Yes, I'm back from the dead! It's a Christmas miracle. :D I'm terribly sorry for this mega hiatus but my schedule finally loosened up a bit and I could put together another chapter. I hope you like it.
Nat: thanks so much! I fretted a lot over this chapter so I'm thrilled you loved it. :)
aprilf00l: *beams* thanks heaps! If you're fangirling, I must have done something right. I hope. :) And I'm so sorry I was forced to prolong your agony.
SSLE: thank you! And we're in complete agreement. It wasn't time for sex yet. Not because I'm a prude or anything but because at this early stage of their relationship it wouldn't, couldn't, have been more than rather meaningless "empty sex", which, of course, has its perks in certain situations but theirs isn't one of those. I want these guys to have more than that and something tells me that they do too. ;)
Rachel: you make me smile and do wonders to my self-confidence and for that I cannot thank you enough. I'm grateful and very glad that you enjoy this little fic. :)
KrinWashu: okay, you're seriously spoiling me with your reviews. :) Thanks a million! I'm happy and relieved that you like the little side stories and non-canon characters, too. I try to write them as enjoyable as I can. I created them to bring out various aspects of Eli's character and hopefully they will do just that. :) Oh, and you kinda hit home with that tongue comment so now I'll have to write this inner debate out of my system, just to convince myself I made the right choice. I agonized so much over that damn kissing scene. I typed it up, deleted it, then typed it up again like a zillion times and in a zillion different ways. It was building up so it had to happen but I wasn't sure how exactly it should happen. There was a considerable amount of physical attraction between them on the show (in my opinion), and, as far as I'm concerned, that goodbye smooch was never cut from the end of "Foreign Relations." So they are not total strangers on a first date here. There's already a certain kind of intimacy and familiarity established between them and if we add the sexual attraction, some alcohol, Eli's temperamental alpha-male personality and touch starvation, and, most importantly, Natalie's eagerness and encouragement, then a bold, combustive outcome seems more fitting than a modest one - despite it being their first "proper" date thing. Does that even make sense? I hope it does. :) Anyway, thanks again and yes, if you have some time, you should check out Kings. It really is an amazing show.
Geiroidin: it is, right? :D Thank you! I'll do my best, I promise. :)
Do: just stand there because I'm gonna hug you, okay? :) Thanks so much for your kind words! Hopefully, I can repay you with this new chapter. :)
Lily Wang: thank you! So glad you enjoy it! There's more on the way. :)
Nosferatu's-Cigarette-Binge: hate you? Quite the opposite. :) This is essentially a giant character study for Eli but it is presented mostly through his evolving relationship with Natalie, so you, as a non-shipper, saying you still love it makes me wanna do a victory jig in the copy room Eli-style. Obviously I love this pairing but I have no problem with those who don't and I would never ever hate you for something like that. Eli is a fascinating character on its own but I find that he becomes even more fascinating when he is around Natalie. She makes him squirm, she makes him go through a myriad of confusing, complex emotions and manages to unravel him in a way no one else does, and it was a real treat to watch it happening on the show. I just wanted to further explore that in writing. :) Huge thanks for giving this fic a try. I'm very glad you ended up enjoying it. And I checked the picture link, it's working fine for me. Maybe you forgot to replace the [DOT]'s with actual dots? If you still can't open it, just yell and I'll figure something out.
Thanks, guys, and everyone else who's still with us. And I wish you all the very best of holidays!
~ MORNING ~
The BlackBerry is dancing a flash-y vibrating dance on the coffee table. He stirs as the phone stills and his eyes blink open. Something feels weird. Something is weird. He squints. Everything is bright and blurry. He drags himself up into a sitting position and looks around, orienting himself between two yawns. The smell of fresh coffee is slowly drawing him towards clarity. The memories of the previous day begin to trickle back into his sluggish mind – first just small fragments, then bigger chunks. One in particular stands out, making him smile, then shake his head. "Oh dear god," he mumbles against the fingers he holds pressed against his lips, then runs a hand across his face, trying to erase warm embarrassment and sticky drowsiness. He glances around again. His tie, watch, and phone are on the small table by the couch. His shoes are on the floor nearby. He doesn't remember removing any of them himself so it must have been her. He looks at the blanket pooling around his waist – that was probably her too. He would have kicked himself out. She tucked him in.
He wasn't happy when they got interrupted last night. Now he feels mostly relieved and grateful for it. But he never should have sat down on this damn couch. He glances around again but doesn't see her anywhere. He groggily reaches for his watch and checks the time. It's almost 9. That can't be right. His eyes narrow. He blinks, trying to clear his vision. He checks his phone. It tells him the same – and that he has several missed calls which he ignores. He's slept almost 10 hours straight. No clock-staring, no crazy stress dreams. And that weird thing he feels is called being well-rested. It's like a lead helmet has been finally lifted from his head – or more like an entire suit of armor. But it doesn't last long. His phone goes off again.
