breaking from the inside out. But she's still part of it, whether she likes it or not. The only hard part will be dipping herself in battle scars and throwing the frilly, happy, normal Olivia into the waste-paper bin.
[Someday, she'll realize that it's already too late to say good-bye]
She relishes the thought of perishing just before that crucial moment of truth.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Pet's Café is near-empty that Sunday. Charlie brings her a green heavenly and a cocoa; she doesn't bother to remind him that she likes cherry blossom cordial better. Charlie does what he thinks is best; that is his way.
[Sometimes, it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks]
Emma would think it was sweet if a boy brought her something he thought she would like, but a small part of Olivia's brain insists that it is downright inconsiderate. She doesn't bother to remind herself that the old Olivia Vertigo would have proclaimed her fondness for cherry blossom cordial loudly, and insist that Charlie fetch some of that for her—but the thought comes unbidden into her head anyways.
Olivia sighs and leans her elbows on the table, wondering when all this talk of war and battle will end and they can all go back to their normal lives.
Now Charlie is saying something about a will—"Uncle Paton told me that Maybelline Raven, when she was a Bloor, willed the entire Bloor fortune to Billy Raven, but Beatrice Bloor stole the will and gave it to Bertram. And we think that Maybelline's will is in this very box." He whips out a gilded box, laying it on the table.
Olivia lets herself be caught up in the excitement for a while, but stiffens when she realizes what the box really means.
"Charlie," she says, tugging at his sleeve.
"What, Liv?"
"Even if we manage to get Billy out of Badlock—"
"When, Liv, when—"
"Alright, but when we get him out—will he really want to own Bloors anyway?"
Everyone is silent, staring at her. Emma's jaw is actually drooping half-open.
Olivia draws herself up and forces herself to continue. "I mean, that's the place where he grew up, and the place where his life was made miserable. I don't think he'd want to ever go back there ever again, when he comes back."
She laughs, high and strange. The table is still rather hushed. "I didn't think any of us would ever want to go back, after Billy was taken away."
Charlie looks at her and speaks, low and husky. "But it's our destiny."
It would have sounded silly had he not been so serious.
[Sometimes, you just wanna get away from it all]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Fido!"
It's Monday morning and Fidelio is clean-cut and ready for another week. Contrary to what everyone else thinks, Mondays are his favorite days, simply because there's something magical about starting over again. It's as if you could erase the mistakes of the week gone by and begin again with a clean slate.
It doesn't matter that, not very long ago, he didn't see life this way. That was the time when he was only Fidelio Gunn, Star Violinist. That Fidelio didn't make mistakes.
"Olivia! How was your weekend?"
She is close now, so close that he can smell the fruit fizz of her perfume. He drinks in the feeling of her—messy chalk lines painted on asphalt, dripping sequins down a skinny cocktail dress, a dragonfly dyed electric against the sky.
"Not so good. But it's Monday now, and we've got another week."
She takes his arm, beginning to drag him off to the music wing. "Wanna help me practice my solo for the play?"
Fidelio smiles [really smiles, huge and happy] and follows her, laughing, into an abandoned practice room.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
There's no doubt about it, Manfred Bloor is a wreck.
It's sorta [glaringly] obvious to the rest of them, because his black eyes are dim and his hair is always a mess and he looks like he hasn't showered in weeks and the smell of liquor always floats blearily around him and he is shabby and torn and broken and alone. Olivia almost feels sorry for him, but she knows that it's his fault anyways, so why bother?
But Charlie makes it worse by grabbing her round the waist and sticking out his chest and parading her past Manfred Bloor. He only turns away in despair, limping swiftly away, his bony shoulders trying [failing] to hide their shake. Olivia wonders why Charlie does this for a moment, then sees the [see? Look what I got. I'm happy, happy, happy, and you've got nothing] smug gleam in Charlie's eye and wrenches her arm out of his grasp.
"Liv! What is it?"
"I know what you're doing, you horrible, nasty person. You've got to use me to hurt someone else, and it does hurt him because he's so idiotic he chased his own friends away, but that's not important. It only shows that you're so uncertain inside that you have to make someone else miserable to feel happy yourself."
She pokes him in the chest. "That's pathetic."
