A/N: So this is the longer version of the original one shot. My professor challenged me to create more tension so I went back in to do some editing and adding.

The large stone house loomed over the small town like a dark cloud. Compared to the little stone cottages, all painted blues and yellows and greens with red shingled roofs, it had the appearance of a haunted house with its weathered stone walls, black roof, and dark windows. She knew it was older than every other house, Victorian in design, and allegedly cursed as every resident to ever inhabit it met a foul end. Olivia blamed its difference for her fascination with it.

She also wanted to know what became of the man who lived in it, the man who had been burned in the church when it caught fire, but lived. Some said he was too disfigured to face people, but others said that he had set the fire and got caught in it so he hid in shame. She wasn't sure which story to believe. The fire had happened 5 years before and she'd been visiting her grandmother at the time so the stories she heard were long exaggerated past the point of any semblance of truth. She only knew that someone should at least check on him to discover the truth. She imagined someone who never left their house—and such a gloomy house it was—had to be lonely. But her mother warned her to never go near the house so she stayed away as long as she could during the cold months.

XXXXX

The first day she went she dared not get any closer than the stone walkway. She looked up at the looming house, its bricks darker than usual from a recent rain, and then at the front windows. They had no curtains but she couldn't see anything more than darkness beyond them. She looked up at the top windows and a slender frame passed. She guessed it belonged to the man who owned the house, as no one in her small town had spoken of ever being inside the building. Cloaked in darkness she could only imagine the monster hidden in the shadows and the thought squelched what little nerve she'd mustered. She turned and hurried across the rocks jutting out of the stream between her family's home and the gray house.

XXXXX

The next day she found her tulips blooming and took it as a sign to retry her mission. She took a few bulbs, five red and five yellow, then went to the house, morning dew coating the round toes of her lace up boots. She knelt and planted the tulips on either side of the house's looming iron door, hoping he looked out the windows, hoping he would see the flowers and know the town—or at least one person in it—wished him happiness. She wiped her hands on the handkerchief she'd stuffed in the bottom of her basket then stood up and looked at her work. In the Sunday morning quiet, she could hear the local band playing in the tiny coffee shop a few streets over. They were covering Train's "Drops of Jupiter," one of her favorite songs and she found herself humming along as she inspected her handiwork.

"Hey!" Olivia jumped at a man's voice barking at her. She looked at the door and made out a shadowy figure grimacing at her through the cracked door. "Get off my yard!"

Before she could get a proper look at him to discern anything but ice blue eyes, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. She gave one last look at her tulips before she headed to the stream that separated her family's cottage from the house. She took off her boots and socks then her red cardigan, leaving her in her denim overall dress which she lifted to wade through the creek to the large flat-topped rock in the middle of it. She perched herself on it and gently kicked her legs in the slowly flowing stream.

From his window, the man watched her, wondering what brought her into his life.

XXXXX

Olivia stared at the cracked door, knowing she should go home because her father was probably making breakfast and would soon be calling for her, but something about it pulled her inside. She gently opened the heavy door and stepped inside the house. It was surprisingly warm, smelling faintly of coffee. The entryway was peculiarly made, only leading to a winding set of stone stairs that she climbed, looking around in wonder. Paintings of the town in different seasons covered the walls and she wondered if he'd painted them, guessing he had to because he never left. She thought that perhaps he had a friend who ventured into town for him, but she couldn't think of anyone who had mentioned knowing him, or even having seen him since the incident.

At the top of the stairs, another cracked door stood before her. Olivia looked down both ends of the dark hallway then slipped inside the room, surprised at the size of the man who stood with his back to her. He was at least a foot taller than her, with long dark hair pulled in a knot at the top of his head. He wore a dark green work shirt tucked into black pants tucked into black boots. She almost made her presence known but he held up a tiny brown clay figurine, molded to look like a unicorn, and examined it closely. He took a deep breath and raised his gloved-hand above his head, holding the figurine out under the hanging light in the room, then exhaled a flame that engulfed the figurine. Olivia gasped and he whirled around, his eyes bulging.

"How did you get here?" he demanded.

