- Chapter Eighty-Three -

Progress Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

Cutting through the bullshit, Daniella knew beyond the shadow of a doubt from the very second she woke up that she had royally fucked up. Arms numb from about a half-dozen hours on duty, tailbone out of alignment and back stiff from assuming a slanting fetal position, the real giveaway sign had been that one side of her face had felt remarkably cool upon regaining consciousness. Torso contorted to paste itself into the shape of the porcelain bowl, her head throbbed dully against the sturdy old rim, which unfortunately at this stage in her life was by no means shocking.

Ever her constant companion in these things, a high-end bottle rolled half-empty across the tiled floor when she tried to move her leg. Pretty sure it was whiskey this time, this theory was confirmed when the melted ice cubes in her skull blinked over a blurry figure hunched over the bathtub. Not quite as smashed, Sam had kindly given her first pickings, his own mess partially visible on the top of a bottle of Jack that had spilled across the floor and was soaking through the pores. Glazed ceramics were a porous surface, right? Ugh, her high school geology class had been too long ago to remember now.

Ridding the thought alongside an uneaten breakfast and what remained of last night's sparse pickings, it was painted in the soiled water (and the rest of the room) that they both should have known better than to get this wasted. Age and health risks the most obvious stopping points, Mary-Elizabeth would have harped on and on that there was no such thing as a good reason to drink that excessively - in this moment the heiress was almost inclined to agree. Good God, that was depressing all on its own.

Back of her hand coming away dirty as she tried yet again to get her ass in gear and off the floor, Daniella stole a side-long glance at her faithful partner in crime. Despite not being an exact date on the calendar, it seemed to happen every year - the need to just drown everything out and force a state of blank forgetfulness. I need this... I can't...

Mary-Elizabeth might not have understood, but for the heiress there was a damn good reason to do what she did... In the moment. In the present... Well, at least she knew that she wasn't suffering this bitch of a migraine alone.

Socks soaked through when she slid across the spilled brew, it was a small enough consequence when there was a whole heap of laundry to be done. Joy, that was going to be fun. Groping blindly for the diamond-edged counter on the way to the door, Dells paused a moment at the sink to fumble around for the tiny box of aspirin that Sully had had the great wisdom to keep in stock. Victor knew what he was doing, thank god!

Almost envying the man the ability, the heiress knew full well that her leal companion could swallow just about anything dry, so she didn't bother fighting with the small stack of paper cups that were placed discreetly in the corner for her sake. Popping the lid and retrieving a messy handful of about four or five for the both of them, she put one of the chalky tablets underneath her tongue, made the mandatory grimace, and saved the rest for Sam. Poor, poor Sam.

Shambling undead-like back towards the antique tub with its bronze footies, the woman nudged her mentor's foot to make sure that he was still alive, rightfully earning a displeased groan. Fair enough. Although they hadn't been so bad as to compare what they'd done to thrashing a hotel room, there was zero chance they'd feel like anything other than shit for the rest of the day. Victim to more than a hangover, there was an all-too-familiar twinge of guilt over the fact that he would put himself through that for her.

Dells didn't keep any illusions that she was the only reason the man would so readily agree to getting black-out drunk, but it still meant a lot to her all the same. Kneeling down to his level to offer the medicine and helping her baby into position so that he didn't choke, before leaving him to wake up the woman thought to cover him up with one of the fluffy towels hanging next to the door.

Blasted almost immediately by the cheery light pouring in through the window directly opposite, the heiress cringed as she stepped into the sunny glow. Dust motes dancing low at her ankles in the bruised blue shadows, she frowned at the natural enemy of all night's creatures and hobbled on her way as quickly as her head would allow. Too bright!

Beautiful as Italy was, the sheer breath-taking majesty was little better than an interchangeable backdrop for the pair of drinking buddies. Wine and berries were ripe in the fresh air, to the point that they could smother her if she lingered in any place too long. And don't forget that their enchanting villa was so secluded that an honest effort was required to cross the sweeping sanguine fields. True, the art classes had been nice, but she could fail at sculpture and poetry and watercolor and printed word anywhere in the world.