Turning swiftly, she marches down the corridor, letting his apologies and excuses fall to deaf ears. Later, she knows, she'll forgive him, but now, all she wants is to get into that practice room with Fidelio and forget absolutely everything except the feel of the notes on her tongue and the pounding of music in her head.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
She fashions a burning tree out of memory that week.
They're all out at break, huddled deep in the ruin in a small circle, even while Fido looks lost and gazes round the ruined castle for someone, and she stands behind a nearby tree and makes it look like it's burning.
Tancred shouts and Emma gasps and Charlie runs over to investigate, and Olivia only smiles secretly to herself. They see only what they want to see—the elm, ablaze with light and smoke—but not the slim girl standing in its perfect shadow.
Later, Charlie tells her about it—"We think Manfred's got something to do with it," and she only says, "Y'know, haven't you wondered if maybe it's someone else?"
Charlie gets this look in his eye, and says, gripping her wrist, "You mean the shadow?"
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Olivia whispers. It isn't a lie. She feels so shadowy nowadays that she might as well disappear altogether.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The increasing feeling of burning is getting closer and closer now. Fidelio feels it deep in his chest, squeezing until he thinks he'll explode. Surprisingly, he is still all cheer and smiles on the outside, turning the other cheek for another slap when he is left out of things, as he so often is nowadays.
Only Olivia can cheer him, and she is so often joined-at-the-hip with Charlie. Fidelio tells himself that he's only imagining the lost look in her eyes when she stands this way with Charlie, because when he gets close to her, her eyes still hold that familiar spark. But he doesn't like to get too close now, because whenever he does, his heart threatens to spill over into a sloppy confession of love.
And that, he thinks, wouldn't do at all.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
By the time Olivia has planted three other specific illusions of blazing trees on the grounds of the academy, Charlie is completely convinced that Count Harken is back. "It all fits!" he whispers harshly at Friday's break. "I mean, the king used to be a tree, right? So this is all completely symbolic. And he's trying to goad us… into a false sense of security, because he's not actually hurting anyone, is he?"
Olivia has to admit that Charlie had surprised her in his willingness to accept the false information she had fed him. Now he's planned to go into Badlock and find Billy, because it's too late for anything else.
So off he will go. Tentative plans have been set for the weekend after next, and Charlie will go [through the looking glass] into Badlock, and there he will find… the Count, alive and well and certainly not absent. Olivia idly wonders what she'll do then.
It's only when Fidelio and Emma voice their opinions about the present grand plan that her eyes tear up and her neck tilts decadently to the sky, because she cannot bear to see them so swaddled by all these lies.
She wonders why she felt the need to make the illusions at all. Part of her thinks that maybe it's because now, no one pays her any attention at all. She can bury herself in her schoolwork and drama and music and no one will care. But in her heart, she knows that this isn't true. The endowed children care even more now, because she is one of them, and they can use all the allies they can get.
It makes her feel sick to her stomach—who ever heard of friends who only like you when danger abounds?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Fidelio enjoys Friday night's picnic as much as the rest of them. It's really fun. Tancred crows and sets marshmallows on fire, and Emma laughs, really laughs, when Gabe catches a chocolate bar in his hair and flings it back to Charlie, who falls over, grinning and tumbling head-over-heels. Lysander smiles around at everyone and tells spooky stories in a low voice until everyone is on edge, and Fidelio teaches the rest to play Egyptian Rat Screw, which they enjoy immensely.
He supposes he likes it so much because it isn't staged, like so many of their meetings now are. They are only kids, and tonight they are free to laugh and grin and smile until the wind is stolen from their lungs.
Olivia is nervous; he can tell. Her eyes are huge and oddly shiny, and he thinks it's got nothing to do with the way Charlie keeps whispering slyly in her left ear. She is turning her charm bracelet round and round so fast that the silver becomes a blur, and she keeps exchanging glances with the sky. It is only once she gazes across the fire at him for a moment and then flees, running swiftly up the hill, that he understands what he's got to do.
"I'll go," he offers. Charlie makes to protest, but Fidelio shushes him, saying, "I know what's wrong. Come up in a few minutes; she'll be calmer."
He walks up the steep hill with his back hunched and his face drawn in confusion. It's just another lie out of the millions—so why should it even matter?
