Flesh and Blood
(A/N : Thank you to all the kind people who messaged me about this story. I seriously didn't think anyone was still interested in it. Hope you enjoy. FYI: I am working on the update for my other stories; I have not abandoned them and hope to complete them all. As always, thank you for your patience and continued support.)
I will always come for you. Wait for me.
XXX
His nightmare woke her.
The bed dipped and shifted forcefully with his restless, jerky body spasms. Muffled harsh sounds caused her to sit up; blinking to clear her vision and seeing the scowl deepen on his sleeping face. His lips were slightly moving; the unwelcome conversation in his dream creating turmoil within him.
Hesitantly, she reached out, inches away from touching him, but paused, opting instead to softly call his name; hoping not to startle him but gently bring on his wakefulness; help him escape whatever darkness was chasing his subconscious.
After several tries, his eyes suddenly opened and in movements so quick she could barely register what was happening, he retrieved the gun hidden under his pillow and stood alert, with no trace of drowsiness and ready to face the looming threat.
He gave no thought to her presence; he saw something else, an enemy, invisible yet menacing. Safety off, he scanned the room with the pointed gun, searching. Fascinated and stunned into silence, she could only watch him; his sinewy muscles tightened and flexed, he stood like the soldier he was – a combatant, prepared for battle against whatever threat transferred from his nightmare to the present reality.
He was mesmerizingly beautiful. Unlike most men, his body was not simply utilitarian but a masterful machine, lithe and graceful, demanding appreciation. A sliver of light from the moon cast half his face in shadow but it was set, firm, determined; he saw without seeing. He may have been sleepwalking, but if something or someone moved unexpectedly, she was certain he would fire.
Moments later, his body eased. His breathing evened. His shoulders began to relax and he put the safety back on, now secure in his environment.
Slowly she left the bed and cautiously tiptoed, coming up from behind him, still careful not to touch him until he acknowledged her presence. "Fitz," she called softly.
She would have called his name again if given the chance but when he turned, the look on his face was startling – it was fierce, urgent, predatory, the energy from the readiness of battle not yet kindled. His expression never changed, he continued to watch her as he placed the gun on the closest available surface.
Under his glare, her heartbeat raced; blood pumping loud as a drum in her ears. She couldn't take her eyes away from him. He scared her and thrilled her at the same time. The strength of him should send her cowering, yet it enthralled her, held her spellbound, craving to be pillaged and conquered.
The scent of their previous round of love making still lingered in the air - potent, heavy and languid - beckoning them both to partake again.
All senses heightened, anticipation sent sparks to her nerve-endings creating a blazing inferno of need. He hadn't yet touched her but the prospect of him bruising her skin, branding her flesh was enough to make her shudder in excitement. And as she watched his penis harden, stand erect, her fingers itched to feel his pulsating power.
She thought to move closer, assure him that he was fully awake, no longer dreaming. But instantly he was upon her.
Her breath was caught, her lips bruising under the intensity of the kiss, plying her mouth open and he groaned in delight at her readiness. Her face held securely in his hands; his grip was unrelenting. He dominated her, she could not move; she was at his mercy, to be used as he willed. Her submission, the gift that was his without asking.
She shifted to free her mouth, wanting to discourage him from the slow, carefully savored and drawn out sexual experience that she did not want. It was not necessary. Her body screamed with the demand to be taken hard, almost savagely; communicating that whatever aggression remained within him must be depleted all over her.
When he picked her up, her legs instinctively clinched his waist, crossing behind his back, tightening, drawing him closer and she felt the pressure of his arousal seeking her warmth.
The tension of the previous moment left him entirely and he had no thoughts but her. Simultaneously, she calmed his fear while igniting his passion. The undeniable heat of her inflamed him, welcoming him home; satisfying a longing too complex to be explained as simple desire.
It was his life-journey's destination: to stop drifting, lost and purposeless; discover the path of surrender, where the bond forged tied him to the earth and he would finally feel alive; seeing himself, the best part of himself, through the existence of another.