Olivia's mouth opened, an answer hanging on her lips, but nothing came out. She was surprised at his handsomeness, his complete lack of disfigurement. Surely if he's burned in the church, there would have been some scarring. But his skin was perfectly unblemished except a closely shaved beard, and his hair hung around his face in whiskey-colored curls. So what really happened in the church? Had he been there at all? And had he breathed the fire that set the church aflame? The man looked down at her with a scowl. "Well?"

"You left the door open." She pointed at the stairs, her wide eyes never leaving him. "How did you do that?"

"Get out." She didn't move, frozen on the spot, and he took a step toward her. "Get out!"

She turned and ran, taking the steps two at a time until she reached the front door. She paused and looked back at the door at the top of the stairs then left, determined that the next time she came, he wouldn't chase her away.

XXXXX

Olivia went back again, this time with her shoulders squared and a firm sense of determination that she wouldn't leave. The front door was cracked and looking down at the tulips, she could see that they had been watered. She guessed these were begrudging signs that she was welcome. Or perhaps a trap. She decided it was the former, as he'd had two opportunities to hurt her if he wanted. She climbed the stairs and found the workshop door open. He didn't look away from his work at the sound of her footsteps, working delicately with a wire-tipped tool to twirl the horn of the unicorn. He gave no indication that he heard her enter, not looking up to acknowledge her presence. She walked to the shelf where a dozen figurines sat to examine them. She picked up one of the figurines, a little elephant, and looked at it, turning it over in her hands. She turned to the man. "Did you make all these?"

She replaced the elephant and moved on to a different set, picking up a giraffe. He walked over and picked up the elephant, frowning down at her as he replaced it in its original spot. "These go in very specific places."

She looked at the arrangements and understood. He had created entire sets: a circus, a farm, a collection of forest animals. She looked up at him, towering over her. He wasn't particularly frightening, but she was wary of anyone who could breathe fire. Still, there was nothing overtly threatening about him aside from their size difference. He smelled of soap, and very faintly of brimstone. It was a peculiar, almost pleasant odor. "Do it again. Finish the unicorn."

He looked down at her, his dark eyebrows raised, and went back to the table, smirking at the sound of her boots clunking on the stone floor as she followed closely. She tried to climb onto his stool but it was too tall, actually reaching her chest. He watched her eye it dubiously for a few minutes before he put down the unicorn and lifted her onto the stool. She squeaked her thanks but he didn't reply as he picked up the figurine again. He turned slightly away from her and inhaled deeply then blew out a flame. The figurine glowed red in the flames for a few minutes before he stopped. He dipped it in a large bowl of ice water then took it out and dried it with a towel.

Olivia watched, her insides quivering, as he pulled out a box full of tubes of paint then sat on the stool. He used white first, mixing it with a speck of red to create a slightly pink color that he used on the unicorn's body. She watched him begin mixing red and blue with the white to make lavender, surprised at the nimbleness of his long fingers with the thin paintbrush as he painted the horse's mane. "You're not scary."

"That's a matter of opinion," he replied, not looking away from the figurine.

"I'm not scared of you."

"I breathe fire. You should be." As if to prove his point, he whistled a tune—Mozart, she guessed—and exhaled tiny plumes of orange flames.

It occurred to Olivia that she probably should be afraid of him, he was a fire-breathing man after all, but she couldn't make herself be afraid of someone with such soft eyes, someone who crafted such beautiful things. She swung her legs, intertwined her fingers in her lap. "What happened in the church?"

His hands stilled and he turned to look at her for a long moment, his questioning gaze meeting her meekly curious one, then went back to his work. "I made a deal with the devil. I wanted to be better at my art, and I said I would do anything. He gave me a gift and asked for one in return."

"So you burned down the church and he gave you the ability to breathe fire?"

He shook his head. "He burned the church and me with it. He said I had to let the flames consume me while I lay on the altar. The church was unfortunate collateral damage."

Olivia turned the information over in her head. "Was it worth it?"

He shrugged. "My art has never been better."

"But you're alone." He gave no reply, not even an indication that he'd heard her. "What's your name?"

"Fitz." He looked at her again, finding something sweet about her fidgeting, her thin legs swinging and her fingers twiddling as she watched him with wide dark eyes. He could have spent an eternity staring at her, mixing paints to create the limpid brown flecked with gold of her irises, the honeyed ochre brown of her skin, and the shining black of her springy curls. "You know, you're the first person who's been here in 5 years."