[Sometimes, we'll sacrifice even sanity for love]
Olivia is slumped beneath the tree on the hill, her knees up to her chin and her head buried in her hands. She looks up at him and he notices that her face is streaked with tears. He wonders why he is surprised. He just wants to know—everything, supposing that Olivia will be willing to tell. He just wants to hold her and let her cry and answer her with kisses when she tells him her secrets. He wants to love her and forgive her anything at all—he doesn't care what she's done.
[Sometimes, this kind of feeling can be dangerous]
She looks heavenward, suddenly, then screeches, "I hate you, Fidelio Gunn!"
He looks up, not as astonished as he should be, but earnest all the same. "Whatever for?"
"Remember in first year—before stupid Charlie and those stupid endowed and this stupid war—remember when we promised to always be there for each other, or some silly rot like that?"
"Yeah." He is crouched beside her now, wanting so bad to reach out and wipe away her sadness with his thumb.
"You promised me, Fidelio Gunn!" she says, sobbing. "And today, I realized that you were lying." Her grey eyes glint with malice, but he isn't afraid. She's only Liv, and right now, she needs him.
"Liv, I don't lie to you." He leaves out the rest of the sentence—You're too important—but it doesn't seem to matter.
"Yes, you did!" Olivia says, frustrated. "When this—my—silly endowment came up, you didn't even care, like you didn't notice, like it was just some phase I was going through, like I'd grow out of it—"
"Liv, I did care and I did notice! I just felt like... well, like you might've been leaving me behind."
"Oh, Fido," she says, all unexpected, making her way to her knees beside him. "You don't want to be endowed. You think you do, but you don't." She sniffs. "Believe me, I know."
And then she is wrapping her arms straight-then-curled around him, pressing his face up to her neck and burying her nose in his hair, cradling his head in her palms. He is flying, and doesn't care that she is saying stuff like, "Darling, it'll be alright, it's okay, I'm here, shhh. Shhh," and generally mothering him, because she is holding him, and that's all that matters.
He thinks of Mimi crying softly after she's scraped her knee and hugging her violin, comforting it as if she would a baby, and he realizes that it is the same with Olivia and him. She thinks that she's got no one to comfort her, so she must channel those feelings by consoling another, trying in some desperate way to heal herself. So Fidelio draws up and hugs back, trying so damn hard to tell her what he feels—what he's always felt—for her, by silently stroking her purple hair, letting her sob into his shoulder.
Charlie comes up the grassy knoll, looking dazed and perplexed [and a bit angry], and Fidelio passes Olivia off to him without a word.
He walks away, heart heavy and left hand spasmodically performing a twitchy vibrato, and sings a forgotten song to an empty soul.
[Someone's always got to walk away, y'know?]
Olivia lets Charlie hold her and act bumbling and confused and pretend to understand, but suddenly, it doesn't feel all that good to cry.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That Saturday, she looks in the mirror and, hating herself for it, cries some more.
She'd thought that feeling important to them all would make her feel better.
Now, she decides that all she wants is to get out.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Today, there is another meeting at the Pet's Café.
Today, Charlie moves the date of Billy's rescue to next Saturday.
Today, Fidelio doesn't show for the millionth time.
Today, Olivia sees Lysander looking at her as she laughs too loudly at something Emma had said that [wasn't-even-funny] and realizes that nobody here would even want to be seen with her if she wasn't endowed.
She gets up from the table, the world swaying dizzily around her, and grabs her coat. "I-I'm not feeling well… I'd better take a walk," she chokes out, then flees the café and its too-bright-lights.
She finds Fidelio at his house, sitting on the front porch and idly flipping through a history textbook. His eyebrows go up as she comes up the walk. "Hey."
Olivia plops down beside him and laughs, simply because she can. "So you don't have rehearsal on Sundays. You were lying, weren't you, Fido," she says. He nods and she continues. "They aren't all like that, you know. Gabe isn't, I don't think, and Emma isn't, not really. But I do feel like you do—that they won't even look twice at someone who isn't endowed."
"But you don't want to be endowed." At the twitch of his jaw, she holds up a hand, smiling. "I'll explain. I know… I know I didn't last time. If you're endowed… they just see you as some tool, who'll do whatever they say without question. They want to control everyone as much as the Bloors do. And because I don't want all that—I just wanna get out, and see the world, and forget about all of this—I want so much for this all to be over, and they are beginning to hate me for it."
