Once Upon a Dream 13/?
Title: Once Upon a Dream 13/?
Author: Kelinswriter
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: NC-17 (for lots of things)
Summary: Starts with the infamous scene with the OPT Pregnancy Test. Spins off from there into its own little universe.
Disclaimer: CBS, P&G, Telenext et. al. owns these characters; I'm just taking them off the shelf and playing with them for a while.
Please note: No one dies. That being said, extreme angst. Consider yourselves warned.
1-11
Twelve
There were too many people in the waiting room.
For a half-hour or so, the room had been abuzz with activity. Rick had insisted on checking Olivia's blood pressure, and then Blake, Doris, and Ashlee had passed around what they could salvage from the bags of food that had been knocked to the ground when Rafe collided with them on his scramble out of the hospital. Blake had been the one to call Frank and give him the heads up that Rafe had taken off. Olivia knew she should have made the call herself, that she should have been more worried about Rafe, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but contempt for the boy-man and his tantrums. I'm sorry, Natalia, she thought. I know I didn't handle things as well as I should have, but I just can't cope with him right now. When you're better I'll make nice but at the moment, his bullshit is a distraction I just don't need.
She felt a hand touch her arm, and nodded absently when Blake asked if she was finished with her half-eaten salad. "Do you want us to get you something else?"
"No. Thank you." Olivia tossed the salad container into the crumpled brown paper bag Blake was holding and sat back in her chair. "Oh, by the way. Natalia doesn't work for you any more."
"She doesn't?" Blake's eyes widened as the meaning of Olivia's words sank in. "Oh, thank God. You put her back on The Beacon's payroll?"
"Technically she never went off it." Oilvia shrugged. "I kept her on a few extra weeks so she'd get to keep her insurance for another month. Now, it'll be like she never left."
Blake's blue eyes were thoughtful. "You know, the way you both look out for each other - it's really special. Anyone would be lucky to share the kind of love and devotion that you two have."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Tell that to Father Ray."
Blake glanced over at the priest, who was sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with Ashlee while the two of them polished off a couple of Buzz Burgers. She turned back to Olivia and arched an eyebrow. "You know, if he gets too annoying, I could give Mom a call, ask her to come visit and take him down a peg or five."
Olivia couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Holly Reade drolly puncturing each one of Father Ray's dogmatic statements. "That would be something to see, wouldn't it?"
"It would." Blake patted Olivia's shoulder. "Don't worry about him, or anyone else. It's like I told Natalia. When you love someone, you grab it with both hands and scream it to the world. You can't let anything stand in the way."
Olivia nodded, waiting for Blake to walk away before leaning forward to rest her head in her hands and rub her temples. She was exhausted, so drained she could barely keep her eyes open, and yet at the same time she felt overwhelmed by a sense of restless energy. There were no more tasks to do, no more fights to pick - nothing to do but sit and try to keep the despair from overwhelming her.
Josh returned from the hallway, tucking his cell phone in his pocket as he sat down next to her. "Is there anyone else you need to call?"
Olivia sat up, shaking her head in response. "Natalia has a few friends in Chicago that she emails back and forth with, but there's no point contacting them until we know something. I'd have to have her computer to get the addresses anyway."
"So this presumes that you know her email password," Josh said with a grin.
"I might've -" Olivia tried to keep her face neutral. "You know, if I happen to notice what keys someone is hitting when they type in their password, that doesn't mean that I'm going to use the information for some nefarious purpose."
"Of course not." Josh's eyes sparkled. "You're just nosy."
"That's right, I'm just - hey." Olivia smacked him on the arm. "Watch it, Lewis."
"It got you to laugh." Josh's voice was low, his expression kind.
"Yes it did." Olivia gave him a weary smile. "I hope you know how much I appreciate this. You staying with me."
"You'd do the same for me."
"I -" Olivia felt a grin flit over her features. "No I wouldn't."
Josh laughed. "No, you probably wouldn't." He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "But you'd be there in spirit."
Olivia nodded, exhaustion washing over her. "So you're thinking more clearly than I am. Is there someone I should be calling?"
"I was thinking that it might help you to talk to Ava."
Oh, shit, Olivia thought, her head pounding. She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God, Josh. I can't believe I forgot."
"You forgot what?" Josh put his arm around her shoulders. "Olivia, what's wrong?"
"I never told Ava," Olivia muttered into her palms.
"You what?"
Olivia tipped her head to the side and repeated, "I never told Ava. Anything. I never told her about me and Natalia. Or Sam, for that matter."