With the agility and ease of a protector, he laid her on the bed and simultaneously impaled her; their gasps reverberating against the four walls. "Jesus!" he groaned on contact.
Slick with wetness, the fullness of him stretching her, her moans came one after another, in wanton endless succession. She opened her legs wider, an unspoken plead to go deeper.
It was not enough. He spread her legs even wider, penetrating to her womb, pounding into her. It was painful, too much for her and she wanted to pull back but as he moved with such precision - intent, hard and fast - the pain precipiced into pleasure and her cries ended in pleads for more and more.
Her orgasm shattered her into tiny pieces, disintegrating her into a melted pool of liquid like quicksilver, weakened by bliss. Jackhammered thrusts and groans of expletives made him collapse in fulfillment on top of her.
XXX
She fell asleep before she could ask him about his dream and he was thankful. He didn't want to talk about it, speak it into the air, and make the possibility of the horror real.
The moment he stopped denying and accepted his feelings for her as they were, the assignment became personal. It went against everything he was taught; everything he had ever known. It should never happen; it was the first rule of engagement: No emotional attachments. When it became personal a whole new level of danger was created; the stakes became too high and the risks too great. Objectivity disappeared when love governed all actions.
He wasn't afraid, he had been given far worse, far more dangerous assignments; ones where he wasn't certain he would make it out alive and, as a rule, he wasn't very much concerned with his own life. In fact, he often pushed himself beyond the limits because he lacked the fear of mortality; it was what made him good at his job. He could take the gambles, others could not. He had no family to make him feel the obligation of extra precaution for his own welfare.
But she made him care; she made him worry for a safe return and not just for himself, but for her sister. She added a whole new dimension to his life that he hadn't yet figured out how to deal with, now or going forward.
He had gone over the details several times with her; emphasizing the requirement for her and her team to follow his instructions implicitly. And while he received her nods of acknowledgement, understanding and acceptance, he knew Olivia. Her cooperation only extended to the point where she did not see an alternate course of action as more beneficial.
She was the wild card but instead of irritating or frustrating him, it made him smile. He liked her unpredictability and independence. He only hoped it didn't get either of them killed. He kissed her forehead and settled her closer to him. It didn't matter what the outcome was, as long as they both came out on the other end unscathed, he would count it as a win.
He remembered the nightmare vividly but he would never tell her about it. It had been too graphic and the possibility too real. She had been shot and he hadn't been able to save her. He hadn't gotten there in time. He failed her and she was dying in his arms. He couldn't leave her and men were coming for them both; they were trapped, no escape route and he was terrified.
That particular outcome was unacceptable.
He sighed. He wouldn't sleep tonight but it was fine; he rarely slept before an assignment like this.
She slept. He watched the serenity of her face, listening as her breathing deepened. He would give anything to live the rest of their days, safe, together and happy. He kissed her again and whether she heard him or not, something compelled him to whisper a final assurance in her ear, "No matter what happens, I will always come for you. Wait for me."
XXX
"It's not too late...You could call all this off. You know… if you care about him...care about his life."
A snide, mocking voice greeted her from the shadows; someone who had been waiting for the precise moment when she was alone. All night, she felt eyes on her, watching her movements and she pretended to ignore the uncanny feeling. After all, it could be any number of people watching her, some for good and some for bad.
She hadn't seen Fitz since the previous evening. She woke this morning, ready to probe him about the nightmare that sent him into attack mode but he was already gone. They had not spoken all day, both occupied with their own teams, preparing for this evening; making sure everything went according to plan.
She wanted to believe that at least a pair of the eyes hiding behind darkened corners were protectively watching over her and belonged to Fitz.
The museum fundraiser gala was filled with prestigious guests, pockets overflowing with donation monies. Olivia and her team mingled in with everyone else, enjoying the evening's entertainment, at ease yet ready for the signal that the painting had been returned and could be claimed as recovered.
Her brief sojourn to the ladies room for a moment of privacy to calm her racing mind and pestering thoughts was now rudely interrupted by the unwelcome visitor.
She said nothing; her expression schooled to bland disinterest as she waited for him to explain.
