A/N: Eh. So, there's not much to say with this chapter other than the fact that I feel it is lacking a certain element of je ne se qua. However, I've been working on it since 11:00 this morning, and I'm sick of it. Blech. Now you get to deal with it, and, hopefully, you'll like it better than I do. :) Anyway, without further ado, here's the next post for this story. Enjoy... as much as it is possible.

Charlynn

Chapter Six
Getting the Green Light

Sometimes it really sucked sleeping with… dating… falling for?... a doctor, especially when she herself was so busy. It was bad enough with Elizabeth's schedule. With the art gallery, which was more than just a place to sell one-of-a-kind pieces of art, due to open in only a short amount of time, she was constantly on the go, leaving her with few chances to be with Jason, but, add on top of that some unforeseen complications on his part, and they had gone an entire weekend without once getting to meet. There had been no impromptu meals, no lazy nights spent in bed, and even their phone conversations were quick, efficient, and to the point. To make matters worse, she still had not gotten the opportunity to show off her tattoo, so, not only were her fingers itching to touch the man who occupied most of her spare thoughts, not only were her lips thirsting to feel his underneath her own, and not only were her eyes begging for a chance to run themselves up and down Jason's form, preferably his naked one, but, now, the little, inked figurine sitting low on her abdomen and underneath her right hip bone was burning to be revealed.

Deciding enough was enough, the accountant had set a plan into motion, determined to prove that the good doctor was not the only one between the two of them who could come up with a wickedly impertinent plot. To start off with, when her alarm had gone off early that Monday morning, she hadn't hit the snooze button; instead, she had quickly showered and got dressed, arriving to work an hour ahead of her usual schedule. She had made phone calls, punched numbers into her calculator, and signed off on paperwork more professionally and proficiently than ever in the past, and, as a treat, she had informed her few employees that she was going out for lunch that afternoon, except, instead of having food for her midday meal, she planned to have Jason.

In her car, which was luckily decked out with tinted bullet proof windows like any good mob-mobile would be, she had changed, donning a simple pair of blue scrubs, a white doctor's coat, and Rivers Cuomo glasses. Contrary to her normal style, she had let her hair go curly that morning, so she could use the body and natural waves of her chestnut locks to aid her in her disguise. Satisfied that she looked unobtrusive enough to get past the nurses' desk and into Jason's office with detection, she had set off for the hospital, barely maintaining her excitement and barely managing to follow the speed limit. After all, it would be just her luck that she would get pulled over for speeding and end up in lock up, being forced to call Sonny's lawyer to bail her out, and her plan was too important to her to take a side trip to the local precinct for a round of 'let's pin all the recent unsolved cases upon the little accountant packing heat.' Although, on second thought, she had to admit to herself that the handcuffs could be fun, and the idea of conjugal visits did hold a certain wicked appeal.

And, so, as she made her way towards her very own pediatrician, a doctor who examined and healed her body like no one else, Elizabeth's mind started to wander into very dangerous territory, and she was not one to stop a little innocent fantasizing. By the time she found herself standing in front of Jason's closed door, her heart was racing, her palms were sweaty, and her body was already humming with desire. Aroused and unashamed, she knocked quickly before letting herself into the office, silently locking the door behind her.

His back was towards her, and, without turning around, he asked, "can I help you?"

"Yes, Doctor Quartermaine," the artist answered, stifling her laughter and attempting to disguise her voice, "I'm hoping you will be able to. I was wondering if you'd be willing to consult on a case with me."

"What are the symptoms?"

"Well," she revealed, sliding her way towards him but refusing herself the chance to touch him, "the patient's… ailment started out simply enough. Loneliness, insomnia, and rapid breathing sometimes at night when she was in bed, but it's progressed quickly. Now, she's suffering from an elevated heart rate, her skin is clammy and flushed, so I think she might be suffering from a fever, her entire body has been wracked with fine, breathless tremors, and she has this ache inside of her, deep inside of her, and I'm afraid, Doctor…" She paused long enough to return her voice to normal. "That you are the only one who can cure her."

Apparently, he was up for her little game, because, when Jason turned around in his chair, he never once said anything to acknowledge her presence. Instead, he kept up the ruse, pretending to go along with her performance, and it was only his eyes, his wonderfully hypnotic, perilously bright blue eyes that told her he knew exactly what she was trying to do and that he'd willingly return the favor.

"What kind of treatment have you tried so far?"

"Visualization and some at-home, solo physical therapy," Elizabeth replied briskly, amusing herself with how rapidly she could think of answers with such blatant sexual connotations.

