DISCLAIMER: not mine, please don't sue.
Hollystream, Nat, odo, Rachel, SSLE, aprilf00l, Anon, and Do: I don't deserve you, guys, seriously, but I love you and treasure you. This is my first fic and I'm still figuring things out, but I couldn't have asked for a more understanding, patient, supportive, amazing, awesome reading audience. Thanks so much. And also thanks to everyone else who still reads this. I didn't know there were so many Eli/Natalie fans out there. I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the ride so far. I'll try my best not to disappoint you in the future either.
~ LATE ~
Still clutching the umbrella, he exits the building and steps into the waiting taxi. He buckles the seatbelt, gives the driver the address, and the car swiftly melts into the rainy rush of the capital. He stares out the window, lips curving with residual happiness, as the grayish blue urban life blurs past him. The windshield wipers slap back and forth like a metronome, providing a calming, familiar rhythm that helps settle his chaotic thoughts. He watches his fingers curl and uncurl. His joints groan slightly in protest. It's been a while since he played. Nowadays those free Saturdays are mostly spent catching up on sleep – if he's lucky – not unwinding in the soothing company of 88 black and white keys and a bottle of Bruichladdich. He hits a few imaginary notes on his thigh. Maybe he will play something for her. Maybe. He sighs and catches himself smiling again. Then he gets panicky. It hits him consciously for the first time – the realization that whatever this may be, it has already gone way beyond a simple "palate cleanser" crush. Aside from close family members, he rarely plays in front of people he knows. The mere fact that she's somehow already included within that small circle is… he doesn't even know what that means. His phone goes off again, derailing his train of thought. He checks the screen, frowns, then shoves the BlackBerry back into his coat pocket. He stares out the window again and sighs.
The taxi glides to the curb in front of the Fairmont. Even through the slightly fogged-up window Eli can easily make out the nervous shape of Frank Landau. The DCC chairman stands only a few feet away, cold rain spilling off the rim of his giant umbrella – he's like a big bear in a watery cage. He angrily checks his watch. Taking it as his cue, Eli pays the driver and climbs out.
"Where the hell have you been?" Frank greets him as Eli joins him under the umbrella. "I've been calling you."
"I know," Eli replies dismissively. He is in no mood for pointless petty fights right now. He needs to save what's left of his energy for the boardroom meeting. And for later tonight, if possible.
"You're late," Frank remarks as they enter the lobby.
"I am." His flippant manner only adds more fuel to the anxious chairman's mounting anger.
"They are already here."
Eli doesn't respond. He just keeps walking.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this by any chance your special way of making a good impression?"
They reach the elevator. Eli stops and turns to face Frank. "I've already made a good impression. Better than good, actually. That's what got us invited here." The elevator arrives. Eli moves to step inside but stops in his track and turns back to Frank. "You're welcome, by the way." Now he steps inside and Frank follows suit, stewing.
"Which floor is it again?" Eli asks and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.
"Third."
Eli pushes the button. The doors close and tense silence ensues.
"You-" Frank starts but Eli cuts him off.
He stands with his fingertips pressed against his eyes, feeling a massive headache coming on. "Just stop talking, Frank. Please. For both our sakes."
Frank reluctantly complies, then waves a white handkerchief in front of Eli's face. Eli turns to look at it, then his gaze glides past it and locks on Frank. "Do you wish to surrender?" he asks with furrowed brows.
Frank rolls his eyes. "You have a little something there," he says, indicating a spot on his cheek. Eli angrily grabs the handkerchief and starts rubbing his face. He has a pretty good idea what Frank was referring to. A small lipstick smudge.
They reach the third floor and exit the elevator. Frank grabs him by the elbow and draws him aside.
"What?" Eli snaps at him.
"What? I'll tell you what. You don't answer your phone. You're late. And clearly you're still not entirely here. What the hell do you think you're doing?" Frank asks in a hushed but firm tone.
"I'm trying to get to this very important meeting," Eli replies with an innocent face.
"Oh drop the cutesy shit, Eli, and wake the hell up already. You know what's at stake here." Eli averts his eyes. Yes, he knows. His jaw muscles clench but he remains silent, and Frank dials back the harshness a little bit. "You can't afford to be distracted. If you screw this up, you might as well throw in the towel right now because very soon you won't even be able to afford a goddamn pen for the campaign office."
Eli looks back at him. He's defensive and angry but keeps the lid on. "Are you finished?"
Frank regards him. "Are you?"
"Oh, I'm just getting started," Eli says and with that, he marches off.
Four hours, three plates of hors d'oeuvre, one intense discussion, and several drinks later Eli finds himself strolling alongside the eldest daughter of Mr. Robert Fiedler in the hotel's courtyard garden. Myra Fiedler is in her late 30's. Elegant. Smart. She's cool charm and quiet confidence, not too talkative – a pleasant company even when one has a splitting headache.
"My father has taken quite a shine to you, Mr. Gold."
He smiles in response. "What about you, Ms. Fiedler? Are you still on the fence?"
"Well, your track record and recent splash in the media did give me some cause for concern."
Her use of the past tense doesn't escape his notice. They stop and Eli turns to face her. "So what changed your mind?"
"You did," she says but aside from a knowing smile she doesn't elaborate further. He gets the not-so-distant feeling that he's been vetted rather thoroughly for this little get-together, which fills him with a certain amount of professional admiration and a healthy dose of apprehension.