"Hm." Josh sat back, tugging at his beard while he considered his next words. "Don't you think that maybe you might want to give your daughter a heads up about your new - uh -"
"Orientation? Lifestyle? Proclivity for girls?" Olivia clapped her hands against the sides of her head. "Yes, probably should have made that call before we went public. But her schedule's been so crazy that I can barely get her on the phone, and Natalia and I were still so tentative, it just -" She made an irritated noise, her head spinning. Hi, honey. You have a second mom now. Yes, I know it seems sudden, but you live in San Francisco so I think you can deal. By the way your new mom, the love of my life, is in surgery and her son wants to kill me because my friend the closeted mayor and I conspired to take away his legal rights. Oh and a crazy ex-prince tried to shoot me, and the local priest thinks I'm going to burn in hell. How's work?
She imagined trying to explain to Ava how it had happened; how she and Natalia had moved from rivals to grudging roommates to the lovers - in spirit if not in body - that the were now. She imagined explaining "My Two Mommies," and that impulsive, unexpected kiss, or why every Sunday morning, after Natalia got out of eight o'clock mass, Olivia would meet her with eleven long-stemmed red roses and the two of them - with Emma alongside, if she didn't have a sleepover - would take them to Gus's memorial before brunch at Towers. There were so many stories, so many examples she could use to describe their slow, steady journey toward recognition of the soulmate they had found in each other: Natalia holding her hands, anchoring her like a lifeline when the news broke that Phillip was back in town. Natalia's breath whispering over her lips in an exam room down the hall. Natalia fired with determination when she gave her little speech about why she didn't want to wait any more. Natalia mouthing "I love you," fighting desperately to retain consciousness while her life was slipping away.
Stop, Olivia thought, a wave of panic washing over her, smashing the breath from her lungs. Stop stop you can't think about this if you do you'll really lose it and you can't, you have to hold it together for her and -
She jumped to her feet, digging her hands in her pockets so no one would see them shaking. "I'm going to take a walk."
Doris, who had been on the phone for the last several minutes with her cousin the chief of police, said a quick, "Gotta go" into her iPhone and ripped it from her ear. She walked over to stand beside Olivia, her concern palpable. "What do you need?"
"I can't sit here." Olivia backstepped away from the hand Doris was about to wrap around her elbow. "I just need to move around for a little while. I won't leave the hospital, but -" She could feel the tears in her voice, rising from out of nowhere, her mind tipping toward meltdown so fast that she could barely breathe. "I need to move."
"I'll go with you," Doris said.
"No." Olivia backpedaled another three steps, feeling a desperate need to flee from the worry etched on the faces of everyone in the room. Don't you feel sorry for me, she thought. Don't you dare. She took a breath, willing calm into her voice, and said, "I won't go far. I've got my phone and you can have me paged if needed. But if I sit here -" She bit back a sob. "I have to go."
Josh looked at her and gave a slight nod. "It's okay, Olivia. We'll be here and we'll find you if you're needed."
She nodded, her black heeled boots clattering on the linoleum as she fled down the hallway. She found a stairwell, working her way down two floors until she reached the third level of the west wing. There was an open air courtyard there; it primarily functioned as a smokers' lounge, but Ava or Jeffrey had sometimes taken her there on walks in the days following her transplant. There were picnic tables and plants, even a little juice bar where they would sell soft drinks during the day. Right now it was empty, the path between the plants and tables lit by recessional lighting. Olivia tugged on the door, hoping it would be open, but apparently they kept it locked at night.
She heard a muffled boom, her eye tracking a brief flare of light in the night sky. There was a crack, and the white light exploded into a hundred streaks of red, each one flaring incandescent before it faded from sight. Another boom, and this time magenta lit the sky. Then green, then blue. Olivia hoped that Emma was deriving some joy from the display, that she was able to forget everything except the wonder of fireworks piercing the darkness. Olivia would willingly carry Emma's burden of fear; God knew it couldn't do much to increase her own.
God knows, she thought, her mouth twisting in distaste. God knows nothing as far as I'm concerned. Certainly not how to care for one of His own.
She started moving again, wandering aimlessly along unfamiliar hallways. There were few people around; it was past visiting hours and a holiday, and the hospital was running on skeleton staff. She followed a sign that indicated elevators were near, intending to work her way back to the fifth floor, when a dance of multicolored light just ahead of her caught her eye.
It was the chapel, she realized as she drew closer. The soft lights inside were reflecting through the stained glass in the doors, creating multicolored patterns against the sheen of the off-white tile. Olivia glared at the windows, intending to march on by, when a strange feeling caused her to pull up short.
You know what you have to do, she heard a voice inside her say. A voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother's.
"No," she murmured. "I don't want to talk to Him."
You have to, said the voice. If you don't, you'll regret it.