"I see," the pediatrician stated contemplatively, and she could tell by the spark of awareness that had illuminated his face that he knew exactly what she had been trying to say. Startling her, he stood up from his desk abruptly, moving to stand directly in front of her, mere inches separating their vigorously breathing chests. "However, I think we're going to have to take a more hands on approach. This patient is going to need my personal attention and all the TLC I can give her. First," he instructed while lifting his hands to grip the surgical coat Elizabeth was wearing, "we need to strip her of all her clothes."

As his fingers made quick work of her scrubs, literally ripping them off her quivering form, she continued to play along. "You're right, Doctor. They might be tainted, preventing the patient from being cared for properly."

"And we certainly wouldn't want that."

"No," the accountant moaned when Jason stripped her of the final barrier of clothing, a pair of powder blue lacy boyshorts, "we wouldn't."

"Plus," he added, lifting her up off the ground and sitting her on top of his desk, "I think we need to sweat out the disease, push it out of the patient's system."

Nodding swiftly, she agreed, "sweating is good." Blinding reaching behind her, the brunette attempted to clear off the work space as best as she could, not carrying that files of organized paperwork, expensive collectables, and picture frames holding photos of Jason's daughter were falling and crashing onto the tiled floor. Lifting her languid, lust filled lids, she found the man she had come to the hospital to seduce preparing to return the favor. As his shaking hands pushed down his own pants, she practically purred in contentment, leaning back against the desk to offer herself to him, and sighing repeatedly, "very, very good."

"I also think," the physician added as he readied himself at her entrance, "that a deep tissue massage is needed." And, with that, he pushed his way inside her, filling her, completing her, satisfying her completely with that single action.

Their coupling was fast, hard, and utterly unforgiving, and Elizabeth found herself blossoming under the less than gentle touch. She had always craved excitement and danger, but, until she had met Jason, she had always assumed she would find that by living on the edge and by refusing to settle down. Instead, the artist was quickly learning that true danger came when one risked their heart and not their life. Death, in a perverse way, was easy. It was quick, it was lasting, and it was pretty hard to look back and have regrets once you were dead… or so she believed, but, by risking her heart, opening it up to someone, and giving them that power over her, she found out what true peril was. Surviving that, getting to live another day to face another challenge with the threat of sheer heartbreak hanging over her head, gave Elizabeth a sense of exhilaration and thrill that no gun and no one night stand had ever been able to give her. Having Jason in her life was the greatest rush of all.

Sprawled out on the cool floor of his office, she lounged peacefully in his arms, enjoying the contrary sensations of Jason's heated and glistening body pressed up against hers while the tiles below them chilled her dewy form. Their breathing had finally returned to normal, but neither of them made a move to stand up or to get dressed; they were perfectly content where they were. Seductively, he trailed his left hand up and down arm, brushing the backs of his fingers against the sensitive skin from her shoulder to her wrist. In fact, she was so comfortable in his embrace, she almost forgot why she had been so eager to see him in the first place.

Squirming away from him, she swung a leg over his waist and sat up, effectively trapping Jason underneath her as she straddled him. "I have something you need to see."

"Mmm," the doctor agreed mischievously, his gaze already traveling up and down her nude and exposed form. "I really like this. I think we should have show and tell more often."

When his hands reached out to pull her back down on top of him so he could kiss her, she pushed his advances away. "Quit," Elizabeth ordered him. "I'm being serious right now." Sobering quickly, he simply remained still beneath her, watching her, waiting for her to do or say whatever it was she needed to. "Remember that surprise I told you about…"

"Your tattoo," he answered, immediately becoming intrigued and propping himself up on his elbows. "That's right, between my emergency cases this weekend and your already hectic workload, I didn't get to see it yet, and, just now, you had me too distracted to remember."

"It's right here," the accountant displayed, arching her back to give him a better view. Without prompting, Jason lifted one hand to caress the design that occupied her otherwise flawless skin low and to the right of her abdomen.

"A ballerina," he breathed out, tracing the faint lines of the whimsical, almost impressionistic figure. Looking back up to meet her gaze, the blonde questioned, "I didn't know that you danced?"

"I don't." Pushing him back so that she could lay down on top of him, Elizabeth sighed and delicately kissed his chest, before explaining. "My Mother was an artist. She met my father when he was on vacation in Europe. They had this whirlwind affair that only really lasted a week, but, by the time he left to go back home to the states, to his wife and children, she was in love with him, and I was on the way. She never told my father about me; she always said that she loved him too much to trap him or ruin his happiness by destroying his family. So, for the first few years of my life, it was just the two of us, and I was happy.

