Chapter Thirty-Six

"Cheek to Cheek"

Heaven, I'm in heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek

Heaven, I'm in heaven
And the cares that hung around me through the week
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek

Oh I'd love to climb a mountain
And reach the highest peak
But it doesn't thrill me half as much
As dancing cheek to cheek

It was still dark when snoring woke her, Liz turned and pushed at her companion who shifted away from her, quieted, and they both went back to sleep. When the sun woke, she woke with a headache and peeled open eyes gritty from the difficult day of before. Liz turned to look at her companion who laid still, his face softer as he slept. Apparently he was used to the curtainless windows and had no issue with daylight intruding on sleep. Fitz looked serene though there were small lines, worry lines, she thought, which traced beside his mouth. Would his early trials make him age quicker?

She pulled herself out of bed and went into the bathroom. This was one room which did not disappoint. Like the bedroom, it was on a huge scale. There was a gleaming white stand-alone bathtub set in its own alcove below a little window which looked so inviting that Liz thought she would bathe rather than shower if she ever used that room. The shower had two heads; it had a little built-in bench, and a third hand-held sort of sprayer. There was certainly room for two people in that glass-walled enclosure.

She did, however, need to use the toilet so walked past the sinks to one of three closed doors only to discover it led to a walk-in closet which was larger than her own bedroom at home. This closet was not used, apparently. While it had all the fixings to accept clothes and shoes, it was barren except for a small desk directly underneath the window. Liz wondered when Fitz would ever use that small desk when he had that huge study downstairs or all of the other places in this large and confusing house. She backtracked and walked across the room, still admiring the tub, and found the toilet in its own little enclosed stall and with the toilet seat up.

Liz used the toilet then finished her unabashed exploration of the bathroom. There was a linen cupboard full of towels and neatly arranged items. She wondered if Fitz was a neat and organized sort of person by nature or if his housekeeper had her hand in that arrangement. The last door led to another walk-in closet. This one was half the size of the other and was the one Fitz used. There were rows of trousers, shirts, and jackets all looking neat and businesslike, but there were jeans folded and lying on shelves. There were also piles of items that had been thrown on the floor as if he threw his dirty clothes there; she did not see a hamper so perhaps that was how he handled his laundry.

She retreated and headed back to the bedroom but stopped to look at herself in the mirror set over a double-sink. Her eyes were dark and bags lay under them. The hair on one side of her head was ratted; she suspected she had lain on that side. Liz ran the tap and wetted her fingers to run them through her hair. She rubbed wet fingers on her eyes and then dried them on a towel, finally retreating back to the bedroom. Tentative steps brought her to Fitz' side of the bed; he showed no signs of having moved. Liz was tired but not sure if she could sleep again. Perhaps she could nap later, though she had no concept of what 'later' might look like.

With one last glance at Fitz, she crept away, grabbing her jeans, and headed out of the bedroom, stopping in the landing to pull her jeans on before heading downstairs. The coffee pot was one item that sat on the counter in full view. Coffee and mugs were in the cupboard right above and Liz got the coffee started. She went to find her things—that bag of shopping, and her purse—and her phone. She brought her phone back with her while she waited for the coffee to brew.

She had been missed by number of people. Ron had texted her to ask if she was okay. Jane sent her a text to ask if they could just chat as she was nervous about her first day of work. Liz had forgotten that today was to be Jane's first day. It was Monday! She wondered if Fitz needed to be there to meet Jane? After all the events of yesterday, would he be a calm businessman and still go into work? If he did, what was she supposed to do? Liz could not recall what her plans had been for today that had forced her to shop on a Sunday afternoon and face the crowds. Such an event turning into a rather life-changing one.

Her heart flipped a little as she considered everything that had happened, what she had learned, the entirety of what they had shared since she saw Fitz sitting on the ground with Jack in his hands. So much had happened since Mary had texted about Liz being wrong about Fitz and then Jane's difficult call saying Fitz was only married to his job, but had no wife. Liz also thought about Jane asserting that there might be some misunderstanding at the time, though without ever saying I told you so. Her sisters were powerhouses of support and insight, even if she had not wanted to listen at the time.

