A/N - This chapter is much longer than the previous ones, there just didn't seem to be a good place to cut it. And I know I said this would be the last chapter, but apparently Oliver and Grace had alot more to say than I thought! One or maybe two chapters left after this one, depends on how wordy I get! :)
Grace blew out a breath in frustration, crossing her arms in front of her. She had knocked at the door and called for Mrs. Pugh, knowing all the while it was a waste of time, Helen slept so soundly nothing short of an explosion would awaken her until she popped out of bed at 5AM, ready to begin her busy day in the kitchens. Perhaps when Punjab or the Asp made their late-night rounds, they would notice the kitchen light on and come to investigate. But it was highly likely they had already done their check, as the household had all been in bed early this evening. She had searched the pantry for a screwdriver or something she could use as one, to no avail. Which meant only one thing, Grace was spending the night in the pantry.
"It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic," Grace said aloud. The pantry was large, but not overly so. The rows of shelves filled with boxes and sacks and jars made it seem smaller. Grace sat down on the floor and leaned back against a sack of flour with a resigned sigh. Nothing to do but wait until morning she thought, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. It was a bit chilly in just her thin nightgown and robe and she drew her legs up toward her, wrapping her arms around them. She laid her head down on her knees, yawning widely. Grace had not expected to be able to sleep in such a position, but exhaustion eventually won out and sleep she did.
Oliver awoke with a start, still on the couch in his office. He looked down at the blanket covering him, confused. He didn't remember pulling it out of the chest when he had laid down to rest for a few minutes. Mrs. Greer, he decided. She must have come to take his plate back to the kitchen and found him asleep. Oliver yawned and looked at his desk, hoping the sandwich was still there, as he was quite hungry. The plate was gone however, and as he looked up at the large grandfather clock in the room, he saw that it was after one o'clock in the morning. He stood and grabbed his jacket and shoes, intending to go to bed, but his stomach growled loudly. Oliver sighed, knowing he would never sleep on an empty stomach, so he put his shoes on and shrugged back into his jacket for a trip to the kitchen to make a sandwich.
Oliver walked silently to the kitchen, not wanting to wake the sleeping household. As he entered, he noticed the light on above the stove, but thought nothing of it. Mrs. Pugh often left it on the nights he hadn't eaten a proper dinner. She knew he would most likely make his way to the kitchen for a snack before retiring. Oliver went to the refrigerator and pulled out left over roast beef, lettuce and tomato, plus the spicy brown mustard he liked. He opened the bread box, but it was empty. He turned to the pantry to get a fresh loaf and noticed the cup of tea on the table. Odd, he thought, his brow furrowed, Mrs. Pugh never left dirty dishes lying around. He shrugged, figuring one of the household staff had come down in the night for a cup and forgotten to set it in the sink when they were finished. Oliver opened the pantry, noticing that the knob was loose and made a mental note to speak to Drake about it in the morning. The sight that met his eyes, was not one he expected, however, and startled, he took a step into the pantry and let the door shut behind him.
Grace slowly drifted into consciousness, aware that there were sounds coming from somewhere, but she was not awake enough to process where she was, let alone what she was hearing. Her legs were cramped and there was a kink in her neck. And why was she sitting on the floor, a very hard floor at that? She shook her head, trying to remember where she was and what had happened when the door in front of her opened. A very startled Oliver Warbucks stood staring at her, and as she finally came fully awake and realized what had happened, he took a step inside the pantry.
"Mr. Warbucks, don't let the," Grace began, but before she could finish the door closed behind him with a resounding click. "Door shut behind you," Grace finished quietly.
"Miss Farrell, what on earth are you doing in here?" Mr. Warbucks asked.
"The same thing you are, spending the night," Grace said ruefully.
"What?" Mr. Warbucks looked around confused, then tried to turn the knob on the door. Looking perplexed when it didn't turn, he jiggled it, then tried to force it open as she had. Grace watched him for a few moments, smiling in amusement. When he turned and looked helplessly at her, she masked a laugh by giving a small cough.
"Did you notice the knob was loose outside?" she asked.
"Of course, I intended to speak to Drake about it in the morning," Mr. Warbucks answered. At this, Grace couldn't contain herself and laughed out loud. Mr. Warbucks looked at her as if she'd gone mad.
"I'm sorry sir," she said, trying to get herself under control. "It's just that I had the very same thought, right before I got myself locked in here." She smiled and Mr. Warbucks looked at her strangely for a moment, then chuckled himself.
