Setting: Season 17/18 in Paris, France (Part 1: Angst, T)

. . .

The City of Love?

Olivia settles into the wooden booth tucked in the back corner of Terres de Café, with a perfect view of the bustling streets and the Eiffel Tower off in the distance. She admires the art in the foam of her cappuccino — it's almost too pretty to drink.

She glances back up to her companion seated across from her, who mundanely ordered a black coffee. His eyes are unintentionally cold staring back at her, but she's grown accustomed to the chill they exude. It's a nice balance with the warm beverage her hands are wrapped around.

"You gonna try that?" he asks, sipping his coffee.

"Yeah," she chuckles, dropping her eyes back to the mug. "Just appreciating the barista's talent."

"He probably just used a stencil, you know."

Her lips turn downward into a slight frown. She knows his intention is never to sound curt, but his personality has adapted his harsh work facade over the years. "I like to think it was done by hand. This café has that authenticity." She takes a sip and watches the passersby through the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices him shrug.

Licking the foam from her upper lip, she places her drink back on the tabletop to reach for her phone in her purse. "Shall we check out the photos from earlier?" she asks enthusiastically. He smiles back at her with a single nod of encouragement.

Olivia starts swiping through her recent photos, lingering on those that stand out as her favorites. "Wow, look how this one turned out!" She flips her phone over for Ed to examine the picture. It's a beautiful landscape shot of the Eiffel Tower, the sky vibrant in the background and rays of sunlight glistening down the scene.

"That's a great shot, Liv."

"Thanks. I think there are just a few more to get through." She continues scrolling through her photos and making conversation. "So tomorrow's plans... The Louvre and Notre–" she stops mid-sentence when she lands on an image of the two of them in front of the Eiffel Tower.

It's not their smiling faces that entices her. In the corner of the photo, she sees a recognizable blonde woman. With two fingers, she zooms in to inspect it closer, and she instantly feels a sinking feeling in her gut upon realization that her mind isn't fooling her.

Ed notices her face go pale after she abruptly stopped talking. "Liv?" She hears her name, but it doesn't fully register. It sounds miles away from her, and not worth answering.

"...That's impossible," she whispers, her hands beginning to tremble slightly.

"Are you okay?" she makes out through the ringing in her ears.

"I- um... I gotta go. To the bathroom," she chokes out. Rising from the table, she rushes in the direction of the restroom on the opposite end of the café. She can't peel her eyes away from her screen. It's been six years, but she can still recognize anyone from that family anywhere.

Her legs aren't working quickly enough, and she's going to start hyperventilating. Maybe a splash of cold water could help snap her out of this shock. Maybe...

"Shit," she gasps, crashing right into someone who is entering the building. His hands instinctively curl around her arms to lessen the impact. As soon as his palms connected to her skin, she knew.

And she knows that if she chooses to look up, she will see the azure masterpiece she has been attempting to paint in another man's eyes for years. "I," she whispers, staring forward at his chest. "This isn't happening." She tugs at her arms to release herself from his grasp, but he refuses to let go of her.

"Wait," he pleads. "Don't go."

She clenches her eyes shut, mustering up the courage to finally look at his face. Slowly, her eyes trail up to meet his. They are as radiant as she remembers them from six years ago, and it makes her throat tight.

She gulps and forces herself to respond to him. "You're telling me not to go?" she asks, astounded that he has the audacity to request that of her after abandoning her without a word. His hands are still clenching onto her biceps, and she finally wriggles free, backing up a couple steps.

"I just–"

"Elliot," she warns. "Don't." She tilts her head down and gnaws on her lower lip. Tears are threatening to emerge, and she swallows hard to keep her throat from closing. And she lets out just a mere whisper, "fucking don't," before charging past him and bolting out the door.

Trying to gather her surroundings, her eyes dart around looking for an escape. She's forgotten about her cappuccino and the pretty art in the foam. She's forgotten who she is here with - the man she is supposed to love.

And now she's ironically in The City of Love running away from the one man she does love, the only man she has ever truly loved.

The sidewalks are uncomfortably crowded. She's well-used to people being in her way, but only on the streets she's familiar with. There has to be an open bench somewhere or a shop she can duck into in hopes of mitigating her nerves.

"Olivia?" calls out a surprised voice.

She whips around to find the blonde that finagled her way into the background of her photo. Her head is spinning, and she's instinctively backing away to try and separate herself.

I'm sorry, she mouths. Her hand flies up to the back of her neck and wipes at a layer of sweat that has saturated her hair. I can't, I can't, I can't is all that plays in her mind as she continues to maneuver backwards.

"Olivia! Look out!" the woman frantically cries, but her warning was too late. She was already halfway into her step, teetering at the edge of the curb. When her foot lands on the road, a cyclist barrels into her and throws her body to the unforgiving pavement.

Elliot had just exited the café the moment of the collision, and absolute fear washes over him at the sight of Olivia unmoving on the ground. There are too many people around. Some that are flocking to her, other's rushing to the cyclist's aid, many oblivious.

He shoves past those who are obstructing his pathway to her. "Move!" he shouts. "Olivia!" Tearing past person after person, he finally drops to his knees and hovers over her. "Oh my god, no." Her arm is completely banged up, there's a rash along her cheek, and way too much blood is pouring from a gash on her forehead. "No..."

He rips off his t-shirt to apply to her wound to help stop the bleeding. Her eyes flutter at the new sensation, and for a second all she can see is that masterpiece above her. It's not a recreation, not her imagination.

"El..."

Part 2 to come. Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.