He eyes it for a moment, sighs and decides to answer it. "Good morning, Frank."
"Is it? Where are you?"
Eli remains silent. The sudden and sinking feeling that there's something important he's forgotten takes a large bite out of his weightless bliss.
"Because I know where you are not."
Now he remembers. He was supposed to have breakfast with Mr. Fiedler and his soon-to-be-second wife about an hour ago. It completely slipped his mind.
"I'm sorry. I-"
But Frank brushes off his apology along with any excuse Eli might have. "I told them you weren't feeling well. They were disappointed but very understanding." Judging from Frank's tone he is anything but. "You're meeting his daughter today, right?"
Eli pinches the bridge of his nose, and the information slowly staggers to the surface of his mind. "Myra. Yes. For lunch." It's like a bizarre version of Happy Meal - instead of a toy, he gets a Fiedler.
"If it's not too inconvenient, please try to show up." With that, the chairman hangs up and Eli tosses the phone back on the table. The lead helmet is slipping back on. He's angry now but not with Frank. He screwed up, Frank just pointed it out – he is irritatingly good at that.
His life is becoming a double pendulum and he's struggling to adjust. He's already forgotten how to fit anything else into it besides work. Not that he was particularly good at that juggling act when he actually had something else in it other than his job. A bitter, lonely wife who cheated and a daughter he sometimes barely recognizes are proof enough of that. How badly will he scar Natalie? Or maybe the better question would be: how badly this time?
She watches him quietly from the bathroom door, her head resting against the frame. He runs a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair and she feels the stirring memory of that sensation on her fingertips. She feels attraction, curiosity, a vague and mostly puzzling fondness – the exact same combination that got her burnt the first time they met. The logical step would be to push him as far away as possible but logic doesn't get to drive this bus when Eli Gold is on board. It is going to be a bumpy ride and they might end up running off a cliff but she's increasingly willing to take that risk – not for the scheming campaign manager but for that awkwardly honest man who currently occupies her couch. Still, he is a package deal. She learned that the hard way but at least now she's more prepared.
He sighs as he lies back, the icy, jagged weight of missed calls, meetings, and the Franks and Fiedlers spilling off and around him on the warm cushions. His eyes close shut, his thoughts involuntarily drifting back to last night, to that blinding, burning, chaotic flash of desperate hunger, raw emotion, smudgy eagerness, and stirring softness. He really lost control for a few seconds. It was amazing, crazy, terrifying – a glass of water after years spent wandering alone in a desert. And he grasped at it greedily. Maybe a little too greedily.
His eyes open. Her face blinks into vision. She is leaning on the back of the couch now, head propped on a hand. She studies him with a kind, amused and mildly concerned look in her eyes – a special mixture reserved only for him. She doubts many can see him the way she does – so open, vulnerable, and messy. It makes it very hard not to like him. "Morning."
His lips stretch into a sheepish smile and he sits up, his face drifting closer to hers. "Morning."
"Did you sleep well?" she asks, barely containing a grin.
"I did."
She nods. "Yeah, I thought so."
Her unabated amusement makes him feel somewhat self-conscious. "Was I snoring?"
"No," she says with the beginnings of laughter in her voice. "You were drooling."
Oh terrific. "Well, that must have been very attractive."
She laughs – his most recent favorite sound. She is happy. He is embarrassed. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."
"It's okay," she says, her laughter retreating into a kind smile, which fades, too, when he doesn't return it. Something else is clearly bothering him.
"And I'm sorry... about last night. I think I got carried away a bit."
She briefly glances away to study her nails. He looks at them too. He can still feel them tracing their way across the back of his neck and his heart rate quickens. Then her voice yanks him back to the present. "Well, I think we both did," she says a bit flustered, then looks back at him with a playful smile. "Although I'm not that sorry." She truly isn't but his concern is endearing. Most guys would simply feel lucky, encouraged, eager to take the next step. He beats himself up. He assesses. He frets. He's careful. He's attentive. And sometimes he's the polar opposite. He isn't like the guys she normally dates. He isn't like anyone else she knows, really, and it certainly adds to the allure of a possible deeper relationship with him.
What happened made two things clear for her. One: they have to control themselves better; and two: should they manage that and should a serious relationship evolve between them, one important department will probably receive few, if any, customer service complaints.
He desperately wants to believe her but he is a worrier by nature. The second he realizes he's genuinely happy he panics that there's something he's missing or forgotten or ignored; that something bad is going to happen. "I just don't want you to think that... you know." She stares at him. She isn't quite sure what he's getting at. He isn't, either, but tries to explain it anyway. "It's been a while since I… I don't usually… I didn't…" He gives up, averting his eyes. "God, this is painful." Why can't he talk to her like a normal person? It's so frustrating and embarrassing, pathetic and suffocating. He's not used to caring how others see him or think of him. But her opinion matters. It matters a lot, and he's trying so hard not to screw this up. Maybe that's the problem.
