Hi everyone!
I'm back with a new chapter ready for you guys :D Thank you for all the amazing comments you left about the previous one, I'm so very happy you enjoyed it :)
Also, I appreciate very much that you are keeping any mentions and spoilers about the new season of the show from the comments, thank you guys, sorry to repeat it again but I still haven't started it, lol.
Anyway, here you go with the new chapter :D
Enjoy
There is honor among thieves.
You and Alex might not have had a deal, or be working-partners in a "job" you needed to do together and split equally the resulting profit, but the fact that she stays the night, and with that keeps the promise she made you, it's enough for you to consider her as a woman of her word.
Humanly honest under the dishonesty of her so called crimes.
But, to you at least, the first trait has so much more weight and importance that the two things counterbalance, especially since you still don't think of her as a real criminal.
So Alex stays the night, and the next morning you wake up, so pleasantly sore in all the right places, so rested and content, and to the wonderful sight of her sleeping peacefully right next to you.
Naked perfection of soft curves and feminine hint of muscle sculpted in ivory, wrapped in silky sheets and caressed by the warm glow of the first morning lights, that smooth out her features so beautifully and bring up a stunning hidden shade of auburn in her thick proud black mane.
Your fingers itch with the urge to slip through its silky softness, but you don't want to risk and wake her up, so you just stare at her, somehow longingly, until her breathing turns a little more uneven and those soft green eyes flutter open to greet the day.
She squints a bit against the brightness of the rising sun, but still manages to catch you staring, because of course she does, triggering a rush of heat that rises up your neck to warm your cheeks in a soft blush that gets rewarded by a dashing sleepy grin and a sweetly raspy "morning, kid" that makes your heart skip a beat and shapes your own lips into a shy little smile.
When you asked her to stay the night the main thought that had crossed your mind at the moment was the one of not waking up alone and feel that weird hollow chilliness caved in your chest, but you hadn't specifically thought about the actual intimacy that a moment such as this one would have brought.
It's hard to remember last time you have shared something even remotely close to this with anyone, let alone with someone you barely knew. But you have stopped wondering about how Alex's presence has never felt like the one of a stranger ever since the first time you spoke, after that rather embarrassing incident with the tequila.
And yet, she always manages to keep that veil of mystery wrapped around her that makes her look all the more alluring... in a forbidden, almost dangerous sort of way, but that doesn't scare you. Quite the opposite in fact.
Even right now, watching her, barely awake, squinting and rolling over on the bed to lay on her stomach in between amusingly adorable grumbles, trying to escape the sunrays kissing her face.
The scene kind of reminds you of a feline being woken up from a lazy afternoon nap.
And even if you have seen how beautifully the blue glow of the moonlight flatters her already gorgeous features, if possible, the soft amber of the sun warming her flawless alabaster skin makes her look even more stunning.
And damn it, you are staring at her again, and this time Alex does say something about it besides grinning so infuriatingly smugly at you.
"Nice view?"
Such a smug, gorgeous smartass...
She even stretches a little for good measure, rolling on her side, propping herself up on an elbow, doing an excellent job in making the movement look somehow casual in its elegance, smirking in satisfaction when she sees your gaze fall to where the sheets have ridden lower, exposing more of her chest and just barely covering the soft round curve of her generous, full breasts.
You lick your lips without even realizing it.
Exquisite, you want to answer, but your tongue feels thick and heavy in your mouth and when you try to swallow, your throat feels so impossibly dry in front of that breathtaking sight, while other parts of you feel... way too moist to be comfortable.
You resist the urge to squirm and press your legs together because you refuse to give her the satisfaction of leaving you speechless - and wet - like this. So you scoot closer to her, completely ignoring that perfectly sculpted amused arched eyebrow as your gaze caresses every exposed inch of skin you can find, from the slender toned leg swung over the sheets, tracing the delicious dip of her hipbone and up to her waist and chest and neck and delicate collarbone, missing only the way her expression smooths from that annoying complacent look into a lighter smile in the instant you reach her jaw, her lips, and then automatically lean in to kiss her.