He narrows his eyes. "Then what exactly are we doing here?"
"You looked like you could use some fresh air."
He nods, then looks her straight in the eye, shedding the polite charm, discarding the mandatory niceties. He's all business now. "What do you want, Ms. Fiedler?"
She holds his stare, studying him. "I like you, Mr. Gold." He arches an eyebrow. She continues gazing into his eyes, making him feel increasingly exposed. He doesn't like it. "A spin doctor with a heart. It must be rather… inconvenient."
Her assessment gets him by surprise but he doesn't let it show. "I manage."
"No doubt about that," she says with a small smile and they resume their stroll. "That's why I'd like to rope you into a little side project while you're here. Of course, you are free to decline. It won't affect my father's decision to support your candidate. But I'm sure you would earn some additional brownie points by helping me out."
He is silent for a moment. "And what would this 'little side project' entail?"
"We could talk about it tomorrow at lunch."
He mulls it over, chewing on the side of his mouth. No matter what she says this still feels like another fiery hoop to jump through. He's intrigued but hesitant. She can see it. "I'll ask the Chef to make something special."
He raises his eyebrows. "You know him?"
They stop at the French doors that connect the courtyard to the lobby. Inside, Frank and Robert are having an animated discussion. Myra looks at them, then back at Eli.
"It's one of the perks if one's family has large stakes in a hotel."
He chuckles and his gaze sweeps their surroundings. He has to go with his guts here. She watches him, seeing the wheels turn in his head. He decides to humor her. "All right." His vision drifts back to her. "But I need you to do something for me first."
She is game. "I'm listening."
It's almost 7 when he steps out of the taxi in front of Natalie's building. He showered, shaved, changed, yet he feels far from ready. He carries two large paper bags to the elevator and pushes the call button with his elbow. Nothing happens. He tries again. Still nothing.
"It gets stuck sometimes," a voice says from behind. He turns and finds Mrs. Green standing there. She breezes past him and hits the control panel with such force it makes him flinch. "It just needs a little encouragement." She's right. The button lights up and the doors slide open. She steps in. He doesn't move.
"Hurry up, kiddo. I don't have a mountain of free time."
Kiddo? His father used to call him that. He was also possessed by the same kind of unpredictable, crazy energy the little old lady in the elevator apparently is. The kind he also inherited – at least according to his mother. Eli climbs in and the doors slide shut. He stands stiffly and silently, mentally kicking himself for not taking the stairs. He chances a sidelong glance at her. She seems docile enough but it doesn't make these few shared seconds any less uncomfortable for him. His imagination, which is prone to wander in absurd directions when he's tired, doesn't help things either. Why did he have to watch Devil? Now he can't get it out of his head. It's ridiculous. But he sneaks another glance at Mrs. Green, just to be on the safe side. Fortunately, she exhibits no homicidal or supernatural inclinations. The doors finally open and she walks off without a word or backward glance. He breathes a sigh of relief and makes his way towards Natalie's door.
He gets there and puts the bags down. He stares at the door for a moment, then reaches up to knock but changes his mind halfway through and ends up checking his watch instead. It's 10 to 7. He looks around and then back at the door, his nervous anticipation mounting. He takes a deep breath. His phone starts ringing, startling him. His face softens when he sees the caller's name. "Hey."
"Hey," Natalie greets him back. "Where are you?"
"At your door. Where are you?"
She turns away from the busy but muted office life at the other side of the glass panes and sighs. "Still at work. I would have called sooner but there's a big client here and we were locked in the conference room…" She shuts her eyes. The next words are the hardest. "And they will lock us back in soon." She bites her lip, waiting for him to say something.
He drops his head, taking a silent moment to absorb the news. The weariness he's managed to keep at bay begins to flood his body and he doesn't fight it. "Oh…"
"I'm so sorry-"
"No, no, no. Don't be. I understand."
She can hear the sad, tired smile in his voice and it makes her feel even worse. "I'll try to sneak out as soon as possible if… if you can wait." Her tone is thick with anxious hope. She's been looking forward to this evening as much as he has.
He straightens up, instantly charged with life. "Sure."
"Great," she says, relieved, then jumps when somebody opens the office door. She turns around and sees her co-worker gesturing silently that they need to go. Natalie nods and holds up a wait-just-a-sec finger. "Listen, Mrs. Green has my spare key."
He shuts his eyes and stifles a groan.
She's unsure how to interpret his sudden silence. "You remember her."
His mouth stretches into a tight smile. "Vividly."
Natalie checks her watch. "She gets back home around this time. Just go to her. She'll give it to you."
"What about her strict 'no strays' policy?" He still feels a bit hurt about that.
"Just ring the bell, smile, and enunciate. You'll be fine."
"Okay," he says, unconvinced, and glances around. Even sitting on the cold, filthy floor seems a much less daunting option right now. "And what about your roommate?"
"He won't be back until next week. … I'll try to get there before that."
A fond smile forms on his face but he doesn't say anything. She gets a bit self-conscious. "That last part was a joke."
"I know."
"Okay. Well… I-I won't be long, I promise."
"All right."
"Bye."
"Bye."
He pockets the phone and, ever so slowly, turns on his heels towards Mrs. Green's door. He takes a deep breath. This isn't going to be pleasant.