Liz looked from her phone to the coffee pot and then looked around and thought, I am in Fitz' house. Such a thought would not have occurred to her twenty-four hours ago, despite Mary's and Jane's assurances that Fitz-Mason was not who she thought he was, and that the events that day had to have been different. Before Benny came to get her, realizing she had made a mistake did not mean there would be a remedy, a do-over. But fate had given her an ace. An in.

It was okay, a tentative okay as she listened to the coffee drip. Liz doubted that they would have found each other again without the trials of last night for all that Mary had said her musical friend suggested Liz' take on the situation had been wrong. Perhaps Liz had been ready to admit she was wrong, but she would not have been courageous enough to see or speak or text Fitz had not Benny come to find her. Liz had been thrown into a situation and forced to deal with that past and to talk through her misunderstandings, their misunderstandings, as they sat a vigil by Jack's side. She breathed hard for a few moments as the intensity of the end of the night hit her again, but the buzzing as the coffee finished made her stand to fill two cups.

She had not even opened her mail yet, so lost in thought was she. Liz took a sip of coffee as she looked at her email. There were a multitude of emails, including a long follow-up and concerned one from Jane, but there was also a job offer. They wanted her to come up the next day. Liz had to stop and look at the time stamp and wondered if that meant Tuesday or had they sent it on Sunday and were they expecting her that morning? But it was just after seven in the morning now and the email had just arrived in her inbox. The company meant Tuesday. Liz had a day to prepare. A day to consider how much things in her life had changed in just over twelve hours.

Tucking her phone in her back pocket, she took another sip of coffee, picked up the cup for Fitz and headed back around the corner, up the stairs to his room. A large side table sat on his side of the bed, proportioned, of course, to fit next to the bed and the room. It held a lamp though it was a big, boxy, shiny thing which Liz thought quite ugly, but color-wise it fit with the room's decor. (Probably why the designer had selected it, she supposed.) She put down both their cups and sat beside him.

"Hey," she called to him. "I brought you coffee."

He moved, freeing his hands from the sheet and taking in a deep breath. "If I open my eyes will you still be here, not simply have been a dream?"

"No, use your nose. Coffee, I've coffee," she said, smiling, though with his eyes still closed, he could not see her smile.

He opened his eyes looking straight at her. "You are real," his hands came down, and he held out a hand which she instinctively took. "You're beautiful," he said.

"I'm a mess, but thank you," she said. "I brought you coffee," she reached for his cup. "How do you feel?"

"Still tired, weary? Can I be weary oh English major?" He released her hand and sat up in bed and took the coffee mug.

"I think I'm rubbing off on you. Weary is an excellent word," she took her cup and pulled her legs up to sit facing him on the bed while he took his first few sips of coffee. Such an act was, after all, sacred.

"Excellent coffee," he said. "I don't know that I've ever drunk coffee in bed." He eyed her. "I could get used to it, to these circumstances," he smiled a half smile, only part of his mouth rising.

"It's nice to have someone to share it with." Her smile was large and mischievous, "though someone has to get up and make it if the other is to drink it in bed."

"Well," he said, sipping then putting his cup down, "we could take turns. I'll make coffee tomorrow and you can sleep in. And I'll bring it to you."

"No go," she shook her head. "I'll be a working woman as of tomorrow: I got a job!" He had been reaching for her foot but looked up.

"That is great news, Liz. You said the company was in San Francisco?"

"Yes, so I'll need to leave early on the train, or take BART and be home late every evening." She stretched her legs out in front of her, and he wrapped an arm around them and hugged her legs to him. "It means I'll be busy again and not available much and will you resent me and be angry with me for not being around?"

"No," he said. "I'm done being angry. I don't ever want to be angry with you. I just found you again. I know we still are just speaking because of circumstances and there's a lot of unsaid things, unsaid wishes and assumptions probably swirling around. I might be assuming we're back together and can be a couple and everything is fine but for all I know you're just thinking of me as a friend. And like an excellent and true friend, you take good care of your friends. So you stayed last night to see me through but that was the only reason you stayed."

"I love you Fitz," she said. "I stayed because I love you."

"As a friend?" he asked.

"No, as the guy I was so hot to run off to Vegas with, I love you."