It's such a magnetic, almost instinctive movement that it takes you a moment to realize what you have done and for that seemingly infinite second where your lips touch hers, you freeze, suddenly feeling unsure, because things tend to be different under the morning light.
But you don't need to worry, because apparently, this, is not one of those cases.
Alex just cups your jaw to draw you closer and kiss you back. Softly and so sweetly that not only it lifts the sense of uncertainty that had dropped on your chest but it also makes your heart leap acrobatics as the rest of your body melts and curls against hers.
There is that sort of tenderness seeping into the kiss that feels so appropriate after the night of consuming passion that you have shared. Soothing in a recovering way.
You don't even feel the need to deepen it, partially because a bit self-conscious of the taste of sleep lingering in your mouth, but mostly because, the innocent way your lips search each other's, makes it simply perfect just like it is.
You savor how Alex's lips close so perfectly with yours, making it last for as long as you can, knowing that with the start of the new day come other responsibilities and duties - mostly for her you guess - an impression that is proven right when, after a few sweet long - but not enough - minutes you part and she murmurs exactly what you were both expecting and dreading.
"I have to go, kid." The sigh and wistful smile that follow add all the weight to that those few words. "Got work to do." She unnecessarily explains, because you already guessed that much, but you still wonder, quite curiously, if such work has something to do with the new little shiny trinket that she has... acquired.
She reaches out to tuck a strand of hair away from your face and you can't help but lean into that delicate touch when it lingers into a gentle caress, fingers tracing almost reverently the shell of your ear, a simple extremely tender gesture that dulls a bit the feeling sinking in your stomach, even though you knew very well that parting ways in the morning was inevitable.
"I know." You answer at last, just as softly, still reluctant to give up this moment and burst the sphere of quietness and contentment wrapped around you, turning to kiss her fingers, then palm, and then her wrist, delighted when you hear her chuckle at your teasingly nibbling teeth on the side of her thumb.
She pulls you closer once again, gifting you of a few more minutes of... whatever this wonderful quiet safe moment is, before she invites you to stay and enjoy the room until the check out hour if you want, but even if you appreciate the offer, the idea of staying there alone isn't very appealing, so you just disentangle yourself, reluctantly, regretfully, from Alex and take a quick shower before leaving with her.
"So," She's the first one to speak when you exit the hotel and you can't help but feel a little like at the end of a date you don't want to conclude just yet.
"So..." You echo, feeling both a bit amused and shy but not awkward as you too try to find some appropriate words, something along the line of "I had a wonderful time" but more subtle to not let yourself too exposed, but of course what leaves your lips in an eager rush after a beat of silence is a curious and hopeful, "When will I see you again?"
You wince inwardly, barely resisting the urge to groan and face-palm yourself, blushing into the most embarrassing shade of pink when your question, as expected, is first answered with one of Alex's slightly throaty chuckles.
"Well," She drawls after she manages to get a hold of her humor, with that same soft teasing smile tinging her smooth deep voice, "I was hoping soon. But... give me some time, kid."
She must definitely see the flash of confusion and not-quite-hurt that crosses your face at that choice of words, because she immediately reassures you with a promising, "I want to surprise you."
Oh.
The sincere smile with no trace of mischievousness that curls up one corner of her mouth with that clarification brings some relief, but it's only when she leans in and kisses you, sealing that promise right on the corner of your mouth that such relief really has a chance to flood through your veins and soothe that tension that had tightened so unexpectedly some hidden string in your chest at the doubt left by her first answer.
You turn your head just that tiny bit so you can catch more of those impossibly soft lips with your own, delighted when she gladly lingers there for a heartbeat longer.