It was a tale as old as time, really. Try a couple of weeks at genuine self-improvement, get bored and lonesome, and finally reach the conclusion that life was going to suck no matter where you were. Daniella's problems were always going to be with her, just like the scars covering entire sections of her body, so why keep lying to herself? It had all been an excuse to get away from everyone else, however the truth was that she had had been running away from one person in particular. Always running.

[Bad To Worse]

Resolve, as it turned out, was a hard thing to build; despite all of their many misadventures together, when it came to Sam Drake, Daniella had a difficult time pulling it together. In classic literary fashion, there was something that she needed to tell him, that she felt he had the right to know. It was the kind of thing that she couldn't realistically keep to herself - not forever - yet every time she even attempted to open her cakehole, all the wrong things came out instead.

Legs still covered in the faint outlines of a very stubborn sharpie, the heiress had diplomatically made a late brunch of cold bacon, slightly singed toast, and some kind of leftover pasta. Logic being that it was best to soften the potential blow, all that had been said was some lame remark about the weather. A little chatter about the local cuisine, and how they both missed the kind of greasy cow patties you could only get back home. Making an agreement to get one of those burgers first thing, it was with the assumption that they'd both be back in the States sometime that year.

Praying to her ancestors that that was going to be true, she made another stab at it when they were riding together through the valley, mostly with the intent to grab more supplies for the villa. Except... Nope, it was just too loud on the open country roads, and the day was far too nice to ruin the moment.

Universe itself trying to make it happen, as they waited to be checked out at the store, there just so happened to be a stand of informational brochures off to the side of the register. One in particular had caught her eye, although a handful of them were relevant to her... condition. Rather than notice that the woman was eyeing the row lined with pink ribbons and generalized advise on how to avoid getting STDs, Sam had grabbed one of the cheap pairs of sunglasses off the rotating stand and was trying them on for her. Not wanting to cause a scene, she figured that another chance would make itself known, so she pushed it from her mind and laughed at his antics.

Correct that yet another opportunity would present itself, the one thing she hadn't counted on was that it would be a more serious opening than the others. Hit by a bout of fatigue as they carried everything back into their shared residence, she had had to leave him bring everything in while she tried not to die on the couch. Worry evident on his face as he checked on her, the wise elder brother brought back a cold bottle of water from the kitchen. Accepting it with immense gratitude, the heiress fibbed and let on like it was only the heat hitting her wrong, promising that it was nothing to worry about, that she'd be back on her feet by supper. The historian hadn't really bought it - Dells could tell from the look in his eyes - however he had let her pretend all the same. Sleeping through dinner on the sofa, she had woken up in bed, covered all the up to her chin with her strappy sandles nowhere to be seen.

Sam wasn't stupid, he'd work it out sooner or later... assuming that he hadn't already figured her out.

Which lead her to the present, Dells effectively twiddling her thumbs as she stood indecisively outside of his room. Trying and failing to work up the courage to say the fatal words, Daniella felt like she had been standing there for an eternity. Maybe that was a bit on the hyperbolic side, but it was definitely long enough that she ran the risk that he would just walk out at any minute and catch her standing there like some weirdo. About to wuss out yet again, she paused when she overheard his cell ringing. Yeah, it was 'wrong', but neither were above snooping.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Flirty by nature, for all Daniella knew Sam could have been talking to an automated telemarketer, yet that rationale didn't completely ease the green stab in her belly. What if it was the next one? The better model? "Elena?"

Oh, all things considered, her brain immediately relaxed when she learned that it was merely the blonde on the other end, well that's alright. The reporter was fiercely loyal to her husband, just as the thief would never dream of dicking over his baby brother in that way. It is okay, right? Not missing that there was something wrong in the way Sam said the other woman's name, the heiress acted on impulse and barreled straight into the spare bedroom.

Once upon a time, Elena had sworn to the wayward teenager that she would always have a place with them, no matter what. Now that was what a real mother looked like! So far, that farewell promise had held true, so Dells saw no reason to stay out of this when her instincts were kicking in so strongly. Something feels off here...

