DISCLAIMER: not mine, please don't sue.
Do: thanks so much. I'm very happy you like the style and the pace. Yes, I'm still putting down the groundwork for future twists and turns, and I can only hope it will pay off. :)
Rachel: thank you! Seriously. Reading your words is like mainlining self-confidence. I no longer have a lot of free time but I'm not gonna give up writing this, I can promise that. It's way too much fun and you guys make it extra rewarding. This fic started out as a one-shot, TBH, and then it kinda got out of control. That's why I'm a bit wary of starting another "one-shot" but who knows. If a good idea strikes, I might just give it a try. :)
schristine: hi there! Pleased, seriously pleased, to hear you are turning into one of us. It's one of the biggest compliments a 'ship writer can get, so THANKS A MILLION! ;)
KrinWashu: oh you. Consider me throughly spoiled and very grateful. I have massive inner debates about the smallest of details, really (I'm anal like that), so it's always a relief to find others who agree with you or, at the very least, consider your interpretation possible and not utterly ridiculous. So thanks heaps for that. What can I offer in return? No, I don't have a picture of that mug right now. Maybe next time I'll drop a link. ;) But below there's a new chapter, hope that's a start. :D And yes, Marissa is going to make an appearance (and not just as a phone call), along with other familiar faces from the show but I don't want to ruin the surprise. I'm glad to hear you are patient. I will need you to be. ;)
p.s. The "painful" remark was said out loud but he probably didn't even realize it. He is struggling mightily to put his clusterf**k of emotions into words and he's failing miserably. It's painful. It's one level above "difficult." I guess. I'm very definitive, I know. :)
Nat: my dear addict, here's your fix. I hope you like it. :)
information specialist: thanks so much! I'm very glad you found this and grateful for the kind words. I hope you'll enjoy the rest of it as well. :)
Patamar2: hello, fellow fan. Yes, there's more below and even more is coming. :) Thank you and enjoy!
Tristelle: no, thank you for dropping me a line and I hope you like the update. :)
Em: thank you! It is finally updated! I hope it was worth all that obsessive checking. :)
~ FOOLS ~
He's nibbling on a piece of toast Natalie pushed in front of him on a plate. He didn't want to appear to be rude and this way he also got his empty mug refilled. She remarked how he looked somewhat thinner and he informed her of his steady diet of Chinese take-out, coffee, and stress. He was trying to be funny. Clearly, it did not work out too well. Then somebody knocked and this time she was eager to answer the door herself. She practically pushed him back on the chair. He can faintly hear her talking to somebody just outside the apartment as he scrolls through the latest news on his phone. He licks the crumbs off his fingers and reaches for his mug. The front door soon closes and Natalie reappears just as he's about to finish off his coffee.
"Is everything okay?" he asks and puts his phone down to give her his full attention.
"Yeah. It was just Mrs. Green."
He is not even surprised. "Was she checking up on you?"
She puts a small bunch of keys in a giant ashtray on the counter and fixes him with a teasing look. "Well, could you blame her if she were?"
Holding the mug to his lips, he seems to be weighing the question. "I guess…" He glances at her, clearly fishing for the right answer. "… not?"
She chuckles. "She just asked me to feed her cat."
"Is she going somewhere?" He's trying not to sound too cheery. Trying and probably failing if that half disapproving, half amused expression on her face is anything to go by.
"Yes. For a few days. Didn't say where, though." And that makes her slightly concerned.
He doesn't really care. She is leaving, that's what matters. He simply nods and finishes his coffee with a smile. The BlackBerry soon buzzes with a message. He reads it with furrowed brows, then stands slowly, pocketing the phone. Lips slightly pursed, his eyes are fixed on an abstract point, unblinking, unseeing. She is already familiar with this face.
"Do you have to go?" she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Yes. … Yes, I still have some… 'googling' to do before lunch," he answers with a weak smile. She doesn't ask what exactly he means by that and he goes to collect his belongings. "I should probably let you get ready for work," he says as he slips on the tie.
"Actually, I'm staying home today," she admits, clearing off the counter. His plate and mug land in the sink.
"You are?"
She wanders back to the counter. "Yup." She leans on it and watches him. "I wasn't feeling well yesterday, so they sent me home and insisted I rest up."
He straps on his watch, mulling this over with a suggestion of a grin on his face. So that's how she got away earlier. "It must be contagious," he concludes, grabbing his suit jacket. He shrugs it on.
