DiNovia Drones On at The Limer Lounge

NaNoWriMo

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 02:40:42 GMT

Okay, so. Good news! I am participating in NaNoWriMo as a birthday present to myself for turning 40 this month.

Arbitrary line of text to test spacing.

1768 / 50000 words. 4% done!

I have already started and met my first day's word goal. I am feeling cautiously optimistic at this point.

However, there is some bad news inherent in this endeavor.

I will not be working on HBM again until after November is over.

I do apologize, but I have to finish this goal of mine. In order to do that, I cannot be distracted by fanfiction. I will finish HBM; I promise. I just need to take a month off.

I will be posting progress reports, etc. on this novel in my community sugared_limes, however, the community is only going to be open for new membership until November 7th. I will post progress reports daily and I will post excerpts for review once a week. I will close the community to new members on November 7th and it will remain closed until I get a first draft finished, hopefully by the end of January.

I appreciate your understanding of my desire to participate in NaNoWriMo this year (such an auspicious age, 40) and I look forward to your constructive criticism of my efforts should you choose to join sugared_limes for the duration.

Love to you all!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 31), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 02:51:03 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 31)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer:  This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09.  All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not in this chapter since I have split the girls up. Yes, I am evil. Thanks for noticing. ;)
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

I-40 EAST NEAR SHAWNEE, OK
EMMA SPENCER

"Mommy?"

Mommy looks over at me, but just for a second, and I don't think she was really looking because she says, "Don't cry, baby. Everything's going to be okay."

Except I'm not crying.

She is.

She looks sad and mad at the same time and I don't know what to do.

Where are you?? You knocked that policeman down and then ran away! That was a bad thing to do! You never do bad things. Never, ever. And that makes me a little scared.

Okay. A lot scared. My tummy hurts just thinking about it.

But...but I think you did it to give Mommy and me enough time to get to the car so I'm not sorry about it. Well, maybe I am a little. What if you got in trouble? Is that why Mommy's so mad? Is that why you aren't with us now?

What happened? Why did that lady call you and Mommy 'kidnappers?' You didn't kidnap me! Why does everybody have it all backwards? I don't like this. I don't know what's happening and it's making me so mad!

Mommy's crying harder now. She just made a funny sound and then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. I want to ask her all these questions but...I don't want her to get mad at me. I wish you were here! Where are you??

We left the store so fast. That policeman chased us almost all the way to the car and I was so scared he was going to catch us or shoot us or something! But we got away and Mommy drove real fast out of the parking lot. She's been driving real fast the whole time, looking in the rear view mirror a lot--like she thinks more policemen might be coming--and even though I'm scared about that, too, I'm watching for police lights and listening hard for sirens. In case she needs my help.

But what I'm worried about the most is--how are we gonna find you? Where are you??

"Mommy? Where's Natalia? Is she okay?" She doesn't look at me and she doesn't answer. She just keeps driving, holding the steering wheel so tight I think it might break! I swallow the ball of sad in my throat and whisper, "Mommy?" Maybe she didn't hear me.

The car starts to slow down. We're slowing down so much that other cars are honking their horns at us and whooshing by. Finally, Mommy pulls off on the side of the highway as far as she can get.

"Stay here, Emma," she whispers, but she doesn't look at me. She stares out the windshield some more before rubbing her eyes with her hands and getting out of the car. She starts walking on the side of the road and just when I think she's going to walk away like she did the other day, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and presses some buttons. I move over to the driver's seat and roll down the window so I can hear what she's saying. Who's she calling? Is it you?

I hope it's you! If you have your phone--

I look at the place where you usually keep it--the cup holder under the radio--and there's your phone. You left it in the car when we went into the store. It's plugged in because you said it needed charging. Seeing it makes my tummy feel worser.

Where are you??

"Come on, come on, pick up!" says Mommy and I look up at her. Whoever she's calling doesn't pick up, though. Her shoulders tell me that. They...fall. "Sam, it's Olivia. Oh God, it's all-- We're so--fucked." She crosses one arm across her front and walks back and forth on the side of the road. "Sammy," she whispers. "She's gone. She's gone, Sam, and I don't dare go back and find her. The place must be crawling with cops." She says another bad word and looks up at the sky. "She's alone, Sam! I don't even know how much money she has. I didn't have more than two hundred in my pocket; I know that." She stops for a second and looks down at the ground, staring real hard at it, like maybe it will tell her where you are or if you're okay. Then she sighs. "You're probably on the plane by now and won't get this until tonight. What are we going to do? She doesn't even have her coat!"

Mommy's hand flies up to her mouth and I can tell she's crying real hard now. I want to get out and hug her but she told me to stay in the car.

Suddenly, she wipes her eyes. "She said she'd find us, me and Emma," she says, her voice different now. She sounds like she does when she's telling Grandpa 'no' about something. "She said she'd find us in Beta. So that's where we'll go. Sam, if you get to your place before Emma and me, please try to find Natalia. I don't know how she'll get there, but she promised she would. I have to believe her. I have to. She'll be there. She promised, Sam.  Natalia never breaks a promise." She sighs again, her voice all full of crying still. "Call me when you get this, okay, Sammy? I...I love you, little brother."

Mommy presses another button on the phone and I roll up the window real fast and hop back over into my seat, but she doesn't come back to the car right away. She looks like she's arguing with the sky.

Something's different...and I think it has to do with the kissing. Mommy is my mommy and you're my other mommy, just like I wrote in my project, but now...it's different. Now I think you're my mommies together, like Sophie's mom and dad are together. Sometimes Sophie's mommy and daddy kiss and hug when Sophie's daddy comes home from work. And one time, when I was spending the night at Sophie's house, her daddy was late coming home and he didn't call. Sophie's mommy was real upset and she walked back and forth in the kitchen, calling him on his cell phone and at his office, leaving messages everywhere until he called back. He'd been in an accident--a fender bender, I think--but he was okay. When he got home, Sophie and her mommy hugged him real hard and Sophie's mommy even cried a little. I remember he laughed and said, "All this fuss from my girls, eh Emma? I bet you weren't worried at all."

That's it, isn't it? Mommy and me both are your girls now, aren't we? And you're our girl. That's why she's so worried. She loves you. Like that. Like mommies love daddies.

I want to smile and cry at the same time. I have a real family like I've always wanted and like Mommy's always wanted...but you're in trouble and Mommy doesn't know what to do.

It's a good thing I'm here, then, 'cause I know exactly what to do.

First, Mommy needs to eat something and then she needs to take her pills.

Then we have to get to Uncle Sam's house. He'll help. He'll know how to find you.

I have to keep Mommy company on the way there, to keep her awake. That's what you would do, right? And since you're not here, it's up to me.

Mommy gets back in the car right after I figure everything out. She looks at me and tries to smile, but it doesn't work. Her eyes get all shiny again and I hug her before she starts crying.

"Everything's going to be okay, Mommy," I tell her, patting her back. "I promise. And I don't break promises either."

She makes a funny, surprised sound and pushes me away. Her eyes are big and very green. "You heard all that?" she asks.

I nod. "Don't worry, Mommy. I know exactly what to do. First, we need to eat something and you need to take your pills. You won't be any help to anyone if you get sick."

One of her eyebrows goes up on her forehead and she smiles real small. Like she's trying not to laugh.

"And then?" she says.

"And then we go to Uncle Sam's house. He'll know how to find our girl. All you have to do is get us there. I'll help. I'll keep you awake on the way."

"Our...girl?" Her voice sounds real funny now. High and squeaky. I try not to roll my eyes at her.

"I know what the kissing means, Mommy. It means we're a real family and Rafe is my real brother now instead of just my pretend brother. Like Ava is my real sister."

"Oh...." Mommy swallows loud. "You, uh, figured that out, did you?"

"Yep. And the faster we get going, the faster we'll get Natalia back. That's what you want, right, Mommy?"

Her chin moves like she's going to cry...again. "More than anything, Jellybean."

I buckle my seatbelt back. "Then let's go!"

Mommy hugs me so tight, I can hardly breathe!

"What would I do without you, Emma?" she asks, her voice real quiet.

That's a silly question so I don't answer it. Instead, I say, "Come on, Mommy! We have to go! We're on a mission."

She does laugh now and she pats me on the head, messing up my hair.

"Right!" she says, smiling. It works this time. "Let's go find your mother."

I shake my finger at her. "Food and pills first. You won't be any help to anyone--"

"--if I'm sick. I know, I know!" Mommy starts the car and pulls back onto the highway. "Boy, Natalia sure has you trained, doesn't she? You know all her little tricks...."

I smile up at Mommy.  "Like mother, like daughter!" I say. You usually say that about me and Mommy but it fits here, too, I think.

Mommy blinks at me and whispers, "Oh, I am so screwed!"

I know that's a bad word and you'd be mad at her for using it, but I'm letting her off the hook this time.

Just this once.

'Cause I think she's right.

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Creative Types! Listen Up!

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 16:51:09 GMT

Go watch this please.

You and your muses will applaud.

Trust me.

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html

Love to you all!

DiNovia and Tanked Muse

Apologies

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 15:26:40 GMT

With the number of readers/friends that visit this LiveJournal, it may be possible that I have unknowingly offended, hurt, or caused harm, or hurt someone's feelings, over this past year.

If I have offended, hurt, or caused anyone harm or hurt feelings over this past year, I offer you my sincerest apologies. Please write to me so that I can make amends personally.

Thank you,

Erin/DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 30), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 00:09:47 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 30)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer:  This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09.  All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for the longer bits of exposition. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
A/N*: I should have mentioned this before. I know that this is not canon, but I have chosen to place Springfield in Ohio, mostly to make my research life that much easier. Yes, I am obsessive about my research, which is why Natalia was able to make it to Overland Park, KS in one night to be present for it's sunrise at 6:54am (7:54am Springfield time) on 2/23 (roughly when chapter 2 took place). No, really. I looked all that up. And more. I'm that much of a fact geek. Sad, but true.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

SPAULDING MANSION -- SPRINGFIELD, OH*
PHILLIP SPAULDING'S OFFICE

The wind roared outside as the lion of March preyed on Springfield. Phillip waited for the windows to stop rattling before returning to the file he was reading. He chuckled contemptuously at a particular passage.

"My poor Miss Peralta," he clucked mockingly. "Your reunion with your long lost mother didn't go quite as planned, did it? Well, she did call off the hit man before he succeeded. That's something, at least."

He turned the page and scanned the rest, sighing when he finally closed the manila folder. As tempted as he was to utilize Ava Peralta to further his ends, he knew she was too far away for any attempt to be successful. And the likelihood that he would be able to lure her to Springfield? What had she called him? "Emma's scumbag kidnapping father?" No, he harbored no illusions there.  Nothing short of her mother's and sister's safe return would entice Olivia's older child back to Springfield. Perhaps it was genetically inherited cleverness, perhaps it was something nurtured in her by her adoptive parents, or perhaps it was a combination of both, but Ava Peralta was a little too intellectually sharp and street smart for Phillip's taste. If he had the time and the opportunity, he would dearly love to deconstruct the good Miss Peralta until she was able to dance only when he pulled her strings. The challenge appealed to him academically, but the achievement would be a golden one. Turning both of Olivia's children against her? The very thought made him salivate.

He slid the folder across his desk and put it out of his mind. Any dealings with Ava Peralta would have to take place in the future--after he had secured Emma's custody and had destroyed Olivia.  Bending the secret child of Olivia Spencer to his will would be the crown atop that particularly satisfying psychological masterpiece. Perhaps he would marry the girl. That might just be the straw to break the aging barfly's back. A little trip to Ravenwood for Olivia would do Phillip's blackened heart a world of good.

Without his darling Ava, however, that left only his cousin, Dinah; his reluctant friend, Rick; the plodding fool, Frank; and the wild card, Raphael Rivera, with which to convince Olivia and/or Natalia to return to Springfield. The pieces were all there. Finding the best way to manipulate them was another story altogether.

What do you know, Phillip? Always start with what you know.

He knew that Olivia and Emma had stayed in Overland Park, Kansas for a week before abandoning her car there, an act that indicated they had been joined at that point by the devious Natalia Rivera. Why Overland Park was a question best left to psychiatrists, in his opinion. He would have been equally disturbed to find that Olivia and Emma had holed up in Altoona or in Mobile. There seemed to be no logic to the choice of towns at all.

They had then traveled north to Omaha, where Natalia sold her car and purchased a new one within hours. That purchase had taken him days to track down--a point he reluctantly marked in Miss Rivera's favor. The guile of the act had been surprising and even now he didn't know if she'd deliberately hidden the purchase, thinking of possible pursuers, or if it had been merely a serendipitous coincidence. The possibility that he might be underestimating Gus' young widow occurred to him again. He made a mental note to investigate her past. Perhaps there was more to the hotel maid and waitress than met the eye.

The three hadn't been seen again until days later, when they were sighted in Arizona of all places, in a cafeteria near the Grand Canyon. The report from that sighting had been a highly entertaining read for Phillip. The elderly woman who had called the Canyon police had been quoted as saying "Well, when I saw that Mexican girl in the cafeteria, I just knew it was the one who'd kidnapped that pretty lady from Ohio and her adorable little girl. And I knew I had to do something about it." Another woman interviewed at the site mentioned the women "flaunting their unnatural relationship to the whole place." He wished he'd been there when Frank Cooper had read that!

The one piece of solid information to come from that report, however, had been the make, model, and license plate of the mini-van Natalia had purchased in Omaha. Arizona state police found the vehicle the next day--abandoned at a Greyhound bus terminal in Flagstaff. They were still tracking down leads on which bus "the suspects" may have taken.

Phillip sighed, disappointed by what little information he truly had.

Calls to hotels in Omaha and Arizona had netted him no rooms booked to Olivia Spencer or Natalia Rivera, which suggested they were using assumed names. Frank had already flagged both Olivia's and Natalia's credit cards with their respective financial institutions, but neither women's accounts had been accessed in the last fifteen days. Phillip feared that meant they were subsidizing their flight with cash-only transactions, a possibility that frustrated him greatly. It also added to his disquiet about Natalia Rivera's role in this whole ordeal. Who was running their little show? Switching cars, assumed names, untraceable cash.... Not Olivia's style, to be sure. His ex-wife was brilliant, but subterfuge was not her forté. Was it the unassuming assistant after all? She had lived in Chicago for some time. Perhaps she had some experience with La Famiglia.

Phillip frowned. That didn't bode well.

He dismissed the thought for the moment, making a note to contact his PI in the morning with another assignment. He sat back in his Italian leather chair and steepled his fingers, his frown deepening.

I know what they're running from, he thought, well aware that Olivia's departure from town coincided with his return and subsequent arrest. But, he wondered, could they be running to something?

Their known flight path was too short to really make any sense of, but Phillip was certain of one thing: it wasn't random. There was logic to it; he could feel it. He knew that if he broke the code, if he discovered their destination, he would have them.

I should already have them! he thought, tightening one fist against his desk with anger. After all, he held all the cards, didn't he? Even Olivia's would-be supporters were here in Springfield, where he could manipulate them. What did she have out there that could save her?

Again, the plucky young widow came to his mind. He remembered dismissing her out of hand when he'd stormed into The Beacon to find Olivia after his release.  She'd been so meek...so accommodating. An act, he now realized. What little he did know of Natalia's past--pregnant at sixteen, successfully raising a son on Chicago's South Side with no familial financial support or education to speak of--did not allow for meek and accommodating.