"I'm Olivia" She picked up a clay figure that he hadn't fired yet and examined it. It was a bear, a panda she thought from the roundness of it. She squeezed the pliant form then reshaped it, making the ears rounder. She used the wire he'd used for the unicorn's horn to fill in the details of the face, making the panda smile slightly. Fitz watched from the corner of his eye, noting that her short slender fingers worked better with the clay than his. "Do you ever go out?

He shook his head. "I send my figurines to the knickknack shop, have my groceries delivered, get all my information through the newspaper."

She put down the panda and picked up a blown figurine, a smiling frog. She was surprised when he handed her a paintbrush that she set down to make a soft shade of green beside his blob of lavender. She began painting the frog carefully, imitating his soft even strokes. "I work at the library. They print the paper there. Somebody said it's gotten too expensive, that it would be cheaper to go online."

"Isn't everything online?" He gave a wry smirk. "I sell my figurines on Amazon too. It's the bulk of my income."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"Isn't everyone?" He stopped painting and looked at her.

She squirmed under his intense gaze, put down the painted frog, unsure of how to answer. Luckily her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to look at it then slid off the stool. "My father's looking for me."

She left the room and he heard her slight footsteps on the stairs. She called goodbye and he heard the door shut. He went to the window again and watched her skip across the river's rocks to get to her house. When she was out of sight, he tentatively descended the steps and went outside, for once venturing past the front yard to walk around the house to the back where the river ran through the land. He crossed it easily, his long legs making the trip easier for him than it was for her.

Fitz stared at the little house for a while, mindful to stay out of sight of Olivia and the man he guessed was her father as they sat in the kitchen, talking while holding mugs of what he assumed to be coffee. He walked to the window beside the one looking into the small kitchen and smiled at her name painted above the bed in large letters. Her polka-dotted backpack sat on the bed, textbooks stacked beside it, and a vanity covered with makeup sat opposite the window. He set the painted unicorn on the open window's sill then went back to his house. He wasn't sure what a woman would want with a unicorn, but he hoped she liked it.

Later, when Olivia came into her room, the first thing she noticed was the unicorn sitting on the windowsill. She walked over and picked it up with a smile, wondering when he'd come to deliver it. She wanted to show her father, to prove that he wasn't the monster everyone thought, but then she would have to explain how she knew. Even at 20, she was unsure of how to explain defiance to her father. She was always an "easy" child, and she liked the comfort it afforded. So she simply too the unicorn and put it on the nightstand beside her bed.

XXXXX

Visiting him became a daily occurrence. When her father left to work in the church where he was the minister, Olivia would cross the stream and spend the day with Fitz in his workshop, watching him craft the figurines. He eventually turned over the task of painting them to her and soon the workshop's lone large window was lined with delicately painted figurines. When she was gone, Fitz would stare at them, her gentle floral scent still wafting through the room.

On a particularly sunny day, she arrived in a dark blue pinafore dress—a dress he had learned was her favorite—over a white t-shirt and her little lace up boots—shoes he could identify by the sound of their heels alone. She had braided her hair around her head like a crown, and carried her backpack, meaning she'd been to work at the library that day. She set her backpack on the floor beside the workshop door then produced two oranges from its front pocket.

"Let's go outside," she suggested as she handed him an orange. A stricken look passed over his face. He hadn't been outside since he'd taken her the figurine, and that had only been for a few minutes. "Not to town. Just the creek."

The panic on his face subsided and he followed her down the stairs to the front door. She looked back at him as she crossed the threshold, almost sure he'd turn back, but he followed her to the creek where she sat on the edge and removed her shoes and socks. She sat down and began peeling her orange. Fitz sat beside her and removed his boots and socks then rolled up his pants to put his feet in the pleasantly warm water.

His hair was loose that day, hanging around his face in coffee-colored curls. His skin seemed luminous in the house, but outside in the sun he was almost porcelain from all his time inside. "Did you like it? The unicorn?"

She looked at him, smiling at the way he looked at anything but her. She hadn't imagined someone like him would be so shy, and it made her stomach quiver. There was a softness to him that no one knew, one that he had apparently decided to show her. "It's my favorite thing from anyone."