"You too?" she asks, eyebrows raised.
"Oh yes. In fact, I had to skip a meeting this morning," he says, finally unleashing that grin as he tugs at the collar of his jacket.
"I see." She grins back. "Well, let's hope it's nothing serious."
He looks at her and his gaze lingers. She holds his stare but doesn't quite know what to make of that strange, almost sad glint in his eyes. It quickly vanishes and he clears his throat. "Yes. Well… I just got a very nice 'get well soon' message from the DCC, so…" He trails off when he sees her nod.
She understands. He buttons his jacket, then carefully runs his palms along its sleeves to smooth out some, to her eyes invisible, wrinkles. It looks like a well-practiced routine with mild OCD undertones. She doesn't know how he managed it but his clothes don't look slept in at all. When he looks up, he finds her smiling at him once again. "What?"
She shakes her head – it's nothing. He raises his eyebrows – it's something and he wants to know. She gives in - partially. "Most guys only do the top button." He glances at his completely buttoned-up jacket, then back at her.
"I'm a rebel," he declares with a straight face but a smile quickly cracks the surface of that 'buttoned-in' seriousness and she laughs. Finding him fast asleep on her couch was, in a way, daunting. She wasn't sure how to be around him for such an extended period of time despite the fact that he'd be unconscious for most of it. Now she finds it surprisingly difficult to let him go. But she has to and soon they find themselves at the front door saying goodbye again.
It is difficult as it is but now he has Mrs. Green in his peripheral vision. She is dragging two suitcases across the corridor towards the elevator at a suspiciously slow pace. They glance at her. Natalie waves and the old lady smiles sweetly. When Eli greets her, all he receives is a solemn nod. At least she acknowledges his existence. She doesn't look too thrilled about it, though.
"She hates me," he concludes with a frown as he turns back to Natalie. He doesn't know why it even bothers him, which only irritates him further.
"No, she doesn't." He looks at her and sees certainty in her eyes – it's bronze-colored and warm. He, in turn, stares at her with cold, sharp doubt. "She's just…" His eyebrows go up, challenging her to put a better spin on the old lady's behavior. "She's looking out for me."
He considers her words. The eyebrows go down and he nods. She's probably right. He's making this about himself when it's really about her. It's a big city. She's a newcomer and way too trusting, which makes her vulnerable. She should have someone like Mrs. Green in her corner, someone who genuinely cares, protects and gives advice without seeking anything in return – other than the occasional catsitting, that is.
They regard each other silently. Slowly, he starts leaning forward but flinches back when one of Mrs. Green's suitcases makes a violent contact with the floor. He smiles sheepishly at Natalie, maintaining the polite distance that was quickly regained by the loud echo of the dropped suitcase. "Thank you for the… bed and breakfast."
"You're very welcome."
He doesn't move. Anticipation and hesitation mix with their nodding and smiling. He licks his lips, then steals a quick sidelong glance at the intruding old lady who's further down the hall, waiting for the elevator. She stands with her back to them but he's sure she still sees everything. Natalie notes his concern and has a quick remedy. She takes his hand and backs up into the apartment – just far enough to get some privacy. Still moving, he leans in once again and she grabs him by the lapels, wanting, encouraging, pulling him closer. He matches her enthusiasm with his own as his lips crash against hers. But the moment soon gets disrupted when she stumbles over a shoe and loses her balance, pulling him with her. They unceremoniously tumble against the bombe chest but he manages to support himself and avoid mashing her into it. Her head is buried in his jacket now and she starts laughing – it is muffled and warm against his chest. He smiles into her hair, then leans back a little to look at her. "Are you okay?"
She lifts her head and her laughter quiets down under his gaze. Still grabbing two fistful of fine Versace suit, she nods. "Yeah." Her voice is quiet, embarrassed, and smiling. She is one happy fool. He knows exactly how that feels because he is one, too.
He pushes a lock of hair off her brow, his fingertips leaving a cool, pleasant trace on her skin. Her arms slide up and around his neck. Her fingers fiddle with his hair at his nape, setting his nerve endings on fire, provoking a shiver. He presses a small, soft kiss on her cheek. Then another one lands on the corner of her mouth. And a third, longer one is planted on her lips. It takes a considerable amount of will power to stop there but he succeeds and pulls away.