She stood there, paralyzed by uncertainty. What if? she thought, while, as if of its own volition, her hand grasped the door handle. She stopped herself, pressing her forehead against the solid wood while she tried to reconcile her fury with her need. It was a memory that finally tipped the scales; the memory of Natalia, looking so lost and forlorn on the steps of the church, asking if she and Emma would come inside. Natalia, what are we doing here? she remembered whispering as they sat in the front pew of the empty church, and Natalia had given a reply of such profound simplicity that the recollection of it still took Olivia's breath away. We're being together.
For you, sweetheart, she thought as she yanked the door open. For you, and the memory of that certainty.
The chapel wasn't large - four rows of white pews with gold trim and pale blue cushions that matched the blue carpet runners on either side of the seating area. In addition to the patterned glass in the doors, there was a series of three stained glass windows along the far wall, each one displaying a different figure. St. Paul, St. Peter, and Jesus Himself, she noted, amazed as always at how quickly the programming of her childhood came back. All three figures had radiant halos, and each of them was holding something: St. Paul a book, St. Peter a fish, Jesus a lamb. It's like the Three Stooges go to Sunday School, Olivia thought, rolling her eyes as she walked forward, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting.
There was an altar in front of the windows, bare of anything save a white altar cloth and a large gold cross. In front of that was a stand of votive candles, several of them ablaze inside their red glass holders. Most of them were burnt low, spilling shafts of ruby light out into the room. It was beautiful, Olivia had to concede; a beautiful ritual, designed to create a sense of hope. You light a candle, you say a prayer, and God hears. Only sometimes He doesn't listen. Sometimes He's too busy watching over a firefight in Afghanistan or presiding over a baptism in Russia or preventing a car accident in Wyoming. He doesn't see when one of His most beloved is at risk. He leaves it to screwups like me.
She shifted her eyes back up to the cross, and beyond it, to the figure of Jesus illuminated in shards of white and red, blue and gold. This wasn't the joyous Jesus of children's tales; his expression was too broken, too somber. This was a man who was carrying the weight of the world, as embodied in that one little lamb.
Did you weep for her? she wondered. Did you weep like I did when you saw her pain?
She returned her attention back to the altar, her eyes narrowing as she stood before it. She drew a breath and said, "I'm not talking to You, not after today. I've never asked much of You, not really. And the few times You have given me something, You've displayed a really sick sense of humor in Your delivery."
Her right hand drifted to her chest, pressing down against the scar that remained from when they had cut her open. It was faded now to such a degree that sometimes, she thought she was the only one who could still see it. It was there though; she could feel the faint bump where they had sutured her together every time she took a shower, could remember the agonized ache of the bones they had cleaved in two when they had taken her weak, diseased heart from her chest and put Gus's strong, vital one in its place. The heart of a lion, she thought, feeling the pulse of it thrum against her palm. The heart of a friend.
"I'm not talking to You," she repeated, defiance in her tone. "I'm talking to Gus."
She closed her eyes, and an image came to her; Gus standing in the corner, just off to the side of the altar underneath the stained glass of St. Paul. He was wearing a white shirt, hanging open so that she could see the warm brown of his throat and chest, the St. Christopher medal dangling silver against his skin. Jeans too, and boots, because Gus hated dressing up, even though he looked so very handsome when he did. He hadn't shaved in a few days - he had his usual, scruffy not-quite-beard, and his hair was a little longer than she remembered, but still just as wavy. He was watching her with his warm brown eyes. Watching; but more importantly, he was listening.
"You know how much I love her," she said, the tears she had been trying to fight back for hours spilling freely now. "You've seen us together, these last months. You heard what I said to her, that day in the graveyard, when I told her how I felt. I think, on some level, you knew all along. Not that you thought there was something between us, but in the way you took care of me before you died. You fought so hard to keep me alive, and maybe that was because you knew deep down that I was supposed to be there for her after you were gone."
"And I've tried to be," Olivia continued, her voice cracking as she fought back sobs. "I've tried to be, Gus, in every way that I could. I failed today, I know I failed today, but if I could have, I would gladly have taken that bullet for her. I would give anything if it were me on that operating table right now instead of her. Anything to take away the pain that I saw in her eyes. Because I've never loved anyone like her, and when you find that kind of love, you really will do anything to protect it. I knew that you could love your children that way, but I didn't know that you could love another person so completely. I get it now, Gus. I really do."
She opened her eyes, turning just enough that she couldn't see the corner of the room where Gus was, for fear if she actually looked the illusion would be broken and the overwhelming sense of his presence would fade. She couldn't let that happen, not yet. There was too much that still needed to be said.
"So since I know you get it, I'm going to tell you something flat out, because we always told each other the truth. That was one of the things I loved about you, Gus. There was no bullshit with you, no matter what else might be going on. Even when I was doing my best to break you and Natalia up, which, let's face it, might not have been about you, I didn't pull any punches. So I'm not going to pull any now when I say that you can't have her."
