A/N: Okay, long time no update for this story. I apologize, but my writer's block here has been a real bitch. Pair that with my tendency to strive for perfection and here we are. Anyways, I'm continuing to burst their little happy bubble here so fair warning. Please trust me enough to pull it back together before you yell at me. Kay? Hope you enjoy and I'll try not to let the next update go this long. I can't make any promises, though. If you're following my other stories, you know I'm prepping for a cross country move for Graduate school.
Thank you for reading.
This is for Kennedy. Thank you for being you, boo.
Like ships in the night, they keep passing one another by. Phone calls shorten, visits become rare, and each makes an excuse to explain away the distance.
It isn't completely intentional, at least on Fitz's end.
Not only is he a bit lost for words when it comes to what he now knows about her, but with the school year rapidly approaching, he's been flounced by endless paperwork and problems. St. Gabriel's doors open August 28th and it's currently the first week of August. Suddenly he's found himself short staffed and in desperate need of a new mathematics teacher.
Various staff members float in and out of St. Gabriel's, pulling together their classrooms and prepping for professional development the first two weeks of August.
Three interviews sit on Fitz's docket, two men and one woman. He leaf's through the resumes from behind his desk, the high sun beating down on his neck, but he refuses to close the shades. Who knows how much sun is left before the fall swoops in?
Alejandro Suarez. B.S in Mathematics and Secondary Education, George Mason University. Baltimore Teaching Fellow. Twelve-years of experience, both in private and public education.
Bettina Delgado. B.S in Mathematics and Secondary Education. University of Michigan. D.C Teaching Fellow. Two-years of experience in public education.
Thomas Newt. B.A in Mathematics and Secondary Education. University of Florida. Former staff member at Connelly School of the Holy Child. Six years of experience.
Fitz turns back to Alejandro Suarez and peruses the man's resume more in depth. Mr. Suarez is fluent in Spanish, conversational in Italian, and holds a certification in Special Education. He's taught in the inner city and the suburbs. The more Fitz reads, the more he's almost certain that this is his missing link to a smooth school year, though the interview will be the real test.
He sets the paper in hand down and turns to read through Ms. Delgado's once more when the sound of giggling distracts him. The cadence and familiarity of the laugher draws Fitz to his feet, causing a smile to spread across his face. He hasn't heard that sound in what seems like forever.
Olivia.
Fitz moves towards Olivia's classroom, uncertain of what his goal is when he gets there. So much of the unsaid hangs between them and Fitz doesn't know how to breach the divide. If he confronts her with the knowledge her father imparted upon him, she'll run. If he doesn't, she may never tell him on her own, but he has to try, right? After all, she does love him. And he loves her, too. If only she'd let him tell her so.
As he reaches her classroom, he realizes she isn't alone. Turning into the doorway, he finds a man he doesn't recognize standing too close to Olivia for his comfort. The man is tall, around 6'2, with a trim figure; he sports a strong jaw shrouded in a well-kempt beard; his blazer, and dress shirt hugs his body well, as done his slacks; his hair is a salt and pepper color.
"Why should you never talk to pie?" The man asks, there's a slight Spanish lilt to his tone. Their shoulders brush together as he leans in to speak to Olivia.
"I don't know…" she answers, taking a step back and looking at the man with a soft smile. She looks gorgeous in her floor length powder blue sundress. A pang of jealousy shoots up Fitz's spine.
"Because he goes on forever…"
Olivia rolls her eyes, laughing gingerly at the cheesy joke. She brushes a rogue curl from her face and the man steps forward.
Another joke rattles off his lips, but Fitz doesn't hear it, instead he sees red as the man tugs on Olivia's rogue curl. His jealousy spikes and her father's words force their way back into his memory.
Do you know what you are? You're her daddy issues resurfacing. Did you really think you were the first past their prime grown man to take advantage of my daughter? She seduced her history teacher when she was seventeen. Then there was my colleague at the Smithsonian when she was nineteen. He was fifty-four and married. And last but not least, Edison Davis. He was thirty-seven and freshly married with a pregnant wife. I thought I'd finally managed to get her out of this old man phase….
He clears his throat, pushing away from the doorway in measured steps. Steam just about pours from his ears as he interrupts the scene in front of him. Both Olivia and her friend turn towards him, stepping away from each other.
"Fit— Father Fitzgerald, I didn't see you standing there," Olivia stammers, shuffling her weight on her feet. She looks uncomfortable as she folds her arms across her chest.
Yeah, right, you were too busy with your new boyfriend. Guess your father was right. "I just heard the laughing from my office, and since I have some time between now and my interview, decided to come and see what's so funny," he all but hisses, tone terse as his eyes dart to the other man in the room and then back to Olivia.
"Father Fitzgerald? Ah, just the man I was here to see…" the other man says, but Fitz isn't paying him any mind. He's locked eyes with Olivia.
Her eyes narrow and she quirks a brow before turning away, clearly unamused. She moves to lift a box resting on the floor and the almost forgotten stranger hurries to her side.