With an arm gesture, he invited her to follow him to the secluded alcove where they could talk unobserved. When she hesitated his eyebrows lifted in challenge. She squared her shoulders and raised her skirts to follow him. She was not afraid of Jake. Besides the clutch purse secured under her arm carried the mace and the switchblade she would use for protection, if necessary.
"Why are you here?...On duty for Marie Wallace?" Olivia asked when they reached the secluded spot.
That joker smile returned and it took all of her control not to rake her fingernails across his face. Her lips pursed, biting her tongue to prevent herself from speaking her true thoughts.
"He'll die tonight...She's going to make sure of it. She has people in place to make sure he doesn't leave this place alive."
He was so confident and assured that it gave Olivia a momentary pause of fear. She immediately tried to shake it off; Fitz would be okay; nothing could go wrong. He knew what he was doing. He had a team to protect him. Nothing could go wrong.
"I'm sure you don't want that on your conscience. After all, he's here because of you, right? You asked him to put the painting back and that's what he's doing...It's a stupid plan, he could've just had the painting delivered to your offices but of course, he has to be the hero doesn't he? He wants to be the one to take down Marie Wallace but it won't happen...not tonight and it will cost him his life."
She could barely control her anger and wanted to push past him to find Fitz, wherever he was, stay by his side; make sure he was safe and alive. She willed herself to remain still. "What do you want? Why are you telling me this?"
"Consider it my parting gift...my last good deed. The shit that's going down tonight is not gonna be on me. I'm leaving," he shrugged casually. "I just thought you might want to use your influence to get him to stand down. He won't catch her."
"He will," she countered, confidence restored.
"Oh and what makes you so certain?"
"She's my mother, I know her and she's not as invincible as she has you assholes believing."
That revelation took him aback and he lost all his cool reserve. He knew she had not lied; it was not something she could lie about. His eyes darted around in fear, recognizing his own precarious position.
Mouth agape, he stood frozen and Olivia saw the terror cloud his eyes. Taking advantage of his confusion, she continued, "She will however, make sure YOU don't leave here alive...You're expendable and weak. She has no further use for you and now, you have become a liability. So...if YOU want my protection, my help to make sure you live past tonight, I suggest you tell me what she has planned."
After a moment of contemplation, Jake opened his mouth to say something but whatever he would have said was lost in the next second as a shot was fired from over her shoulder and struck him dead. He collapsed to the ground, right before her eyes.
XXX
"Here, clean your face."
Olivia stood frozen as she watched Jake's lifeless body drop to the floor. Shock crippled her; she couldn't think what to do next; move her legs to walk, open her mouth to speak?
She felt droplets of wetness on her face and a portion of her brain registered this to be Jake's blood splattered all over her. She wanted to reach up and wipe her face but she couldn't stop staring at the life pouring out of him. She hadn't wanted this. She thought she could stop it.
Her mother grabbed her by the arm and nearly dragged her back into the empty Ladies Restroom. She now stood in front of the mirror staring at herself. Her mother had to repeat herself two additional times before Olivia blinked back to the present and accepting the towel, began cleaning her face.
As usual, her mother's voice was emotionless and distant.
"You knew I would kill him, why are you so shocked?" Maya asked disdainfully.
"I…I thought you would give me time."
Maya chuckled mockingly. "Time? Time to do what? Save him….You spend your life trying to save people, Olivia. It's a horrible trait. You need to let that go and learn to live for yourself."
She was goading her and Olivia chose not to respond. She used the time cleaning her face to calm her nerves. "If you love me, you would walk away and leave Fitz alone…leave us all alone." Her voice was so detached she barely recognized it.
Maya shook her head at her daughter's annoying predictability. "Is that the card you want to play? Are you sure?...Tell me this, if he lives tonight, what are you going to do? Be the dutiful housewife while he keeps his entire life a secret from you? Or are you planning to be the upstanding businesswoman while he continues to be the notorious criminal? What happens when he gets caught? Or when he needs you to relocate to this country or the next, what will you do? Continue to uproot your life for him? Are you going to bring children into this life? Everything you've built up for yourself, your successful business, your loyal employees, your well-deserved reputation, are you throwing all that away for him?"