"Yes, well, I suppose it is a bit ironic, isn't it," he said, smiling. "Did you try to wake up Mrs. Pugh?"
"Of course, but you know as well as I that she sleeps far too soundly," Grace answered with a smile.
"Yes, you're definitely right about that," he chuckled again. "Maybe there's a screwdriver or something around here we can use to try and tighten up the knob." He began to search the shelves, looking for a suitable tool. Grace shook her head, watching him.
"Believe me, sir, there's nothing," she said. "I've already searched." She sighed, suddenly very tired again. She leaned back against the flour sack and closed her eyes. "Unfortunately, I think we're stuck here until morning."
Oliver watched Grace, no Miss Farrell, oh hell, Grace, as she leaned up against the sack of flour, eyes closed, legs stretched out in front of her, clad in nothing but her nightgown and thin silk robe. His eyes roamed from the crown of her head to the bottoms of her feet and back again, unable to look away, breath momentarily failing him. She must have sensed him staring, as she cracked open one eye and looked up at him. Conscious of his scrutiny, she pulled her robe more tightly around her and crossed her arms in front of her. Oliver, brought out of his reverie, cleared his throat and looked away. Feeling restless, he began to pace back and forth the length of the pantry. After a few turns round the small space, he glanced back at Grace and noticed her shiver.
"Are you cold?" he asked, stopping his pacing.
"No, I'm fine, really," Grace said with a small smile.
"Nonsense," he replied, taking off his jacket. "Here." Oliver walked over and knelt in front of her, draping the jacket over her shoulders. His hands lingered on her shoulders, as Grace looked into his eyes. He wanted to pull away, but couldn't seem to force his legs to work. His breathing had become shallow and he could feel the pounding of his heart. His hand, which seemed to be moving of its own accord, came to rest along the side of her neck, his thumb ran slowly down the line of her jaw. Grace drew in a breath and shuddered slightly, effectively breaking the spell. Oliver rocked back on his heels and stood, looking down at her.
"I'm sorry, I," he hesitated, unsure what to say. Shaking his head, he turned and moved to the far corner of the pantry, his back to Grace. He scrubbed a hand over his face and ran a finger under his collar which suddenly seemed entirely too tight. He risked a glance back at Grace, who was sitting motionless, staring straight ahead of her as if he were still there. Oliver watched her bring a finger to her jaw and follow the path his thumb had taken. Then she seemed to come back to herself for she shook her head a bit and began to turn towards him. He faced away from her quickly, not wanting to meet her eye, afraid of what he might see there.
Grace turned to look at Oliver, he had somehow become Oliver again in her mind, but he twisted away from her quickly, as if he didn't want her to know he'd been watching her. She smiled quietly to herself, thinking again of her conversation with Helen about being patient. She decided to act as if nothing had happened and drew the jacket more tightly around her shoulders. After assuring herself that Oliver was no longer looking at her, she turned her head and breathed deeply into his lapel. The fragrance that was uniquely Oliver assaulted her nose and Grace smiled, then leaned back against the flour sack and closed her eyes once more.
A few minutes later, she heard the telltale sound of Oliver's pacing once again. There was a loose floorboard near the door and every time Oliver reached it, it made an annoying squeak. After the tenth pass, Grace had had quite enough. She stood to stop him, putting a hand on his arm, startling him.
"Sir, please, why don't you sit?" she said, indicating a spot across from her. Oliver looked sheepish, then tried to arrange himself on the floor, clearly having difficulty finding a comfortable position. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Grace began thinking about Annie and what she had planned to discuss with him earlier that evening. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, she took a deep breath and began.
"Sir, I wanted to talk to you about something that Annie said to me at dinner tonight," Grace said, glancing up at him.
"What did she say?" Oliver asked, brow furrowing. Grace paused, not sure how to phrase it, but decided honesty was probably the best.
"Well, she had been rather quiet, all through dinner and so I asked her what was wrong," Grace began.
"Yes, I noticed the same thing after our tennis match. She told me she was just tired," Oliver answered, looking a bit concerned.
"It took a little while, but she finally told me she was afraid you didn't want to adopt her anymore," Grace bit her lip and glanced up at her boss, gauging his reaction. He looked shocked, then guilty, but he covered that look quickly.
"Why would she think that?" he asked, swallowing visibly.