"You probably need to put down your coffee cup," he warned. She leaned over awkwardly and placed it on the floor by the side of the bed. When she sat up, he had moved down the bed a little and was leaning over, waiting for her. His arms found their way around her, his lips found hers and he kissed her attempting to express how much he also loved her, before he leaned back. "Ugh, so coffee and morning breath. You will, no doubt, go running off now."

"No," she answered. "No more running away and sending you odd texts. Communication can be a a great tool but it can also be a terrible thing. It can give false reports of us, of our thoughts and actions. Or it can break down entirely. I think you and I need to always talk and never text."

"Sounds like a plan," he said with Liz snuggled against his chest. "However, it was a long and trying day. I've slept in my clothes and have coffee to finish and a shower would truly be in order."

"It's Monday," she said moving back in his arms. "Aren't you supposed to go to work?"

"I'm going to take the day off. Given the circumstances, I'm taking a personal day."

"Okay. So…if you still need to finish your coffee. Can I take a bath in your bathtub?" she asked.

"Yes…though you're going to tempt me hour one, huh?" he commented.

"That wasn't my intention. I simply admire your tub," she said. "I'm not flirting."

"I wish you were," he said to her ear.

"I merely covet your bathtub," she whispered back.

"Feel free any time to take a bath in that tub. I don't believe it has ever been used," he said.

"Thanks. It's good that I bought some new clothes yesterday. Though I have to save the best to wear tomorrow since I really have the job. I may need to go shopping again."

"You're not going to spend the entire day with me?" he joked as she disentangled her arms and form from him, and picked up her empty coffee cup.

"No, yes…it's only seven, maybe eight. It's just…bath-time. I'm just thinking about the fact that I smell."

"If you smell, I probably smell," he said. "Maybe while you bathe, I can shower."

"That's an interesting idea. But I need my clothes. Are you done with your coffee?"

"Not yet," he leaned back on his pillows with a rather smug smile, and she thought he was thinking about the prospect of showering while she was bathing.

"I'm not sharing the bathtub," she called to him as she walked out, "I figure there's coffee left. I'll bring some back up."

Once in the kitchen, she put her cup next to the coffee pot then went to look at her bag of things from the day before. She realized that she had left her car in the shopping center lot and would need to walk back, or have Fitz drive her back, to get it.

But she was considering that she had come prepared to spend the night with Fitz given that she did not know she was going to. She would need to wear her jeans again, but she had purchased a few blouses and had a new top she could wear that day. There had even been a sale on some frilly underwear, and Liz had purchased a few pairs in anticipation of being employed and having more cash. She grabbed a shirt and underwear to change into and turned to go back to get her coffee cup and heard a noise.

She thought maybe Fitz had come down to refill his cup. Noises in the kitchen were not a surprise, but a woman walking into the kitchen was. The woman was far more surprised than Liz.

"Oh my!" cried the intruder.

Liz' instant assumption was this was the housekeeper which was backed up because there was a small infant sleeping in a pack on her chest. She looked vaguely familiar though Liz had not really paid attention to her looks; the overriding characteristic of the woman that day had been that she was pregnant.

"Are you a guest of Mason's?" asked the housekeeper.

"Yes," answered Liz automatically. "I'm Liz."

The woman drew in a breath. "You're Liz." Her voice changed as she narrowed her eyes and looked at her. The response made Liz stop and consider what that meant.

"I'm Yvonne, his housekeeper." She nodded at her basket just inside the door. "He's got the only washer and dryer. I assumed he'd gone to work. I usually do my laundry on Mondays; he's usually gone by now. He's fastidious about his schedule," the housekeeper seemed to be rambling a bit as she stared at Liz.

"Jack's gone," Liz explained. "He died last night. I've been looking after Fitz."

"Oh," Yvonne turned and looked at the spot where Jack normally lay in the family room and noticed his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, turning back. "Tell him I'm very sorry. I guess I won't do laundry today."

"He's…Fitz…Mason is taking the day off today," explained Liz. "He's not going to work."

"Okay," said Yvonne. "Thank you for being there for him."

"No problem," said Liz.

The housekeeper turned and let herself back out, leaning down to awkwardly get her basket of laundry with the baby still attached to her chest. Liz watched her go thinking she should have said something about the baby, congratulated her, but she turned to refill her coffee cup. Something overcame her, and she went with hurried feet up the stairs to his room.