"I made you another one. I've been working on it since I first saw you. I hope you like it." He pressed the figurine in her hand, his eyes on the river as she looked at it. It was a tiny girl, with delicately carved curling hair and wide brown eyes. She wore a blue pinafore dress and little brown lace-up boots.

Olivia ran her fingertip over the gentle slope of the girl's button nose then over the curls that looked painstakingly crafted. "You got my hair right."

"I wanted it to be perfect. It was the nicest thing I could do after what you did for me."

She smiled. "Do you mean breaking into your house, or completely invading your privacy?"

His ring and pinky fingers tentatively intertwined with hers on the grass. "Both, I suppose. Now you can tell all the townspeople you've slayed the beast."

Olivia curled her fingers around his. "You're not a beast. You're my friend."

Fitz smiled. "And you're mine."

They stayed outside until sunset when she stuffed her socks in her shoes then pulled on her backpack, the figurine still clutched in her hand. She followed him back to his front door and they stood on the front stoop nervously. Olivia finally decided she would have to take the leap and stood on the toes of her boots to pull his face down to hers. She wondered if he'd ever kissed a woman when he tensed against her but he quickly relaxed, his hands finding her waist to pull her up completely on her toes. A warmth that she'd never experienced spread through her, and it occurred to her that she had kissed, but that she had never been kissed. The difference was subtle yet profound, and stayed with her as she walked home, warmth swirling in her stomach like butterflies.

She didn't expect to find her father home. He looked up when she entered. "Where have you been?"

"Work." The lie came so easily, rolling off her tongue like the truth.

"Are you sure?" Eli looked over his half-rimmed glasses at his daughter, shutting his thick, heavily annotated Bible.

Olivia's eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

"Olivia Carolyn Pope, there are few rules in my house but you know the most important one. What is it?"

Anxiety crept up her spine. She immediately wondered who might have seen her going into Fitz's house, but the street always seemed empty. Still, there was no such thing as a secret in a small town. Her eyes dropped to her damp bare feet. "Never lie."

"And, knowing that, would you like to revise your last answer to me?"

She hated when he used his "preacher voice" with her. It always made her feel like God himself had stopped whatever he was doing to listen in on their conversation. "I was visiting a friend."

"A friend? Would that friend," he spat the word like a swear, "be the devil who burned the church?"

"He didn't burn it. It was—" She certainly couldn't tell her father what had really happened. He wouldn't believe for even a minute. "It was an accident."

"An accident is burning dinner, not the house of God," he replied.

"He didn't mean to."

Eli cracked a condescending smile. "Did he tell you that? And did you believe him? Are you as stupid as you are dishonest?"

"I…" Rage boiled in her stomach. "I'm not stupid."

"And yet you'll take the word of a monster over the truth of your friends and neighbors."

"He's not a monster. He's a person just like us. I thought the Bible said we aren't supposed to judge, reverend."

Eli's eyes widened. Olivia had never actually attempted to argue with him. He wasn't sure what to make of her change, but he knew very well whom to blame for it. "So I see you've let the devil get into your mind."

"I haven't done anything."

Olivia stepped back when her father stepped forward. "You do not speak to me that way."

"I—" The clap of her father's large palm stopped her words, setting off a ringing in her ears. The rage in her stomach reached a fever pitch and she opened her mouth to shout but only a flame—crimson and billowing—escaped. Eli scrambled back from it, narrowly avoiding being burned and he fell into the wooden kitchen table, knocking his Bible into his lap.

"He's possessed you!" He flung the Bible at her, hitting her below her right eye, and Olivia fell against the wall. She quickly regained her composure and threw the Bible back at him as she clambered to her feet. She took her boots and ran from the house. She didn't even take the stones across the creek, instead running through the water to the other side.

Fitz's front door was open and she found him in the workshop, painting a duck. He turned at the sound of her entrance and his eyes widened at her bleeding face. "Olivia! What happened?"

She sagged against the wall, only then allowing the tears to fall. The stung her split skin and she wiped at her face, not surprised when she saw her blood-steaked hand. Fitz knelt at her side, producing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her face and inspect the wound. It wasn't a deep cut, really only a scratch. He gently held her face, inspecting it for any more damage. Her cheek was a little red and he guessed someone had hit her. "What happened?"