"Apparently, she feels that you've been less affectionate lately, and you don't seem as happy when she's around," Grace stopped, unsure if she should voice her own concerns. She took a deep breath and decided to plunge ahead. "I've noticed it too sir," she said, quickly, before she lost her courage. Oliver didn't respond and she feared she had overstepped her bounds, their recent interlude notwithstanding. When she looked up at him, he stood and faced away from her again, hands clasped behind his back. She watched while he seemed to have some inner struggle with himself and almost went to him, but in the end remained where she was, waiting.
It had happened, Oliver thought, he had slipped from the emotional tightrope he had been walking and into the abyss. Annie thought he didn't want her, his heart broke at the thought of hurting his little girl more than she already had been. He had suspected Grace had noticed his change in behavior, but had held out hope that Annie, in her everlasting exuberance, had not. But he was wrong, Annie had noticed. He felt his secretary watching him, but couldn't bring himself to meet her eye. What must she think of him, hurting his daughter so?
And there was the crux of it, wasn't it? Annie was his daughter, in every way that mattered, regardless of the fact that someone else's blood ran through her veins. Oliver loved her, more than he knew how to express, more than he knew how to say, more than he knew how to feel even. But how could he do it? He didn't know how to be a father, he didn't know what to do, how to act, what to say. Was it fair to Annie to give her to someone who was an inept as he? Was it fair for her to have to doubt him, wonder if he really wanted her, wonder if she really owned a piece of his heart? When in fact, she owned all of his heart and more, though he wasn't sure how that were possible. But Oliver knew that she did.
Yet every time he had these doubts and every time he made the decision to ignore them and move on with things, every time he thought he had conquered this mountain, he found that it was a false summit, and the doubt and fear crept back in. How many times could he do this before everyone left him for good? He had no idea how Grace felt anymore and the thought of that pierced his heart like an arrow. He had no idea how much patience Annie had for his shortcomings. She was merely a child, for goodness sake, he couldn't keep her in limbo like this. His once orderly, controlled and predictable life had become erratic, chaotic and utterly confusing. Oliver's iron hold on his emotions was slowing loosening it's grip and he was floundering, a feeling he despised and feared all at the same time.
Failure was not something Oliver was used to. He didn't fail, he did something, made a plan, devised a strategy. But for all he searched, nothing in all his business dealings had prepared him to deal with a situation like this. He was utterly lost, drowning with no lifeboat, water as far as his eye could see. The realization came down upon him like a hammer, he leaned forward and braced himself against one of the shelves, head hanging, shoulders slumped. He had failed, Annie, Grace, himself. He had failed them all.
Grace watched as Oliver stared into nothingness, his hands clenching and unclenching behind his back, his jaw working, the vein in his temple throbbing and pulsing. She was beginning to worry, afraid of what he was doing to himself inside his head, and she quietly rose, to go to him if need be. He seemed to go rigid for a moment and Grace took a step forward, afraid he was going to collapse, when he leaned forward and hung his head. A posture so defeated, so hopeless, so not Oliver, that she gasped and hurried to his side.
As she came up beside him, Grace could see that Oliver's eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched. He was gripping the shelf so hard, Grace was afraid he would pull it down on himself. She brought a hand to his arm and squeezed it gently, but still he did not relax his posture, nor look at her.
"Sir, what is it?" Grace asked quietly. Oliver simply shook his head, the look of hopelessness even deeper than before. Grace bit her lip, then made up her mind. Promises to keep her distance forgotten, patience be damned, Oliver needed her and she was going to help him.
"Oliver," she said tentatively and she saw his jaw twitch in response to her use of his first name. "Oliver, please talk to me. Let me help you." He didn't move, didn't look at her, only let out the deepest of sighs.
"I don't know if you can," he said quietly. "I don't know if anyone can."
"Let me try at least," Grace replied. Oliver sighed again, but relaxed his hold on the shelf and stood up. He looked at her for a moment, then walked to the other end of the pantry.
"I'm not cut out for this, Grace, Annie deserves someone else, someone better," he said. Grace just gaped at him, unsure of what she was hearing, not even noticing he had called her Grace and not Miss Farrell.
"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked.
"Everything, the adoption, Annie, being a father," he answered, throwing up his hands as he did so. "I don't know anything about being a parent, I don't know anything about little girls. How am I going to raise one? I'm too busy, I work all the time, my business has been suffering as it is. Annie should be with someone who has time for her. I can't do it!" he thundered, face red. Grace's jaw dropped, incredulous, then slammed shut in anger at his last words.