"For my fourth birthday, she planned an entire day for us. Looking back, I realize that we must have been pretty poor. Unknown and undiscovered, my mother's paintings went unsold, so she resorted to cleaning other people's houses to support us, but, as a child, I never realized that she struggled to put food on the table or that when she insisted that we use candles at night it was because our electricity had been shut off. All I knew was that I loved my Mom and that she loved me; nothing else mattered. So, when we went to the park for a picnic and then to an art museum for my birthday instead of having a party where I got lots of presents, I never knew or cared that most kids celebrated the day they were born differently.

"That day, the one when I turned four, she showed me her favorite artist. My Mother was a fan of the impressionists, but, unlike most scholars, she didn't prefer Monet; her first and lasting love when it came to art was Degas. I remember we sat there in front of his paintings in the museum, and, as only a mother could, she explained to me why. She said that Degas' work was more obsessive, more ardent, that you could sense his emotions with every single one of his brushstrokes, that, by focusing on people instead of nature, she felt he was a kindred spirit to her and that he, too, had a passion for both life and love. For hours, we remained there, enchanted by his paintings of ballet dancers. There were my Mother's favorite pieces, and, on that day, they became my favorites as well.

"So," she finished, pushing aside the memories to refocus on the present, "that is why I chose to get a tattoo of a ballerina. It's for Degas, it's for me, because I, too, am an artist, and it's for my Mother."

With his voice low, almost reverent in nature, Jason whispered, "I'd love to meet her."

"Who?"

"Your mother."

"You can't," the brunette denied him, almost at once extricating herself from his embrace and standing up to get dressed. "I need to get back to the gallery. Can I borrow a pair of your scrubs until I get back to my car?"

"Of course," he answered without thought, "but why?"

Believing he wanted to know why she had to leave or simply trying to avoid his true question, the accountant responded, "my lunch break is over."

"That's not what I meant, Elizabeth." Coming up to her side, the pediatrician reached out, grabbing her arms and making her stand still and face him. "What I meant was, why can't I meet your mother?"

Unfeelingly, she replied, "because she's dead. She was already sick when we went to the museum for my fourth birthday, and she died a few weeks later. That day, when she told me about Degas, that was the last happy day we ever spent together." Pulling away from him, she continued to put her clothes back on. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really have to go."

She wasn't trying to build the wall back up around herself to keep Jason out; she did it simply to keep herself together. She had work to do that afternoon, a lot of it, and she couldn't afford to lose herself in the past or her memories. Once she was ready to leave though, she realized that she had been too harsh, so, as a compromise, after kissing the man she felt more for than she would allow herself to admit, she said, "some other time, okay?" His brow wrinkled in confusion, so she explained. "Some other time when I'm not as stressed and we're not in a very busy hospital, I'll tell you more about my mother." Offering him a small smile, she added, "I even have a few pictures from when I was really little, so you can meet my Mom the only way I can introduce you to her and, at the same time, get to see how awkward and chubby I was as a kid. It'll be fun."

"Yes," Jason agreed, kissing her one last time before opening the door for her, "it will be."

After he had calmed down, gone home and discussed the matter with his wife, Sonny had realized that trying to force or scare Jason away from Elizabeth wouldn't work. In his years living and running a business in Port Charles, he had stumbled across the old man a few times and knew that the Quartermaines were too mulish, much like himself, to ever back down from a challenge, especially when they wanted something as much as he could only imagine the younger man wanted Elizabeth. The mob boss wasn't naïve; he recognized the fact that his accountant was a beautiful woman, an intelligent, oddly endearing, beautiful woman, one who would be easy to fall in love with. While he had never felt more for the brunette than friendship and fatherly concern, he knew his children's pediatrician felt otherwise. So, with that in mind, he had taken a few days to brainstorm, to think of something he could tempt the blonde with to lure him away from Elizabeth, and, as he spread his linen napkin across his lap that evening, a permanent smile etched across his handsome, dimpled face, he felt confident that he had come up with an offer, to be cliché, that Jason Quartermaine would not be able to refuse.

He waited for the doctor to take his seat before he spoke. "I'm pleased you accepted my invitation to dinner."

"Well, I was intrigued," the younger man admitted. "Not only are you my girlfriend's boss, but you also asked me to meet you in the restaurant my family owns. To be blunt, Mr. Corinthos…"

"Please, call me Sonny."