"Perhaps," he said aloud, a spark of interest glinting in his eye, "young Raphael is no wild card after all. Perhaps he's my ace in the hole."

He reached for his cell phone, intending to communicate his interest in a compassionate release for his nephew to Doris Wolfe--vehemently, if needed--when Frank Cooper burst through the door.

"Detective," he greeted coldly, tossing his phone back on the desk . "It's customary to knock before entering a room. I'm not surprised I have to remind a Cooper of that fact, but I am disturbed that I must do so in my own home. How did you get in here?"

Frank flashed his badge briefly, fury chiseled into his stony face. "Amazing how effective one of these is, Phillip. People tend not to question the authority of the person who holds it. Especially the house help."

"A failing I can remedy, I'm sure," said Phillip. "To what, then, do I owe the displeasure of your company?"

Frank raised a small, stapled sheaf of paper. "I want to make a deal."

A white flash of Phillip's teeth preceded a dark chuckle. "And I'm to be your Monty Hall? By all means, Detective. Dazzle me with your deal."

Frank stalked over to Phillip's desk and bore down on him, leaning heavily on white-knuckled fists. "Listen, you silver-spooned son of a bitch. While you're out here trying to get Emma back so that you can wreak whatever havoc you think you can on Springfield, Jeffrey O'Neill and Doris Wolfe are working very hard to build an airtight case against you for kidnapping. The question isn't whether or not you'll be spending time in prison, it's how long will you be spending there. So before you get all high and mighty there, Slick, remember how nice it might be to have one of Springfield's finest in your corner for once, okay?"

Phillip appraised Frank carefully. Clearly, the man was coming unglued. Such men, no matter how incompetent, were always dangerous.

"You have my attention," he said quietly.

Frank nodded warily, seeming to have expected more resistance. "Good," he said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Good," he repeated, standing upright again. He looked down at the crumpled report in his hand for a long moment, fortifying his resolve. Finally, he looked up.

"I don't care what happens to Olivia or Emma," he said, handing the report to Phillip. "But Natalia is mine."

Phillip was shocked in spite of himself--though he hid it well. Frank's words had the sharp ring of steel to them.

"Planning a little lover's reunion?" he asked, glancing at the papers.

"Something like that," Frank said tightly. He peered out the window over Phillip's shoulder and grimaced. The window rattled briefly in the wind.

Phillip's eyebrows saluted the detective, surprised but knowing. Perhaps the problem of Natalia Rivera would be solved by this man upon whose heart she'd so carelessly trampled. He turned his attention to the report in earnest, smoothing the creased paper carefully. It was a police report from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, signed by a detective G. Hanadarko. It outlined an incident at a grocery store that included an attack upon the store's security guard, one William 'Mac' Daugird. An attack by none other than "a suspect reported to be Natalia Rivera of Springfield, Ohio, wanted for questioning in the disappearance of Emma Spencer and her mother, Olivia Spencer."

He skimmed the rest, knowing without a doubt the three had escaped. One aging security guard could hardly come between a mother and her child. Or was that two mothers? Again, an elderly woman reported that "that Mexican and the other woman seemed mighty friendly--and not in a good, Christian way."

"This is all well and good, Detective," sighed Phillip, looking up from his reading, "but once again, I have no idea where Olivia, Emma, or Natalia are, nor do I know where they are heading.  That's your job, if I recall."

"Maybe chasing them half way across the country and back isn't getting us very far," suggested the detective shortly.

"And you have an alternative solution?"

"They're split up for now," said Frank, nodding to the report on Phillip's desk. "Vulnerable. Especially Natalia. She committed a crime, for Christ's sake! She must be terrified. Now's the time to get her back in Springfield. Where she goes, Olivia will follow. She won't want Natalia out of her sight. That's how she's controlling her. I know it!"

Deluded, perhaps, thought Phillip, but not entirely wrong. He suspected Olivia would follow Natalia should she decide to return to Springfield--but for entirely different reasons.

"How do we accomplish this...coup d'etat?"

Frank's eyes hardened to two narrow points of glittering obsidian. "We use Rafe. We make her believe he's sick or dying. Natalia will come running if she thinks something's wrong with her precious little boy." He spat the last words, revealing--amongst other things--the jealousy he harbored about Rafe's place in his mother's life. Perhaps that was only a reflection of the real issue: Frank's insecurity regarding Gus Aitoro. Even dead, the man held sway over Frank Cooper's self-image.

Still....

Break the son, break the mother, thought Phillip, his admiration for the hypothesis plain.

"That has...merit," he said cautiously, not willing to throw his lot in with a Cooper just yet...and frankly astonished that a Cooper was brokering a deal with him. "Do you have a plan?"

Frank laughed but it was hard laughter. "I did my part, Phillip. I found their last known location. You're the devious bastard. You figure out how to make it work." He examined Phillip closely for a moment, his mask of bravado slipping just a bit. He looked nauseated underneath the cracked and splitting hatred.

Phillip thought he was right to feel ill. The threads of a new plan were forming in his mind like a phoenix rising from the ashes. A dark, baleful phoenix, wailing with despair.

He had Dinah in his pocket, even if she didn't know it yet. Her part in Lizzie's kidnapping was the perfect fulcrum upon which to lever her will to Phillip's own ends. She would do whatever he asked to keep that little indiscretion from appearing in her own 11 o'clock news broadcast. Frank, the fool, had willingly offered up Rafe as the sacrificial lamb. That left only Rick and Phillip knew his friend's reluctance and disapproval would be the perfect foil to this scheme. He'd tell Rick nothing. He would, instead, let the self-righteous Pontius Pilate hang himself with his own arrogance.

Phillip sighed like a man sated by a delectable meal.

The pieces? In their places. The game? As Holmes said, "afoot." His next move as clear to him as the glass that held his eighteen-year-old scotch, Phillip leaned back in his chair. He regarded Frank with glacial eyes, bereft of warmth.

"Detective," he said mildly. "We have a deal."

Frank Cooper nodded and tried hard to ignore the sound of cell doors clanging shut with such finality in his head.

TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Sleep is for the Dead, GL, Olivia/Natalia (Complete)

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 21:58:30 GMT

Title: Sleep is for the Dead
Authors: Fewthistle and DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: R
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: for 9/10/09
Summary: Pregnancy hormones + 18 months of sexual tension + Olivia Spencer in her bed = the Natalia that nobody knows.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: Fewthistle told me this little plot bunny she'd been having. We then spent an hour laughing and coming up with the rest of this story. This is all Fewthistle, especially the best, best lines. I am just her overqualified typist. And very, very lucky to be that. Oh. And yes, I'm watching the show again. The bastards got me back.
Thank You: To fewthistle for telling me about this plot bunny, for giving me all the best lines, for trusting Tanked Muse and I to write it and, finally, for beta-ing this story. You are seriously the bestest friend a woman could ask for. Love you to pieces!

7:00am on the day after the move.

"Mama?"

One of Natalia Rivera's brown eyes popped open and attempted to focus on the little girl standing patiently next to her side of the bed. "Emma? Honey?" she whispered back, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Not that there was much there to begin with. She felt like she'd only closed her eyes ten minutes ago. "Emma, we talked about this. Now that Mommy and I are sharing the same room, you're going to have to knock before you come in here, okay?"

"But I did knock, Mama," said Emma, grinning. "Nobody answered!"

"Oh." Natalia blushed a little. She and Olivia had been a little tied up a couple of minutes ago. Well, Olivia had been.  Natalia surreptitiously looked at the bedposts to see if the scarves they'd been using were still there. They weren't. She breathed a very heartfelt sigh of relief. "Well, then. I'm sorry we didn't answer you. What did you need, Jellybean?"

"I was going to get myself some cereal and then take some bread out to the ducks," explained the little girl matter-of-factly. "But I don't know which bread is the stale bread. Can you come show me?"

Natalia looked over at Olivia, who seemed to be rather...unconscious. And extremely beautiful. Enticing, really. She bit her lip as she made some mental calculations. Then she smiled at Emma. "Sure, honey. Let me just tell your mother where we'll be, okay?"

Emma nodded happily. "Okay!"

Natalia leaned over and shook Olivia's shoulder. The older woman whimpered plaintively.

"Not again, Natalia. Have some pity," she mumbled, throwing an arm over her eyes. "I just need an hour of sleep. An hour. Please...."

Natalia chuckled. It was a sound with little empathy. "You have ten minutes. I'm going to get Emma some breakfast, show her which bread to feed the ducks, make a phone call, and then I'll be back."

"Bring me a sandwich, will ya?" said Olivia, turning over on her side. "I don't care what kind. Need sustenance."

Natalia leaned over and nipped at Olivia's throat, ignoring her orders. "Ten minutes," she repeated. Then she hopped out of bed, shrugged into her robe, and led Emma from the room.

"Ten minutes," murmured Olivia compliantly. She had just begun to snore lightly when both her eyes snapped open, a look of terror overtaking her features. "Ten minutes?"

She threw the covers off her legs and stumbled out of the bed, lurching toward the bedroom door. After five seconds of rattling and fumbling with the doorknob, she cried, "Don't any of the doors in this house have locks??"

She whirled to look at the rest of the room, eying the bedroom window speculatively, when she suddenly thought Bathrooms! The bathrooms have locks!

That was enough for her. She grabbed a pillow, her purse--she thought she might have some Tic Tacs in there somewhere--and her robe and locked herself in the master bath. Two minutes later, she was rather uncomfortably cradled in the claw foot bathtub, well on her way to snoring again. She never heard the doorknob rattle or the soft footsteps padding away.

Olivia was, in fact, dreaming. Dreaming of birds frying up bacon as they tweeted and chirped trilling little songs that seemed to go on and on and on--

"What?" she blurted, coming awake with a start. Her heart pounded in her chest. The trilling birds didn't stop singing. Then she realized the birds were actually her cell phone which was ringing off the proverbial hook. She grabbed the strap of her purse and dragged it across the bathroom floor, pulling her cell out of the interior blindly. She pressed the talk button viciously, opening her mouth to say something scathing only to be cut off by the caller.

"Get your ridiculously perfect ass out of that bathtub right now, Olivia Spencer, and open the bathroom door," said a very acerbic voice. "Your girlfriend is looking for you."

Olivia stared at the phone for a moment. "Doris?" she asked incredulously.

"This early in the morning, that's Mayor Wolfe. And yes, it's me. I've had enough of you already, Olivia, and it isn't even 8am. Unlock the door."

Olivia whimpered rather confusedly. "Why? Are you on the other side?"

"Don't be absurd! Natalia is on the other side. You remember her, don't you? Your girlfriend? The one we all helped you move in with yesterday? The woman who makes a mean arroz con pollo? Unlock the damned door already."

"But she wants to have sex again," whispered Olivia, looking nervously at the door, half expecting Natalia to burst through it, wearing a cape or something.

"OF COURSE SHE WANTS TO HAVE SEX AGAIN!" shouted the overwrought mayor, causing Olivia to jerk the phone away from her ear. "She's six months pregnant! She's been in love with you for months now without so much as a goddamned kiss! She finally gets you to agree to move back in with her and then she gets you in her bed for the first time ever! What did you think you'd be doing--macramé? Unlock the door."

"I need to sleep!" pleaded Olivia.

"Sleep is for the dead," countered Doris harshly. "You have a girlfriend and she wants to have sex with you more than once a week. Some of us are not so lucky. Unlock. The fucking. Door."

"But--" Olivia started, only to hear her friend slam down her phone on the other end. She disconnected the call and looked warily at the door, huddling at the bottom of the tub.

No way was she opening that door. Not until she'd had at least an hour of sleep.

She had just closed her eyes when her cell phone began to chirp again.

"Doris, please," she begged, only to be cut off by a very different voice.

"Olivia, it's Josh. Honey, get up and unlock the bathroom door, okay? Natalia would really like you to come out now."

"Once wasn't enough?" Olivia muttered darkly under her breath.

"What was that?" asked Josh.

"Nothing," replied the exhausted woman. "I can't unlock the door right now, Josh. I need to sleep. Just for an hour. That's all I'm asking for! Well, that and a sandwich. Maybe some bottled water."

"Anything else?" Josh's chuckle was as warm as it was amused.

"Not at the moment."

"Good," he replied, his voice sounding very patronizing. "If I promise you that Natalia will get those things for you, will you open the door?"

"No."

Josh sighed aggrievedly. "Why not?" he asked, trying to be patient. But really, it was way too early in the morning for his usual tolerance levels. He hadn't even had coffee yet.

"She'll say anything to get this door open. She's insatiable, Josh! We've been--"

"Yes, you can stop there, thank you. Any more and I'll have to start paying you $3.95 a minute. Open the door."

"Joshie," whined Olivia, trying a last ditch tactic. "I'm so tired...."

"You can sleep when you're dead." When that failed to move his ex-wife, he added, "Olivia, Natalia is just going to keep calling your fellow Springfieldians until you open the door. You know what that means, don't you, sweetheart? It means eventually she's going to get to Reva and then you'll never hear the end of it. I wouldn't be surprised if Reva took out a billboard with the words 'Open the damn door, Olivia!' emblazoned across it in twelve-foot high rainbow letters. So, please. For all our sakes. Open the door."

He hung up before she could respond.

Still, there was no way she was going to open the door. Ex-husband on the phone or not.

She settled back down in the tub and closed her eyes, jumping when her cell phone rang for the third time.

"Hello?" she said hesitantly.

"Olivia. Please. Open the door." Frank's voice was clipped and strained, as if he was maintaining tight control of a rabid dog.

"Frank, please listen--"

"I don't want to hear it!" he yelled. "I can take a lot, Olivia. Really, I think these past six months have proven that, don't you? I fell in love, got engaged, made it all the way to the altar and then--poof!--she ran off in the middle of her vows. Why'd she do that again? Lemme think.... Oh yeah! Because she realized she was in love with you!" He took a deep, calming breath. "It took me a while to get used to that. I'll admit it. I wasn't the most supportive person and I'm sorry about that. But then Natalia disappeared for a while and when she came back, she told me she was pregnant with my baby and I allowed myself to think for just one minute that things were finally going to go my way. Just a little bit! But no! Why is that? Oh yeah! Because Natalia has decided that she's going to raise my child with you! I'm just going to be the part-time daddy."

"Frank--"

"And you know, it took me a few days to get used to that, too, Olivia. But I was really starting to wrap my head around it when Natalia called me this morning. Do you know what she said, Olivia? Do you?" Frank's voice was rising higher the longer he spoke.

"Nooo...." said Olivia, shaking her head, dreading what his next words might be.

"She said 'Frank, please call Olivia and tell her to come out of the bathroom. I'm horny. I need to have sex now.'"

Olivia winced but said nothing. Really, what could she possibly say that wouldn't make that exponentially worse?

"She wants to have sex, Olivia," he continued, his voice becoming tighter and more strained with every word. "She wants to have sex with you! You, apparently, are falling down on the job. Open the door."

"But Frank, I really need to sleep--"

"No, you really need to open the door. Because I have had just about as much as one man can bear, Olivia. You want to sleep? Sleep when you're dead. There's a reason there are so many death-as-sleep metaphors. Death is very restful. You don't have time to rest right now. You have a job to do. And you'd better do it. Because when you do, she will stop calling me. Open the damn door."