"Oliver Warbucks, you stop this rightnow!" she demanded, close to thundering herself. "Annie loves you, she doesn't want anyone else. It would kill her if you sent her away. What's gotten into you?" She crossed her arms in front of her and glared at him, irritation clear on her face. Oliver glared back for a moment, then, looking defeated, slowly slid to the floor, back to the door. He pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, his face in his hands.
Grace stood and looked at Oliver with concern. This was not the strong and confident, ruthless businessman that she knew. Something was definitely wrong. She approached him where he sat and kneeled down in front of him. When Oliver continued to ignore her, she reached up and gently pulled both hands away from his face. She was shocked to see tears running down his cheeks.
"Oliver," she said softly. "Tell me what it is, please." Grace brought a hand to his face, gently wiping away a tear with her thumb. Oliver looked up at her, his face so forlorn, she couldn't help but gasp. She went to remove her hand, but he grasped it in his, holding both to his face. He stared at her for a few moments, then released her hand, hanging his head once more.
"It hurts Grace, I'm afraid it hurts too much," he began.
"What does?" Grace asked, confused.
"Loving someone," he said, so quietly Grace almost didn't catch what he said. "Do you remember what you asked me a few days ago? If I only loved money and power and capitalism, because they were never going to love me back?" He looked up at her and she nodded. "True, they can't love me, but they can't hurt me either."
"No, they can't, but what kind of life is that?" Grace asked him quietly. Oliver barked a short laugh.
"A perfect one, I used to think. Sometimes I still do," he added, taking her hand again and pulling them both to their feet. He took a few steps away from her, clasping his hands behind him again, seeming to contemplate the contents of one of the shelves. Grace followed him, placing a hand on his arm. He patted her hand absentmindedly.
"What happened, Oliver?" Grace asked. "What happened that forced you to close your heart off to everyone?" Oliver sighed, looking down at his feet.
He really didn't want to get into this, despite everything that had happened, he didn't know if he was ready. But Grace deserved an explanation, something to make her understand his erratic behavior these past few days.
"You know about my brother, the one that died because we couldn't afford medicine," he paused, looking at Grace as she nodded. "His name was David, Davey we all called him, and he wasn't my younger brother, he was my twin." Grace gasped and Oliver nodded ruefully.
"Well, technically I guess he was younger, I was born first. But, he was sick quite often from birth, he was always smaller than me, weaker, got tired easier. Most people just assumed he was younger than I, and after awhile, I started to think of him that way too." Oliver paused, lost in his thoughts, remembering. "He was the sweetest child you've ever met. He never complained, never asked for more than he got. All he wanted to do was make everyone around him happy. Annie reminds me a lot of him actually."
"Davey and I were inseparable, the best of friends. I protected him, waited for him when he tired walking home from school, carried him on my back a few times when I had to. He made me laugh all the time, he was always quick with a joke. My friends and I would often go to the park to play baseball. Davey could never play, he got too tired, couldn't run fast enough, but he cheered us on." Oliver smiled and Grace couldn't help but smile with him.
"He was always looking out for our younger brother and sister, and all the other younger children in the neighborhood. They flocked to Davey, he was like some kind of magnet for them. I caught him giving the younger kids his food more than once. I was upset, if anyone needed extra food, it was Davey, not the other way around, but you couldn't stay mad at him. Whenever he got sick, I sat with him, read to him, told him his own jokes, although rather badly, I must admit," Oliver chuckled.
"That last time, when he got pneumonia, we'd had less money for food than usual that week. My father had drank or gambled it all away again. And I knew Davey had been giving most of his food away. I was so angry with him, I told him it was his own fault that he had gotten sick. I didn't talk to him for a few days," Oliver hung his head, clearly ashamed. "Then my mother admitted that we couldn't get the medicine he needed, but I couldn't accept that. I told Davey I would take care of him and then I left and went down to the docks to see if I could get any work." Grace looked surprised at this, Oliver couldn't have been more than ten or eleven at the time.
"I was only ten years old, most people I talked to just laughed at me and walked away. But I was determined and I was strong. I didn't stop asking and finally one of the hands on one of the ships hired me to help unload cargo. I didn't go home, slept a few hours here and there in one of the warehouses, so I could keep working. It took me three days, but I finally earned enough money and went home to tell my mother and Davey. When I got there, Davey was gone, it was too late." Oliver finished quietly, tears making their way down his face once more.