"It's like denying your destiny," she says, smiling. "I don't want to be endowed. I don't want to be an illusionist, I don't want to be a child of the Red King. I just wanna be me. Me, me, me, and nobody else. And all those fires? They're illusions. All lies, everything, just… created to make me feel better. And guess what? It didn't work."
Fidelio speaks for the first time. "So why me? Why tell me, of all people?"
"Because you're the only one who will ever understand why," she says, and he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, flinching when she seems to lean into his touch.
"Liv? Promise me we'll always be friends."
"Yeah," she says, and laughs.
[Sometimes, it feels better to live]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Next Sunday, Charlie remembers that he's left his homework at Fidelio's house, and of course everyone has to come trooping after him, Tancred and Lysander and Gabe and Emma, the whole gang of them. Of course Olivia and Fidelio are sitting on the porch eating popsicles, and of course Charlie sees them and believes the worst.
"But I thought she was at an audition—" Lysander says, but Charlie cuts him off with a snarl.
"I believed in you, Olivia Vertigo. I believed in you, and I believed you would help us. And you'd rather—you'd rather sit here and do nothing?"
"Charlie—no—you don't understand—"
"Oh, I understand all right, Vertigo. I understand that you've chosen him over me, and that Gunn here has been lying to me, haven't you, all along, you—"
"Liv, the trees!" Emma gasps, her blue eyes wide. "The trees, oh, you poor thing, we love you, of course we do, I had no idea—"
Charlie gasps as if he's been punched in the stomach. "You liars," he hisses, and turns and stalks off, Lysander and Tancred trudging behind him. Emma and Gabe melt away much more slowly, but they pause at the gate.
"It's okay, Liv. I don't know exactly what's been going on, but…" Emma smiles dreamily, her blond hair floating about her. "I'll help you explain when the time is right."
Olivia nods at Emma gratefully, then watches her go, pausing only to look up and stare at the grey sky.
[Sometimes, you've gotta destroy almost everything to break free]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Olivia writes a note on the back of a coffee-stained receipt for Kingdom's and hands it wordlessly to Emma during break. Emma reads it and cries with her, then hugs her, whispering, "We all really miss you, you know. Nobody's the same without the two of you, because, if you think about it, you're the only ones who've kept us sane all these years."
Olivia agrees to try it, and Fidelio is glad. They walk to the Pet's Café silently that Saturday, and everyone stands when they walk in, like they're signaling some foreign dignitaries. Olivia smiles shyly and Fidelio steps close to Charlie and apologizes, stuttering and stammering and eyes stinging with tears. Charlie stumbles to his feet and looks too sharp, too poised, too imposing, but in the end his eyes shine bright and he catches Fido round the neck and hugs him. The boys break away in seconds, mussing their hair and looking embarrassed, but Emma smiles round at everyone and they know that they are friends.
Olivia doesn't know whether she'll ever quite like the plotting and the planning-out of things. But she knows this: she will do anything in her power to end the conflict between the children of the Red King. After all, she is one of them, whether she likes it or not. And it's taken some pain to make her admit it to herself, but they are her friends, and although they have their faults, she doesn't know what she would do without them.
So maybe she still doesn't like being endowed. But she reaches deep inside herself and finds the true Olivia Vertigo—a girl who is, most of all, unafraid of what comes her way. Dazzling, daring, unique, and grounded—that's her, and that's the girl she wants to be.
And she looks at Fidelio and he smiles at her—and she knows, really knows, that all is right with their world.
[Someday, we'll realize that we've found that one person who brings out the best in us]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Fido?"
She holds his hand on a hot summer day, tracing the structure of its bones with her thumb.
"Yeah?"
He glances back at her, still not quite sure whether he's dreaming or not.
"I still don't act like an endowed. I haven't got my morals straightened out; I don't know how to be serious." She sighs. "I'm still… different."
"Maybe… maybe different is good."
[Today, we find ourselves in each other]
end
Meh. So I don't quite like this as much as I thought I would, but hey. Why not post it? Points for the Grease reference. And I really enjoyed writing Olivia like this.