There were signs he had gotten up as he was now lying on top of the sheets, and he made a gesture that looked like he was draining the last of his coffee then he put it down beside him, a wide smile on his face. The look on her face must have made him concerned. "What happened?" he asked.

"I saw your housekeeper," she said. "She was coming in to do laundry. And it just…she's real. She had a baby with her."

He got up and came over to her. "I can appreciate that was difficult. You must be considering that day and recalling everything, all you felt. I guess we just need to take small steps, don't we? You need to always talk to me, Liz. You need to always talk to me," he repeated. "Do you want to go?"

"I can't leave," she quipped.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't have a car," she answered. "I walked here, remember? I chased Benny. My car's in the store parking lot."

"I can always drive you to the store, if need be."

"It just…is a shock," she said. "Yes, I did recall that day. But in a way, it wasn't so bad this time, remembering. Because I knew it was her, she said her name was Yvonne, and I know she isn't attached to you. I'm afraid she seems very confused about my being in your house though." She paused then asked. "Have you told her about me?"

"Yes, I told her about you," he explained. "She's been a good friend. She's been my housekeeper for seven years and kind of like Jack, she's always had my back. She saw me through tough times and helped a lot with Georgie." He put two hands on either side of her shoulders. "What do you want to do Liz?"

"I don't want to run away," she said. "I want to take a bath."

"Do you know where the towels are?" he asked.

"Yes, I sort of had trouble finding the toilet so had to open a few doors," she explained.

"Okay then, have at it. I guess I'll go get more coffee while I wait for you to bathe."

It really was a beautiful tub, deep, pristine white, and inviting. She thought soothing as she looked at it. Liz got the water running then realized there was no soap or shampoo.

"Fitz!" she called.

"Yes," apparently he had not gone to get coffee. Perhaps he expected that she would have stripped down by then and looked disappointed she was not in the bathtub.

"Can I borrow some soap?"

"Sure." He went to that large linen cupboard and pulled out two different bars. She selected the one which was the least masculine-smelling.

"Shampoo?" she prompted.

"I have a bottle in my shower…" he began.

"Oh well, I'll make do." Liz leaned over to test the water and check its level.

"How many questions have we had?" he asked.

"Ten or eleven," she called back

"Does your asking to use my bathtub count as a question?" he wondered.

"It can," she answered.

"Does that mean I can ask a question of you?" Fitz asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Our night together, not last night, but our night together at your house," he said. She turned from her bath and leaned against the tub rim. "You spoke to me in Italian." For the first time she blushed, there in the daylight. When they had talked about sex before, she had seemed unabashed and comfortable, but she seemed slightly embarrassed to be recalling their intimacies so many months ago in the dark in her bed.

"You want to know what the words are?" she prompted.

"Yes."

"It's an old Italian saying," she said.

"I gathered that much," he replied.

"Nonna taught it to me."

"I gathered that much as well."

"I think, though, that my getting into the bathtub is not the time to be telling you," she explained.

"You're going to make me wait?" He growled.

"Yes," she said. "I'm going to make you wait."

Her clean clothes were on a small stool tucked into that tub alcove. She had dropped her towel on the floor. The tub must have been meant mostly as a soaking tub as there was no place to put the bar of soap so she threw it on top of her towel. Her jeans came off and when she turned, she saw that Fitz showed no signs of going anywhere. She peeled off her shirt and still he stood and watched her as the clothes pooled on the floor. She kicked off her panties while she unhooked her bra all the while looking at him with, perhaps, the same smug smile. But then a hand steadied herself on the tub's edge, and she crawled in and relaxed in the water, reaching up to turn off the faucet.

"You're really going to take a bath and make me wait?" he asked. He had ended up leaning against the counter watching her like a bird of prey.

"Yes," answered Liz as she melted down even farther so her chin hit the level of the water. Her eyes became unfocused as she stared along the line of the water. "It's a magnificent tub."

"Hrmph," growled a voice. Sudden movement caught her eye, and she saw Fitz move through the side of her vision over to his closet and heard noises there. Her eyes were just barely above the rim of the tub and Fitz came back out of his closet, naked, heading for his shower. His form was really a blur given her angle, and Liz did not allow herself to be distracted from her bath. She dunked herself completely under the water, came up and then lost herself in relaxing and feeling at peace as she listened to the sounds of Fitzwilliam Mason Darcy taking a shower and attempting to distract her from her bath.