"Oh, Oliver," Grace said, sadly, wrapping an arm around his waist. He pulled her into his arms, clinging to her for all he was worth. She rubbed his back, as she did for Annie after a nightmare, whispering soothing words to him as he calmed himself. When he had composed himself, he let go of her, taking a step back and continued.
"My mother was so angry with me for staying away all that time, I'd never seen her like that before. She had sent my friends out to try and find me, but no one had been able to. She told me Davey asked for me, right before he passed, and she had to tell him I wasn't there. I never forgave myself for that, not being there for him at the end." Oliver had clenched his hands into fists again as he finished. Grace took a step toward him and put a hand against his cheek.
"Oliver, you can't blame yourself for what happened," she insisted. Oliver grimaced at her words and extricated himself from her arms.
"But it was my fault Grace, Davey died alone, without me, because I didn't work hard enough or fast enough." Oliver insisted. Grace looked at him, disbelieving.
"Oliver, you were a child!" she exclaimed. "It wasn't your job to take care of him."
"But it was, Grace, it was what I had always done," Oliver shook his head at Grace's attempt to reassure him. "I always took care of Davey. I took care of all of them. And the one time it really mattered, I couldn't do it. I was so angry after he died, angry at my mother because we were so poor, angry at my father for being a drunk, angry at myself, angry at Davey for dying on me. I promised myself that no one would ever hurt me like that again. I closed off my heart to everyone, even my remaining family, because I couldn't bear that kind of pain again. As soon as I could, I got work on a ship to America and left them all." Oliver stopped and rubbed a hand over his face.
"But, you were a child Oliver," Grace said again. "You've got to stop blaming yourself for something you couldn't have prevented. It wasn't your fault. You did all that you could have, you were ten years old for goodness sake!" Oliver just shook his head and looked ready to argue, but Grace wasn't finished.
"Annie is ten, Oliver," she said. "Would you expect her to go out and try and make money to take care of you. Or me?" Oliver looked at her, taken aback.
"Of course not," he replied, shocked that she had even asked. "She's far too young to do something like that."
"Then why weren't you too young?" Grace asked. "Why did you insist that it was your fault? Why do you keep punishing yourself?" She had stepped closer to him as she spoke and was now mere inches from him. "Why do you keep your heart hidden away from everyone? Surely now as an adult you can see that living without love isn't good for you either. Let Annie help you, Oliver. Let me help you." Grace stood, staring into his eyes and thought for a moment she had convinced him. She raised a hand to touch his cheek, when he shook his head and took a step back from her.
"Don't you see, Grace?" Oliver gripped her arms, holding her away from him. "I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to love anyone. It's been too long and I'm too scared to be hurt like that again. When Annie left, I didn't think I could stand it. And when she was in danger, I don't know how I managed to get through that. And now, even though she's here and safe, I still don't think I can do it. How can I go through something like that again Grace? My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest."
"Oliver," Grace began, trying to find a different way to approach the situation and find the words that would calm him and convince him to give love a chance. "Oliver, have you been happy since Annie arrived?"
"Of course I have," he said, sighing, letting go of Grace's arms. "She's filled this place with joy and laughter, happiness and light. I've never been happier."
"Then there's your answer," Grace replied. "You've been happy with Annie here, why would you want to send her away?" Oliver just shook his head.
"I don't want to send her away, but I don't want her to stay here and feel as if I don't want her," he replied.
"Then love her Oliver, love her like I know you can," Grace insisted, now gripping his arms with hers. "You've done it, I've seen it. And Annie has too. She doesn't expect you to be perfect, doesn't expect you to have all the answers. She just wants a father, her father, you." Oliver looked at Grace and the sincerity in her eyes. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he could do it. Perhaps he could let go of the past as Grace had said. Perhaps he could give love another chance.
As he stood with Grace, looking into her eyes, he realized that all of this worry and all of this fear wasn't really about Annie and loving her properly. It wasn't about being a good father or being hurt again by his daughter, not really. It was about Grace, had always been about her and the possibility of losing her should he follow his feelings. She looked at him so hopefully, he didn't know how to explain that it wasn't really Annie he was worried about losing.
Grace, sensing Oliver's hesitation, decided to take a chance. She couldn't believe that she was about to do this, but caution had been thrown to the wind already, why not take the final step. She slowly slid her hands up his arms until they were settled on his shoulders, then took a step nearer to him, winding her arms around his neck.
"Please Oliver, let me help you. Don't push me away," she pleaded, looking into his eyes. He stared at her for a few moments, it would be so easy to give in, so easy to say yes. But would it be fair to Grace, to ask her to have to put up with his insecurities and his doubts? Oliver reached up and pulled her arms gently from his neck, taking her hands in his.