Olivia watched her intently through the mirror but did not respond. Maya came closer and in a voice lightened by her version of sympathy she said, "You hate my life, what I do…well he is me Olivia, sweetheart. He's just like me."
"He is not…."
Maya waived away her daughter's response; the moment of sympathy evaporated. The stern voice of parental authority returned. "You've known him a few months…I've known him years. I deal with his type every day. He'll never let you into his world completely and you would never be happy sharing a partial life with him. It is not you Olivia. You weren't raised that way and you could never adapt to it…Really, I'm doing you a favor. You may not appreciate it now but maybe one day you'll realize that I saved YOU."
Olivia turned and faced her mother. "I will NEVER thank you for anything. He'll kill you tonight; just because your ridiculous pride makes you think you're invincible. But you'll die tonight mom and that saddens me."
It was her turn to goad her mother; she knew she hated pity it was the very last human emotion she wanted shown to her. But to her surprise her mother merely smiled; that wicked smile emphasizing her superiority in position and knowledge.
"What?" She tried to sound unnerved and impatient but she was still a bit too shaken up.
Maya walked closer to her daughter. "What do you see when you look at me?" When Olivia tried to look away in annoyance, Maya grabbed her face and forced her eyes to focus. "You may not approve of what I do but you ought to fucking respect what I am. I am a powerfully rich, feared and successful Black woman in a White man's world. I got here by myself…on my own. You have no idea what I had to do to get here…what I had to sacrifice. I will not let anyone take that away from me…not you, not your sister, not…anyone!...He will die tonight, I've made sure of it. He and I cannot continue to exist in the same world… And when he's gone, I'll be the one to take care of you and your sister, as I've always had."
Olivia snatched away from her mother.
Maya sucked her teeth in disgust. "You're better than this Olivia. Don't you dare cry for that man! Don't you dare!"
She remained stubbornly quiet. She was not going to allow her mother to make her feel like less of a person for loving Fitz.
Eventually, Maya turned to leave the restroom, only stopped by Olivia's words. "Who is it? Who's the traitor?"
He must have a mole within his unit; someone who was going to sell him out and set him up as her target, easy to corner and kill. The boastful smirk on her mother's face told Olivia she was right. Someone he trusted was out there waiting for the perfect moment when he was the most vulnerable to take him away from her for good.
She thought she would be sick, her legs felt weak and her stomach lurched. She gripped the porcelain counter for support, took a deep breath and tried again, "Mom….this is madness. Don't do this…"
So preoccupied with negotiating for Fitz's life, she failed to notice the shift in her mother's eyes directed towards something over her shoulder and the slight nod of approval. She felt the presence of another person too late. She didn't have time to turn around before she felt the prick in her neck. She had a final thought before she lost all awareness of time, space and control of her body: Her mother drugged her and Fitz was going to die.
XXX
People were speaking through water.
No, that couldn't be right.
She was under water.
No, that wasn't right either.
Her head was clouded and even as she strained to hold on to one voice, among the many, the more confused she became.
Her body felt stiff and heavy; head lulling from side to side, she couldn't lift it and couldn't open her eyes. Her muscles felt constricted bound and slowly she came to realize that it wasn't her entire body that was bound but only her arms. She was sitting in a chair with her wrists tied behind her.
The voices got louder; the people were shouting. She wanted to tell them to shut up; they were making her head hurt.
The foggy haze muddling her brain was beginning to dissipate. Voices were becoming discernible and the first person she heard with clarity was Fitz. She called his name but no one seemed to hear her. She struggled to keep her heavy lidded eyes open and as blurry as her vision was she knew it was him standing several feet in front of her. She wanted to demand that he come to her, make her feel better and take her home. But speech was still slow in coming.
"…let her go….You won't….alive."
"…you dead…then….over."
It was her mother and Fitz speaking but there were other people, fuzzy figures standing around that she couldn't identify. It frustrated her that she could only get bits and pieces of the conversation. What had her mother drugged her with? Why couldn't she shake the lethargic feeling keeping her bound in silence?