"Frank--"

"Open the goddamned door, Olivia, before I open it for you."

He hung up. Olivia closed her eyes. Half of her wanted to drown herself in the tub. The other half wanted to let Frank shoot her. No part of her wanted to open the door.

She sank down against her pillow once again and was just about to drift off when her phone rang. She'd been expecting it this time and she stabbed the talk button with some force.

"Mother," said the very, very angry voice on the other end. "Do you have any idea what time it is here? It's 5:33am. I want you to get your sorry ass out of that goddamned bathtub right this instant and open the fucking door so your fucking girlfriend can fuck you already and I can go back to sleep in relative peace. Or as peaceful as three percocet can make me. Do you understand me?"

"Ava?"

"Yes, Mother, this is your elder daughter. Your elder daughter who lives in San Francisco. Where time is farther behind than in Springfield. Much farther behind. And yet the very first telephone call I get today comes at 5:23am and it comes from my brand-new step-mother, who is asking me to call my mother and convince her to come out of the bathroom so that she can resume having sex with her. Do you see what's wrong with this picture, Mother?"

Olivia took a deep breath. "Ava--"

"EVERYTHING is wrong with this picture, Mother! God himself isn't even up at this hour and yet your girlfriend calls me to tell me you've locked yourself in the bathroom to avoid your 'marital duties.' And then--AND THEN she mutters 'I shouldn't have untied her in the first place.' Mother? Mother, I don't care how much money you have. There isn't enough money in the whole fucking world to pay for the therapy I'm going to need after that. So fucking get up, fucking get out of that bathtub, and fucking open the door so your fucking girlfriend can fucking fuck you already!"

"I'm tired, Ava. I'm so tired. 'Sleep, sleep! Natalia has murdered sleep!'" she quoted, her eyes shutting practically of their own accord.

"If you're awake enough to quote Macbeth at me, Mother, you're awake enough to have sex with your girlfriend." Ava sighed as if she was arguing with a small child. "Listen, I'm only going to say this one more time. Open the door, Mother.  Open the door or I will fly to Springfield on the next available flight, I will rent a car, I will purchase an axe, and I will come through the fucking door like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, okay?? And trust me, Mother, you do not want me to be armed when you see me next. Because I will tie you up myself and let her do whatever she wants with you. For however long she wants. You can sleep at your funeral. Consider yourself warned."

Ava hung up before Olivia could even say "I love you, too, honey!" Not that she was planning to say that, exactly.

The older woman sighed and dropped her phone in her lap. If Natalia was desperate enough to call Ava in San Francisco, then Reva wasn't far behind. There was also the horrific possibility that the next caller on Who Can Get Olivia To Open The Door? might be Father Ray and, honestly, Olivia thought her sex drive might be obliterated on the spot if that happened.

She levered herself out of the bathtub and crept to the door, pressing her ear to the distressed wood, hoping to hear whether or not Natalia was on the other side. She heard nothing.

Shrugging, she unlocked and opened the door. The bedroom was empty, but the most delicious smells were coming from downstairs. Olivia followed her nose straight into the kitchen where Natalia was just putting a plate of pancakes and bacon down on the table.

"You have five minutes to eat your breakfast, Olivia Spencer," said the brunette, not bothering to turn around. She retrieved a cup of coffee and put it at Olivia's place, too. "Make the most of it."

Before Natalia could get completely out of the room, however, Olivia tentatively asked, "What about Emma?"

Natalia gave her a very tolerant grin. "She's out feeding the ducks. Rafe is on his way over to pick her up. They're going to spend the day together! Doesn't that sound nice?" Then she narrowed her cinnamon cocoa eyes. "Five minutes."

She spun on her heel and headed up the stairs.

Olivia wasn't about let all that delicious food go to waste so she sat down to her breakfast, stuffing half a pancake into her mouth without even thinking about it. She was ravenous. She felt like she had never eaten in her entire life. She followed the pancake with a slice of bacon and a gulp of her coffee when she noticed a little statue of the Virgin Mary on the counter by the refrigerator. She rose and leaped for the little statuette, grabbing it up in greedy hands.

"Help me," she begged, looking into the tiny, blandly smiling face. "Please help me! I'll go to church! I'll confess my sins. All of them! But I need some sleep! Woman was not made to live on sex alone, ya know what I'm sayin'?" She chuckled self-consciously, thinking that no, actually, the Virgin Mary had no idea what Olivia was saying. Literally or figuratively. "Anyway, you know what I mean. I'm begging you. You've got to help me!"

She waited desperately for some sort of sign or something. Nothing happened.

After a minute, Natalia called down from upstairs. "You have 31 seconds, Olivia. Put the Virgin down and get up here."

Olivia glared at the statuette. "Thanks for nothing," she whispered, slamming the little piece of porcelain on the table. She grabbed her cup of coffee, dipped her fingertips in the still-warm liquid, and flicked droplets in her face. That would have to do as a pick-me-up. She climbed the stairs and entered their room as if walking to the gallows. When Natalia saw her, she lobbed a bottle of Gatorade at her. Olivia was so tired, she didn't even try to catch it. It hit her shoulder, bounced off, and landed on the floor with a thump, rolling a little bit.

"Better pick that up," advised Natalia, nesting amongst an obscene number of pillows propped up against the headboard. She was as naked as the day she'd been born and she was already lazily tugging at one nipple, grinning lasciviously at her lover. "You're going to need it," she promised.

Olivia could only whimper.

-----

The next day.

Doris Wolfe sat placidly at her desk, going over some councilman's proposal for a new stretch of sidewalk that was going to cost the city somewhere in the vicinity of $1 million. It was not the most subtle piece of pork-laden infrastructure improvement the mayor had ever seen and she really felt like laughing at the new and inexperienced councilman. If he thought for one minute that she'd let him get away with using materials from his brother-in-law's concrete and gravel company, well, he was just dumber than she thought he looked. She was reaching for the phone--intending to give said councilman a free lesson in humiliation--when it rang. She picked it up.

"Doris Wolfe," she said, her tone professional. She listened for a moment and then said, "Yes. Okay. I'll tell her." Then she hung up and went back to her paperwork.

"That was for you," she said to the half-asleep woman curled up in her visitor's chair. "It was Natalia. She says you need to be home in ten minutes and if you're not, she's going to send Frank over with a squad car."

Olivia just groaned piteously and reached under Doris' desk for her shoes.

-----

The day after that.

Olivia turned on her side, trying to get as comfortable as she could with a gear shift pressed against her knee. She was parked under a tree on a very sleepy little street very far away from the farmhouse. No one knew where she was. No one could possibly know. She'd told her staff she was going home. She'd told her girlfriend she was going to work. She'd turned off her cell phone. It was a foolproof plan. She was finally going to get three hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. She sighed happily and jammed her hand under her head.

Just before she fell asleep, though, she heard a tiny tap tap tap at her window.

She looked up to see Josh motioning for her to roll down her window, which she did.

"She has all five of your ex-husbands out hunting for you. You should be glad it was me and not Alan who found you. He wants your head on a platter."

"I'm sorry. Olivia is not here at the moment. She's sleeping for the first time in three days. If you'd like to leave a message, go fuck yourself." She rolled back over, intending to ignore Josh.

"I'm supposed to tell you that she has Reva on speed dial now. Something about bonding over babies recently at Company?"

"God fucking dammit."

She sat up.

-----

The day after that.

Now this? This was the life. Quiet. Dark. Relatively comfortable. And no one would think to look for her here. Olivia would finally be able to get a couple of hours of shuteye. More if she was lucky. She let the rumbly background noises from the next set over sing her to sleep. She had just started dreaming about being in a restful little coma when something nudged her leg. She opened one sleepy green eye only to see Dinah Marler and Ashlee Wolfe standing over her with nearly identical grins.

"Hi there, Ollie," said Dinah gamely. "Comfy?" Ashlee waved jovially but said nothing.

"Name your price," Olivia said desperately.

"Excuse me?"

"Name your price. I need three hours of sleep. You own this desk that I'm hiding under. How much is it going to cost me?"

Dinah smiled, hoping that it conveyed a sense of sympathy. She doubted it was working. "Normally, I'd find that an offer I wouldn't be able to refuse," she said. "But Natalia called. She told me to tell you that she's on her way to pick you up. I told her I wasn't even aware that you were at the station. She just laughed and hung up. And look! Here you are!"

Olivia closed her eyes. "Goddammit!" she cried, exasperated. "She must have me tagged or something. I'm just too tired to find it!"

"Too tired from what?" asked Ashlee innocently. Olivia pinned her with a malignant emerald gaze.

"From the sex, Ashlee. The endless, hot, lesbian sex. I haven't slept in four days. Not since I moved back to the farmhouse. I'm exhausted. I'm probably dehydrated. I think I'm getting carpal tunnel in my right wrist.  All from the fucking sex, okay?!"

"Ooh, redundant," scolded Dinah, wagging a finger at her friend. "'Fucking sex.' Very redundant."

"I could lend you my wrist splints," offered Ashlee kindly. She smiled hopefully, her natural desire to help people somehow squelching her innate instinct for self-preservation.

"Stop. Talking. To. Me." Olivia groaned and rolled onto her knees, pushing herself upright and into a standing position with no small difficulty. "I'll just wait out front for my keeper."

-----

The day after that.

Olivia Spencer, wild-eyed and unsteady on her feet, walked into the Springfield Police Department and up to Frank Cooper, grabbed him by the lapels of his bark brown jacket and said, "Arrest me."

"What?" said Frank, none too pleased to see the woman who was sharing his ex-fiance's bed.

"Arrest me. For the love of God, Frank, arrest me!" She shook him, her knuckles white where they gripped his jacket.

"For what?"

"I don't care. Tell them I don't pay my taxes. Tell them you caught me jaywalking. Tell them you caught me jaywalking naked. I mean, that wouldn't be far from the truth, would it?" She laughed but it was a laugh one usually heard from someone wearing a straitjacket. "I don't even wear underwear anymore," she explained. "After all, what would be the point?"

"Olivia--"

"Frank, please. I'm desperate. I haven't slept in five days.  I walk funny, my right hand is numb, and I don't care if that's too much information for you and your wussy little police department! You have a cell with a bed in it. I want to be in that cell. What do I have to do? Because I'll do anything. I'll kill someone if you want me to. I'll kill you if you want me to. I can do it with your tie." She grabbed his ugly navy tie with the purple stripes and started cinching it around his neck. His eyes started to bulge out of his head. "Please, Frank. Arrest me. For three hours. Just arrest me for three hours."

"Mallet," he gasped, trying to wrench Olivia's hands off his tie. "Mal...let. A...little help...here.... Mal...urghhh...."

-----

Three weeks later.

Olivia Spencer shuffled through Springfield's little corner market. At random intervals she dropped an item in her basket, not really looking at it, just plopping it in with the rest of what she was buying. Her eyes were sunken. Her skin was pallid. Her clothes, normally form-fitting, hung loosely on her body. Her hair wasn't as lustrous as usual. In short, Reva had never seen the bitch look better.

"Well, hello there, Olivia. Fancy meeting you here."

Olivia's green eyes focused on Reva O'Neill with some difficulty. She said nothing.

"My. Aren't you looking pale and drawn. And what have we here?" Reva looked into Olivia's basket only to see iced coffee drinks, bottled water, ten cans of Red Bull, and a variety of energy shots and pills. "You and the sorority planning an all-nighter?"

"Fuck you, Reva," said Olivia dully. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh?" One of Reva's brows arched high over her eye. "Try me. What's got you looking like the Crypt Keeper's wife?"

"Natalia. Natalia's done this to me. I haven't slept in weeks. I've lost count of how many. I hardly get to eat. I drink only this." She raised her basket to indicate its contents. "I'm wasting away. And the hell of it is, she hasn't slept either, but every morning she looks like a goddamn goddess while I look like something that the cat refused to drag in. Reva, I'm going to die. I'm being fucked to death by Mary Poppins."

Reva O'Neill blinked once and then burst into long peals of raucous laughter, doubling over with it, wiping her eyes as streams of tears flowed from them. "Oh, my God!" she squawked, trying to catch her breath. "Natalia Rivera? Catholic saint of Springfield? Is fucking you to death? Priceless!"

"If I can just make it one more week," said Olivia, looking as if she could see the Promised Land in the distance. "Just one more week. Everything will be fine."

"What happens in a week?"

"She'll be in the third trimester. She'll lose interest in sex."

"Oh, really. And who told you that?"

Olivia's look of happiness faltered. "Personal experience?" she squeaked, terror licking at the irises of her eyes.

"Maybe for you that was true. But I've had how many kids? Five?" Reva counted on her fingers, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "Yeah, five. Anyway, I wanted sex all the way until the day those puppies popped out. Except with Colin, of course."

"That's what you get for making an omelet with expired eggs," quipped Olivia. Reva regarded her coldly.

"All I'm saying is that what was true for you may not be true for Natalia. What will you do if she still wants sex next week?"

"I'll shoot you," deadpanned Olivia. "I'll be so sleep-deprived that I'll plead insanity and I'll win. They'll send me to Ravenwood where some nice Nurse Ratched will give me a tranquilizer and I will finally, finally get some fucking sleep! Now if you'll excuse me," she said, straightening herself as best as she could, "I have to go pay for these so I can get home to my wife. Who loves me very much. Even if she is trying to kill me."

Olivia turned and headed toward the cash register.

"This is payback, you know that, right?" called Reva after her. "For all those years you used sex as a weapon? Natalia is finally meting out Springfield's revenge!"

"Fuck you, Reva," said Olivia, shooting her the one-fingered salute. "Go home and try to figure out how you're going to explain to Colin why you're living in a nursing home before he goes on his first date."

"You should talk," retorted the blonde. "That baby Natalia is carrying has seen your fingers so often she'll be able to recognize you by your fingerprints!"

"Drop dead, Reva."

"You first, dearest!" sang Reva, waving daintily at Olivia's retreating back. Olivia suddenly stopped and turned, her grin looking more like a grimace.

"I can't die," she said, laughing hollowly. "Don't you know? Sleep is for the dead. And I'm not allowed to sleep." She turned back around, picked up her purchases, and walked out of the shop in as dignified a manner as she could manage.

"And if Natalia has her way," whispered Reva, her eyes twinkling with a warm smile, "you'll live forever, Olivia Spencer." She sighed, thinking of Jeffrey, her heart aching.

"Make the most of it, kiddo," she added. "In the end, you're not going to say 'I wish I'd slept more.'"

fin

-----

Thank you, Fewthistle! This was an absolute blast to write!

Comments are love!

DiNovia

55,000 hits! Hooray!! (I'm looking at you, Winthrop, MA!)

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 00:47:31 GMT

Hello to my reader in Winthrop, MA!

You are my 55,000th hit since I started up this little spot on the Internet superhighway to post my fic, ramblings, and other odd bits.

Thank you!

Much love to the rest of my readers, too, who patiently await my posts and ultimately refrain from sending out search parties, bribery, and/or motivational thugs. My kneecaps appreciate your restraint.

Love to you all!