She sees he's struggling and tries to help. "I am a big girl, Eli, okay?" He doesn't look at her. He stares at the blanket, then swallows and nods. "If you do something I don't like or want, I'll let you know. Loud and clear."
He chews on the side of his mouth as he digests her words, then looks back up at her. "Are you a black belt too?"
"No," she says, then tilts her head, slowly seizing him up. "But I think I could take you."
He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, really?" He feels his rather substantial competitive streak acting up a bit but resist the immature urge to actually grab her and pull her down with him on the couch. It would be fun but probably not the innocent kind, and after what happened last night he really should try for a more cautious approach.
She gazes down at him, pondering. He gazes back silently, unsure what to say or do next. And for the first time it doesn't fill him with panic. She slowly leans down and kisses him, her lips gently brushing against the roughness of his chapped ones. It is another experiment. A cautious reassurance. It isn't a spontaneous move, just a mutually desired one. It is still ushered in by a certain amount of doubt and reciprocated with a tinge of hesitance. This level of intimacy is pleasant but still somewhat alien. They are still figuring each other out. They think too much. They are not in rhythm – that comes with time and practice and trust. Right now all they really have is insecure hope and a growing willingness to act on it, and that's enough.
She pulls back. A smile completes the glint in his eyes and she feels her heartbeat quicken again. It feels right. He's not a safe choice but he feels right.
But yet another call shatters the moment. His head reluctantly turns toward his phone on the table.
"You seem to be very in-demand today," she remarks with a smile.
"Yeah," he agrees, eyeing the phone. With a sigh he lifts it from the table and stares at the caller ID. He's hesitating. From the corner of his eye he can see her moving away towards the kitchen. He hopes she doesn't think he was waiting for her to do that. He keeps staring at the caller's name. It's Kalinda. He really wants to pick up but he doesn't. He lets it go to voicemail.
Natalie moves around the kitchen on autopilot, going through the morning motions. But she steals glances at him. He finally gets up and stretches. She hears the cracking of his spine and her brows crinkle. Then comes a faint moan of satisfaction and she grins.
"Would you like some coffee?" she asks when she sees his scruffy, yawning form approaching. He really looks like he needs a cup. Or two. And a comb.
"Oh, yes, please," he says, lowering himself onto the same chair he squirmed on yesterday after she'd called him out on his suspicious ways of navigating the capital. She puts a steaming mug in front of him. It says, "Instant human, just add coffee." He reads it, then smiles. First the t-shirt, now the mug. Is this some sort of semi-veiled commentary? He isn't sure but if she hands him one more of these expressive items, he will have to ask.
"So…" he starts after a few silent moments, drawing circles in the coffee with his spoon. "How's your father doing?"
"Great. He really can't wait to be a grandfather." She chuckles and his hand freezes.
"Really?" he says with forced nonchalance. He is drawing a blank here.
"My sister's pregnant, remember? I told you."
Indeed she did. Last night. Now it's starting to come back. "Yes. … Nydia, right?"
"That's my grandmother."
Apparently, he needs that coffee more than he thought. "The one with the crazy eye?"
"No. That's my aunt, Nirma."
"Okay," he nods, trying to commit the names and their corresponding attributes into his memory. Hopefully this time they stick. She watches him, grinning. He looks a bit confused. And maybe a little adorable.
"So your sister is…"
"Ema."
"Ema. Right." He nods again. "And she's the pregnant one."
"Yup. Very. They thought last night was the night but it was a false alarm. Again."
That explains Mr. Flores' loud enthusiasm he heard pouring from the phone. He smiles, then sinks into silence and continues fiddling with his spoon.
She watches him and the question just slips out. "And who's Myra?"
He looks up at her a bit surprised but answers anyway. "She's a client." He seems to consider his own answer for a moment, then adds a bit confused, "I think."
She chuckles. "You don't know?"
"I'm not sure." He takes a cautious sip. "I mean, I still don't know why she wants to hire me. But I know she's an avid community activist, so I'm bracing myself."
Her eyes narrow. "Myra Fiedler hired you?"
"You know her?"
"No," she chuckles again. "I just read an article on her the other day. She is quite impressive. She just received a Civic Leadership Award, I think."
"Yeah. She's working on an urban education initiative back in Chicago – among other things. Many things, actually. She also enjoys music, painting, mountain climbing, and has a dog named George." She stares at him and he raises his eyebrows at her. "What? I can google too," he adds with a smile and takes another sip from his coffee.
Natalie stares into hers. "She sounds kinda perfect."
When she glances up, he smiles at her – it's a confident, slightly devilish smile. "Well, show me a saint, I'll dig up the skeletons," he says, then drains his mug.
She does not doubt him for a second.