She had her eyes closed, and had not touched the cake of soap, when she sensed there was a person there. Liz opened her eyes to see a towel-clad figure gazing down at her.

"That's a very long bath," he commented.

"It's been a very short bath," she countered. "I could be in here for hours."

"Hours?" he groaned.

"Were you waiting for me?" she smiled that half-teasing, half-serious smile.

"Maybe."

"I suppose there'll be other times for me to indulge in enjoying this bathtub," she sighed.

He leaned down to pick up the towel from the mat in front of the bathtub and held it out for her, the cake of soap tumbling to the floor. Liz stood, the water streaming off of her body as she paused for a moment before she stepped out.

"You are like Venus rising from the waters," he said. The towel was spread wide to welcome her in its folds as she climbed out. But then her arms were pinned to her sides as he leaned in to capture a kiss.

"You brushed your teeth," said Liz. "I wonder if you have an extra toothbrush? That's something I didn't purchase yesterday."

She wriggled her arms free to claim ownership of the towel and wrestle it from his arms, but rather than wrapping it around her, she pulled it up to dry off her hair. Fitz stood and watched her; every movement she made was mesmerizing. His comment about her looking like Venus, he felt, had been spot on. She had looked like a goddess as she stepped from the tub.

As soon as she finished her hair the towel hovered between them but he did not let it stop him, and he kissed her again, more urgently, to express his need.

"I'm still damp," she said.

"I don't care," he answered as he nibbled at her chin and neck.

"Are we to forever do foreplay standing up? Can we never get to it in bed?" she said. Liz seemed to make one last half-hearted attempt at blotting dampness from her body, dropped the towel then reached for him. Her hands touched his chest, ran delicately around his waist to his back as she insisted on more kissing before she pulled back and grabbed a hand in hers to pull him away from the tub's edge, out of the bathroom, and into the bedroom. "The bed in is in here," she explained.

He could not take his eyes off of her naked form as she walked with his hand in hers leading the way to his bed. The sheets still lay disheveled from their night of imperfect rest, and Liz led him all the way to the edge; he dutifully followed. She turned and his eyes gazed down at her form but there was something about the way she stood, confidence and passion, that made his whole body flush with such desire for her that he thought his mind took a backseat to the senses running through him which were in overdrive.

Her hand came to run fingers under the towel which was still wrapped around his waist; he thought she was teasing him, but apparently Liz was simply seeking where the end of the towel lay as once it was found, she grabbed the end and unwrapped it from his body. She touched him and he groaned. He leaned over to kiss her, his hands running down her back, then he clasped her by the waist and suddenly threw her onto the bed.

Liz looked up at him in surprise and delight, pushing herself up on her elbows as she gazed at him. His eyes were dark, intense, and focused, and not looking at her own, but fixated on her breasts as he began crawling towards her. He stopped to rub his chin against the inside of her knee. She pulled her leg away as the bristles on his chin tickled. "You need to shave," she said.

"Friday," he growled, trailing his chin up along the top of her leg. He could hear the gasps from her, the sharp intake of breath; hear her breathing intensify as her desire intensified. He stopped to kiss the point of her hip, his sex pointedly nudging against her thigh as he crept up her torso, kissing her belly. Lips pulled at a nipple and her back arched involuntarily at the touch. He lowered himself a little so their skin bristled as it contacted and as his sex poked more urgently at her thigh. "No more standing up, you're right," he whispered to her neck.

Her hands snaked around him, re-aligning him so their lips could find each other, and she kissed him roughly, tasting his lips and chin, wrestling tongue tips. Her breathing so troubled her that her lips and tongue had to pause so she could catch her breath; he could feel her breasts pushing back against him, rubbing against his chest, another distraction. Her legs had scissored around one of his own, imprisoning his sex, and wreaking havoc with his breathing.

"Liz," he began as he kissed her chin. He shifted to his side and his hands wandered her body, lingered on her breasts, and traced a nipple. "Are you to speak Italian to me?" He did not care if she explained the words or used a different phrase, but he wanted to hear those throaty and sexy words again.