Olivia made herself stop crying, wiping her face with his now tear, blood, and makeup stained handkerchief. Her eyes suddenly widened as she looked at him. She whispered, "I breathed fire."

"You what?"

"I did. I breathed fire. My father yelled at me and I opened my mouth to yell back but it was fire." She seemed to be talking more to herself than him, turning over the revelation in her mind. "How did I do it?"

"I…" Fitz couldn't fathom it. Surely she hadn't cursed herself to get close to him. When would she have had the opportunity? "You kissed me. I must have…"

Olivia turned her face away from him and inhaled deeply then exhaled a flame. "I've got it too."

"This is terrible." He frowned deeply, wondering how they could cure her. "I'm so sorry, Olivia."

She shrugged. "It's not so bad. It's like a superpower.

Before Fitz could explain what was so terrible, someone began shouting outside the house. He went to the window and looked out. An angry crowd stood staring up at the house, some of them holding guns. He had the brief thought that he'd fallen into one of Olivia's novels. She joined him at the window and gasped. "My father's brought the whole church."

"Give me back my daughter!" Eli bellowed. "Olivia!"

They descended the steps and Fitz attempted to stand in front of her but Olivia shook her head. "They'll shoot first if they see you."

She opened the front door and stepped out, using her body to shield Fitz. Eli scowled at them. "Olivia get away from him!"

"No!" Olivia shouted, surprisingly loud for someone her size. "He's my friend."

"He's the devil," Eli implored. He looked at his only child plaintively. "Come with us. We can fix what he did to you."

"No."

Fitz stepped from behind her. "Listen, people, I can assure you I'm not the devil. I did something I shouldn't have and I understand your fears, but you've all misunderstood."

"Get him! Kill the demon!" someone in the crowd shouted and chaos descended. Fitz found his limbs pinned and he heard Olivia scream as someone grabbed her, dragging her away from him.

"Let her go!" he bellowed even though he couldn't see what was happening. He sucked in a large breath and exhaled the largest flame he could make, determined to break free. The men holding him released him, stumbling away in terror. He turned to look for Olivia but Eli charged him and struck his chest with an axe, knocking him backward. The last thing he heard was Olivia's scream.

"No!" She wrenched herself free, exhaling fire like a dragon to push the crowd away as she rushed to where Fitz lay, his shirt dark with blood. "No, no, no. Fitz…"

He gave a soft groan and Olivia unbuttoned his shirt, her face crumpling at the large gash in his pale flesh. She pushed his hair back to open his eyes but he wasn't seeing her or anything else. A thought struck her, something primal and instinctual, and she wiped his wound as clean as she could get it. She held the gash closed and blew softly on it, a gentle flame sealing it shut. She looked at his face and nothing changed. She looked at the crowd and found them staring at the scene in horror.

"Why would you do this? Aren't you Christians? Shouldn't you show mercy?" They backed away from the wild-haired girl, many of them turning to leave in shame as she wept over his lifeless body. She cupped his face the way he had just held hers and called his name softly with no answer. She lowered her lips to his, a final goodbye, and his eyes opened at the contact. He gasped back to life beneath him and Olivia gasped in surprise, sitting back to allow him to sit up. The crowd's murmur rose and soon they were backing away, sure they were witnessing some unholy scene.

"What happened?" he asked, struggling to sit up.

"My father… I brought you back. You came back to me." Her voice was a wondrous whisper, her fingertips gently running over his face to ensure that he was real as he stared at her. "Are you okay?"

He looked at his chest, the thin scar already beginning to heal, and nodded. "I've got quite the headache but other than that, I'm fine. Are you okay?"

She nodded, still touching his face. Fitz gingerly rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. Olivia hugged him fiercely, only loosening her grip when he winced. She remembered the scar and released him. "Sorry."

He gave a grimacing smile. "I'm okay. We should go inside before they come back."

"They won't be back. They think I'm possessed."

They went inside the house and shut the door behind them. Only back in the safety of his workroom did Fitz take Olivia in his arms, covering her face with kisses. Olivia relished the feeling, saying a silent prayer of thanks to whomever had blessed them.