"A slower pace does suit us better," she remarks, tasting coffee and him on her lips.
"Yeah," he agrees quietly, smiling.
Her hands slide down from around his neck, releasing him. "You have my number now, so you can call," she reminds him.
"I will," he promises.
He steps outside and halts briefly. To his left there's the elevator and the old lady with two heavy-looking suitcases. To his right there's the door to the staircase. He wants to take the stairs. He really does. He promised himself he would. He shakes his head, rolls his eyes – mostly at himself –, and starts toward the elevator. Diane is always nagging him about not being friendly and not fostering relationships. She's right, of course, but those are not exactly his strong suit. Maybe he could practice on Mrs. Green and turn what he initially considered an obstacle into an ally. Right now it seems about as easy as turning water into wine but he does love a challenge.
He doesn't know it but he's already made the first step toward achieving his ambitious goal by simply choosing to go left. She was waiting to see which way he'd go and now he's here, standing beside her. He offers a little smile when she glances up. She doesn't return it. He didn't expect her to. She's pleased he didn't chicken out but careful not to show it.
The elevator arrives.
"You need a hand?" he asks before stepping in. There. He's being polite, too.
"Thank you." She gets in, leaving both suitcases for him to carry. He only hesitates for a second, then grabs and lifts them up – a little too fast. They are not just heavy-looking. They are heavy as if they contained her entire apartment, including the piano. Maybe they are bigger on the inside. He struggles but his male pride doesn't permit him to show any outward signs. He straightens up, his back and shoulders protesting against the weight, and steps in. He might have pulled a muscle because even standing still is really unpleasant now. But he endures it silently, his teeth clenched.
She looks up at him as the doors close and sees him grimacing. "Back pains?" she asks.
"Something like that."
"Maybe you should reconsider your sleeping arrangements." Her tone is casual but her words are biting.
He rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. He's reconsidering a lot of things right now but after a few quiet seconds he manages to swallow his anger. He is, after all, learning to be friendly. He could say anything to her, he could swear to his heart's content, and she wouldn't hear a thing. No. He remains silent and contends himself with chewing on the inside of his lip. Soon the doors open and she walks out. He is trying to keep up but it is rather difficult with those suitcases and all those people he has to maneuver around. He is panting when he finally catches up to her outside the building. No wonder this isn't his usual modus operandi. Being nice is very exhausting.
"Thomas, please put these in the trunk," she says and that's when Eli realizes that the sharply dressed young chauffeur and that shiny black Lincoln Town Car are waiting for her. He is finally relieved of his heavy burden and the almost equally heavy prospect of sharing a taxi with her.
"Thank you, Mr. Gold." Her words vaporize in the icy air and drift away as she pulls on a pair of elegant leather gloves. It's a chilly, windy morning.
He nods, vaguely and strangely pleased that she said his name without any contemptuous undertone. A small victory, perhaps. Maybe she's learning to be friendly too. Maybe it is as difficult for her as it is for him. That possibility hasn't occurred to him until now. He shivers and her guarded expression turns scolding for a brief moment.
"Oh put on that coat for Pete's sake before you catch your death in this ghastly weather."
He does as he's told, taking the overcoat nestled in the crook of his arm and donning it quickly. "Careful, ma'am. You sound like you almost care," he says, teasing.
"I don't wish you ill, Mr. Gold," she says as she tugs at her coat sleeves, adjusting them properly.
They stare at each other and he believes her. "No, you don't." He averts his eyes to glance at his shoes, deciding how to broach another, related topic. He chooses to be bold and looks her in the eye once again, making sure she understands every word. "You just wish me away."
She tilts her head slightly, observing him for a moment. "Well… the jury is still out on that one." With that, she turns and the chauffeur dutifully opens the door for her. Before getting in, she turns her head. "You know, I don't like most people." He studies her profile, then her gaze finds him once again. "But I like Natalie." She doesn't say more, she doesn't have to. She's just trying to protect Natalie. He understands and nods – a gesture of unspoken acknowledgement not of submission. She gets in the car and delivers a parting jab: "Behave yourself while I'm away."
He opens his mouth but the car door slams shut before he can say anything. Perhaps it's for the best. The Lincoln smoothly pulls away from the curb and his gaze follows it. A small smile begins to break through and he no longer resists it.
He might just have stumbled upon a kindred soul.