Twoodles!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 29), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Fri, 04 Sep 2009 02:47:36 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 29)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer: This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09. All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, but not in this chapter. Boo.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. A very special THANK YOU also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. You didn't let me get away with crap this chapter. Thanks! ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
ALBERTSONS GROCERY STORE

The bright lights of the Albertsons on North May were a cheerful counterpoint to the low, gun-metal gray clouds gathering ominously in the sky. The icy wind that whipped through the parking lot as Olivia, Natalia, and Emma exited their car bit through their coats. The three hurried inside the glass-fronted building where snappy signs in the windows promised the frugal shopper bananas for forty-nine cents a pound and buy one get one free specials on a store brand ice cream and containers of soup stock.

Natalia bundled both Olivia and Emma quickly through the doorway and into the foyer where she grabbed the nearest cart, herding her little family through yet another set of doors and into the store proper. She was in such a hurry to get her lover and their little girl in out of the cold that, at first, she didn't register her surroundings. She pushed the blue cart between rows of green, glistening lettuces, peppers, and cucumbers on one side and potatoes and onions, yellow, brown, red, and white, on the other without noticing them. In fact, it wasn't until she reached an endless stand of citrus fruits, all of them garish and jewel-like against the drab backdrop of winter's end outside, that she came to a stop, eyes widening at the abundance arrayed before her.

Slowly, she turned and gaped at the produce department. By itself, it was larger than any two corner markets she'd ever shopped in combined. She could honestly say she'd never seen anything like it. Not in person, anyway. The matching look of awe on Emma's face told Natalia she wasn't the only one feeling like a kid in a candy store. Only Olivia's knowing grin showed any inoculation to the sight before her.

Olivia had wanted to check out of the hotel right after breakfast and drive straight through to North Carolina. She was excited to be on the road again because it seemed that they had finally found a safe port in the storm that had become their lives. Plus, there was Sam, her little brother whom she hadn't seen since after her surgery over a year ago. She was eager to see him, eager for their new and tenuous family to become a little larger, a little more secure. The sooner they left Oklahoma, the sooner they would be in North Carolina and Olivia couldn't see a downside to that--even when Natalia reminded her that they would probably arrive in the state before Sam himself managed it. Especially if he was trying to fly standby from Italy. Olivia didn't care. Her memories of Oklahoma would always center around finding the undiscovered country of Natalia's love, would always feature Natalia's gorgeous, lust-filled mahogany eyes and the heat of her kiss-bruised mouth...but she wasn't naïve. There was nothing for them here. Nothing that would help them find their way home. And that's what Olivia wanted more than anything else: to go home, safe and sound, with Emma and Natalia.

Natalia, on the other hand, had believed there was no need to hurry. Her memories of Oklahoma would consist of finding God's plan for her outlined in green eyes the color of a turbulent sea, of discovering a hunger she had no name for and would never be able to sate. She thought it was only natural to feel a little melancholy about leaving the state that had finally brought Olivia and herself into each other's arms. So she suggested to Olivia that they stop at a local grocery store before leaving the city to stock up on provisions. If they were going to drive fifteen hours straight to satisfy Olivia's need for speed, she reasoned, then they should do it armed with healthy snacks, bottled water, and the makings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Natalia was not about to allow Olivia to use their haste as an excuse to stop at multiple fast food restaurants along their route, even if her lover promised to order only salads and to drink only black coffee. Ever frugal and ever mindful of both Olivia's and Emma's health and well being, Natalia could not and would not agree that fast food was anything but a ridiculous waste of money and calories.

Olivia would have happily walked into Hell with Natalia if the younger woman demanded it. A simple grocery store paled in comparison. So she and Natalia and their grinning daughter quickly found themselves walking into an Albertsons near the hotel they'd just departed. It didn't occur to Olivia that perhaps Natalia wouldn't be prepared for a Mid-western suburban megaplex grocery store until they were already inside it. Seeing Natalia's awe as she looked around a simple produce department, Olivia knew there was nowhere else in the whole world she would rather be.

"You like it?" she asked softly.

"It's...it's amazing!" whispered Natalia reverently, her eyes taking in row upon row of healthy fruits and vegetables conveniently located under one roof. She turned in slow motion, watching other shoppers as they strolled peacefully through the department or even out of it. She craned her neck slightly as her eyes followed one couple headed toward the meat department, desperate to see what she could of the rest of the store. For the first time in her life, she actually considered herself a little...sheltered.

Oh, she'd seen enough television to know that most of America shopped in places like this. She'd even been to a few in her time, driven by need of something special for Rafe, something she couldn't get near home. But none of those stores had been as large or as nice as this one. Working two and three jobs in inner city Chicago meant shopping at the corner market nearest whatever dank little apartment she and Rafe were living in at the time, because she knew it would be open at 3am or because she knew it would have the makings for her arepas or her sancocho. The move to Springfield hadn't changed her shopping habits all that much as most of their neighborhood shopped at a little corner market, too.

This Albertsons, though.... It was like a security blanket to Natalia, with its brightly colored produce and its jovial music playing overhead and its aisles and aisles of healthy, hearty food. It promised her that she could find anything she could possibly need here. It promised her culinary perfection. It said to her: "We'll take care of everything. Don't you worry."

So she didn't. She followed her frugality to the bananas, remembering the sign in the front window declaring them on sale, and Olivia and Emma followed her. The three of them were the picture of happiness. Olivia took the cart from Natalia and pushed it efficiently and aggressively, her laser-like focus and attention to detail belied by her wide grin and laughing green eyes. Under her breath, she made a suggestive remark about the size of some of the bananas Natalia was picking over and the younger Latina blushed scarlet and swatted at her playfully.

"Watch it!" she scolded, cutting her eyes at Emma as if to say We just got her off the topic of sex twenty minutes ago! Do you really want to go back there?

Olivia pouted comically and nodded her understanding reluctantly, making a show of being contrite and apologetic--which neither her lover nor her daughter bought for a moment.

"Save it for someone who cares and put these in the cart...without comment, please," said Natalia, shaking her head as she handed Olivia a large hand of sunshine yellow bananas.

Olivia opened her mouth to make a rebuttal statement, but found herself struck silent by one arched eyebrow. "Yes, your highness," she droned in response, meekly dropping the bananas in the cart's baby seat.

Natalia nodded appreciatively at Olivia's obedience and turned away from her, looking for her next quarry. Olivia seized the opportunity and stuck her tongue out at the younger woman, making a grotesque face to go along with it. Still faced away from her, Natalia said "I saw that!" and promptly headed in the direction of the apples.

Olivia gaped at the brunette as she walked away, then turned to her daughter. "She really does have eyes on the back of her head, doesn't she?" she marveled, her voice too low to be heard by the woman in question. At least, she hoped it was.

"Uh huh," nodded Emma, giggling at her two mommies and their antics. Her effervescent joy caught the attention of several nearby shoppers, all of whom beamed indulgent grins at the little girl. One of the shoppers, though--a thin, sharp-faced woman of about seventy--felt her grin slide away as she looked more closely at the two women and the little girl with blonde braids.

Olivia and Emma followed Natalia to the apple stand, watching patiently as the young woman considered her options. Apples were out of season in most of the country, but Oklahoma City was like any other big city and shipped them in from South America and other more temperate climes. As Natalia's silent consideration wore on, Olivia--bored--made insouciant remarks about the apples, too, hefting them thoughtfully in her hand and looking pointedly at Natalia's chest, one raised eyebrow declaring whether the winner of the unsolicited contest was the apple or Natalia. Natalia blushed again.

"Honestly," she sighed aggrievedly, placing a bag of carefully chosen Golden Delicious in the cart. "You're just like a fifteen-year-old boy!"

Olivia made no denials.

The woman followed slowly behind them.

At the deli counter, Natalia grew weary of Olivia's wicked glances and her sotto voce teasing and she sent the grinning woman to the bakery to pick out a loaf of bread for sandwiches. She and Emma debated the merits of yellow versus orange American cheese while waiting for their pound of turkey breast to be sliced. Since she now knew she could get anything she wanted at this grocery store, Natalia eagerly amended her mental list of provisions to include sliced turkey breast, sliced cheese, and a Styrofoam cooler. Turkey and cheese sandwiches were much healthier than PB&J.

As she accepted the turkey from the deli worker, Natalia mused that she was grateful Olivia was off in the bakery at the moment. Her choice of luncheon meat was guaranteed to provoke more inappropriate remarks and Natalia didn't have the strength to deal with them at the moment. She already felt like she had done nothing but blush since they'd walked into the store. Not to mention, Olivia's proximity was driving her crazy. As wonderful as she found the grocery store and all its abundance, what she really wanted was to be holed up with Olivia in some well-appointed hotel room somewhere, blissfully aware of nothing but Olivia's joyfully sinful body, her tortuously gorgeous mouth, and the sounds she made when she came. However reluctant she might be to admitting it, the young Latina knew Olivia wasn't the only one who'd come down with a touch of adolescent lust. Pun not intended.

Emma looked up at her other mommy and watched as she turned red again, this time without her own mother's intervention. The precocious 8-year-old grinned happily. Despite this strange and giant grocery store, she could just about imagine that they were all back home in Springfield, buying the ingredients for cookies that they would bake together in the farmhouse's kitchen. Her mother was the happiest she'd seen her since she'd presented her project on Family Day and Natalia seemed much more like her old self, playful and smiling rather than exhausted and worried. If it was the kissing that made them that way, then Emma hoped her mother and Natalia would kiss every day for the rest of forever. She loved it when her family was happy.

Natalia and Emma both were so lost in their own thoughts that neither of them noticed the woman looking at expiration dates on containers of macaroni salad from the refrigerated section nearby.

The family met up again in the juice aisle where Olivia leaned close to Natalia and nuzzled her ear as Emma picked out her favorite Juicy Juice boxes for the trip.

"Gee, your hair smells terrific," rumbled Olivia in her velvety sex voice, chuckling when Natalia pushed her away.

"Stop!" whispered the younger woman, desperately keeping one eye on Emma. "My God, you have no idea what you're doing to me!"

"I may have some idea," countered Olivia, her jade eyes sparkling. She leaned close again so only Natalia could hear her. "Do you ache for me?" she breathed, her voice feather light.

Natalia's eyes fluttered shut and her hands held the cart in a white-knuckled grip. She bobbed her head up and down to indicate an affirmative answer to Olivia's whispered question, but couldn't speak. Olivia chuckled, pleased that she had Natalia right where she wanted her: hot and bothered and unable to do a thing about it. She was just about to say something else when Emma dropped an eight-pack of grape juice boxes in the cart with a crash.

"Got the ones I wanted, Mommy!" she announced happily.

Natalia smiled at her weakly. "Good!" she said shakily, stripping off her winter coat and tossing it over the steering bar of the cart. Her cheeks were awfully red. "Good, sweetie," she repeated, avoiding Olivia's amused eyes. "Let's see if we can find those cookies that your mom likes, okay?"

"Okay!" grinned Emma and she darted around the corner before either of them could stop her.

The woman hurried after them.

On the chips and cookie aisle, Natalia left Emma and her mother looking at the Pepperidge Farm Snickerdoodles while she walked further down to pick out a bag or two of the Sun Chips that Olivia loved so much. Well, okay. Tolerated better than the Baked Lays that were also heart healthy. She needed a minute. Hell, she needed five. Olivia had been resting her hand in the small of Natalia's back since they'd come around the corner. She'd said nothing out of the ordinary, had made no untoward remarks.... She'd just laid her hand lightly in the little dip at the base of Natalia's spine, occasionally stroking her fingertips along the edge of the hollow. Even over her shirt, the caress nearly undid Natalia. Every inch of her body pulsed with desire for Olivia and she couldn't do one damned thing about it. The strain was giving her a headache.

Rubbing her aching forehead for a moment, she reached for a bag of Sun Chips, thinking I can make you stop for the night, Olivia Spencer! Watch me! I know where that little spot is, remember? The one that makes you beg? She grinned evilly to herself. I can fight fire with fire, she vowed. And I can win.

She walked right past the older woman looking at Old-Fashioned pretzels next to her without even seeing her.

On the paper goods aisle, Natalia made Olivia reach up for a roll of paper towels on the top shelf...and let the taller woman catch her eying her sexy, denim-clad ass when she turned around to hand her the roll.

"Thank you," said the brunette softly, patting the object of her recent scrutiny, letting her hand linger for just a few seconds too long.

Green eyes narrowed as Natalia wandered toward the paper plates. Olivia suddenly realized she'd underestimated the woman she'd given her heart to...again. A slow, sexy smile tugged at her lips.

If I had to underestimate her, she thought, I'm glad it was in this.

She watched as Natalia and Emma reached the end of the aisle, almost laughing out loud when Natalia shimmied her hips briefly, then winked over her shoulder.

Oh, yeah, grinned Olivia. Soooo glad.

She never even noticed the disapproving stare of the elderly woman standing near the facial tissues.

Olivia caught up to Emma and Natalia on the international aisle, hurrying past a woman with long, rusty-brown hair and thick, black, rectangular glasses who was reading the back of a box of tortilla shells. The woman was arguing with her children about tacos--the gist of the argument being that they had already had tacos three times out of the last six meals and the children were growing weary of them. The eldest--a girl who was a carbon copy of the mother, only in miniature--made the astute observation that it was possible to be too fond of tacos. Obsessed even. Olivia smirked as she darted past them, but didn't hear any more.

"Getting a little slow in your old age there, are ya?" teased Natalia as Olivia finally joined them. Olivia opened her mouth to make a scathing retort but was interrupted by Emma's excited squeal.

"Look!" said the little girl, pointing to a row of green glass bottles on a shelf above her. "They have that coconut soda you like so much, Natalia!"

Cosmic dominoes, when they fall, often make no sound.

Natalia laughed and shook her head, reaching up to claim three of the bottles with practiced waitress' hands.

The thin, sharp-featured woman with a shock of snow white hair came to a sudden stop next to the younger, taco-obsessed woman, leaning over to whisper something harshly in her ear.

The taco-obsessed woman's head snapped up from her reading. She pushed her rectangular glasses up the bridge of her nose nervously. "Kidnappers?" she asked loudly, clearly shocked. "What kidnappers?"

Olivia turned to look at the women behind her, agape with horror.

Natalia dropped all three bottles of coconut soda onto the tile floor, where they exploded in a fizzy, sticky mess of shattered glass, golden liquid, and carbonated froth.

For one sickening second, everyone on the aisle froze, like gunfighters waiting to see who would draw first.

Natalia took a hesitant step toward Olivia, feeling the need to protect her somehow, her worried eyes pleading with the women who were staring back at them. The old lady smirked at her and began to shout for the store's security guard.

The Latina's heart nearly stopped as terror rocketed through her.

I have to do something! she thought, panicked.  I can't let Phillip have Emma!  That would destroy Olivia, destroy our daughter.  We need more time!

She made a frantic decision and grabbed for Olivia's coat sleeve, dragging her and Emma around the corner into the next aisle.

"Give me all the money you have," ordered Natalia once they were out of sight. She thrust her hand out to her lover, looking up at her with anguished but determined eyes.

Olivia was dumbstruck. "What?"

"We have to split up! It's too dangerous to stay together now," said Natalia harshly.  At that moment, an older, heavy-set man in a navy rent-a-cop uniform pounded past them, wheezing, heading down the next aisle toward the still-shrieking older woman.  She knew their time had just run out. "Hurry, Olivia! The money!"

