A/N - Hey guys, sorry but, the two-shot has just become a three-shot. I blame procrastination. Since I took sometime to finish this chapter, another idea popped in, and I'd thought I'd try it. No harm right? So.. um.. here's chapter 2.

Thanks for all the reviews, hope this doesn't disappoint.

I do not own WOWP.


Italy is...well...Italy. The food is Italian, the people, Italian, the streets, the buildings, the music. Everything is just so...Italian. If anyone asked her, she would have swear-ed that a dog once barked at her in Italian. The bottom line? She loves it. The people, the cuisine, the wine. Oh, the wine.

The one thing she doesn't like? The completely crazy presumption that just because she's a Russo, who's family has hailed itself from Italy, that she automatically speaks Italian. If her family were with her, they would have laughed so hard before reminding her of her not so successful school days of learning Spanish. But then thoughts of her family lead to...nothing. She'd rather not think about it. These days, the Russo family in her mind includes Jerry, the father figure who gives her what she wants, Theresa, the mother who would help hug her troubles away, and Max, the pet they just had to adopt (sheesh). Anyone else was simply dead to her. And it has nothing to do with the lack of calls, emails, texts, letters, telegrams, smoke signals, magical messages or even carrier pigeons that she was getting. Nope. Nothing to do with it.

And honestly, if she thinks about it, she's got a good life going here. She's loved by her lecturers, have plenty of non-magical friends, she lives in a city of inspiration, and life is just...good. What more could a girl want?

Oh. Yeah. That.

The first time it happens, she's on her first date with Patrick. In this part of the world, she plays hard to get. Something she learned from living in the most Catholic country in the world. He's been asking her out since she mistakenly magicked his book blank, thinking it belonged to someone else. She had chatted him up with a wink and flick of her hair to fix it. The real guy? Got into the intended trouble that he so totally deserved (no one calls her stuck up and gets away with it).

The truth is... he's charming, handsome, and down right adorable. The other truth? She isn't listening to a word he's saying.

"Hey, you seem distracted."

She nearly chokes on her latte as her eyes stay over his shoulder. "I just thought..." Placing the cup down, she stands up fast, knocking against the table and spilling his coffee. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She reaches for a napkin and quickly tries to clean her mess, her eyes rising to the spot they were before. She freezes when a pair of familiar eyes looks her way. A second later, they were gone.

"Hey, you okay?"

She looks down and sees him for the first time. "What?" And the thing is, her voice sounds strange.

His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he grabs the napkins from her slackened grip and continue to mop up the spilt coffee. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Looking again at the spot across the street from the quaint birstro they were currently occupying, she lets out a small breath. "I just...thought I saw someone."

"Like a long lost lover?" He jokes.

She smirks, hoping the smile reaches her eyes. "Something like that."

His grin falls as he becomes distinctly weirded out. He clears his throat, his posture, awkward. "Okay then." The waiter comes over and they order their dinner. Patrick keeps talking. She keeps not listening.

There is this thing that she does. After her classes, or after cutting classes (depending on her mood) she would walk the quaint streets and take it all in. The sights, the architecture, the totally hot guys who would be checking her out (who could blame them?). More than once she would sit on the stone steps, pull out her drawing pad and start sketching. The man to her left, having a cup of coffee as he reads the financials. The woman straight ahead, window shopping while moving along her baby in her stroller. And more than once she would marvel at the simplicity of normal life. She craves it. The very thought would dry her mouth and burn her eyes. She misses it. And it hurts.

The second time it happens, she's a bit more sure, but not really. She's doing the whole waiter thing to an obnoxious guy who really doesn't like to take 'no' for an answer (grabbing her equals saliva as an ingredient in his sandwich. He should expect it, really). It takes her a moment to realize that her breathing might have stopped and her fingers might be losing grip on the tray filled to the brim of dirty dishes. (In her opinion, if they had somehow landed on Mr. Grabs-a-lot, it won't be the end of the world).

But she does finally breathe, and she does manage to catch herself before making an embarrassing 'Funniest Home Video' moment. The problem? When she finally looks up, he's no longer there. Part of her thinks that she might be going crazy from loneliness. The other part of her thinks that maybe she was seeing what she was supposed to see. The third part of her shakes it off and spits into his coffee thinking it would make herself feel better.

It does.

Sometimes, it's a lonely night. It happens. Rebecca would be out on a date, and Arayana would be busy in the library. Her date night would include a bowl of pasta, her text books and maybe the second season of 'Friends'. Sometimes, nearly always, she would just glance at her cellphone on the makeshift coffee table (The words "Alex, keep your feet off the table" go through her mind briefly before she angrily crosses her ankles against the cheap wood). And sometimes, maybe frequently she would, after a moment of contemplation, pick it up and scroll down the contacts list to the names starting with 'J'. And sometimes, very rarely, she would hit the 'call' button only to hit the little red sign soon after. She finds herself pathetic, really.

"This is getting unhealthy."