When the heiress saw the shocked look on her... When she saw the broken, despairing, almost pained look on Sam's face, she knew that she had made the right decision.

"Sam?" Feeling as if there was a lump stuck in the back of her throat when she tried to talk, the coffee-haired currency rushed to the ex-con's side. Mind instantly drawing him close for support, it seemed that a couple of answers were in order first. Fear bubbling up in her chest in a way that it hadn't in years, Dells had to rip the cell out off his hands in order to take over the call, "Elena? What did you tell him?"

"Dani?" Voice sounding raw over the line, almost as if she had been crying, the older female had to give herself a moment before she could get on with it. Without saying much of anything at all, the journalist issued the warning that this was going to be rough.

Nicknames coming and going over the years, not a single person in the Drake camp thought to question the woman that the elder brother kept. In fact, Elena almost seemed to be counting on her being there, voice breaking once more as she relayed the bad news:

Victor Sullivan was dead.

Clued in as to the fact that Victor had been like a father to both brothers, the way she understood it had hadn't been an instant connect for Sam... They had had to work at it, but after finding themselves on the same page, it had all clicked into place. Having lost both her biological father and her fair share of father-like figures in her short life, Daniella could easily imagine the endless void Sam had found himself drowning in.

Refusing to let him sink all the way to the bottom by himself, she held the thief in her arms for the rest of the night. Calmly, patiently, lovingly in the way he needed, for hours the only thing that had moved in the whole room had been her fingers threading comfortingly through his hair. Even when her arms had started to seize and get sore, she never let go. Because tonight, Sam came first.

Sure, she had had to tell him something important, but in the wake of losing someone so vital to so many, it could wait a little while longer.

[More's The Pity]

Pity for Nathan the very first words out of her mouth, Daniella was willing to stake her very life on the idea that for whatever all Sam was agonizing over, his little brother was feeling it a hundred times worse. Nate was strong, and he had his wife and daughter there to help, but in the first moments... Well, in her experience it hadn't mattered who was there by her side, because her father wasn't.

He'll make it through this, if he's anything like his brother.

Shortly after that, they came to the nasty realization that they would have to be the ones to break it to Cutter when he got back from his business. Neither Sam nor Daniella had wanted to believe that it was true, let alone to have to say the words out loud. Doing that would make it real, make it final, and some small part of the man was still hoping for Elena to call back and tell him that there was a mistake. Somebody made a mistake. They must have.

Always leaning against the one other person that actually had some kind of an inkling of what he was going through, even when everyone had gathered to pay their final respects, he was still secretly - foolishly - waiting. But she didn't judge him for it. Never once leaving his side during those taxing forty-eight hours, her touch had been so warm every time she grabbed his hand in her own he thought she might have been running a fever. Not able to worry about that on top of the prospect of having to say goodbye to Victor, the historian did spare a moment to acknowledge that Dells seemed to sense when he was nearing his lowest point.

Of course, look at who he was talking about.

Fancy in black suits, sable skirts, obsidian blouses, jet-black dresses, and onyx pillbox hats with midnight veils, everyone had dressed befitting the sorrowful occasion. Outside of work, this was the first time since their mother's funeral that the brothers had seen one another in a proper suit. Nathan was a little more accustomed to it, what with Elena being in his life, but for Sam it was... unnatural. In any other situation it wouldn't have mattered, but this time all he could think was how confining the slacks and dress shirt were. Forget about the tie that his hands had been too numb to manage. Fixing the little silk noose for him, Dells assured him that he looked good, but she was biased; the cocky silver fox didn't dare believe it until it came from other people.

"Hey," calm and collected for his sake, the thief watched the heiress dust off his shoulders as if he were spying through a peephole, "you're gonna get through this. You and Nathan are some of the strongest people I know, and..." Dells caught herself about to say something that she thought he wouldn't want to hear, but then she said it anyways, "I'm here for you." She squeezed his hand once more, as if to say always.