"Alright then," the physician agreed, "Sonny, to be blunt, I knew you were up to something, and I figured it would be better to face you head on than allow you to come after me from behind and catch me unaware."

The crime lord had not expected his dining partner to be so candid about his extra-marital affairs, but who was he to argue? Subtlety had never been his strong suit. "First of all, Elizabeth is not your girlfriend; she's your mistress."

"How I choose to refer to my relationship with the woman I am involved with is none of your business."

"You see, that's where you're wrong," he argued, prolonging the moment by reaching out to pick up his glass of scotch. After taking a robust drink, he continued. "I've known Elizabeth now for almost seven years. You've known her for what, a few months? I know about her past, I know about her family, and I know her well enough to know that you can't say the same things."

Stubborn, Jason countered, "I know enough to realize that she would hate the fact that you went behind her back and asked me to meet with you this evening."

Grinning, once again, the mafia don admitted, "touché."

"And let me tell you something else I know about Elizabeth," the doctor pressed, unwilling to give in now that he finally had the upper hand. "It's not important that she hasn't shared her past with me yet, because, as you should know since you claim to be so close to her, she's not someone who lives in the before; she's focused solely on the here and now, and, there, I'm firmly placed in her life."

"You make another good point," Sonny allowed, "and, because we both understand the woman that Elizabeth is, I find it futile to discuss why she is not bothered by the fact that you are very much a married man. However, that said, I do find it advantageous to me to discuss the reasons why you have no qualms cheating on your wife." Without waiting for the blonde to respond, he held up his hand to stop him and proceeded to answer his own question. "You're unhappy in your marriage. You married a woman you have nothing in common with, a woman who does not understand you. When the two of you spend time together, you fight with her and she either treats you with indifference or belittles you. You hate your job, the pointlessness of helping those who really don't need your help, and you wish for the chance to do more, to somehow find a way to assist those who can't afford health insurance or proper medical attention. You feel trapped, suffocated, but, among other things, being with Elizabeth makes you feel free."

By looking at the man across from him, the mob boss knew that he had struck a cord, and, by observing Jason, he discovered that the pediatrician was uncomfortable with his life being discussed so openly with a man he held to be nothing more than a stranger. He was fighting to remain in control, to mask his emotions and the sudden surge of temper he felt when he asked, "how do you know all of this about me?"

"Haven't you heard," Sonny teased him. "I have both the money and the resources to get anything I want, and what I wanted was to know everything about you. People talk, Mr. Quartermaine, especially when provided with the proper incentive. In fact, you weren't hard to figure out at all."

"And the purpose of this little exercise of yours was to what, to make me feel vulnerable and at your mercy?"

"Of course not," the older man denied. "In fact, my motives are quite to the contrary. You see, I wanted to know everything about you so that when I came here tonight I'd be able to give you exactly what you wanted in return for you giving me what I want."

Prompting him, Jason demanded, "and that would be?"

"In exchange for you agreeing to stop seeing Elizabeth, I'll build you a free clinic. I'll pay and smooth the way for all its permits, I'll employ my own construction company to build it for you. I'll staff it, stock it, and even advertise its opening. I'll provide you with a suitable stipend for operating it for me, but, when anyone looks at the paperwork, it'll appear as if you own it. No one will ever be able to tie the clinic to my name."

Narrowing his gaze, the doctor scrutinized Sonny closely. Finally, he spoke up. "So you think that you can bribe me into giving up the second best thing that's ever happened to be, outshined only by the birth of my daughter?"

"Bribery is such an unpleasant word," the underworld kingpin laughed, his amusement doing nothing to mask his frustration and wrath. "I prefer to think of it as 'if you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,' as two friends helping each other out."

Pushing back his chair, the younger man stood, tossing aside his napkin. Glaring at the mob boss, he stated vehemently, "fuck you, Mr. Corinthos. My back doesn't need scratched, and, even if it did, I have a woman waiting for me back at her studio who would gladly scratch it for me without drawing any blood."

Without saying another word, Sonny watched as his children's physician walked away from the table. Despite himself, he had to give the Quartermaine golden boy credit. When pushed, he knew how to stand up for himself. He was loyal to those he felt deserving of his loyalty, unwavering and resolute, a good father, and he could not be forced or coerced into something he didn't want to. If he didn't know better than to ask, Jason was the type of man the don would want working for him; if he wasn't afraid for the young woman he cared for like she was his own daughter, Jason was the type of man Sonny would have wanted Elizabeth to be with, but, unfortunately, he was married, and there was nothing more complicated than a separation when money, power, and a family heir were involved.