Pale with shock, Olivia reached into her front pocket and retrieved a small fold of bills which she then pushed at Natalia, obeying her commands without question, not knowing what else to do.

"Olivia, go! Get Emma out of here before you get caught!" The younger woman kept one eye on the spot where the security guard had disappeared, adrenaline swamping her senses, making her dizzy.

Olivia shook her head, bereft. "No--"

"GO! I know the plan. I'll be there. I promise, Querida." She took her lover's face in her hands. "Look at me. I'll be there!"  Then she pulled away as if burned.  The ache growing in her chest threatened to consume her.  "You have to go! Now!"

"But--"

Natalia kissed her own fingertips and pressed them to Olivia's mouth. "I love you," she whispered brokenly, tears glittering in her eyes.

Just then, the security guard skidded to a stop at the end of the next aisle, looking toward the doors, expecting them to have already bolted for freedom. The shrewish biddy appeared next to him, scanning the rest of the store, her eyes lighting on Natalia almost instantly.

"There!" she exclaimed, grabbing the guard's elbow, jutting an accusing finger at the beleaguered family as if it were the épée of a championship fencer.

Rage ignited in Natalia's body and it drove her to do the one thing she'd never done before, the one thing she never thought she could do: fight.

"RUN!!" she roared as she charged at the startled security guard like a rampaging elephant, hitting him full force in the chest, launching him into an endcap of two-liter bottles of Pepsi. He crashed into the display, crying out with pain and bewilderment as bottles toppled off the shelves onto his head. Their accuser, utterly aghast, tried to help the fallen guard to his feet, but he was too heavy and she was too light and the bottles that rolled around their feet made a difficult task almost impossible.

Natalia gaped at the scene before her for one terrifying second, appalled and dismayed by what she'd done. Then she rounded on Olivia one last desperate time.

"I'll be there!" she promised. Then she was gone, darting down the aisle toward the back of the store.

Olivia just stood there as the shelves of coffee and tea spun around her, blood thundering in her ears and bile rising in her throat. The old woman and the security guard began to make some progress getting him righted and Emma, seeing this, snapped into action.

"Mommy?"  Her daughter's terrified voice cut through Olivia's panic like a scythe. "Mommy, come on!" The little girl grabbed one of her mother's arms and started to drag toward the front of the store just as the security guard managed to get to one knee.

"Hey!" he shouted, struggling to stand. "Stop! I said stop!"

Emma didn't slow down and she didn't let go. "Mommy, please! We have to run faster!" Frightened more than she had ever been before, she darted through a growing crowd of stunned shoppers and around a table sporting containers of cookies all iced with green icing. Then she ducked down an empty check out lane, dragging her mother behind her. The guard, now securely on his feet, chased after them.

Mother and daughter burst out of the front doors into a cold, wet, gray morning, an icy rain spattering the parking lot. Olivia looked around wildly for the car. In her panic, she'd forgotten what it looked like.

"Over there!" yelled Emma, pointing at the rusted hulk that was their fourth car in three weeks.

Olivia looked over her shoulder and saw the security guard explode out the front doors after them.

"Go go go go!" She pushed Emma towards the car, fumbling in her coat pocket for her keys.

The guard spotted them almost immediately. "I said stop! Stop, goddammit!"

He bolted after them, remembering the weapon at his side only as an afterthought. In all his years of service, he'd never once had to draw it.

I guess there's a first time for everything, he thought grimly. He just hadn't ever expected to be using it against a woman and her child. Before he could get the weapon drawn, though, a dirty, drunken homeless man collided with him, seeming to come out of nowhere, and they both hit the ground hard.

"Jesus Christ!" swore the guard, writhing in pain with what felt like a broken shoulder. He watched from a peculiar angle, disgusted, as the woman tossed her kid into the passenger seat, darted around the car to get in herself, and then peeled out of the parking lot. He didn't even get a good enough look at the license plate to tell what state it was from. "Jesus FUCKING Christ!" he swore again, pushing himself upright with a grunt of agony.

The homeless man, dressed in jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a flannel work shirt, worked himself into a sitting position and chuckled. "No, sir! Name's Earl. Lookin' for my dog. You seen him?" The fat man with greasy gray hair struggled to his feet and turned around, pulling up both of his shirts as he did so. The guard's distress went completely unnoticed. "Looks like this," he said, his voice muffled somewhat.

The guard looked up at the bum's back with burning eyes. A rather unsophisticated tattoo covered the majority of it. It was of a bulldog with a really, really long tongue.

As he gaped up at the half-naked bum with the dog tattoo, his throbbing shoulder keeping time with his aging and overworked heart, the cold rain began to fall harder.

He put his one good hand over his face and sighed.

It's a hell of a perfect day to get fired, he thought darkly. He sat dejectedly in the puddle steadily growing around him and gazed up at the wet, gray sky.

Yes, sir. Perfect.

-----
TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 28), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Sun, 16 Aug 2009 02:22:59 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 28)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=NC-17/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer: This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09. All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, coincidentally in this chapter, too.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

DAYS INN -- OKLAHOMA CITY
NATALIA RIVERA

Emma looks at me strangely as you practically bolt out of the room, already pressing buttons on your phone. I take half a second to thank God for Sam's call this morning because I honestly don't know how much longer we can do this: running from city to city, from hotel to hotel. Phillip has all the resources of society at his fingertips. My father worked outside the law. There were no Amber Alerts, no police involved in his relentless search for my mother and me. Only threats and bribes and bullying. I used up the few skills I learned from that time of my life about a week ago and I'm terrified to tell you that I've just been...winging it...since then, though I think you already know that.

That possibility makes me sigh.

After a second or two of intense inspection, Emma flings herself onto the end of the bed, her pajama top riding up a little, showing me her belly briefly before she yanks it back down. I frown because it doesn't have the rounded fullness of health and bounty that it should. She's too skinny and I know it's from stress and bad food and the loss of her routine. That's...unacceptable. If it kills me, I'll figure out a way to get it back, even if we can't go home at the moment. I hope to God Sam can help me. Help us.

"You cut your hair," says Emma, still eying me warily. She kicks her feet against the side of the bed but doesn't smile. She's so serious, so calculating. Where's her joy? Where's her childhood?

Did we leave it back at the farmhouse with her ducks? Or did it burst, like a bubble, when she figured out the ring wasn't magic and that parents lie?

That's too much for me to think about right now. I touch the tousled ends of my short hair and grin self-consciously instead. "I did. Do you like it?"

Emma doesn't answer. She makes another observation. "You cut it so you'd look different. So people wouldn't recognize you."

I swallow. She's your daughter, that's for sure. Wheels turning constantly behind sea-blue eyes, measuring angles and distance and weighing the truth against what she sees, what she's been told. How much of it comes up short?

"Yes," I tell her, looking her in the eyes. Now that she knows the truth, I'm not about to start lying to her again.

"Is Mommy going to cut her hair?" she asks and for a moment I can't breathe. My heart clenches in my chest and now I understand why you reacted the way you did when you saw me after I'd cut mine. The thought of you having to cut your beautiful hair makes me want to cry.

"I hope not," I manage finally, pushing the words through the unexpected lump in my throat. "But maybe."

"Maybe mine, too?" she asks, tugging absently at the disheveled braid at the back of her head.

Cutting Emma's hair is a good idea. Coloring it would be better. But I...I can't do it. I can't even think about it. It--more than anything else--would make the accusation of kidnapping harder to deny. It would make this--this whole ordeal more frightening, more real, and if the thought of you cutting your hair makes me want to cry, the thought of cutting Emma's hair makes me want to scream.

I blink the tears out of my eyes and open my arms to our daughter instead. She pulls herself into my lap and throws her arms around my neck as I enfold her in mine, kissing the top of her head.

"Not if I can help it, Jellybean," I whisper against her hair, closing my eyes and rubbing my cheek against it. "Okay?"

She pulls back and looks up at me. "Okay," she agrees. She reaches out and touches the ends of my hair, her little face crumpling into a thoughtful frown. "Was your long hair heavy, Natalia?" she asks.

"It was very heavy," I tell her. "When I woke up this morning, I thought my head might float off the pillow, it felt so light." I grin at her and she laughs. The sound washes through me, followed by profound relief. She can still laugh. She can still smile and be silly. Thank God.

"I like it this way," she says finally, coming to some internal decision, giving it one more tug. "But I like it long better."

"I know. So does your mom. I'll grow it back when we get home. Okay?" I wink at her and she grins again.

"Okay," she says, nodding enthusiastically.

I can hear you in the other room, still on the phone, but your voice is muffled and distant. I'm dying to know what you and Sam are talking about. I know you'll tell me when you're done, but it's hard for me to wait. So much rides on what you have planned, on whether Sam can even help us--but this kind of thinking isn't helping anything. I can tell myself that all day, but unfortunately it won't make a difference. Patience may be a virtue, but right now, it's also darned near impossible.

Just as I begin to scold myself for my impatience, Emma blindsides me with another question.

"Did Mommy sleep with you last night?"

I choke on my shock and look down into Emma's wide, innocent blue eyes. Then I realize what she's really asking and I want to laugh at myself. She's a child. She couldn't possibly have meant that the way it sounded.

"Like a slumber party?" I ask. That's much safer territory. Something an 8-year-old would reference, would understand. But she shakes her head no.

"Slumber parties are for little kids," she says, as if talking to an idiot.

I laugh. "Oh, right. Sorry. Your mom did--"

"Grown ups have sleepovers," she says, interrupting. Something in the way she says sleepovers makes me nervous.

"They do? Who told you that?"

She looks at me as if I've lost my mind. "Mommy," she explains with exaggerated patience. She looks very close to rolling her eyes.

I swallow heavily. "What exactly did Mommy say about sleepovers?"

Emma hops off my lap and settles herself against the headboard. "Little kids have slumber parties and sometimes it's just two friends and sometimes it's more--especially if there's a birthday or something. There are snacks and video games and movies and ghost stories and other fun things at slumber parties. But sleepovers are just for two grown ups who are friends, and sometimes they have dinner and wine and maybe they dance. Then, if the grown ups love each other a lot, they kiss and have special hugs."

I blink. I blink again. "'Special hugs?'" I squeak.

This...this isn't happening. I am not having this conversation with your daughter. Not now. And certainly not without you. I look at the doors between our rooms, hoping--praying--that you'll walk through them and save me.

Please. Save me.

"Uh-huh," says Emma, adding matter-of-factly, "but Sophie says that 'special hugs' just means sex."

I'm going to pass out. Right here. In this bed. Where we just had mindblowing-- Oh, my God! What do I do? WHERE ARE YOU?

"She says that?" I say weakly, my eyes darting back and forth between the connecting doors and Emma's profile.

"Uh-huh." She nods again, playing with the edge of the comforter. She's quiet for a long time and I use the moment of peace to try to get my heart to stop pounding. I mean, it's not as if she's asking about us necessarily. And maybe you've already had "the talk" with her. How would I know? Although, I'd be surprised. I mean, it was hard enough for me to have that talk with Rafe. And we all know how that turned out. Just because you're comfortable--very comfortable, I think, my cheeks flushing hot with memories of this morning--having sex doesn't mean you're comfortable explaining it to your 8-year-old.

"Natalia?" says Emma, looking up at me finally. Her eyes are wide and curious.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"What's sex?"

My heart drops to my stomach, kicking my lungs on the way down.

Well, that answers that question.

I put my hands over my face briefly, wondering what to do. I mean, if I'm going to call her my daughter, too, then I have certain...responsibilities...to her that I can't just walk away from because they make me uncomfortable, right? Or can I? Can I, please?

I take a deep breath and make a decision, opening my eyes and looking directly into Emma's.

"Tell you what, Emma, that's a good question. But I need to talk to your mommy before I answer it. Okay?"

She looks at me, confused. "Why? Don't you know?"

"Wha--?" If ever my eyes were going to fall out of my head because of sheer surprise, this would be the time. Before I can get anything coherent to come out of my mouth, however, Emma turns and calls for you at the top of her lungs.

"Mom!" she calls. "Mooooooooooooooooom!"

"What? What is it?" You run in, battle-ready and protective, eyes narrowed, sweeping the room for danger even as you answer your daughter. The hand holding your cell phone is slightly raised--as if you're somehow expecting to beat someone to death with a cheap pre-paid cell from Verizon.

Emma turns her deceptively innocent gaze on you. "Mom, what's sex? Natalia says she doesn't know."

"Wha--??" I repeat, this time an octave higher. I look from Emma to you--and the look on your shocked face is rapidly turning into outrage, much to my horror--and back again.

"Excuse me?" you say, goggling at your daughter.

"I said, what's--"

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes. "I heard you the first time, Emma," you grind out. Your jaw is so tense I expect your molars to crack.

"Well?" pushes Emma and I suddenly realize she's playing the averages with you. Apparently she's wanted the answer to this question for a while and she's willing to bet that you're happy enough and distracted enough right now to let her get what she wants. She's wrong, of course.

"This is not the time for that discussion, Jellybean," you sigh, opening your eyes and pinning Emma with a laser-like gaze. "I promise, when we get settled again, you and I and Natalia will all sit down and you can ask us--either of us--as many questions as you want, okay?"

"When will that be?" asks Emma darkly, crossing her arms over her chest. I almost laugh. Yep, she's your daughter.

"Soon."

Very soon, I think, my mouth twisting into a smirk.

"But--" she begins, and I can hear the whine beginning. You cut her off with a look.

"No buts. I said 'soon' and I meant 'soon.' That's as good as it gets, Bean. Take it or leave it."

Emma ponders this deal for a minute, clearly weighing her options. "Okay," she drones finally. She's been beaten at her own game.

She's too curious for her own good, I think to myself. And she's going to be a holy handful when she hits puberty. God help us all.

"Now, go pick out an outfit and get dressed. When you're done, you can watch cartoons on the TV. Natalia and I need to talk."

"Okay!" she says, bounding off the bed and into the other room, excited now about watching cartoons. I shake my head, smiling after her. She's growing up so fast and yet, she's still a little girl. A sweet, devious little girl with a different scheme for every day of the week.

My smile disappears, though, when I think of the other ways she's growing up and when I shake my head this time, it's to dislodge the ugly thoughts about Phillip that I'm having. Ugly, murderous thoughts.

"Really, Natalia?" you blurt, exasperated, interrupting my revenge fantasies.  My head snaps up to see you gaping at me with indignant eyes. "I leave you alone with her for five minutes and she's asking about sex?!"

"But I didn't-- You weren't-- I-- She--" Why won't my mouth and brain work together? Why do I always sound like bad cell phone reception around you?

"Spit it out, Natalia!" you shout and before I can even think about it, I yell back, "She asked me if you'd slept with me last night!"

That takes the wind out of your sails and you open and close your mouth a few times in shock before slowly deflating onto the end of the bed.

"What?" You look...horrified. No, terrified. You're as pale as the moon.

"She asked me if you'd slept with me last night, but Olivia, she didn't mean it like that." I grimace self-consciously. "At least, I don't think she did. I think she was just wondering where you were because you weren't with her when she woke up."

You level incredulous eyes at me, their usual green now dark and murky. "And somehow this turned into a talk about sex?" There's more than just a hint of anger in your voice, but I ignore it.