Her heart pounded, her knees going weak as she tried to catch her breath. The air tasted charged, potent, as if she were truly connected to someone or something outside of herself; something that felt like Gus, illusion though that might be. Somehow she found the strength to keep talking, each word like a flare of light against the sky.
"Natalia had your child, and she was your wife, but she belongs to me. My heart -" She touched the scar, letting out a bitter laugh at the irony. "My heart was made for her. My mind was made for her. My body -" She choked in a breath, her arms aching with the need to be wrapped around Natalia. "- my body was made for her. Everything about me is hers, in the same way that everything about her is mine. I know it may seem like we haven't understood what we were to each other for long, but you of all people should understand that sometimes a minute can change everything. And our life together is built on minutes. On smiles and touches and kindnesses and pancakes and laundry and driving Emma to school and curling up on the couch on movie night and all the thousands of other moments that have made up this last year. And I want more of those, Gus. I want so many that I can't even remember what they all were any more, all I can remember is that they're part of the tapestry that is our love. And so I'm telling you, as a friend, that you need to walk away. Take Harley if you need someone so badly. Everyone knows she's the love of your life, and the world would certainly be a quieter place without her. But Natalia? Natalia you can't have. Natalia's mine."
She found herself on her knees, her legs aching from the force of her drop to the carpet. She didn't remember losing her balance, didn't remember anything but the pain that filled her as she continued to speak, the sobs becoming harder to hold back.
"I need her, Gus. I don't think I can survive without her, I really don't. So I'm asking you to help her get through this. I want to wake up next to her and hold her and love her and make every day a miracle for her. I want to watch Emma grow up with her, and sit beside her when Ava gets married, and even fix that mess with your jackass of a son. But I can't do that if you don't let her stay. So please. I'm begging you to let her stay."
For an instant - for just an instant - she felt the warmth of strong arms wrapped around her, and the faint spice of Gus's scent filled the air. A breath of air touched her ear, or maybe it was just a stray draft from the air conditioning, only a stray draft wouldn't carry the words Be strong within its hiss. And then it was gone, every trace of that presence, and she was alone, on her knees before the altar of the God who had betrayed Natalia.
She bent forward, the sobs breaking from her freely now. She cried until there was nothing left, and then she just huddled there, her torso bent over her knees, head buried in her hands. Eventually she looked up, seeing the candles sparkling in their holders, beaming out their message of hope as brightly as the fireworks that had recently dotted the sky. God loves all of us, Olivia remembered Natalia saying as she stood lighting candles one sunny March afternoon. He doesn't hate anybody. He's not up there picking and choosing who He likes and dislikes.
She pushed herself to her feet, staring at the candles sparkling in front of her. Willing herself to believe Natalia's words.
"If you really are there," she whispered, "then see this flame."
Her hand found the tray of long wooden matches in front of the candles. She fumbled at them, finally grasping one between her leaden fingers.
"If You really can hear me, then listen to my prayer." She ignited the match from one of the low-flickering flames, moving it toward an unlit white candle in the center of the rack, its long wick unblemished and pristine. "Please."
The candle burst into light, the flame flaring high before settling into a bright, steady burn.
"Take care of her for me," Olivia whispered. "I'll trust in You if only You'll take care of her for me."
She shook the match out, setting it on the metal tray where the burnt matches were discarded. There was a pile of them there; all left behind by people like her who had prayed for faith, for guidance, for loved ones in need of hope.
How many? she wondered. How many of them did you let die?
As many as I wanted, came the reply, and this time the voice was definitely her mother's. As many as it suited me to take.
"So that's it," she whispered. "Nothing to do but rely on your mercy. To believe that this serves some purpose beyond the pain and suffering of one of the most loving creatures You ever put on this earth."
She took a step back, then another, until the backs of her knees brushed against the hard edge of the white wooden pew. She sank into the seat, her eyes falling closed as the last of her fury was crushed by the weight of her despair. She felt old, broken, too exhausted even to hate the fundamental unfairness of Natalia's plight.
She sat there for what felt like hours, unaware of anything save the flickering candlelight tracing shadows on the backs of her eyelids. She didn't hear the door to the chapel open, didn't notice the footsteps coming up the carpet runner. It wasn't until she heard the creak of the pew behind her absorbing the weight of another person that she even realized that she was no longer alone. She was startled at first, but then she heard an indrawn breath, and she knew there was no reason to be afraid. Save for Natalia, there was only one person who would know to look for her here - who would understand that this, of all places, was where she would need to be.
"Hey," Buzz said, in that careful, gentle tone Olivia knew so well. "You look like you could use some company."