She rolls her eyes as she tosses her phone away from her. "What is?"

Rebecca sighs as she puts away her coat. "This whole introvert thing. If you weren't so studious, maybe you would be able to let loose and have some fun."

Alex snorts at the irony of it all. "Ho-kay." Sarcasm. She loves it for a reason.

With a perfectly stern face, Rebecca sits on the couch next to her. "I'm serious Lexy, you have to stop being so...anti-social. Maybe go out on a date. I know this really great guy who-"

"How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?" Alex asks in a bored voice. This makes it attempt number four hundred and fifty seven, give or take a few thousand.

"A few." Her immaculately dressed roommate says, shrugging. Alex rolls her eyes and goes back to her pasta. She finds this whole heart-to-heart thing positively nineteen eighty's. If she ever decides to go with big hair, maybe she would consider it.

After another sigh, Rebecca moves over and grabs the pasta from her hands, taking a big bite. Alex mourns her loss. "By the way, this guy stopped by today."

"Oh?" Boredom. Something else she is desperately not fighting.

"Yeah, some Jesse, or Justin or other."

Alex freezes. Then, grabbing the remote she offs the tv and faces her roommate. Rebecca looks taken aback for a moment (totally funny moment that's going to be mocked. But later). "Justin?" Alex's voice sounds sort of raspy and chocked, and what's that other emotion? Oh, yeah. Blatant outright panic. "Justin? Dark hair? Dark eyes? Sort of dorky-ish?"

"Um...yeah."

She can't breath again. Normally, you're supposed to be able to breathe when you get to know something you knew, but not her apparently.

"Lexy? You okay?" Rebecca might sound concerned, but she was nowhere close to guessing how freaked out she truly is.

"What did he say?"

Maybe Rebecca was freaked at how soft her voice had gotten. Maybe that's why she places down the pasta and looks at her sympathetically. "He just wanted to see you. He said he'll be coming back later. Do you not want to see him? I can send him away if you want."

"What?" How is she even talking? Her throat feels so closed up, that water just wouldn't help. "No. It's...it's fine. I just..." She stands up and starts to the bathroom. "....need something..." Closing the door, she leans against it and takes a deep breath. Feeling the need to rest, she falls onto the floor and lets out a tiny sigh. She doesn't notice the tears silently trailing down her cheeks for sometime.

The third time it happens, he's not a mirage or a dream or a mystical genie like creature that can go 'poof' with the click of one's finger. He's just Justin. And he's staring at her. She thinks that it might be because he hadn't seen her in two months. But maybe, most definitely, it has mostly to do with the fact that she's out shopping for food. His eyes fall onto her basket full of (yucky) produce that her roommates made her buy by threatening to kick her out, otherwise. He's probably never seen her look so...domesticated. When his eyes meet hers, he smiles. Recognizing the joke of 'Alex eats vegetables, hell just might be freezing over' her lips quirk slightly upwards. It's a moment. And they share it.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he walks slowly towards her. Feeling the pull, she stays where she is, basket in hand, on the stone cobbled streets.

When he reaches her, he stands a bit far, his hands in his pockets. "Hey."

The forced casualness of his tone jumps out at her. "Hey."

He smiles. She smiles. And just like that, he hugs her. And she thinks, he just might be missing her too.

It's not like it's the same. They start walking together, talking about random, unimportant things. How her classes are going, her roommates, how she was convinced about the Italian speaking, barking dog. When she asks him about graduation, he changes the subject, always bringing their talk back to her. She doesn't think she'll like the reason as to why. He doesn't tell her why he is where he is, or for how long he will be in her neck of the woods.

She notices the little things. He doesn't smile as often as she remembers. He doesn't even tell her boring facts about the places they pass, even though she knows he must know them. There are moments where she would catch him staring at her, but he wouldn't say why. She would even notice how he tries not to touch her. It aches her. All she wants to do is touch him. Hold his hand and be all corny. But he smiles, and looks away and she hates how dull his eyes look.

When he finally asks her out to dinner, she tries her best not to grin like a twelve year old girl who just got asked out by her crush. Because, technically, he isn't hers.

They don't make it to dinner.

It could be because she changes her mind and decides to surprise him at the hotel he was staying at. Or, it could be because a familiar blonde opens the door instead of Justin, making her grin fall effortlessly. A blonde who knew exactly who she was and welcomed her with a large, (and it's completely obvious that it is) fake smile. A blonde, who she had spent months envying unbeknown to her. A blonde, who is also known as Justin Russo's on-again off-again doozy of a girlfriend.

When Justin finally appears, ready for the dinner, he seems taken aback by seeing his sister at the door. His eyes meet hers, an apology hidden in their depths. And the thing is, it's weird that it feels like he was just caught doing something cheater-like, when he isn't (She'd rather not think what it means, if he is). She gives one last (fake) smile, before she turns on her heel and leaves. He doesn't follow her.

And the thing is, she thought he would.