Another Thursday art lesson had come and gone, and Elizabeth had impressed him, once again, with a creative and yet easy project that she brought in for his patients. That evening, they had made black magic umbrellas and flowers that the children could take back to their rooms to hang up on the windows and walls, both to cheer up the dreary hospital interior and to show off their skills as an artist. But, instead of cleaning up and rushing out so that they could be alone, the accountant he cared so much for was helping one child with a special piece of artwork, a large, intricately cut out, personalized rose that the little girl was planning on giving to her great-grandmother. As he had promised himself, Jason had finally brought his daughter to meet Elizabeth. Not taking his meeting with Sonny Corinthos to heart, he had pushed on in his relationship with the young brunette, deciding it was time to merge the two most important aspects of his life.

While Elizabeth had been helping the terminally ill pediatric patients, Sydney had made him a very proud father, insisting that she could work on her own art piece at home and helping Elizabeth with the other children, even the ones who were older than herself. However, the artist had surprised her after the kids had gone back to their rooms by claiming she deserved a private lesson since she was so thoughtful and compassionate towards others. So, an hour later than he had planned to still be at the hospital, Jason sat mesmerized as he watched the woman he loved play, paint, and talk with the little girl he adored.

"What kind of pictures do you make," his daughter asked of Elizabeth.

"Well, I tend to paint things that are important to me, things that, when I look at my work fifty years from now, I'll want to be able to remember everything about down to the minutest of details."

Innocently, his seven year old asked, "have you ever painted my Dad?"

Realizing she had no idea just how close he and Elizabeth were, the doctor had to stifle a chuckle when he observed the artist's face turn pink from embarrassment as she struggled to find an answer. Finally, she questioned, "what do you mean?"

"Well, my Dad is your friend," Sydney reasoned, "and you're supposed to love your friends, right?"

"Right," the brunette agreed.

"So that means that you should paint a picture of my Daddy."

"I've never thought of it that way," Elizabeth stated, grinning at the little girl beside her, "but, now that you mention it, maybe I should. If I did, would you want to hang on to it for me?"

"Really?"

"Sure," the accountant urged. "After all, I happen to know for a fact that you're the most important thing in this whole world to your Dad, and I have a sneaky suspicion he's just as important to you. So, if anyone should have a portrait of him, it's you."

"What would he look like in it," his daughter wanted to know. "Would you paint him in his hospital pajamas?"

"In his scrubs, no, I don't think so." Teasingly, Elizabeth studied him, making Jason roll his eyes at her. Eventually, she went on to say, "I think I would paint him on a motorcycle." Surprised, the pediatrician flashed his gaze towards the impish brunette to find her smiling widely. "I bet you didn't know that your Dad can drive a bike, did you, Sydney?"

The seven year old giggled. "Grandfather would have a tantrum if he found out."

"Oh, then maybe we should show him the portrait," the accountant suggested wickedly, making his little girl laugh some more. "I've always found it to be a lot of fun to shock my grandparents."

"Elizabeth," the blonde father found himself warning his girlfriend.

"What," she asked innocently, ignoring his admonition and turning back to Sydney.

"Does your Grandmother like roses, too," his daughter wanted to know. "And does your Grandfather's chin shake like a turkey's when he's mad?"

Honestly, the artist answered, a note of melancholy entering her voice, "I really don't know. It's been a long time since I've seen my grandparents. Who knows what they're like now."

"So you don't live with your family like my Daddy and I do?"

"No, I don't," Elizabeth replied, shaking her head to emphasize her point. In an attempt to explain her non-existent relationship with her family, she queried, "do you know what it's like to be different, to be unique?"

"Aunt Tracy says that my cousin Dillon is different."

"Okay, well, I'm different, too. I'm unlike anyone else in my family, and they had a hard time understanding me. Because they didn't understand me, sometimes we would fight."

Working away diligently, his daughter kept etching at the rose she was making for her great-grandmother, her little pink tongue sticking out between her lips. Never once looking away from her artwork, she laughed. "That's silly."

"I know," the brunette agreed with her, "but, instead of fighting with my family, I decided to move away and live on my own."

"Like my cousins Brooklyn and Justus?"

Needing help, Elizabeth looked to Jason, and, silently, he nodded to answer her unspoken question. Responding, she replied, "yes, like your cousins."

"Do you visit your family on Christmas like Brooklyn, and do you go home for board meetings like Justus?"