"Let me help you, Olivia," the stranger suggests; her name rolls off her tongue, annoying Fitz, causing him to wonder just how well she knows this apparent stranger. Fitz's mind runs wild, jealousy motivating his thoughts. He imagines Olivia in this man's arms, touching and caressing him; giving herself up to his every whim.
"I'll get it," Fitz huffs angrily, trying to shake the images from his mind.
Olivia pivots on her heel, holding out a delicate hand. "I can get my own box. But thank you. Both of you." She lifts the cardboard container and effortlessly deposits it on her desk. She then crosses the room to where her bulletin boards rest, her dress clinging to her curves as she goes.
Fitz clenches his jaw tightly, watching as the stranger's eyes follow her. His nostrils flare when the guy's eyes wash up and down Olivia's backside. The green eyed monster lurking beneath Fitz's skin grows. He needs this man to go away, now. "Miss Pope, may I speak to you for a moment?" he asks.
"Father Fitzgerald," she starts, turning around, her dark eyes narrowed. She crosses her arms over her chest. "This is Mr. Suarez. Mr. Suarez, this is Father Fitzgerald, I believe you two are waiting for one another."
Mr. Suarez? As in…
"Suarez, as in Alejandro Suarez?" Fitz asks.
"That would be me," Alejandro confirms. "And you must be Father Fitzgerald." He closes the distance between he and Fitz, holding out his hand for Fitz to take. Suddenly the man has an air of professionality about him, but Fitz's dislike is immediate and immense.
Fitz takes Alejandro's hand, gripping it in a firm shake.
"What a grip for a priest, eh? Box in your spare time?" Alejandro jokes, but Fitz remains stone-faced.
"I hadn't realized you were here. I apologize. We could've already finished and gotten you on with your day."
"My apologies. I was distracted by this young, fine educator moving desks." Alejandro gestures towards Olivia and Fitz lets his hand go, afraid of what he'll do if he keeps holding on. He's starting to forget that he's a priest. "I found myself compelled to help and time must've gotten away from me. I don't believe I'm late, though. It's only 2:48pm, our interview isn't scheduled until 3pm."
Young, fine educator. Fitz seethes. His fists involuntarily flex at his sides. Alejandro Suarez is perfect on paper, but in person, Fitz is close to taking his head off. "Let's start now, shall we?" He turns on his heels and walks away.
/
Forty-five minutes later, Mr. Suarez and Fitz part ways.
The other man is perfect; everything Fitz is looking for in a teacher. Educated, dedicated, and even Catholic – a fact sure enough to comfort parents – but he's also flirtatious. And the current object of his affections is unacceptable.
Once more Fitz finds himself standing in the doorway of her classroom. She sits at her desk, scratching something on a notepad. Her curly hair is pulled back away from her face and her tongue sticks out from between her perfect lips. He's missed her in the moments they've spent apart and wonders if this is what the entire school year will be like. They've become so caught up in one another this past summer that it hasn't hit him until now that once the school year starts, their priorities change. They become boss and subordinate again.
He sighs heavily, catching Olivia's attention. He smiles as their eyes meet, but Olivia doesn't return the gesture.
"Next time why don't you just pee on my leg. I hear it works well for dogs looking to mark their territory," Olivia deadpans before turning back to the notebook in front of her.
Fitz's eyes go wide at her words and his mouth falls open slightly. So she had picked up on his jealousy…
"Livvie…"
"If there isn't anything I can do for you within a work capacity, I kindly ask that you leave me be, Father. I have lesson plans to re-work."
"Olivia." He moves into the room, dragging the door closed as he goes. He rounds her desk, coming to stand in front of her.
He wants to explain – no needs to – explain away the irrational spike of jealous that'd taken hold of him earlier. He runs through his words in in his head.
Your father told me…
I thought Alejandro was your…
I'm sorry.
Immediately she rises to her feet, arms crossed in front of her. "Don't."
"Earlier, I was –" Fitz's word hang in air as a knock on the door causes him taking a step back. Seconds later the door opens. Father Beene stands in the doorway, slate eyes bouncing between the two. A ghost of a smile forms on the older man's lips.
"Father Fitzgerald, there's a Bettina Delgado here for you."
"I'll be right there. Miss Pope, may we continue this later?" he turns back towards Olivia, who's currently packing up her notebook and materials. She suddenly seems to be in a rush.
"My apologies, Father. I have somewhere to be," Olivia tells him, her voice wavers slightly. She seems harried and flustered, causing Fitz's brows to furrow. Something's wrong.
"Liv?"
Father Beene clears his throat. "Father, Miss Delgado."
"Right, coming."
/
Beads of sweat roll down Olivia's back as she chews on crushed ice and sips her from her thrice filled glass of Fonseca Vintage Port 1997. Her air conditioner's busted and the temperature outside is bordering on an oppressive 93 degrees. It's the cherry on top of a stressful day that leaves her gritting her teeth. She should've listened to her instincts that morning when her train had rolled in an hour late and just stayed home. If she had, she wouldn't have had to deal with Fitz and his macho man routine. The entire scene that'd unfolded earlier had ticked her off to no end, but it'd been Father Beene's appearance that had rattled her to her core.