When he does show up at her apartment, she feels like opening the door, just to slam it in his face. But she doesn't. Instead, she opens the door and silently invites him in. Her roommates decide to go out for coffee when they see her expression. She doesn't blame them.

They sit in silence for a while, him on the couch, and she on the coffee table. She doesn't miss his glance of disapproval, she relishes it. "What are you doing here, Justin?"

He sighs before his glance turns to his hands. "I should have told you that she came with me."

She shrugs. "No biggie, figures your girlfriend would want to take a trip to a romantic city." He looks up at her, and she's surprised by how hurt he looks. Her voice softens a tad bit. "But what I meant is, what are you doing in Italy? Now?" He stays silent, his hands wringing in nervousness. "You knew I was here, and you came anyway. Why?"

Letting out a low breath, he ran his hands though his air. "I just...I just wanted to see you."

Her voice softens further. "Why?"

He finally looks at her, and her breath catches slightly at the way he is. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Justin..." She shakes her head, the words stuck in her throat.

"I know. I know." He looks at her earnestly. "I just had to see you, Alex. She just...didn't let me come alone." His eyes were begging for her to understand. Maybe she does. She stands up, feeling the unexplainable need to leave. It was getting too much. He grabs her arm, ignoring her protests. "I want you to make me forget."

She stops then, hearing the option she hasn't stopped considering for some time. "You know I can't do that. Dad said-"

"Screw what Dad said." She ignores the tiny part of her that enjoys such language from squeaky clean Justin. His grip tightens around her arm. "It's the only thing I can think of, Alex. If we just forget this whole thing happened-"

"We'll probably repeat it." He's surprised by her whisper, dropping her arm to step away from her.

"We don't know that'll happen."

"We don't know it won't."

His jaw locked."So then what? We live like this?"

She sighs in defeat. "I've thought about it, Justin. But Dad's right, it's dangerous. We just have to suck it up and work through this."

"Work through this?" He scoffs, and part of her thinks she's never seen him look so defeated. "I'm not you, Alex. I can't just work through this."

She rolls her eyes. "What are you talking about?" If they hadn't been in such a dramatic dilemma, she doubts she would have understood his frustration. Still, she still kind of, doesn't.

"You go against the norm. That's you. So naturally, you can easily brush this off and move on." Her jaw drops at how ridiculous he sounds. And not to mention wrong. So, so wrong. "But me, I can't. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but kissing my sister, and wanting to kiss my sister is where I draw the line. And I refuse to feel this way."

"Oh, so you think that I'm just going to forget this ever happened and go la-di-da on with my life?" If he even thinks of answering 'yes'...

"Yeah." He sounds angry, and annoyed. What she doesn't get is, why that is directed at her.

"Oh my God! You're such a nitwit." She's angry now. Really, really, angry. "Oh look at me, I'm Justin. I'm so pure that anything bad that happens is automatically my sister's fault. And do you know why?Because she's okay with evil. Since she's the spawn of the devil."

"Stop acting like a five year old." He snaps.

"Stop treating me like a five year old." She snaps back. Without a second thought, she grabs a book and tosses it as his head. Justin immediately ducks, throwing a cushion towards her. She in turn, uses the plastic fruit they keep around the apartment, while Justin keeps grabbing pens and notebooks. The feeling of fighting with one's brother is painstakingly familiar. Especially when he finally disarms her, throwing her against the opposite wall, her wrists pinned behind her back. Part of her wonders if maybe he was doing this to her on purpose, since he was looking at her with his eyes clouded over, his lips barely away from hers. She doesn't drop her eyes from his gaze, her very being willfully stubborn. Curious as to her power over him, she shifts slightly, feeling his chest graze hers, and his breathing get just a bit deeper.

"Stop that."

Her eyes narrow. "No."

"Alex..." His voice is dangerously low and full of foreboding.

She ignores the threat feeling inexplicably powerful. "What?" Her tone is innocent as she shifts towards him, her body nearly fitting against his hard form.

He waits a second, his face expressionless, his eyes staring brilliantly into hers before he seems to let go of his restraint. Like a snap, she feels every rigid muscle against her uncoil, as he releases her wrists only to hold her against him and kiss her with a force so powerful, she stumbles against the wall. She had promised herself that if this ever happened again, she would push him off her immediately. But she doesn't. Her fingers tangle in his hair as their lips meet again and again in an understanding of need. But then, it couldn't be pure need, could it? Why else would she want him so much? She could feel his body pushing against hers, but that doesn't seem enough. Nor was the way he held her, his hands moving from her shoulders, down her arms, only to circle her waist and pull her closer. He was kissing her furiously, months of frustration been met with the pop of a button, the pull of a zip, the tug of a strap.

She would be lying if she thought her conscience was staying silent. It wasn't. The words 'wrong', 'shouldn't', 'brother' gets tossed around a bit. But she ignores them, her mind skilfully concentrating on her arms around him, their breaths mingling, his hand on her thigh.

And like all moments of poetic justice, the door opens.

TBC