"Grace, you deserve someone better than me. Someone who can love you with his whole heart and not have any reservations about it. Someone who isn't scared of loving you," he said gently. But Grace was not to be diverted.
"What are you scared of Oliver?" Grace asked quietly. "Are you afraid that Annie and I will break through that shell around your heart completely? I know you're afraid to feel the same kind of pain, but are you afraid to feel joy as well? Love isn't always pretty Oliver, sometimes it's messy and sad and it hurts. But most of the time, it's beauty and laughter, joy and singing, contentment and safety, warmth and comfort, and bliss, pure, heavenly bliss." Grace had stepped closer to him as she spoke, eyes never wavering from his, her hands holding tightly to his own. As she finished speaking she looked at him, love shining in her eyes. Oliver reached up and brushed one finger down her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes briefly and then looking back up at him. Oliver stared at her for a moment longer before speaking.
"After I adopt Annie, I'll be her father, for always. But you Grace," he paused, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. His voice was raspy as he continued. "You can change your mind. You can leave." Grace stared at him, incredulous, until he turned from her gaze and went back to the back of the pantry, hands clasped behind his back once again. Grace was rooted to the spot for a moment with the knowledge that Oliver was pushing her away, not because he didn't love her, but because he was afraid he loved her too much. It took her a moment to gather herself, but when she did, she walked up behind him and put a soft hand on his back.
"I'm not going anywhere Oliver," she said. He sighed.
"You feel that way now, but what if you change your mind?" he replied. Grace let go of him and went to stand in front of him. She put her hands on either side of his face and forced him to look at her.
"I'm not going anywhere and I'm not going to change my mind," Grace said, very distinctly. "I love you Oliver Warbucks and I always will. No matter how angry you get, how insane you act, how insecure you are, I love you, and you'll just have to get used to that." She continued to stare at him, daring him to contradict her and deny he felt the same. He looked deep into her eyes and saw the love there and wondered. Could he do it, could he let go once and for all and just feel? And then, the shell around his heart which had been cracking all night, the last piece dangled and fell, leaving his heart bare and exposed. And instead of the pain, instead of the hurt he expected to feel, there was only a little bit of sadness, sadness for his lost brother, which he knew would always be there, but wouldn't continue to rule him like it had. And he found that the pain wasn't so deep anymore and the guilt wasn't so all-encompassing and he sighed. Perhaps Grace was right after all. Then he slowly lowered his head to hers, capturing her lips with his own. He kissed her softly and then looked at her again.
"Why on earth would you want a crazy old man like me?" he asked, smiling. She shrugged a shoulder.
"You've grown on me," she said, a twinkle in her eye. Oliver laughed aloud as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She looked up at him and he looked back at her, tenderly.
"I love you Grace," he said, smiling.
"I love you Oliver," she replied as he leaned down and kissed her again, more passionately this time. When they parted, Grace lay her head on Oliver's chest, he pulled her closer in to his body, slowly rubbing her back. They stood that way for quite awhile, content in each other's arms. Oliver eventually led Grace to the spot on the floor where she had been sitting before and sat down beside her taking her in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder, snuggling into his chest.
"I'm sorry Grace," Oliver said, after they had been sitting there for a few minutes. Grace sat up and looked at him bewildered.
"Whatever for?" she asked.
"For putting you through all of this, hurting you, being a fool for so long," he answered and took her hand in his, turning it to look at the cut upon her palm. It was almost completely healed now, there was just a red line where the cut had been. He traced it with his finger, then pressed a gentle kiss to it.
"I'm sorry for this too," he said quietly. "I know it's been hurting you this week, while you've been writing." He looked at her sadly and she caressed his cheek with her hand.
"Oliver this wasn't your fault either. I didn't have to slam the glass down on the table," Grace insisted.
"Yes, but," Oliver began, but Grace put a finger to his lips.
"Remember what I said about love and how sometimes there is pain or sadness?" she asked him. He nodded. "Well this was just my little bit of pain I had to go through to get to the bliss." And with that, she kissed him lovingly, then looked at him, daring him to contradict her. Oliver simply smiled and kissed her palm again. She snuggled back into his chest and closed her eyes, yawning. Oliver tightened his arm around her, running his fingers through her hair with the other, until she fell asleep. Then he leaned back against their makeshift pillow and did the same.