She isn't sure what to do about the old man whose words feel more like threats than suggestions. Beneath his harmless smile sits a wolf in waiting. He wants something and Olivia has yet to figure out what or whether his motives are malicious or good-willed. Father Beene is right; Fitz is a priest. Where does she think their relationship could possibly go? Where could it go without Fitz losing everything?
Olivia's stomach sinks at the thought. They've never discussed what this thing between them is and where they both saw it ending. Now she's afraid of the pressure she's inadvertently put on him with her stupid confession of love. She'd meant it – she means it, but with Cyrus looming, it suddenly feels wrong. Like what they're doing is wrong.
A knock at the door shakes Olivia from her thoughts. It takes her a moment to slide out from between her coffee table and couch. Her knees crack as she gets to her feet and tugs on her shorts that ride up her legs. Stupid broken air conditioner.
She reaches the door and glances through the peephole. Her breath catches in her throat. On the opposite side of her door stands Fitz, dressed in a light grey t-shirt that clings to his chest almost tight enough to make Olivia forget how much of an asshole he'd been earlier. She presses her forehead against the warm wood of her apartment door, her hand resting lightly on the handle. She's afraid to let him in when her thoughts are all over the place.
"Livvie, I know you're in there. Huck already told me you haven't left since you got home. I came to say I'm sorry. Please don't make me say it through the door."
A beat passes and Olivia sighs heavily, swinging her door open. She tilts her chin, places a hand on her hip.
"Apology accepted. Good night," she moves to shut her door, but Fitz stops her.
"Wait, Liv, can we talk? Please? I feel like we haven't talked in weeks."
Because they haven't. Not really. Ever since her impromptu love confession there's been a growing chasm between them. One with words unsaid and fears unexpressed. One Olivia isn't sure should be repaired.
"We're both busy with school right now, Fitz. It's okay. Now I should really get to bed."
"Just ten minutes, please?" He gives her those big baby blues and they sparkle in the white light of her hallway.
She steps aside, ushering him in, and closing the door behind him.
"I was a jerk earlier. I didn't mean to make you feel like a piece of property."
She chortles, shaking her head. "Fitz, you didn't…"
"Next time why don't you just pee on my leg. I hear it works well for dogs looking to mark their territory," he repeats her words back to her in a high-pitched feminine-like voice.
Olivia rolls her eyes. "The jealousy thing isn't cute. Men look at me all the time. Hell, a day without sexual harassment on the train is like finding a unicorn."
Fitz's jaw hardens and Olivia watches as his hands flex at his sides. Men and their egos.
Ugh.
"He was leering at you and he touched you," Fitz defends.
"He touched my hair –which is a whole different nightmare – but you didn't need to puff out your chest and go to the mat to try and grab an empty box out of my hand."
"He was clearly coming on to you, standing too close, and making you laugh. I just let my brain get the better of me and could clearly see him being your type."
"My type?" Olivia repeats, raising a brow. How had Fitz drawn that conclusion when Olivia hadn't even thought about Alejandro Suarez in that way? He'd been an interesting man to share a ten minute conversation with, but that'd been it. Had he not insisted on helping her rearrange her classroom, she would not have sought him out in any capacity. "What's that even supposed to mean? I'd been talking to him for ten minutes before you popped up."
A look of uncertainty falls across Fitz face and he shuffles his weight. He looks uncomfortable, as if he's hiding something from her.
"Fitz, do you really think I'd do that to you? Do you think I'd do that at my job?" Disbelief rides high in her tone as she speaks.
"That's how we met, Olivia. I came to help you in your classroom at the beginning of last year. And you have to admit, Mr. Suarez and I have a couple of things in common."
Confusion colors Olivia's expression. "Like what? He isn't a priest and he teaches Math. That's all I even know about him. What are you getting at?"
"He's thirty-eight."
"And?"
"And you have issues with your father!" he blurts out. "The other men – the ones you don't want to tell me about. They were all like me – like Suarez. Significantly older than you. The Smithsonian guy. Your teacher. Edison Davis."
Edison Davis. The name is like a knife to her throat. It causes her eyes to wide, her mouth to go dry and her heart to sink to the balls of her feet. A mixture of anger and shame swells in the pit of her stomach. Edison Davis had hurt her to the point of no return. She'd played with fire and had been rightfully burnt.
Anger overwhelms shame and Olivia's eyes narrow. Despite the knot swelling in her throat, she finds her voice. She forces it to remain low and steady even though she wants to shout, scream, and cry. "What'd you do? Hire a private investigator to dig through my past?"
"Liv—"
"Did you find everything you were looking for or do you want all of the sordid details?" she growls. "You just couldn't wait for me to tell you on my own? You had to go snooping and then make wild accusations about something you know nothing about." Hot tears slip down her cheeks.
"I wasn't—I didn't. Your father came to me. He told me. He threatened me... Look, I would never. I...can we just start over. Please. Just let me apologize without chewing on my foot," Fitz tries. He reaches a hand out, but Olivia takes a step back, towards her door.
"I want you to leave," she tells him, pulling the door open. Her blood's boiling and her heart is hurting. She just needs a minute alone.
"Livvie…"
"Goodnight, Fitz."