Author: Kelinswriter
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: NC-17 (for lots of things)
Summary: Starts with the infamous scene with the OPT Pregnancy Test. Spins off from there into its own little universe.
Disclaimer: CBS, P&G, Telenext et. al. owns these characters; I'm just taking them off the shelf and playing with them for a while.
Please note: No one dies. That being said, extreme angst. Consider yourselves warned.
1-11
Twelve
There were too many people in the waiting room.
For a half-hour or so, the room had been abuzz with activity. Rick had insisted on checking Olivia's blood pressure, and then Blake, Doris, and Ashlee had passed around what they could salvage from the bags of food that had been knocked to the ground when Rafe collided with them on his scramble out of the hospital. Blake had been the one to call Frank and give him the heads up that Rafe had taken off. Olivia knew she should have made the call herself, that she should have been more worried about Rafe, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but contempt for the boy-man and his tantrums. I'm sorry, Natalia, she thought. I know I didn't handle things as well as I should have, but I just can't cope with him right now. When you're better I'll make nice but at the moment, his bullshit is a distraction I just don't need.
She felt a hand touch her arm, and nodded absently when Blake asked if she was finished with her half-eaten salad. "Do you want us to get you something else?"
"No. Thank you." Olivia tossed the salad container into the crumpled brown paper bag Blake was holding and sat back in her chair. "Oh, by the way. Natalia doesn't work for you any more."
"She doesn't?" Blake's eyes widened as the meaning of Olivia's words sank in. "Oh, thank God. You put her back on The Beacon's payroll?"
"Technically she never went off it." Oilvia shrugged. "I kept her on a few extra weeks so she'd get to keep her insurance for another month. Now, it'll be like she never left."
Blake's blue eyes were thoughtful. "You know, the way you both look out for each other - it's really special. Anyone would be lucky to share the kind of love and devotion that you two have."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Tell that to Father Ray."
Blake glanced over at the priest, who was sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with Ashlee while the two of them polished off a couple of Buzz Burgers. She turned back to Olivia and arched an eyebrow. "You know, if he gets too annoying, I could give Mom a call, ask her to come visit and take him down a peg or five."
Olivia couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Holly Reade drolly puncturing each one of Father Ray's dogmatic statements. "That would be something to see, wouldn't it?"
"It would." Blake patted Olivia's shoulder. "Don't worry about him, or anyone else. It's like I told Natalia. When you love someone, you grab it with both hands and scream it to the world. You can't let anything stand in the way."
Olivia nodded, waiting for Blake to walk away before leaning forward to rest her head in her hands and rub her temples. She was exhausted, so drained she could barely keep her eyes open, and yet at the same time she felt overwhelmed by a sense of restless energy. There were no more tasks to do, no more fights to pick - nothing to do but sit and try to keep the despair from overwhelming her.
Josh returned from the hallway, tucking his cell phone in his pocket as he sat down next to her. "Is there anyone else you need to call?"
Olivia sat up, shaking her head in response. "Natalia has a few friends in Chicago that she emails back and forth with, but there's no point contacting them until we know something. I'd have to have her computer to get the addresses anyway."
"So this presumes that you know her email password," Josh said with a grin.
"I might've -" Olivia tried to keep her face neutral. "You know, if I happen to notice what keys someone is hitting when they type in their password, that doesn't mean that I'm going to use the information for some nefarious purpose."
"Of course not." Josh's eyes sparkled. "You're just nosy."
"That's right, I'm just - hey." Olivia smacked him on the arm. "Watch it, Lewis."
"It got you to laugh." Josh's voice was low, his expression kind.
"Yes it did." Olivia gave him a weary smile. "I hope you know how much I appreciate this. You staying with me."
"You'd do the same for me."
"I -" Olivia felt a grin flit over her features. "No I wouldn't."
Josh laughed. "No, you probably wouldn't." He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "But you'd be there in spirit."
Olivia nodded, exhaustion washing over her. "So you're thinking more clearly than I am. Is there someone I should be calling?"
"I was thinking that it might help you to talk to Ava."
Oh, shit, Olivia thought, her head pounding. She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God, Josh. I can't believe I forgot."
"You forgot what?" Josh put his arm around her shoulders. "Olivia, what's wrong?"
"I never told Ava," Olivia muttered into her palms.
"You what?"
Olivia tipped her head to the side and repeated, "I never told Ava. Anything. I never told her about me and Natalia. Or Sam, for that matter."