"Nope," the accountant denied. "I found a new family, and I go and see them on the holidays."

"She spends time with my wife and I and our kids," a fourth voice joined their small group from the doorway. As Elizabeth, Jason, and Sydney all looked up towards the new arrival, Sonny pressed on. "I've known Elizabeth for many years now, and she's become like a daughter to me. She's a part of my family."

"Okay," the doctor watched as his seven year old smiled brightly at the idea of her new friend belonging somewhere. Holding her hand out to the dark complexioned man across from her, she said, "hello, sir. I'm Riegal Sydney Quartermaine. What's your name?"

"Michael Corinthos."

Curiosity sparkled in his little girl's blue eyes. "Are you Lola's Daddy?"

Joining them at the table and reaching out for some paper and some crayons, the mob boss seemed to effortlessly blend in and fit into their little group. "I am," he answered.

Satisfied, Sydney went back to her etching, forgetting the man now sitting beside her. Needing answers though, Jason wondered out loud, "why are you here?"

"I came to tell the two of you," Sonny glanced between both the physician and the artist, "that, although I don't agree with what you're doing, I won't fight you or stand in your way. This… whatever it is you're calling it, it will be revealed sooner or later though, and, when it does, I need to be there for Elizabeth. I can't do that if I'm fighting with her. So, with that said, all I ask is that the two of you are careful." Dropping his gaze towards the oblivious child in the room, he added, "especially now. You're playing with fire, and someone is going to get burned. I just hope it's no one in this room."

And, with that, the four of them fell silent. Although they all had individual thoughts on their minds, no one felt the need to voice their concerns, and, even if they did, it would have been unnecessary. After all, they were collective fears, fears they all shared. Instead, they focused on their artwork, enjoying the simple pleasures in life while they still could.

As was their nightly ritual, Jason was tucking his daughter into bed later that evening. Sometimes, he would then retire to his own room, locking himself away from the rest of his crazy but, yet, somehow charming family, but more often than not, for the past couple of months, he would leave the house entirely after his little girl was asleep, making his way to Elizabeth's.

"Daddy," Sydney started, sounding almost unsure of what she wanted to ask him. After several seconds of hesitation though, she pressed, "could we be Elizabeth's family, too?"

He knew he would have to deny her, and that he would have to find a way to explain his refusal, but, first, the doctor wanted to hear what his seven year old had to say. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, if Mr. Corinthos is like her Dad, and his wife is like her Mom, and Lola and Mat are like her sister and brother, that means that she doesn't have any aunts or uncles or cousins or grandparents, and we have lots of them. Can't I share with her, please, Daddy?"

Sitting beside his daughter, Jason pulled her into his arms, hugged her, and placed a tender kiss at her crown. "Things don't work that way, honey. You can't just meet a person and decide you're going to be their family, but you can decide to be their friend, and, sometimes, having friends is just as important as having a big, extended family."

"But you can chose your friends," his little girl pointed out astutely. "Family you can't. I know so. Cousin Ned told me."

The physician had to chuckle at that. Despite all his complaints, he knew that his cousin wouldn't trade the Quartermaines for anything or anyone else. However, the older man did have a point, and so did his daughter. "You're right," he told the seven year old, "but I have a feeling that Elizabeth wants to be your friend, too."

"So does that mean we can see her all the time now? Will she want to come over and play with me? Can I show her my pony and invite her over to have tea with me and Grandmother?"

"Grandmother and I," the blonde corrected his little girl.

Ignoring him, however, Sydney simply rushed on with ideas. "And I can go to her studio, and she can teach me more about painting. We can make lots and lots of pictures, and I can hang them all over my room. And, maybe, I can make some pictures for Elizabeth, too, so she can hang them at her house as well. And then we can go to the park, and the zoo, and she promised she'd take me to the art museum someday. Can I go, Daddy, can I?"

"Of course you can."

Yawning, his only child snuggled deeper into her bed, asking for one more thing. "And can I be an artist someday, too, just like Elizabeth?"

Climbing up from his perch on her bed, the pediatrician turned off the bedside lamp and kissed his daughter goodnight one more time. "Sweetheart, you can be anything you want. I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy," Sydney whispered. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

As he closed to the door to the seven year old's room, he made his way down the hall towards the stairs that would carry him closer to the woman he loved. While he knew there were no bedbugs in the accountant's apartment, he did find himself hoping that Elizabeth might bite him once or twice. So, with a chuckle and a jaunty whistle, he left his family's mansion for the evening, perfectly happy for the first time in years.