"Thanks to you," I reply dryly.

"Me?? What did I--"

"Sleepovers! You taught her about sleepovers!" I laugh when your eyes nearly fall out of your head. See? Now you know how I felt!

After a second, you cover your mouth briefly with your hand.

"Oh, my God," you whisper, pulling your hand away so I can hear you. "She couldn't have been more than four or five.... She walked in on--well, Bill and I were--"

I hold up my hand in desperation. "Please, don't tell me!" I plead. It's bad enough I have an inferiority complex where your past is concerned. I don't need to add jealousy, too.

You're not paying any attention to me. "I said something--I don't remember what--"

"You told her sleepovers were for grown ups and that there was dinner and dancing and wine, and sometimes--if the grown ups loved each other--there was kissing and 'special hugs.'" I can feel the smirk on my face. I'm enjoying this. Too much, maybe. Olivia Freakin' Spencer is...flustered.

"'Special hugs?'" you squeak. Yep. You're flustered all right. You're practically paralyzed.

I nod and lean back, resting my weight on my hands. "So...I'm thinking you owe me dinner, for sure. Maybe some wine." I wink. "But I'm gonna let you off the hook on the dancing."

You look at me blankly. I wiggle my toes and grin at you and you burst out laughing. Full-throttle, throw-your-head-back laughter that hits me right in my middle. God, you're beautiful....

You sidle closer to me when you finish, wagging your eyebrows at me. "I owe you dinner, huh?" you say, your voice low and dark and sexy. "I don't know, Natalia. You seemed to have enough to mmpf--"

I dive forward and shut you up with a kiss because I know what you were just about to say. My cheeks are on fire just thinking about it.

"Naughty, naughty," I scold when I finally pull away from your mouth, breathless and warm all over. Honestly, your kisses should be illegal.

"Funny," you quip. "That's exactly what I was going to say to you."

"Beat ya to it," I grin, raising my eyebrow.

You get all haughty at that. "Well, I beat you to-- To-- To--" You keep considering things and discarding them until you finally think of one, pointing your finger at the ceiling as if to say 'Aha!' "I woke up before you," you declare smugly.

I laugh. "In the middle of the night, because you were worried about Emma. Olivia, that hardly counts--"

"Not today!" you crow, pleased with yourself. "When we were...." Your words drift off as you pale again.

"When we were what?" I ask. "Olivia, are you okay?"

Your voice is soft. "I woke up before you in South Dakota," you say without elaborating. You don't need to elaborate. I know exactly what you're talking about. And no, you didn't.

I guess I'm quiet for too long, because I see the panic flood your eyes.

"Didn't I?" you ask and now it's my turn to feel a little pale. You look so worried!

I shake my head, but before I can say anything, you cover your face with your hands.

"Oh, my God," you say, your voice muffled. Finally, you look at me, your eyes unreadable. "You were awake? You knew I was there?"

"Yes, but Olivia--"

"You never said anything. You--" You stop abruptly, remembering the next night. Grand Junction, snow, Mary Poppins, and one giant bed. I can see it in your eyes, growing wider every passing second. "The king bed? That was...?"

Now it's my turn to cover my face with my hands. "I didn't know what I was doing," I explain, finally gathering the courage to look at you again. "I wanted to...recreate how I felt that morning in South Dakota, waking up with your arms around me. Safe. Protected. Comforted. But I didn't know how to--or why. Not until the cafeteria in the Grand Canyon when you whispered something in my ear and I felt it all the way down to my toes." I laugh, but this time it's self-conscious laughter. "I didn't know what to do after that. It was.... I was very confused."

Your face--your whole body, actually--kind of crumples with something that looks like defeat, and when you look back at me, your eyes are sad and knowing. "Because of this?" you ask, reaching out to trace the shape of a bit of gold at my throat.

I grab my necklace and tug at the charm, making sure it's the cross my mother gave me at my confirmation. Of course it is. It's the only necklace I've ever worn. When I realize what you're asking, though, it hits me like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh, no! No, no, Olivia!" I take your hand in both of mine and look into your fearful eyes, watching them bleed out into a green-tinged gray color, like wet concrete. It hurts me to see you look that way--afraid of me running away from you, from us. "It wasn't my faith that confused me. My faith, my God--they're about love. And I know God brought me to you, to Emma for a reason."

You snort and look away. "Not this reason," you say, glancing at the rumpled bed where, only hours ago, we were tangled up together like unspooled yarn.

I reach out and lightly take your chin in my hand, turning your eyes back to mine. "Exactly this reason, Olivia. Why does it have to be God or this? Why can't I love both of you with all of my heart? It's big enough; I promise it is."

"But the Church--"

I shake my head again and cut you off with a kiss. This one is soft and sweet and meant to comfort you. "The Church is wrong," I whisper when I pull my mouth away from yours. I rest my forehead against yours and take your other hand in mine. "The Church is wrong about so many things, Olivia. They're human and fallible. And I'm not one of those Catholics who mistakes my Church for my God or who believes that in order to be a good Catholic, I have to do everything the Church tells me to do, whether I agree with it or not." I kiss your cheek and look into your eyes. "God knows my heart, Olivia, and He is glad. Glad that I've found someone so strong, so wonderful and beautiful to share it with."

You snort again, but your eyes shine like green glass. You can't hide your joy. You never could. Not from me. "Now I know you're lying to me. God doesn't think of me that way."

"He does because I do," I tell you, smiling at you indulgently. I know you're not good with the mushy stuff and that we're probably right at the edge of your tolerance, so I decide to give you a break. "Now shut up for a minute and c'mere." I tug the lapels of your--correction: my robe--and you lean forward until I can claim your mouth in another kiss. The second you part your lips to deepen the kiss, I moan. I could happily drown in your kisses. I know this for a fact. Everything about them drives me mad with need. Their heat, their depth, their slow, languid, luxurious--Oh, my God!

You stroke the roof of my mouth with your tongue just as you cup one of my breasts in your hand, circling my nipple through my tee-shirt with your thumb. All the sweet, aching pressure that's been building inside me since we began this kiss boils over in that instant and I come, groaning into your mouth, shuddering against you as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

You pull away from me, clearly startled.

"Did you just--?" You look at me but I can't bring myself to look back. I press my face against your throat instead, nodding, gasping for breath, trying to weather the aftershocks pulsing through my body.

"From a kiss?"

I nod again, my cheeks flushing with heat, and ask, "Is that...weird?" Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Never with Nicky--either time we were together--and certainly not with Frank. Frank's kisses were like...like being hit in the mouth by a dead fish. Yours, though.... All I have to do is think about your mouth and tingles wash through my body to settle...somewhere south of my bellybutton. God, what's wrong with me?

"Weird? It's freakin' amazing!" I can hear the pride lacing your voice and I wonder briefly how insufferable this little incident is going to make you. "Can we try it again?"

I laugh weakly but nod. Like I could say 'no' to you....

My body arches toward you as soon as our lips touch. When you part my lips with your tongue, I whimper. When you finally stroke your tongue along the roof of my mouth again, I have to pull away just to breathe through my orgasm, this one stronger than the last.

Oh, God! I'm so screwed!

When I'm able to open my eyes again, you're watching me with an enraptured, lust-filled gaze.

"You're fucking gorgeous when you do that," you say, your voice deep, throaty. You lean forward again and reach for the covers over my legs, whispering needfully, "I need to be inside you, Natalia...."

I shake my head and push feebly at your shoulder. "No," I whisper back, looking at the connecting doors worriedly, my sense of propriety fighting with my overwhelming hunger for you right now. "Emma...." I'm so dizzy with desire that I can't seem to make myself clear, but you understand anyway.

"She's watching cartoons," you say, one hand slipping under my tee-shirt to cup my breast. "We'll be quiet. She won't hear a thing."

I don't believe you for a second but I can't get my brain to work anymore. I can only feel and what I feel is electric, wild. You push my top up just enough to bare one nipple to the cool air and take it into your blistering mouth.

"O-Olivia," I breathe and throw my head back. I--I give up. I need you too much, need this too much. Everything in me aches for want of you. "Please...."

You slip your free hand beneath the covers and I part my thighs without hesitation. You wrap one arm around my back, bracing me, holding me upright. Your tongue is doing amazing things to my nipple. I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone or anything in my whole life. I'm so scared.

You pull your mouth away from my body so you can look up at me, eyes dark with need and overflowing with adoration. My fear dissolves in your gaze. I know...I know I will always be safe with you.

"I love you," you say and you fill me with your fingers, pressing into me with one fluid motion. I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from groaning with relief.

"You're so beautiful," you say and you fill me again, slipping those intoxicating fingers deeper inside me every thrust. My eyes flutter shut and I try to remember how to breathe. You feel so good.

"I want you so much," you say and my heart pounds in my chest. My hips rock in rhythm to your powerful strokes and I can feel myself begin to clench around those heavenly fingers.

"I'm...yours," I whisper, my voice torn to shreds. "It's...always...been you. Olivia.... Only...you...."

Your eyelids close over pupils so wide, your eyes look almost black, and you dive forward, taking my nipple into your mouth again, flicking it with your tongue, suckling it and stroking it until I feel the world begin to shift and spin, expanding and contracting with my every breath.

Then--then--

Then you fill me until I can't take anymore and the whole world cracks apart, like a great big egg, and you blindly cover my mouth with your free hand, trying to muffle my cries of release...and failing.

When I come back to myself, I realize I'm still rocking against your fingers. We're both gulping air into our mistreated lungs and I'm a little surprised to find that I want you again. And again after that.

"I can't keep my hands off you," you breathe and I feel your fingers twitch inside me. I whimper.

"We can't," I reply, my voice low and desperate. "Olivia, she could run in here any second!"

"I know.... I know...." You rest your forehead on my thigh and slowly slip your fingers from inside me.  I feel their loss as an ache, sharp and immediate. I try to push it away.

"Talk to me," I order you, frantic to cool this...this whatever this is between us. Just a little. Just so I can think again. I have to learn to control myself around you now. I've never felt like this before, never wanted anyone the way I want you.  "Tell me about Sam." That will help. I need to get back on track, back into this crazy world that makes no sense anymore. Our daughter's life depends on it.

"Sam?" you ask, confused. You're staring hungrily at my still bare nipple and I yank my top down to cover it.

"Your brother? Olivia, please!"

The desperation in my voice breaks through to you finally. "Right. Right!" You take a deep breath and force yourself back to the present. "Sam. Sam's in Italy."

My heart sinks. How is he going to help us from there? "Italy? What's he doing in Italy?"

You blink and I can see in your eyes that you don't know and didn't think to ask. Instead, you tell me what you do know. "He's on his way home. He says we can stay with him. For however long we need."

"In New York?" I ask, trying to remember if that's where you said he lived the last time we talked about him. When was that--Christmas? But you shake your head no.

"In the Blue Ridge Mountains. Some place in North Carolina. Beta, I think he said. A cabin in Beta." The urgency of our desire is slowly fading for both of us and I can feel my brain starting up again, even though it feels a bit...rusty.

"Won't Phillip know to look there, Olivia? Isn't that the first place he'd look?" And do we really have the right to put someone else in danger?

"Maybe," you say, flashing me a brilliant grin. "But four years ago, when Phillip disappeared, Sam was living in a little village somewhere in Mexico, working on a story about--I don't know--banditos and stables of enslaved piece-workers supplying the tourist traps around Mexico City with cheap souvenirs for Americans. Something like that. Anyway, when he came back to the States, he moved to New York, thinking he'd get a job with the Times. The last I'd heard, he was doing a lot of freelance work for traditional news agencies and progressive blogs up there. But it turns out he moved to Beta, North Carolina and lives there now. He says he's teaching."

"So...?" Honestly, I don't know how that changes anything.

"So, if I didn't know where Sam was, neither will anyone else. It'll take Phillip a while to find him, even if he thinks of it. Which I'm betting he won't. Or--if he does--he'll get frustrated and stop pursuing it as soon as he hits the first road block."

I feel a hesitant smile tug at my mouth. "It'll give us some time. To plan. To stay in one place. To get out of the public eye. Even if Phillip does pursue it, it will still give us some time."

"Exactly," you say, relief and confidence flooding your eyes. "We can work on our next move without feeling like someone's watching us around every corner. Maybe Sam can even help us get out of the country. He has contacts all over the world. And he was once hunted by the mob."

Oh, I am not even going to ask about that. I lived in Chicago for a long time. I know better.

"Is there anyone else Phillip would go after to get to you? Anyone not living in Springfield? Like--oh no! Olivia, what about Ava? Will Phillip go after her?"

"He doesn't even know she exists," you say triumphantly. Then your face falls a little. "At least, I hope he doesn't. She didn't come to Springfield until after Phillip disappeared. But even if that bastard does find out about her, Jeffrey's there. He'll take care of her. Especially since you prepared him." You look at me with such gratitude and such pride, it takes my breath away. "You did everything right, Natalia. We made it here, all the way to Oklahoma City, because of you."

"We had God's help," I say softly, embarrassed by your faith in me. "And--you know--we're a little bit lucky."

"We're a lot lucky," you say, correcting me, and I can tell you're not talking about our near misses and our close calls. "We're going to be okay, Natalia. Everything's going to be fine now."

I nod, agreeing with you, trusting you implicitly. "We have each other," I say, smiling.

"Yeah. We do." You cup my face in your gentle hand, lean forward, and press your lips to mine. This kiss is not meant to set me ablaze. It's a kiss of reassurance, of presence, of endurance. I return it eagerly, wanting you to feel the strength of my love for you, wanting you to know--from this kiss alone--that I'm here. With you. Here to stay.

We're still kissing softly when Emma runs in from the other room to announce that she's hungry.

You pull away from the kiss so quickly, I think I hear a pop. I chuckle briefly at how shocked you look, then turn my attention to our daughter.

"I know, Em, sweetie. We are, too."  I know I am. Starving, that is. You make me hungry in every way. Even now, when you look like a cartoon version of yourself, your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide as saucers. I look over your shoulder. "Your mom will be there in just a minute to order breakfast for us while I take a shower, okay?"

"Okay!" she agrees happily, skipping back to your room. I hear her fling herself onto one of the beds.

"Do you think she noticed?" you ask, stage-whispering comically. Before I can answer, we hear the slightly off-key strains of a popular children's song being sung in the other room.

"Mommy and Natalia, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," sings Emma sweetly. All the blood drains from your face. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!"

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. So I settle for being a smart-ass. I think you're a bad influence on me.

"Hmmm," I say, watching you try to get something--anything--to come out of your mouth. "It looks like we're going to have to cover state marriage laws with that sex talk we're going to give her."

You just goggle at me.

I close your mouth with a click of your teeth and hop out of bed.

"I'll be in the shower if you need anything," I say sweetly, ducking quickly into the bathroom in case you get it into your head to follow me.

Instead--just before I close the door--I hear a softly uttered, "Bitch!"

I pray that the sound of the shower running drowns out the sound of my laughter.

But I doubt it does.