When she pulls back your head is a bit fuzzy even after such an innocent brief kiss, and your eyes flutter open barely in time to see her throw you a wink and flash you a little smirk before she turns and walks away down the street, leaving you there, dumbfounded and staring at her retreating figure. So exquisite even from behind.
You only return to yourself and become once again aware of your surroundings and of the fact that you are standing, still, with your lips slightly parted, when someone bumps into you.
They either apologize or grumble their irritation for you playing the lamp post in the middle of the sidewalk, you really couldn't tell, and you surely enough couldn't care less. The spell that Alex's smile and that her general enchanting presence had on you gets shaken off with that collision, and yet, your gaze still searches for her where you have seen her walk down the street.
But the very elusive woman is already gone.
Swallowed and mingled among the horde of other passersby.
The sun is high and bright in the sky and the breeze so pleasant on the skin against the heat of the summer morning, that after a final look back, you turn and decided to walk on the opposite direction instead that towards the metro, with the fuzzy feeling that has nestled in your belly and the silly smile that keeps tugging stubbornly at your lips without you even realizing it following you all the way back to your studio apartment.
. . .
It feels almost unreal get back home and return to your conventional, boring, newly graduated- unemployed routine after the night you had, after the turns that the latest exciting events with Alex have taken. But you can honestly say, that despite all that you had planned, you never meant for all this to get so far. At some point, your curiosity has become... Something less shallow.
And even though you still don't know what all of this truly means, you have every intention to find out, and you know that it's not just the vein of journalist in you nudging you to do so.
There is nothing on the news about a break in at the Smithsonian.
Nothing about jewels having been stolen from there. And surely enough there are no mentions about the elusive red rose thief anywhere for the next few days, so either the curator and the authorities are keeping it down to not let the media and the public know, or Alex's replacement has truly fooled everyone.
You can't even contain the chuckle that slips past your lips at the thought.
You are sitting at your desk in front of your laptop one late afternoon, like you always do when searching for a job where your skills and studies would be properly valued and taken in consideration because being a part time waitress may pay those few bills you have but it doesn't give you any satisfaction, when you find yourself spacing out again, wondering about what was so special about the jewel that Alex has stolen.
You decide to search for it on the internet and when you find the photo, your first thought is that even if they tried to exalt its brightness and beauty with the best lights and angle, there is nothing like seeing it in person, even if just under the soft glow of a full moon.
The Sailor's Promise, they call it. A petty name that devalues a jewel of such beauty into something that sounds worthless, but there is something ironic about that name, especially considering the bright blue of the sapphire and the Oceanic explorations of the period it had been crafted.
You forget your job search and just lean forward into the desk, already filled with papers and folders and documents about all of Alex's theft around the world, reading the description of the jewel with accuracy, not even a bit surprised when you find out that the gemstone is something truly exceptional.
A kind of sapphire unlike the others.
Something that has to do with its density and age, billions of years old apparently, and yet, despite the preciousness of the very ancient stone, strangely enough, it's more valued for the beauty that comes from its use in the necklace's composition than for the gem alone.
Alex might have thought differently, because her interest, considering her precedent "works" at least, never had anything to do with necklaces made of simple common diamonds or pearls.
No, she stands out from any ordinary jewel thief, for so many reasons... For her formidable ambition and touch in bringing to term the most difficult theft without being minimally detected or leaving a single trace behind for starters. For her exquisite refined classic taste.
But mostly, for her daring nature; a pull that has her go after the finest and most exceptional pieces of jewelry that have ever been crafted in history.
No, Alex is no thief.
Because do what she manages to accomplish so exceptionally, eluding and leaving the entire world astounded every single time, requires patience and skill. And to you, the combination of those traits, make her job another form of art.
Just like her own other honest works of jewelry are.
And you would know that. Because, after all, in a way, for how unintentional and random, that's how you first found out and then successively came to know about her.
Because it's one of her works that eventually had you suspect of her behind those world wide famous thefts in the first place.