Nodding more because he was obligated to than because he was actually ready to join the others at the wake, Sam sat down on the padded sofa in the middle of the room. Rummaging almost absently through the woman's charcoal black purse for something to entertain himself with while they waited for everyone else to arrive, he thought of all the times Victor had given them crap. As teens, the boys (mostly Nate) had been fortunate enough to land a couple of dates on the job, the long sort that kinda weaved through reconnaissance and technically being part of the heist. On one such memorable gig, Sam had gotten stuck guarding some girl's purse while his brother got to show her around and loosen the locks. Victor had been merciless about that one...

Unaware of his surroundings to the point that he had missed her stalking behind him to retrieve her phone, the heiress hovered over the ex-con's head, "You know," she did him the courtesy of fixing a stray silver hair that had seemed to materialize out of nowhere, "it's kinda stupid, but I just remembered what Sully said to me when he realized I was going to be sticking around for a while."

Eyes going dark and distant as he imagined how that conversation must have gone, Sam wondered if she was going to leave anything out. Knowing Victor... "Well since you brought it up, care to share with the rest of the class?"

Head bobbing in the fringes of his peripherals, when she caught him looking she did her utmost to keep upbeat, speaking with fond nostalgia, "It's really not much of a story." Clicking her tongue as if she regretted bringing it up, there was a pregnant pause before she filled him in, "He told me that just because my parents were pieces of work, I didn't need to be too. Turns out that he was right."

"Who told you that you weren't following in their footsteps?" Gracing her with some of his classic snark, Sam flashed a small grin her way, earning a matching one in return. Levity just blooming from the seed, it was a good sign that they could have this moment so soon after... Well, this was the kind of thing Sullivan would have wanted.

Gingerly giving his head a shove, the heiress pouted, "Don't be a jerk, jerk."

Careful to make a show of rearranging the hair she had just finished smartening up, the adventurer retorted, "Jerk-jerk? Is that some kind game the locals play?" While the woman rolled her eyes at him, he finished gussying up for the crowd that would be arriving in ten-twenty minutes. Or sooner, knowing his immediate family. "Nah, I mean it, I'm all ears here."

Falling for that one before, Daniella warrior princess still indulged the explorer/rapscallion, joining him on the suddenly cramped little sofa. Making like she was going to take this seriously and take him to task for his ignorance, she had gone so far as to put her phone off to the side, partway behind her on the dimpled couch, still within ready reach but not a distraction. "Well you see," only getting that far, she flicked him in the chest with a freshly-minted manicure, "a jerk-jerk is what we call people like you."

"Handsome rogues?" He chuckled at his own joke, confident that she would agree.

Saved having to answer that, her phone began to vibrate underneath the rust-colored pillow that was only there for decorative purposes. "Hold that thought." Caught in the moment, she put her hand on his thigh before reaching behind them for the newest model cellular device. Well, maybe it wasn't the newest newest model on the market, but he knew that she kept up with what was getting put out on to the street.

Between the grief he still couldn't process, the fact that this was a funeral, the heady perfume that was starting to get to him - that always got to him - and the moment itself, it was safe to say that he was feeling it too. Thinking it was so adorable, Sam plucked the phone out of her frail and unsuspecting hands before it could buzz again. Before she had the chance to see who it was. Most plausibly it was probably just Elena or someone calling about the wake, but then again it just as easily could have been a secret that the heiress was trying to keep. Pity for her, Dells was awful at keeping anything from him.

"Give it." Tone crisp and clear as if she were speaking to the family mutt, she seemed rather peeved to be denied her personal property. "Sam, I mean it."

"Why?" Waving it through the air as it continued to rumble violently in his fist, the former brunette decided it would be really cute to see who it was for her. J. An initial? "Who's J?" Only half-teasing the woman now that the device had gone quiet, he wondered what it was about her and names that began with the letter 'J'. "Someone's trying to keep secrets, aren't they?"

Author's Note:

So I actually had a large section of the next chapter finished when this idea came to me, but THIS felt like a better transition between the previous chapter and the next. Also, it just felt right, you know? Like the core idea, even if I do question the exact timing of everything.

Oh, and just in case this was poorly put on my part, this is another future chapter. It skips a fair bit of time at a point, and I'm worried that I did Sully a disservice, but yeah...