"Hm." Josh sat back, tugging at his beard while he considered his next words. "Don't you think that maybe you might want to give your daughter a heads up about your new - uh -"
"Orientation? Lifestyle? Proclivity for girls?" Olivia clapped her hands against the sides of her head. "Yes, probably should have made that call before we went public. But her schedule's been so crazy that I can barely get her on the phone, and Natalia and I were still so tentative, it just -" She made an irritated noise, her head spinning. Hi, honey. You have a second mom now. Yes, I know it seems sudden, but you live in San Francisco so I think you can deal. By the way your new mom, the love of my life, is in surgery and her son wants to kill me because my friend the closeted mayor and I conspired to take away his legal rights. Oh and a crazy ex-prince tried to shoot me, and the local priest thinks I'm going to burn in hell. How's work?
She imagined trying to explain to Ava how it had happened; how she and Natalia had moved from rivals to grudging roommates to the lovers - in spirit if not in body - that the were now. She imagined explaining "My Two Mommies," and that impulsive, unexpected kiss, or why every Sunday morning, after Natalia got out of eight o'clock mass, Olivia would meet her with eleven long-stemmed red roses and the two of them - with Emma alongside, if she didn't have a sleepover - would take them to Gus's memorial before brunch at Towers. There were so many stories, so many examples she could use to describe their slow, steady journey toward recognition of the soulmate they had found in each other: Natalia holding her hands, anchoring her like a lifeline when the news broke that Phillip was back in town. Natalia's breath whispering over her lips in an exam room down the hall. Natalia fired with determination when she gave her little speech about why she didn't want to wait any more. Natalia mouthing "I love you," fighting desperately to retain consciousness while her life was slipping away.
Stop, Olivia thought, a wave of panic washing over her, smashing the breath from her lungs. Stop stop you can't think about this if you do you'll really lose it and you can't, you have to hold it together for her and -
She jumped to her feet, digging her hands in her pockets so no one would see them shaking. "I'm going to take a walk."
Doris, who had been on the phone for the last several minutes with her cousin the chief of police, said a quick, "Gotta go" into her iPhone and ripped it from her ear. She walked over to stand beside Olivia, her concern palpable. "What do you need?"
"I can't sit here." Olivia backstepped away from the hand Doris was about to wrap around her elbow. "I just need to move around for a little while. I won't leave the hospital, but -" She could feel the tears in her voice, rising from out of nowhere, her mind tipping toward meltdown so fast that she could barely breathe. "I need to move."
"I'll go with you," Doris said.
"No." Olivia backpedaled another three steps, feeling a desperate need to flee from the worry etched on the faces of everyone in the room. Don't you feel sorry for me, she thought. Don't you dare. She took a breath, willing calm into her voice, and said, "I won't go far. I've got my phone and you can have me paged if needed. But if I sit here -" She bit back a sob. "I have to go."
Josh looked at her and gave a slight nod. "It's okay, Olivia. We'll be here and we'll find you if you're needed."
She nodded, her black heeled boots clattering on the linoleum as she fled down the hallway. She found a stairwell, working her way down two floors until she reached the third level of the west wing. There was an open air courtyard there; it primarily functioned as a smokers' lounge, but Ava or Jeffrey had sometimes taken her there on walks in the days following her transplant. There were picnic tables and plants, even a little juice bar where they would sell soft drinks during the day. Right now it was empty, the path between the plants and tables lit by recessional lighting. Olivia tugged on the door, hoping it would be open, but apparently they kept it locked at night.
She heard a muffled boom, her eye tracking a brief flare of light in the night sky. There was a crack, and the white light exploded into a hundred streaks of red, each one flaring incandescent before it faded from sight. Another boom, and this time magenta lit the sky. Then green, then blue. Olivia hoped that Emma was deriving some joy from the display, that she was able to forget everything except the wonder of fireworks piercing the darkness. Olivia would willingly carry Emma's burden of fear; God knew it couldn't do much to increase her own.
God knows, she thought, her mouth twisting in distaste. God knows nothing as far as I'm concerned. Certainly not how to care for one of His own.
She started moving again, wandering aimlessly along unfamiliar hallways. There were few people around; it was past visiting hours and a holiday, and the hospital was running on skeleton staff. She followed a sign that indicated elevators were near, intending to work her way back to the fifth floor, when a dance of multicolored light just ahead of her caught her eye.
It was the chapel, she realized as she drew closer. The soft lights inside were reflecting through the stained glass in the doors, creating multicolored patterns against the sheen of the off-white tile. Olivia glared at the windows, intending to march on by, when a strange feeling caused her to pull up short.
You know what you have to do, she heard a voice inside her say. A voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother's.
"No," she murmured. "I don't want to talk to Him."
You have to, said the voice. If you don't, you'll regret it.