You shut down your laptop, and after a minute of contemplation, you reach for the bottom drawer of your desk and for the little velvety box tucked in the secret compartment hidden beneath it.
The familiarity of that softness under your touch bring you back to a couple of nights ago when you have spent full minutes just caressing the velvet necklace case resting unopened in your lap, but this more tiny one you think will always trigger a more emotional response, even just by holding it.
It's been months.
And yet your throat still closes up a bit and your eyes still sting with unshed tears, but the sight of the little box also never fails to tug your lips into a small smile.
You hold it for a moment longer before flipping the lid open and stare thoughtfully at its tiny shiny content, like you have done so many times before, letting the memory of the very first time wash over you...
"She wanted you to have it, sweetheart."
You don't think you have ever seen your father look so lost and utterly heartbroken in all your life.
Not even when your mother asked for the divorce when you were still a kid, but the smile that he gives you as he hands you the small velvet box is sincere and almost proud under that thick layer of sadness that has seeped also into your own bones these days.
Your grandmother is gone.
And even if you can't understand your dad's pain quite as fully, it's still hard for you, too, to let go of her, of the one person who has always been there to feed you some wise advice when you needed it and support you and encourage you in choices your own parents didn't seem to approve as strongly and sincerely as you hoped they would.
You love your parents.
Both of them, even if they are no longer together. But the bond you had with your grandmother was special. And now you no longer have that person to guide you when you'll need it, left with nothing but the cherished memories and the wisdom you hope she has passed on to you with some of her words besides the many earthly possessions she left behind.
You sniffle and wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, blaming your running nose and the tears on the dust lifted by all the packing as you and your dad try to fit eighty glorious years of success and happiness into countless boxes.
"What is it?" You still ask even though the shape and quality of the little box are already a give away to its contents, but maybe you are just trying to fill the silence with words that you delude yourself could dull some of the ache throbbing in your chest.
Your father seems willing to indulge you, however, answering just as you flip the lid open, unable to contain the soft gasp that slips past your lips at the sight of the tiny object that you find nestled inside.
Your thought's and your father's quiet voice mingle together.
Your grandmother's engagement ring.
"It's beautiful." It's the first thing you find yourself saying, but it's honestly the only one you can think of as you observe the delicate white gold band with a little diamond set on top.
It's very graceful and refined in its simplicity.
But... there is something about the faceting cut and the very odd, very distinctive color of that gem that raises some doubts within you.
And you find yourself frowning after a closer examination.
"Is it always been like this?" You ask glancing up at your dad in mild confusion, because you had seen the ring before, years ago, but had a completely different memory about it, or maybe it's just been so long since you last saw it and observed it so accurately that you had never noticed the shades of green and gray and blue of that diamond that mingle together just so beautifully under the light.
Either way, the shape of this one looks... more tasteful respect the one you remember, and your father confirms it.
"Your grandfather had it resized and got the gemstone replaced a few years ago for their 50th anniversary."
Your grandfather went too, just a few years ago, so you don't think it's been so long.
"I've never seen a diamond of this color before." You weren't even aware that blue-green-gray diamonds existed actually.
Your father on his part just looks at you and chuckles affectionately, a soft quiet laugh that even if it still has a thread of sadness and tears laced into his voice, it still sounds sincere and warm, just like the embrace he pulls you into and the kiss that he plants on your hair before he answers.
"I don't think that's a diamond, honey."
The rest of the memory fades away, bringing you back into your apartment, where you are still sitting at your desk, closely observing your grandmother's engagement ring like you have done so many times during the latest months, blinking away the layer of blurriness that had clouded your eyes.
You pick it up from its little cushion on the box, holding it between your forefinger and thumb like you would hold a pen, searching for a hidden spot on the thick glass surface of your desk before pressing it down to draw a short line.
The glass creaks under the pressure, and when you pull back, sure enough... There it is again.
The indent left behind.