Unexpectedly, multiple shots rang out and her body flinched in shock and fear. Groans of pain and cries of imminent death were coming from different directions around her and then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The obscure shadow of Fitz was now gone; he was no longer standing where he was minutes ago.
"I'm sorry Liv…I'm so sorry."
It was her sister's voice, frantic, regretful, sympathetic; so unlike her. Sabrina was untying her binds. "I had to shoot him Liv…It was the only way. I had to. But he'll be alright. I'll make sure he's alright."
When she was free, she still struggled to move. Her muscles were sore, stiffened.
"We have to get him out of here!" a man's voice shouted to Sabrina.
"I know but I can't leave her," she yelled back.
"You have to…We need leave…NOW!"
In vain, Olivia tried to stand on her own but her body simply would not cooperate and she gritted her teeth in annoyance. She tried to pay attention to what her sister was saying but she could only focus on one thing and getting her limbs in functioning order seemed more important.
Her sister's hands were grabbing at her, holding her head upright. Her eyes were only inches from Olivia's as she said intently. "Olivia…look at me. Your team is going to come for you. They'll be here soon. But I have to leave you. You won't be alone for long."
She could hear feet moving back and forth, milling around her. She knew that sound; it was the clean-up job. They would make sure no trace was left of whatever happened here. Well, no trace, except her, since she was evidently the only thing that would be left behind.
But she wasn't very concerned about that, only him. "Fitz?" she managed to mumble.
"Shot," Sabrina said again regretfully and quickly added, "but we're taking care of him."
She was crying now, without any conscious effort. Just the thought of him being injured sent sharp pains into her heart.
"Mom?"
"Dead." This was said with no sympathy at all and no further explanation.
And after brief embrace, she was left alone; still uncertain of where she was or how she got here; an ache growing within her because she had no idea when she would see him again.
XXX
2 Weeks Later – Costa Rica
She walked a lot.
The morning air was crisp and clean, filling her lungs with another day of renewed energy after a restless night. The bold bright sun fired her skin against the chill of emptiness.
She had come to the only place where in silence, she could feel him; uninterrupted, unhindered. He could be everywhere. When she sat watching the sunset over the waters, she could see his eyes – laughing, teasing, angry. When she walked the grounds, she could hear his voice – strong, determined, warming, hypnotic.
She needed it, because the opposite would be the feeling of abandonment; not loneliness but the fear of being left behind to reconcile the emptiness and continue in the void between not really living but not yet dead.
She was certain that the sacrifice of her defenses had not been for nothing. He was alive, every instinct told her so. He was not dead.
Everyone welcomed her, not at all surprised by her appearance. It almost seemed as if they expected her to come. As if some sort of secret communication had reached them in advance of her visit to prepare them for her arrival. They were not a house in mourning or uncertainty; they believed that one day Fitz would come. And that belief sustained her, for surely they would know if he were dead, wouldn't they?
She felt isolated but not distant. Warm, genuine smiles and casual conversations greeted her everywhere inviting her into their tight Grant Estate circle of residents. Yet they bestowed her with the solitude of the Lady of the house who sought out company only when she wished it. The property of the estate housed 3 families and in time, she learned all their names; greeting them as she walked or ran the grounds past the stables, the gardens, the courts and the hot springs.
Gradually, she felt at home, though not yet at peace.
A sad, crushing thought came to her and she realized her hopeless position. She had no relation to Fitz; she was not his wife or his family; not even a point of contact for him. She was nothing and therefore not technically entitled to any news about his well-being; anything could be happening to him at this moment and without her sister around, no one would feel the necessity to find her and tell her about it.
"When are you coming back? And where exactly are you? Why does Huck get to know where you are and we don't?" Abby's harsh questions chastised her through the online conversation with her team.
It wasn't that she told Huck specifically where she was, she didn't have to. They both knew he could find out on his own. But she didn't want to be found, not yet. So after two days of no contact, to prevent him from searching, she let Huck know that she was fine and well and there was no need to search for her.