-----

TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 27), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 01:23:48 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 27)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=NC-17/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer:  This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09.  All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, coincidentally in this chapter. ;)
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

DAYS INN -- OKLAHOMA CITY
OLIVIA SPENCER

The nightmare images switch off as soon as my eyes snap open and they fade immediately, thankfully. I don't know what the dream was about now, but my heart pounds as if I've run a lap or two around, say, the Great Lakes, and I'm sweating even though the damned hotel AC seems to be set to Arctic Circle. I know there are only two temperature settings on these cheap units, no matter what options they show. It's always either Fifth Level of Hell or Arctic Circle. Which is why I shelled out the big bucks for the state-of-the-art units I have at The Beacon. None of my guests are going to come down with bronchial pneumonia while staying at my hotel, that's for sure.

The only thing these cheap-ass units are good for, I think, burrowing deeper under the covers to leech heat from the warm body next to me, is a slight increase in unplanned pregnancies amongst hotel guests.

I smile even as my heavy eyelids drift shut again. The places my mind goes. Heh.

I snake my arm around a soft belly and pull the warm body closer to me, reveling in its heat. It's not until I'm rubbing my cheek between a pair of delicate shoulder blades that I suddenly realize that the warm body is decidedly real and decidedly...naked.

My eyes snap open again and the harsh light slicing out of the bathroom through the crack in the door shows me that the body is also decidedly yours.

WHAT THE FUCK??

The shock that rips through my body practically levitates me off the bed--your bed--before memories start flooding back into my frozen brain. A bathroom littered with strands of mahogany silk. "You! Stop!" Panic. Tears. "Our daughter." Can't breathe. Big eyes. Words from a perfect mouth.  You love me. You love me.  You love me.

And more memories. A kiss, like electrocution. Another kiss, like drowning. My blue silk shirt torn open. Hungry, burning russet eyes. Gold rings, heavy in my palm.

I look over my shoulder to the bedside table and there they are, the rings you gave me before you...you....

Before you made love to me. Before you completely destroyed me with that sweet, hot mouth....

I stifle a sound of need as my blood ignites in my veins, seething like warm honey just beneath the surface of my overheated skin. My stomach muscles clench with sudden desire and every inch of me pressed against you aches.

I want you so much it hurts. And I know it's a bad idea but, for the life of me, I can't remember why.  I look over your shoulder at the digital clock on your side of the bed and 5:11am blinks back at me in glaring red. I clench my eyes shut against the jarring color.

Soon, we'll have to get up, get Emma and ourselves-- Emma!

My eyes snap open again and I'm beginning to hate the way adrenaline lurches through my body, revving my heartbeat from zero to sixty in the time it takes a thought to cross my mind. I gently disentangle myself from you and scootch backward out of the bed, teeth chattering as I look for my clothes on the floor. Several minutes of rooting around in the dim light nets me a pair of jeans and my torn shirt and I frown. I can't go in to check on my eight-year-old looking like I was attacked by wolves.

Even if I wouldn't change one second of one minute of last night. Not for anything in the world.

I feel my cheeks burn with a combination of lust and embarrassment as I discard the clothing and look for something else to wear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a robe I recognize thrown over the back of one of the chairs. It's a robe from The Beacon, one of the new ones that I brought home for us to try right after Christmas. A chenille microfiber outer layer in a buttery tan color called Sea Shell and a high-thread-count cotton terry lining, soft and absorbent. Mine's at home in the bathroom, probably bunched up in a ball on the floor in the corner. Yours looks like it's never been worn. But I know it has. It smells like you--citrus and spice. I slip into it and tie it off, sighing in relief before tiptoeing quietly to the connecting doors. I push the one on our side almost closed and wait for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. When they do, I'm relieved to see Emma just as I left her: curled on her side and sound asleep. She doesn't even look like she's moved.

I sit next to her on the bed and smile, reaching out to stroke her hair for a moment. She makes a small sound, hardly even a whimper, but my smile slides away in the darkness anyway. How much is my Jellybean like me after all? Is she having nightmares too? Does she keep them from me so she doesn't worry me or is she spared remembering them at all when she wakes? Are they of what her father did to her or of what I'm doing to her now? Or both?

My hand stills on her head and I close my eyes. For the first time since this all began, I seriously consider calling Frank and turning myself in.... Is this--this chaos, this craziness--worth it? Am I saving her from a horrible fate or am I playing a high-stakes game of tug-of-war with my youngest child, ignoring what's best for her? What is best for her?

Is it me--her loud, brash mother with impulse control issues and too few maternal skills who's living on borrowed time? Or is it Phillip--her wealthy, deeply damaged father, who seems to have returned from the dead to finish what he started? And where do you fit in all of this? Her other mother, who bakes and packs her lunches and does our laundry but who also has a son in prison and a relationship with God and faith that--on good days--makes me very uncomfortable?

And what about now that we're...lovers? Am I being selfish, wanting you the way I do? Will us together--as a family, a real family--make Emma an outcast at school? Will she be bullied or--oh God--attacked on the playground by the same children who have her over to see new kittens or play new video games?

And what is all of this doing to you? You should be back in Springfield to be near your son. You should be far away from me and the danger I've put you into. What if we get caught? Arrested? What will you do then?

My head spins with these questions and I drop my chin to my chest, trying not to give in to my dizziness, to the migraine quietly digging in for a long siege over my left eye. I sigh and, just as the sound leaves my mouth, I feel your arms wrap around me from behind, your voice whispering in my ear, "She's fine, Olivia. Everything's fine. Come back to bed."

I look up at you as you release me. You catch one of my hands in yours as you pull away, tugging me up and off the bed, your eyes smiling. I can see them, even in this darkness. Shining like lights on the water.

I have no choice but to follow.

You turn to me when we're back in your room and I open my mouth to speak...only to have you stop me with impossibly soft fingertips against my lips.

"Mm-mmh," you say, shaking your head. You cup my face in your hands and you look at me--really look. I immediately want to look at something else, anything else, because your eyes are filling with light and love and tenderness and Oh God, you're everything I've ever wanted and I'm so goddamned afraid that as soon as the sun rises you'll come to your senses or whatever and this--this will all be over and my life with it.

I feel the tears first as a searing pain in my throat. Then as a pressure behind my eyes, stinging. I blink to keep them away. I try to pull away from your hands--your strong, amazing hands--but you hold me still and continue to look in my eyes, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

The first sob wells up inside me like a bubble and I choke on it trying to keep it inside.

"It's okay, Olivia," you breathe, brushing your lips and your thumbs across my cheeks. "Let it go. I'm here."

And...you are. You. Are. Here.

For the first time, maybe, I truly understand what that means. Not just that you're here, right now, in this physical space with me. Not that you're here to support me or to take care of me or Emma.  Not that you're here because it's where you accidentally ended up after saying for better or for worse with a hopeful smile, like most people facing uncertainty....

It's that you've chosen this--this craziness, knowing it was probably going to go badly, that it was going to be messy and hard and scary and all those things it's turned out to be.  You wanted to be here.

Then you stayed. When it got messier and harder and scarier, you stayed.

I've been married five times and what I know about love--real love--would probably fit in one of those tiny tea cups from Emma's tea set. Except now, looking into your sunny nut-brown eyes, I think I might be getting a clue, finally.

"Oh God...." I press my hand to my mouth to stop the sobs from coming but it's futile. I hiccup twice before I feel the first of the tears spill down my cheeks.

"It's okay," you repeat, pulling off the tee-shirt you threw on when you came to find me. You toss it on the end of the bed and slip out of your underwear, dropping them next to the tee-shirt. Then you reach for the tie on the robe I'm wearing--your robe--and quickly help me out of it.

You pull me into bed with you, tucking my head under your chin, wrapping your body around me before pulling the sheets and blankets up around us both. I shudder against you, trying not to shatter into a million pieces, trying not to make even more of a fool of myself than I already have.

"Te quiero, Querida," you whisper against my forehead, your fingers stroking my hair so softly. "Puedes llorar conmigo, mi amor...."

And so I do. I cry.

I cry as if my heart is breaking, because it is, because it has before and probably will again.

I cry because Emma may be having nightmares and I don't know what they're about or how to stop them.

I cry because none of this is fair, and even though it isn't, it brought me here, to your arms, and I feel guilty for being thankful for that.

I cry because Emma's father wants to take her and because your father beat you and because my father died too early.

I cry because I wanted to abort Ava, but didn't, and then I tried to kill her before I realized who she was.

I cry because I was raped.

I cry because I didn't get to watch Ava grow up.

I cry because my grandson is dead and I won't get to see him grow up.

I cry because I almost died and if I had I wouldn't have ever known you could be anything more than competition.

I cry because I love you so much more than I love myself or ever will.

I cry because I don't know what else to do.

I cry so long and so hard that when I finally stop, the first gray light of dawn peeks under the curtains as they flutter in the artificial breeze made by the AC, and I feel...remade. Washed clean from the inside. Even though I know I probably look like a wreck on the outside.

You hand me what seems like half a box of Kleenex and I chuckle ruefully, sitting up a little to take them. "That bad, huh?" I ask, my voice half-rasp, half-croak. I blot ineffectually at my sticky, swollen eyes and try to blow my nose discreetly. I honk instead, like one of those geese that stopped by our pond this past Christmas, and grimace self-consciously.

"I've never seen you look more beautiful," you say sincerely, brushing my hair out of my eyes. I don't respond because I can't. My heart seems to be permanently lodged in my throat when I'm around you now. Makes it very difficult to talk.

I look at the alarm clock and am shocked to see that it's almost 6:30am. You see where my mind has gone and you rush to reassure me. "I called the front desk and canceled our wake up calls when you got up," you explain. A little sheepishly, you add, "I thought we could get a later start today. You know, maybe sleep in?"

I glance at you and see that your cheeks have turned a delicate shade of rose.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" I tease, leaning in for a gentle kiss. I'm careful to keep it light--just a tiny bit of pressure against your soft lips--because I want to give you the chance to pull away if that's what you need. You make a frustrated sound, though, and pull me to you soundly, giving me what you obviously think is a more proper kiss. I'm a little dazed when you finally release me.

"No. I think they--whoever they are--still call that 'morning sex,'" you chuckle. "I was serious about the sleeping in--" I stop your mouth with another kiss. I can't help myself.  You said "morning sex." You said "morning sex" and you laughed and I felt it when you did, a rumble through my chest, and I'm on fire again. On fire? I'm a fucking bonfire, no--a raging forest fire. Suddenly, this is serious.  Our kiss has gone from teasing to unbridled in nothing flat and I feel you open to me, to my tongue and my body as I roll with you, pinning you on your back in this impossibly huge bed.

I wrench away from your intoxicating mouth and begin kissing my way down your neck. I feel your nipples harden against my skin and then mine do, too. I slide a thigh between your legs and you throw your head back and moan. I pull my mouth away from your body and look at you. You've clenched your eyes shut and you're biting your bottom lip to keep from crying out. I feel your hips move wantonly underneath me and I'm entranced. You are so beautiful, so fucking sexy and stunningly gorgeous right now that I find myself lowering my mouth to the meaty part of your shoulder. I need you so much, want you so much, my mouth acts on its own and I sink my teeth into you deeply, but not hard enough to break the skin.  A cry is torn from your throat.

"Oh, please...." you beg and your velvety voice is in tatters. Abruptly, I remember that last night was all about me. Your mouth on me, your tongue inside me, your kisses making me come undone....

I feel myself grow wet and my clit quivers with the desire to feel your hot, sweet, amazing mouth again, to feel you inside me again, making me scream. I push the sensations away as best as I can because now? Now is all about you. Now, I get to discover what makes you scream, what makes you come apart in my arms. The greedy lust I feel at this moment takes my breath away. All I want right now....

I smile around your nipple as I take it in my mouth, stroking it with my tongue.

All I want right now is to fuck you until you forget your own name, I think. I find your other nipple with my fingertips and roll it between my fingers, tugging on it while I suck the other one. You gasp and buck your hips beneath me. I feel my hips answer their movement, rocking into you. God, I want you. I want you open, so open beneath me. I want to take you deep and hard, and a stray thought zips through my brain--Is this what men feel with us?

I let the thought disintegrate as you wind your fingers in my hair, gripping me tightly. Honestly, I don't care what men feel. I only care what we feel at this moment and right now, I need to be inside you.

Right. Now.

I rise over you, pulling my mouth from your nipple, kissing my way up to your ear as I settle myself between your thighs. You wrap your legs around my hips and I groan, throwing my head back and hissing with knife-edged pleasure. I tremble against you, already so close to orgasm myself that I'm afraid I won't last until you've come.

"I want to be inside you, Natalia," I breathe into your ear, my voice tight with the strain of my self-control. I snake a hand between us and down until I feel your wetness, the slick heat between your thighs. I slide my fingertips lightly against it and instantly want more. It takes all of my strength not to just plunge inside you.

"God, yes...." you cry, your eyes black with desire. "Olivia, yes...."

I kiss you roughly, thrusting my tongue into your mouth, battling with yours briefly before pulling away abruptly, my breath coming in harsh gasps.

"I want to fuck you," I growl and I feel you become wetter, feel your hips rise to meet mine. "Let me fuck you. God, Natalia. Please."

My fingers still against you even as your hips rock uncontrollably beneath me, seeking deeper contact, wanting the relief of them. I refuse to give you that relief without permission to do so. I need it. I need to hear you say it.

You look up at me, your eyes round as you watch me fight with myself, watch me hold myself still, shuddering with the effort. My eyes close as I feel my strength begin to slip. Just when I don't think I can resist one more second, you realize what I need and you give it to me.

"Take me, Querida," you breathe, reaching up to kiss my jawline. You put your mouth against my ear and whisper, "Please. I need you deep inside me."

You slam back onto the bed as I sink into you, plunging three fingers deep inside you.

"Oh, my God!" you cry and I echo you in my head.

Oh, my God!

That's all the thinking I'm capable of as I drive into you over and over, my hips rocking behind every thrust, your hips grinding into mine.

You whimper beneath me, your breath catching high in the back of your throat, and the sound drives me mad. I shift forward a little, to give myself more leverage, and experiment with twisting my fingers as they sink into you, moaning when I hear you cry out my name, your voice barely a shadow of itself.

"Fuck, Natalia," I groan. My heart pounds and my blood roars through my body like a 12,000 volt power surge. I feel your muscles begin to clench around my fingers and my clit leaps in answer to the sensation. "Oh, God!" I cry, rocking harder into you.

"Please," you beg, your head thrashing from side to side on the pillow, pain and pleasure plain in your features. "Please! Oh, please, Olivia...."

I curl my fingertips forward the slightest bit and your eyes snap open, staring at me with unadulterated shock. I feel your muscles tighten even further and then the tremors begin.

"Oh. My. GOD!" you say, your voice deep and desperate. "Yes! Oh, yes yes yes yes...."

I throw my head back and cry out as my own orgasm crashes through me. I ride its power and thrust deeply into you. Your hands clutch at my shoulders, your nails digging into my skin. I don't feel any pain. All I feel is you. You, locking your legs around my hips. You, open and wet and coming beneath me. You, arching into my thrusts. You, calling for God and me in the same breath.

When it's all over and I've taken you as many times as your body will allow, I collapse half on top of you and roll listlessly to your side. My body throbs in time with my pounding heart and we're both sweaty and breathless and very, very freshly fucked.

"That was...." you begin. "You--you were...." You press a hand to your heart and look blankly at the ceiling.

"Yeah," I agree. "You, too." I wave a hand limply in your direction and let it flop back onto the bed.