Your dad was wrong.
Only real diamonds can cut through glass.
And you have found out that, not only blue, green, and gray diamonds do exist and are also the rarest and most valued ones. But that also, just about the period when your grandfather got the ring resized and the original stone replaced with one so stunningly beautiful... another very precious, very unique jewel got stolen.
One that had a distinctive, ancient diamond inset in it.
A bluish-green diamond with gray reflections.
Quite unique indeed. And when you saw the picture, you had no doubt left.
The day you stumbled upon that newspaper article, of the shocking theft of a million dollars valued jewel... You don't think you'll ever forget how your heart had jumped in your chest with that strange mix of incredulity and... odd excitement.
Another piece of the conversation you had with your dad that day echoes distantly yet still fresh from your memories...
"Do you know where grandad had this resized?" You ask curiously never diverting your gaze from the ring in your hands.
You feel your dad shrug against you before he answers somehow distractedly. "Somewhere in New York. A goldsmith I think. I bet he kept the card somewhere. He always kept everything."
He did.
And he kept the card, too.
Found it tucked into a page of one of his latest agendas.
A sophisticated black business card with just the occupations and name written on it in silver with an elegant cursive.
Alex Vause.
Goldsmith.
Diamond cutter.
There was also an address, that leads to what you now know is her workshop. So cozy and old in such a secluded part of the city that no one would ever think of it as the place where stolen jewels worth millions get dismantled.
You have gotten so many answers during these months during your researches, and yet, there are a few ones you still don't know the answer to, one of which, one you have stopped yourself from asking it again and again being, why does she steals the jewels only to dismantle them and use them for her own creations?
Maybe the answer is the one within the question.
Or maybe it's something that you'll have to ask her personally to know for sure, perfectly aware that she would probably never answer.
A sudden knock on the door drags you out from your thoughts and almost makes you jump out of your skin.
It takes you a moment to fully recollect yourself realizing only now how late it is when you blink into focus and notice the change of light in the room and catch the deep orange rays of the setting sun from your large window.
You stumble on your feet and cross the room, getting to the door and wondering who could ever be at this hour, but after a peek at the peephole, you notice that there seem to be no one on the other side.
Cautiously, you open the door with the chain on to take a better look, and when you still don't see or hear anyone, you swing the door completely open.
There is no one.
On either side of the hallway.
You are about to thinking that it was maybe some sort of prank from the kids in the building when something on the floor catches your attention.
And just like that, when you see what it is, your heart flips and a grin stretches across your face as you bend to pick that little gift up.
It's a rose.
A single one.
In a small crystal vase with a little water in it.
The only difference from the one you received the first time is that this time the bud of the flower is completely closed, and you can barely catch a glimpse of the red of the petals still nestled inside.
You look once again towards the side of the hallway that leads to the stairs and listen for fading steps or some other movement, but it's all quiet besides the muffled domestic noises coming from the other apartments.
Your gaze then returns to the rose and more specifically to the little card attached to it with a thin golden thread.
I believe I promised you dinner, it says in that already familiar elegant handwriting.
Oh, she sure did.
You turn the card over and there is an address and hour with tomorrow's date and a question mark, followed by a simple, I'll be there.
A promise that doesn't hold pressure, but that definitely succeeds in leaving you giddy with excitement.
Your gaze lingers on the AV signature and your lips shape into a much softer smile as you caress the letters with your thumb.
You already know that you are going to accept the invitation and be there, but you can't help but wonder if the young, still closed bud rose, has another meaning about what accepting that invitation would mean.
And you think you know. Because something has already started to blossom somewhere in your chest at the simple thought of a certain green eyed, raven haired woman whose infuriating gorgeous mischievous smirks makes your heart flutter.
I know some of you at the beginning of the story thought that Piper was somehow involved with the police or some investigation division, and if you were hoping for that, well sorry to disappoint you guys :P As long as I keep surprising you every now and then :D