It had been weeks since they recovered the painting, collected their payment and settled back at OPA on the east coast to resume their lives; all of them except her. She could not leave without knowing for certain.
"You still can't remember anything else, Liv?" Harrison asked.
She exhaled sharply. She sat for hours concentrating on that night, what had been done to her, what was said, what was done and still she came up with nothing. Her team found her in an abandoned warehouse on another side of town, miles away from the museum, with no clue of why she had been brought there in the first place.
She later learned that Mellie was found in her apartment with her wrists slashed and a note of confession to multiple museum thefts and forgeries. Olivia had no idea who put her up to it and, frankly, didn't have the energy to care.
"No…Nothing. Catch me up on what you're working on," she diverted the conversation and for the next hour they reviewed their latest cases. She found a measure of comfort in the distraction of work.
And at the end, she knew they all wanted to say more about her personal situation, so she started to disconnect the call.
Abby wouldn't be stopped. In a voice much softer and endearing than before, she said, "You can't wait for him forever Liv….You need to move on with your life. You have a life here. You have a business with employees and people who care about you. He may not come back."
XXX
After the first few sleepless nights full of nightmares, she learned the key to a peaceful, dreamless sleep - exert herself during the day and fall into bed exhausted at night. So she swam daily, sometimes twice a day.
The nightmares didn't plague her for very long, the sensual dreams did. The memory of him touching her intimately, pleasuring her over and over again, roused her unwillingly and she awoke with a profound sense of wanting, that remained unsated. It affected her mood considerably and she had to diligently busy herself to forget.
Despite Marisela's insistence that someone accompany her, Olivia stubbornly refused, choosing to go often to town alone. She enjoyed watching the people; the shopkeepers, the open markets, the street vendors and the families. After several trips, her face became familiar and gradually she was no longer a stranger to the residents.
Sometimes, she felt eyes watching her and would turn, expecting to see someone standing in a corner but saw no one. She had no idea if it was one of Fitz's men protecting her or some other source but was determined not to let it bother her. She had enough to worry about.
After so many days of the same routine, lacking purpose, she began to feel foolish. Her fear of leaving was in her mind tantamount to admitting that he was in fact dead. But how long could she do this? How long could she wait?
I will always come for you. Wait for me.
The words came as she walked along the beach. Had he said them to her? When? Why did she hear them in her head so clearly? As if he was standing next to her whispering them in her ear?
She felt him within her so vividly. As if his heart continued to beat within her own. He couldn't be dead. The world would feel differently if he were gone; something inside her would change; she would go hollow, empty at once.
Dusk had set in. The sun was setting; the moon would rise. It was another day; another beautiful sky she watched alone because he was not here to share it with her. She shivered from the cooling air and turned to go back to the house. She walked too far today; the house was barely in view. So lost in her thoughts of him, she hadn't taken notice of her steps.
The household would be worried for her. She quickened her pace to get back.
"Ms. Pope?"
She halted mid-step, raising her head and nearly jumping at the unfamiliar man's voice.
He was standing several feet away from her; an American, Caucasian, tall, handsome with a military stance. Strangely, at first glance, she thought he was Fitz, but he wasn't, she knew that. Frowning, she continued staring, struck by the similarities.
"Yes? Who are you?" she asked casually, remaining where she stood. He didn't seem threatening and he hadn't advanced upon her, so she didn't feel the need to be on guard.
He didn't answer immediately. Eyebrows raised, her beauty took him by surprise. He was openly appraising her but not in a lascivious way. It was a compliment.
In response to her question, he finally said, "Sebastian…Sebastian Grant."
Her nose quirked a bit and he smiled. "I know, I know, it's a horrible name. Most people call me Titan."
She accepted the invitation to use the familiarity. "OK Titan….You're related to Fitz?"
"Yes…I'm his cousin."
"I wasn't aware he had any living relatives." Fitz never talked about anyone other than his mother and father.
He smiled again. "Well I do exist…I promise you. I've just been up to the house; spoke to Marisela who told me the direction you walked…They are worried about you."
