"Hey, thanks again for helping me sort through the rest of this stuff." Francis said as he set down another box in Officer Gore's living room.
"It's no problem." Katrina assured, smiling, "I'm happy to help."
The two were sorting through the belongings of Francine Stone that had been confiscated by the police. With everything that had happened after Thomas Stone had been arrested, they had only had a chance to do this now.
"That's the last box." Francis announced, taking a seat on the floor next to his girlfriend.
"She certainly had a lot of stuff, didn't she?" Katrina commented, picking up what appeared to be an old scrapbook.
"Yeah, I'm just glad that the bastard didn't get rid of it all." he growled, grabbing an old yearbook. "Anyway, I was hoping that we could start by separating this stuff into piles. Yearbooks in one pile, her journals in another, and if you find any more of mom's sketchbooks, those can go in their own pile."
"What about scrapbooks or photo albums?"
"I doubt you'll find anything like that, but they can go in their own pile too." he said, his back to her.
Katrina shrugged and was about to put the scrapbook down when a photo fell out from between the pages. Setting the scrapbook aside, she curiously picked up the fallen photo. Eyes widening, she gasped.
Francis quirked a brow when he heard what sounded like a strangled squeal emit from the healer, like the kind she'd make when she saw a baby animal. "Babe, are you alr-" He stopped, his face heating up in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with his powers.
Katrina was grinning, gleefully, at an old photo of him. He was no more than a year old in the photograph and was wearing a little red T-shirt and a diaper. Big, bright emerald green eyes stared innocently up at the camera as he sucked his thumb.
Francis cursed inwardly. Of all the things his father kept, why was that one of them?!
As if to add insult to injury, the healer then turned to him and cooed, "Aw! You were so adorable!"
His flush darkened and he scowled. Francis Markus Stone was not adorable. Ever.
He reached out for the photo, only for Katrina to move it out of his reach. "Give me it, Katrina."
"No." she pouted, "You'll just burn it."
"Duh!"
"I don't want you to. I think I'll just keep it."
"Give me the picture, 'Trina."
"No! Stop trying to erase evidence of your cuteness!"
"I am not cute, damn it!"
"This photo says otherwise."
Francis growled, "Is that really how you want to play it, babe?"
Katrina grinned, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. She was silently challenging him.
"Okay, fine. Have it your way!"
Francis lunged for her, but Katrina was ready and rolled out of the way. Clutching the photo tightly, the healer darted up the stairs. The pyro scrambled to his feet and took off after her, grateful that Officer Gore wasn't home to see him acting like this.
He was hot on her heels as Katrina darted into his bedroom. He smirked, cornering her by his closet. She backed up as he stalked towards her.
"Nowhere to run now."
Katrina opened her mouth to retort when she backed up too far and accidentally bumped into a shelf in his closet. Without any warning, a stack of sketchbooks came tumbling down, one of them even hitting Katrina in the head.
"Shit! 'Trina, are you okay?" Francis asked, all traces of playfulness forgotten.
"Yes, I'm okay." she said with a wince, rubbing her head, "I suppose that's what I get for running indoors. Sorry about the mess. These are your mother's sketchbooks, aren't they?"
"Yeah, but don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're okay."
Katrina nodded and, embarrassed by her moment of clumsiness, dropped her gaze to the floor. There were about seven or eight sketchbooks scattered about on the floor around her. One of them, the one that had hit her in the head, had landed open. There was a familiar figure drawn on its pages.
Francis watched as she knelt down to retrieve it, panicking when he realized which sketchbook it was. "Uh, 'Trina, you don't need to do that! I'll get them later!"
It was too late, though. Katrina was already standing again, sketchbook in hand, eyes wide as she gazed at it.
It was a drawing of her. She was sitting in some sort of meadow on her knees, hands in her lap, with a crown of flowers atop her head. There was a smile on her face, a pure, loving smile full of warmth. Her eyes were brimming with joy and kindness. She never knew that she could look so beautiful. She could tell that a lot of time and effort was put into the picture.
Gaping, she looked up at Francis. He had his hands in his pockets, embarrassed, eyes fixed on the floor.
"Francis... did you draw this?" It was a stupid question and they both knew it.
"So what if I did?" he snapped defensively, folding his arms over his chest, "You said I needed a hobby. It was either this or burn the park down, and last I checked, you wanted me to stay out of jail!"
"It's beautiful..."
When he realized that she wasn't going to ridicule him, he sighed. "No, it's not." Francis bent down to pick up another sketchbook. He flipped to one of the pages and showed it to her.
This drawing was of Francis and his mother. Francine sat on the ground with her legs crossed. Francis, who looked to be no older than five or six in the picture, sat in her lap. The young Francis was holding a sketchbook and pencil in his hands, tilting his head back to grin excitedly up at his mother. Francine gazed down at him with a sort of content and proud smile, unbridled love shining in her eyes. It was obvious that this picture had been drawn by someone who had had years of experience. There was so much detail that it could have been mistaken for a photo.
"I'm nowhere near her skill. Mom... she had this way of breathing life into everything she drew." Francis told her, staring longingly at the picture.
"Is this... something that you've started doing recently?"
He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Not... exactly. Mom... she loved art. All kinds, but especially drawing and painting. She loved it so much that she..." He closed his eyes and, for a brief moment, heard his mother's voice. "She said that she wanted to share the thing she loved the most with the person she loved the most."
Katrina took his free hand in her own, knowing that he was baring his soul to her.
"I was real little when she taught me how to draw. That's what this picture is of. She had just bought me my own sketchbook and a set of pencils and she took me to the park. I..." his voice dropped to a raspy whisper, "I really do like drawing, but I stopped for a while."
"Why?" Katrina pried.
"... Drawing always reminded me of mom and after she... died... it hurt too much to try. Then there was my father, he never liked that mom taught me how to draw. He said it was... girly, and a few other things I'm not going to repeat. So, for a few years, I just stopped."
"What changed?"
Francis stared at her for a few seconds, mentally debating what to do. He then placed his mother's sketchbook on the floor and gently took his own out of Katrina's hand. He flipped to another page and showed her a rougher looking drawing of her. She was sitting on the ground, in the rain, smiling again. When she saw the umbrella drawn beside her, Katrina realized that it was his memory of her from when they had been in the cemetery, before Thomas Stone shot her.
"It was the night after they had finally put that bastard in jail. I had had a nightmare about him shooting you and couldn't go back to sleep." he admitted quietly, "This sketchbook... it's the same one mom gave me. I always kept it with me, even if I never used it. It was just sitting there and I thought about the stuff my father had always said about art and drawing. Then I decided, fuck it! I'm going to live the way I want to live, he wasn't going to control my life anymore!"
The redhead then blushed and looked away. "... When... when I was thinking about what to draw... I kept thinking about the graveyard, before that bastard showed up. When I... when I kissed you and you said that you liked me, that you'd go out with me... I was so fucking happy. You can't even... imagine how happy I was. When you smiled at me like that..." Green eyes met blue as he continued, his voice raw with emotion, "It's been a real long time since anyone's fucking cared, let alone loved me the way you have."
Katrina's heart ached. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him into a tender kiss. She tried to show him how much she loved him, cared about him, how grateful she was to have him in her life. When she pulled away, she was smiling that loving smile reserved only for him, "Your drawing of me was beautiful. Would it be out of line for me to ask you to draw me something sometime?"
Francis raised a brow at her, "I'll draw you as many pictures as you want, as long as you kiss me like that again."
She blushed and laughed, but leaned forward to kiss him once more.