She stood there, paralyzed by uncertainty. What if? she thought, while, as if of its own volition, her hand grasped the door handle. She stopped herself, pressing her forehead against the solid wood while she tried to reconcile her fury with her need. It was a memory that finally tipped the scales; the memory of Natalia, looking so lost and forlorn on the steps of the church, asking if she and Emma would come inside. Natalia, what are we doing here? she remembered whispering as they sat in the front pew of the empty church, and Natalia had given a reply of such profound simplicity that the recollection of it still took Olivia's breath away. We're being together.
For you, sweetheart, she thought as she yanked the door open. For you, and the memory of that certainty.
The chapel wasn't large - four rows of white pews with gold trim and pale blue cushions that matched the blue carpet runners on either side of the seating area. In addition to the patterned glass in the doors, there was a series of three stained glass windows along the far wall, each one displaying a different figure. St. Paul, St. Peter, and Jesus Himself, she noted, amazed as always at how quickly the programming of her childhood came back. All three figures had radiant halos, and each of them was holding something: St. Paul a book, St. Peter a fish, Jesus a lamb. It's like the Three Stooges go to Sunday School, Olivia thought, rolling her eyes as she walked forward, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting.
There was an altar in front of the windows, bare of anything save a white altar cloth and a large gold cross. In front of that was a stand of votive candles, several of them ablaze inside their red glass holders. Most of them were burnt low, spilling shafts of ruby light out into the room. It was beautiful, Olivia had to concede; a beautiful ritual, designed to create a sense of hope. You light a candle, you say a prayer, and God hears. Only sometimes He doesn't listen. Sometimes He's too busy watching over a firefight in Afghanistan or presiding over a baptism in Russia or preventing a car accident in Wyoming. He doesn't see when one of His most beloved is at risk. He leaves it to screwups like me.
She shifted her eyes back up to the cross, and beyond it, to the figure of Jesus illuminated in shards of white and red, blue and gold. This wasn't the joyous Jesus of children's tales; his expression was too broken, too somber. This was a man who was carrying the weight of the world, as embodied in that one little lamb.
Did you weep for her? she wondered. Did you weep like I did when you saw her pain?
She returned her attention back to the altar, her eyes narrowing as she stood before it. She drew a breath and said, "I'm not talking to You, not after today. I've never asked much of You, not really. And the few times You have given me something, You've displayed a really sick sense of humor in Your delivery."
Her right hand drifted to her chest, pressing down against the scar that remained from when they had cut her open. It was faded now to such a degree that sometimes, she thought she was the only one who could still see it. It was there though; she could feel the faint bump where they had sutured her together every time she took a shower, could remember the agonized ache of the bones they had cleaved in two when they had taken her weak, diseased heart from her chest and put Gus's strong, vital one in its place. The heart of a lion, she thought, feeling the pulse of it thrum against her palm. The heart of a friend.
"I'm not talking to You," she repeated, defiance in her tone. "I'm talking to Gus."
She closed her eyes, and an image came to her; Gus standing in the corner, just off to the side of the altar underneath the stained glass of St. Paul. He was wearing a white shirt, hanging open so that she could see the warm brown of his throat and chest, the St. Christopher medal dangling silver against his skin. Jeans too, and boots, because Gus hated dressing up, even though he looked so very handsome when he did. He hadn't shaved in a few days - he had his usual, scruffy not-quite-beard, and his hair was a little longer than she remembered, but still just as wavy. He was watching her with his warm brown eyes. Watching; but more importantly, he was listening.
"You know how much I love her," she said, the tears she had been trying to fight back for hours spilling freely now. "You've seen us together, these last months. You heard what I said to her, that day in the graveyard, when I told her how I felt. I think, on some level, you knew all along. Not that you thought there was something between us, but in the way you took care of me before you died. You fought so hard to keep me alive, and maybe that was because you knew deep down that I was supposed to be there for her after you were gone."
"And I've tried to be," Olivia continued, her voice cracking as she fought back sobs. "I've tried to be, Gus, in every way that I could. I failed today, I know I failed today, but if I could have, I would gladly have taken that bullet for her. I would give anything if it were me on that operating table right now instead of her. Anything to take away the pain that I saw in her eyes. Because I've never loved anyone like her, and when you find that kind of love, you really will do anything to protect it. I knew that you could love your children that way, but I didn't know that you could love another person so completely. I get it now, Gus. I really do."
She opened her eyes, turning just enough that she couldn't see the corner of the room where Gus was, for fear if she actually looked the illusion would be broken and the overwhelming sense of his presence would fade. She couldn't let that happen, not yet. There was too much that still needed to be said.
"So since I know you get it, I'm going to tell you something flat out, because we always told each other the truth. That was one of the things I loved about you, Gus. There was no bullshit with you, no matter what else might be going on. Even when I was doing my best to break you and Natalia up, which, let's face it, might not have been about you, I didn't pull any punches. So I'm not going to pull any now when I say that you can't have her."