"You know about me? Did Fitz tell you about me?" She knew she sounded desperate and hopeful but she couldn't help it. After three weeks without him, she was hungry for any information she could get.
He shook his head sympathetically. "No, he didn't….Someone else did. Do you mind if we talk more at the house? I can walk you back the rest of the way."
"Is he dead?" she had to ask. She couldn't take another step without asking.
"I…I don't know," Titan said regretfully; deeply considerate of her plight.
She slumped so low that she could have been swallowed up in the sand. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in debilitating frustration. Seeking calm, she looked away to the vast ocean of rolling waves and took several deep breaths.
"Please….let me take you home." He offered again.
Home? Was this really her home? Without Fitz?
She was hesitant, suspicious and he knew it. So as they walked he did most of the talking; graciously allowing her to become comfortable with him. He talked about he and Fitz growing up together and as they are near in age – Titan was one year older – becoming very close. They were like brothers, even serving in the Navy together for a time. It was only an injury in his last tour of duty that made him discharge from active service as a Lt. Colonel. He now lived in DC.
Still curious about why Fitz had never mentioned him, she asked if they were still close. And they answer he gave was hesitant, evasive and very vague, which told her that some specific incident created the rift in their relationship.
As he talked, Olivia still couldn't get over how much he and Fitz were alike. Certain phrases, mannerisms and the way he moved his hands as an emphatic gesture, were so reminiscent of Fitz that she had to force herself not to stare at him.
And the eyes – those Grant eyes – held her captive, making her lose her train of thought and forget what he was saying.
When they arrived at the house, he pointed to a large package in the foyer.
"That is for you. I've come to deliver it to you."
Olivia froze. She looked at him in confusion but he just smiled again. A heart stopping smile making her yearn for Fitz so intensely that she wanted to cry. There were slight differences in the hair color, the height and the build but the resemblance was still unnerving.
He carried the package into Fitz's study. "This note was with it." He took a small envelope out his inner pocket and handed it to her. Her hands shook as she reached to take it. "I need to settle in upstairs….I'll give you some privacy."
XXX
The Scotch was very good. She hadn't eaten in several hours but the alcohol warmed her stomach and calmed her nerves. She was no longer shaking. Whatever words were awaiting her in the envelope and whatever object was in the package, she needed liquid courage to face it.
She carefully opened the letter. It was a small note, only a few lines, in his handwriting.
"We burned like the sun; glowed like the moon. Perfection in a world of darkness"
I will always come for you. Wait for me.
Fitz.
When had he written this note? Did he know something would go wrong at the museum? That he would be near death? More questions, still, no answers.
The shape of the package immediately told her it was a painting. She opened it delicately and as the picture came into focus her mouth continued to open in surprise. When it was fully unveiled, she stared in admiration; the unexpected beauty of it taking her breath away, making her body feel heavy and she nearly collapsed as she clumsily sat on the floor in front of it. A fresh set of rushing tears came and she hastily wiped them away.
She was struck by his talent; his eye for detail and scaling of dimensions. While she knew of his vast appreciation for art, she had no idea that he was an actual artist himself. He teased her with the possibility of painting her but that was said in the heat of passion, words she would have never taken seriously.
It was slightly disconcerting to know that she never consciously posed for him, yet he had been watching her with a distinct eye of an artist, who sees the world in the connection of shapes, lines, images and colors that no one else could. He watched for the perfect moment, the perfect scene to capture and preserve. And then he painted her, from memory.
It was that morning, here, on the balcony, when she sat topless enjoying the sun. A profile image, where every curve and arch to her body was recited perfectly – from the fullness of her lips, the tautness of her nipples to the slope of her stomach. Her face was turned up to the sun as golden rays haloed an aura of light all over her.
She studied it carefully; her eyes soaking up every measured brush stroke, every use of color and imagination; understanding the meaning behind his technique. Intentionally, the fullness of her face was not seen; she was a mystery to the world but a revealed light of truth to him. It was not simply a painting of her; it was HER.
It was the most amazing thing she had ever seen.
"Living Flame" signed FTG III