"I think we need to be practical for a minute," she said nibbling on his throat and stroking his waist and hip and heading into dangerous territory. "I fear if Italian is spoken we will both be undone," she ran a hand slowly down the length of him, and he took in a huge breath.

"I'd forgotten," he said, realizing they were lying crossways on the bed. "You're the most amazingly distracting woman," he sighed, and rolled away to open a drawer in the side-table. He fiddled in that drawer for a number of seconds before he found a condom. He dealt with the package rapidly and was back pressed against her side again. Liz snaked an arm around his shoulders to pull him to her. It was not a kiss, but a feast, repeated nibbles at his lips then she drank from them, then her tongue slipped in to meet his own, drew it away to nurse at it, devour it. She did not let him up from that long kiss until their need to breath became overwhelming.

Her free hand came up and entwined with his, then pulled that hand down to her stomach. "Pancia…belly," said Liz. She pulled his hand up to her breast, and they gasped in unison as his hand moved over her breast, cupping it, moving his fingers there gently, softly, delicately. "Tette…tits." His sex leaped; she could feel its movements against her thigh, and Fitz' arms wrapped her to pull her to him as he rolled over on his back.

His hands moved up her sides to delicately touch the edges of her breasts which seemed to make her squirm more. Liz pushed herself up on his chest slightly, her breasts weighing heavily against him, and he groaned. She captured one of his hands again and brought it behind her. "Culo…arse." He lost his mind again; both of his hands grabbed her culo cheeks and pressed her to him. He rolled them over again, kissing her chest and throat, hands pulling at her knees, his urgency overwhelming.

"La dote di Friule," her voice was a throaty whisper as she wriggled beneath him, her hands stroked his back as she drew her knees around his hips, "the dowry of a Friulian woman." Her hips tilted up, his sex pressed against her own. There was a pause as his kisses stopped, her hands stilled, and they looked at each other before he thrust into her, the pleasure of which shuttered both their eyes.

Her hands flew to his head, one pressed against his neck, tickling the softly clipped hairs there; the other tracde a slow path down his back. Liz opened her eyes to gaze at his intense face, his brow was furled almost as if in pain, but then his eyes flew open as his arms snaked beneath her. They were engulfed by their locked gaze as they stared at one another while their hands and fingertips incited their senses, and their united movements enhanced all that they felt for each other, empowering, healing, and exhilarating. A thin thread of pleasure ran down Liz' spine, and she closed her eyes as both of her hands came to his sides as she stroke there with feeling. Fitz buried his head in her neck as he gripped her even tighter.

"Liz," he appealed to her as a power, harsh and warm and resonant hit him and he came, his body ardent, acute, and stiff. Liz' hips twisted, her back arched, and her arms grabbed him to hold him to her, as her own pleasure hit her, a wave sweeping from her womb through her torso to her limbs as she called out loudly and incoherently.

They both panted; their breath a staccato. He managed a kiss on her collarbone. His hands came to their sides to come down to bear more of his weight though he did not wish to move. This place, this position, nestled against Elisa Vittoria Bennet, having just made love to her, was exactly where he should be.

Her breath still came in deep and rhythmic mouthfuls, but Liz managed to relax her death-grip on him. "Fitzwilliam," she whispered, "Fitzwilliam," she repeated.

He managed enough strength to raise his head and to kiss those lips which were saying his name so lovingly. "I love you," he said. "You told me you loved me, but I've not said I love you back," and kissed her again. His arms also relaxed their grip on her but only to rest his weight on his elbows; he delighted in the warmth and in sharing such closeness with another person, feeling so comfortable, so delightful. She pulled her legs up to hug his own. Her arms mimicked that action as they relaxed. She wriggled free a little, and he leaned over on his side.

"You're right, you've a really large bed," she said. Her hand ran over his face up into his hair. "I fear I'm going to need to bathe again."

"We can simply repeat this cycle again," he said kissing her. They managed to straighten their limbs and their bodies in the bed, tugging at the sheets and the blanket, twining arms and legs. They both thought of the delight of the warmth of someone's arms as they drifted off to sleep, despite the hour of the day and the sunshine coming in through that curtainless window.

A/N: This is going up a day early as I have to travel this weekend. Monday's post will be late. Don't expect it until Tuesday.