Her heart pounded, her knees going weak as she tried to catch her breath. The air tasted charged, potent, as if she were truly connected to someone or something outside of herself; something that felt like Gus, illusion though that might be. Somehow she found the strength to keep talking, each word like a flare of light against the sky.
"Natalia had your child, and she was your wife, but she belongs to me. My heart -" She touched the scar, letting out a bitter laugh at the irony. "My heart was made for her. My mind was made for her. My body -" She choked in a breath, her arms aching with the need to be wrapped around Natalia. "- my body was made for her. Everything about me is hers, in the same way that everything about her is mine. I know it may seem like we haven't understood what we were to each other for long, but you of all people should understand that sometimes a minute can change everything. And our life together is built on minutes. On smiles and touches and kindnesses and pancakes and laundry and driving Emma to school and curling up on the couch on movie night and all the thousands of other moments that have made up this last year. And I want more of those, Gus. I want so many that I can't even remember what they all were any more, all I can remember is that they're part of the tapestry that is our love. And so I'm telling you, as a friend, that you need to walk away. Take Harley if you need someone so badly. Everyone knows she's the love of your life, and the world would certainly be a quieter place without her. But Natalia? Natalia you can't have. Natalia's mine."
She found herself on her knees, her legs aching from the force of her drop to the carpet. She didn't remember losing her balance, didn't remember anything but the pain that filled her as she continued to speak, the sobs becoming harder to hold back.
"I need her, Gus. I don't think I can survive without her, I really don't. So I'm asking you to help her get through this. I want to wake up next to her and hold her and love her and make every day a miracle for her. I want to watch Emma grow up with her, and sit beside her when Ava gets married, and even fix that mess with your jackass of a son. But I can't do that if you don't let her stay. So please. I'm begging you to let her stay."
For an instant - for just an instant - she felt the warmth of strong arms wrapped around her, and the faint spice of Gus's scent filled the air. A breath of air touched her ear, or maybe it was just a stray draft from the air conditioning, only a stray draft wouldn't carry the words Be strong within its hiss. And then it was gone, every trace of that presence, and she was alone, on her knees before the altar of the God who had betrayed Natalia.
She bent forward, the sobs breaking from her freely now. She cried until there was nothing left, and then she just huddled there, her torso bent over her knees, head buried in her hands. Eventually she looked up, seeing the candles sparkling in their holders, beaming out their message of hope as brightly as the fireworks that had recently dotted the sky. God loves all of us, Olivia remembered Natalia saying as she stood lighting candles one sunny March afternoon. He doesn't hate anybody. He's not up there picking and choosing who He likes and dislikes.
She pushed herself to her feet, staring at the candles sparkling in front of her. Willing herself to believe Natalia's words.
"If you really are there," she whispered, "then see this flame."
Her hand found the tray of long wooden matches in front of the candles. She fumbled at them, finally grasping one between her leaden fingers.
"If You really can hear me, then listen to my prayer." She ignited the match from one of the low-flickering flames, moving it toward an unlit white candle in the center of the rack, its long wick unblemished and pristine. "Please."
The candle burst into light, the flame flaring high before settling into a bright, steady burn.
"Take care of her for me," Olivia whispered. "I'll trust in You if only You'll take care of her for me."
She shook the match out, setting it on the metal tray where the burnt matches were discarded. There was a pile of them there; all left behind by people like her who had prayed for faith, for guidance, for loved ones in need of hope.
How many? she wondered. How many of them did you let die?
As many as I wanted, came the reply, and this time the voice was definitely her mother's. As many as it suited me to take.
"So that's it," she whispered. "Nothing to do but rely on your mercy. To believe that this serves some purpose beyond the pain and suffering of one of the most loving creatures You ever put on this earth."
She took a step back, then another, until the backs of her knees brushed against the hard edge of the white wooden pew. She sank into the seat, her eyes falling closed as the last of her fury was crushed by the weight of her despair. She felt old, broken, too exhausted even to hate the fundamental unfairness of Natalia's plight.
She sat there for what felt like hours, unaware of anything save the flickering candlelight tracing shadows on the backs of her eyelids. She didn't hear the door to the chapel open, didn't notice the footsteps coming up the carpet runner. It wasn't until she heard the creak of the pew behind her absorbing the weight of another person that she even realized that she was no longer alone. She was startled at first, but then she heard an indrawn breath, and she knew there was no reason to be afraid. Save for Natalia, there was only one person who would know to look for her here - who would understand that this, of all places, was where she would need to be.
"Hey," Buzz said, in that careful, gentle tone Olivia knew so well. "You look like you could use some company."