For several long minutes, there's only the sound of us trying to get our breathing back under control. When I finally stop seeing flashing colors and exploding lights, I turn my head and look at you.

You have an arm thrown over your eyes and you've knotted the fingers of your other hand with mine. You're smiling the sweetest, loveliest smile I think I've ever seen on you.

"Hey," I whisper and you peek out from underneath your arm.

"Yes?" you ask, your eye--the only one I can see--sparkling.

"C'mere."

You chuckle softly and roll into my arms, kissing me sweetly, slowly....

"Yes?" you repeat when you pull away, your big, brown eyes now only inches from mine. They're filled with love and joy and I reach up to cup your face in my palm.

"You know I love you, right?" I ask quietly. "I mean, I haven't said it...often...during...." I make a gesture that's supposed to summarize our recent activities but it fails miserably. I soldier on. "But I do. I'm so in love with you that I'm still not sure that this isn't some sort of hallucination or something. The best damned hallucination ever, but still...not real. But I am. In love with you. So very much."

God, do I always sound like that? I wonder, grimacing at my halting, inelegant speech. Then I look at the ceiling. On second thought, I don't want to know.

"Trust me," you say, smiling, laughter rumbling through your body and then into mine. "You've made that perfectly clear." You brush tendrils of hair from my eyes. "And--just for the record--I love you, too."

"Oh," I say, lost in the shifting light glimmering in your eyes. "Good."

Christ! I think, rolling my eyes. Can I have my vocabulary back, now? Please?

You laugh again and reach up to kiss me and I get lost in that instead. Just before we can start another round of "sleeping in," I hear a distant chirping sound. I pull away from you and frown, asking, "Do you hear that?"

You tilt your head to the side and listen. Suddenly, we both hear something else--and it's not very far away at all.

"Mommy?"

We look at each other, then down at our state of undress, then back at each other. It's so perfectly choreographed, you'd almost believe we were starring in some sort of strange lesbian sit-com.

"Shit!" I whisper as you lunge for your tee-shirt at the bottom of the bed. You yank it on over your head and are completely respectable in under three seconds. I, however, have to get out of the bed, find the robe, figure out where the fucking arm holes are, somehow get into it and get it tied off before--

"Mommy?" Emma pushes the door to your room open just as I pull the robe's tie tight around my waist. She's holding my cell phone. "Your phone was ringing," she explains. "It said it was Uncle Sam!" The excitement in her voice matches my own and I rush to take the phone from her. I look at you and nod my head toward my room, telling you I want to call him back.

You grin and wave me off even as Emma throws herself onto your bed. I can only imagine what kind of questions she's about to inundate you with.

I hear her eager little girl's voice but not what she's saying as I return Sam's call.

He picks up on the half-ring.

"Liv? Is that you?"

There's a lot of static on the line and he sounds like he's at the bottom of a well, but it's him. It's my little brother. Everything's going to be okay now.

"Sammy, it's me. It's me."

"What's wrong? I didn't get your message until today. I was out of the country--still am, actually. I'm in Italy, trying to get a flight to the UK. Then home. Liv, what's going on? Is it the girls? Are you sick again?"

He's babbling, just like he always does when he's worried or nervous. But he's on his way home. That's all that matters.

"It's Phillip, Sam. He's come back. He wants Emma. Natalia and I have her; we're on the run. But he's catching up to us. I can feel it. We need a place to stay, where we can drop off the map for a while. The hotels are getting dangerous. There's an Amber Alert for her. The bastard is calling me a kidnapper--"

"Liv. Liv! What are you talking about? Slow down. What is-- Natalia? Gus' wife? Olivia, I'm lost."

"I bet," I chuckle ruefully. "Listen, I can explain later. When will you be home? Can we stay with you? Please, Sam. We need you." I whisper the last, hoping he can hear it over the static.

"Yes. Yes! Of course. I'll be home--what's today? Tuesday? By Thursday, at the latest. I'll try to push it faster. How are you traveling? By car?"

"At the moment," I say.

"Okay. Good. There really isn't an airport near my place. Get a map, Liv, and head toward Beta, North Carolina. It's in the Blue Ridge Mountains, near Cullowhee. I have a cabin there. How long will it take you to get there? Where are you?"

"The Blue Ridge Mountains?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as completely shocked as I feel. The last time I heard from Sam, he was living in New York. "What the fuck? Journalism too hard for you? Did you give it up to become a NASCAR-lovin' redneck--"

His laughter stops my diatribe, reminding me of how he was as a kid. Ten-years-old and a troublemaker as only we Spencers can be, following every prank with that laugh. "No, Sis, I'm a college professor. A respectable citizen. At least part-time, anyway. I'll tell you all about it when you get there. Where are you again?"

"Oklahoma City," I say, ignoring the thousand questions I have for my little brother now and trying to imagine a US map in my head. I used to be very good at geography. Before some brilliant fucker invented the GPS, that is. Now, I'm very good at pressing buttons. "Twenty hours away? Maybe less."

"A little less, I think. Okay. Head to Beta. I'll call you tomorrow, give you the directions to my cabin."

I close my eyes. I can feel the tension in my shoulders and in my gut begin to ease. Finally. Finally, we have help. "I don't know how to thank you, Sammy," I whisper.

"Liv, everything's going to be okay now. I won't let Phillip touch a hair on Emma's head. Or yours. You know that. I'll call you tomorrow."

Then--just like that--the line is dead, the static silenced. But I feel like Sam's here with me, with us. Right here. Protecting us. Keeping us safe.

I rub my forehead and look up to the ceiling, my mouth twisting with reticence.

"I suppose I should thank You, too," I pray, shrugging.

I mean, it can't hurt, right?

-----
TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

This is what I'll be doing Thursday evening! Come listen!

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 14:31:30 GMT

For about two months I've been hosting weekly radio shows at the Internet site Blogtalkradio.com. The overall theme of the show is general femslash discussion, since it's something I know pretty well and no one else seems to fill this niche on that site. I've been tackling individual fandoms I'm familiar with, but lately I've been trying to expand into the broader femslash world, and next week will be no exception.

Episode Eight will air LIVE on Thursday, July 23rd, in a special hourlong episode from 10-11 PM EST.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/allaine/2009/07/24/DiNovia-Fewthistle-and-DAx-Shine-a-Guiding-Light-on-Otalia

DiNovia, Fewthistle and DAx Shine a "Guiding Light" on Otalia

As "Guiding Light" approaches the end of its run, after over seventy years of broadcasting, the Internet fanbase is more energetic than ever, mounting its last-ditch efforts to save the venerable soap opera. Plus, of course, there's "Otalia". The canon lesbian romance between Olivia Spencer and Natalia Rivera developed slowly over the past year and captured the hearts of fans. And now it's expanded well beyond the show's core audience as brand-new fans watch show clips on Youtube, listen to the Big Purple Dreams podcasts, and read fan fiction at the Incandescent Fire website. We'll discuss the exploding popularity of Otalia in a special hourlong show with DiNovia, author of "Hide Beside Me", her fellow fanfic author and co-creator of the Burning City fanfic Livejournal community Fewthistle, and "The Courtship of Emma's Mother" writer DAx.

Anyone wondering what kind of show to expect can go to http://www.blogtalkradio.com/allaine and download any previous episode. The most relevant episodes Five-Seven, which are all interview shows. And anyone who cannot listen live will be able to download it beginning July 24th.

I'm extremely excited to be doing this show. All three authors were incredibly gracious in agreeing to make time in their schedules, and while I'm extremely new to GL - my only experience in soaps was watching All My Children throughout the 1990s (I lived through Bianca, Otalia fans, I feel your pain) - I've already grown to like the couple very much and the fanfic very much as well.

I hope you will attend.

Sincerely, Allaine

Fic: Coming Undone, GL, Olivia/Natalia (sequel to Coming Apart at the Seams)

Sun, 19 Jul 2009 03:34:15 GMT

Title: Coming Undone
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: NC-17 for language and sexual activities between two consenting adult women.
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: It's amazing what one good pair of jeans can inspire. Olivia's POV.
Content Disclaimer: This piece was requested specifically and the parameters I was given were "DOOR SEX DOOR SEX DOOR SEX." So...here's the door sex!
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: The Natalia in this story is not a virginal saint. Instead, she has a spine, a sexuality, a passing acquaintance with profanity, and is hopefully more like the Natalia we remember.
Thank you: to malapropses, who did this brilliant Otalia fanvid from which I took the cut text.
Dedication: to Jules and Xan. Two of the best friends an aging Otalian suffering from flirtation issues could possibly have. I <3 you both. ;) Also, to fewthistle, who approved the title, beta-ed this, and who is generally a dear friend who buys me things like purses and lesbian porn. I hope the Olivia who lives in her head likes this one!
Additional note: A late and completely unexpected addition to ralst's International Day of Femslash celebration, 7/18/09. Sorry, Captain! I had no idea I'd have something ready today!

I fumble with the buttons on your creamy sun dress with the tiny yellow flowers, looking around the deserted parking lot to make sure that it's still, well, deserted. It's a Saturday but that doesn't necessarily mean that park employees won't be around. I mean, aren't the weekends when parks are most in use? Shouldn't someone be on duty or whatever?

"Olivia," you say, your voice knowing, a smile playing around your kiss-swollen lips. I idly wonder if the people in the car next to us at that traffic light knew exactly what they were seeing. "Concentrate on me, please."

Oh. Right.

Oh, right! Right....

I smile wickedly. "Are you...in a bad way, Mrs. Spencer-Rivera? Am I not moving fast enough for you?"

Your dark mahogany eyes pin me with a scorching gaze and suddenly I can't breathe again. How do you do that?

"I'm in a very good way, Mrs. Spencer-Rivera...but no, you aren't moving fast enough for me." Before I can protest, you curl your hand around my neck and pull me in for a torridly thorough kiss. When you finally release me--and believe me, I had no control whatsoever there--you add, "I'm ready. I've been ready for hours. I honestly don't know what you're waiting for." You begin to nibble your way up my neck until you reach my ear, where you whisper, "Did I forget to mention I'm not wearing anything at all under this dress?"

Jesus Fucking Christ!

My knees buckle and I pitch forward, moaning as I lean heavily into you. You grab my elbows to steady me.

"Oh no you don't, Olivia." Your smile is almost condescending. "You have work--"

"Just shut up already," I plead before I plunder your mouth hard and deep. You taste like expensive lipstick and cherry Coke and I can't get enough. I press up against your body, suddenly aware that you weren't lying about having nothing on beneath the sun dress. I can feel your nipples begging for attention through the thin cotton fabric and I push my hands between us, clawing at the maddeningly tiny buttons until I've had enough of fucking with them and just yank, sending a handful of them onto the pavement with little plastic clicks. As I slide my hand inside the dress, you wrench away from my kiss, outrage in your voice.

"Olivia! What the hell--" My mouth, freed from yours, seeks other ways to keep itself busy. I close it around your right nipple, dark as cherries, as my fingers find the left one, rolling it expertly between sensitive fingertips. Your outrage becomes a gasp.

"¡Ay, si, corozón!" You throw your head back against the lightly tinted glass of the passenger side window, no longer caring about your buttons or the lack of them. I feel your hands on the sides of my head, holding me to you as I lick and suck and tease first one, then the other of your gorgeous nipples. I cup your breasts, holding them, reveling in their heaviness, how they fit in my hands. While my mouth is busy with one, my thumb slides over the other, keeping the ache inside you alive. You begin to whimper, your voice catching high in the back of your throat, little cries torn from you by my busy-as-a-bee mouth. I press my thigh hard between your legs and you buck against me, your cries becoming one long, velvety deep groan.

"Please," you beg breathlessly, rocking your hips, rolling them off the truck door in a familiar rhythm. I can feel heat like a wild inferno against my jeans-clad thigh. "Please, cariña, please...."

I pull my mouth away from the devotion I'm lavishing on your beautiful breasts and press my lips against your jawline. "Please what, baby?" I ask you. I know what you want but I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you beg me for it. I'm wet and horny and I want to fuck you until you scream my name to the trees right here in this parking lot behind my memorial park, but I won't do it until you say the words. Even though my clit aches for it and my jeans feel much too tight now, uncomfortably so. "Tell me what you want, Natalia."

"I--oh God--I--" You put your hands on my hips, slide them around to my ass, and pull me into you, trying to increase the friction between us. I nip at your earlobe, a little frisson of pain to make your need even greater.

"Tell me," I order you. My heart is pounding wildly, tumbling out of control like car going off a cliff, and I want you so badly that I can taste it, coppery and desperate on the back of my tongue. I slide my hands downward, along your sides and over your hips, curvy like speeding down a treacherous mountain road. I begin to bunch the fabric of your dress in my hands, slowly raising it so that when you finally relent and say the words I want to hear, there will be nothing between me and what I want, what I crave.

Your head thrashes on the truck's window, your features caught between a grimace of pain and beatific pleasure. "God! Please, Olivia, just...just...."

"Use your words, Natalia," I breathe, sucking lightly on the thundering pulse point in the hollow of your throat. "I need to hear you...."

You clench both hands into fists and pound them against the side of the truck. "Fuck me!" you beg, finally pushed too far. "I don't care how--sideways, upside down, in the snow, into next week--I don't care." You level fiercely furious eyes at me. "Just. Fuck. Me. Now."

So I do.

In one movement, I pull up your dress, spread your legs, and thrust three fingers into you, covering your mouth with my own, kissing you hard just as you cry out with sheer relief. I moan into your mouth as I thrust into you over and over, all my thoughts disintegrated by the feel of you, searing silken slickness and surrender. I'm deep inside your pulsing need and I can feel both of our heartbeats in my fingertips, a staccato duet of frenzied desire. You raise your bare leg, hook it around my hip, and suddenly I'm so deep inside you, I no longer know where you begin and I end.

Sweet Fucking Jesus God!

My clit aches and throbs in time with every thrust and I have to pull away from your intoxicating mouth just to breathe.

"Fuck!" I cry, bracing myself against the door of the truck with one hand, arm straining against the exertion. Our bodies crash together over and over and the truck begins to rock slightly with the movement. For one nanosecond, I worry about voyeurs. I stop when your hips start to bang hard against the door.

"Yes!" The word is hardly a word; it's more of an explosive exhalation. "¡Ay, Dios mio, yes! Yesyesyesyesyesyesssssssss...."

I can feel you begin to come and the connection we have right now is so deep, so fucking wild and intimate, that it shocks me with it's power and strength. A slight shiver around my fingers becomes a flutter then a quiver. You begin to groan in time to my thrusts and that only pushes me harder into you. Faster. Deeper.

The quiver becomes a shudder and the shudder a tremor and then you're writhing beneath me, your hands fisted in the front of my tank top, screaming my name to the sky. You convulse savagely as you come, crushing my fingers inside you, but I don't feel any pain. Instead, I keep going, keep thrusting inside you and you come again and still again until you begin to push against my shoulders.

"Enough," you beg, gulping air into your tortured lungs. Your voice is breathy and hoarse from screaming and I have to stop myself from surging against you, wanting to sink inside you, wanting to take you all over again. I don't, though. I'm not sure my heart could take it. It's beating so fast, I can hardly tell one beat from another. "Enough," you repeat needlessly. Because even though I haven't yet removed my fingers, I'm not actually doing anything with them. Well...not much.

You slowly force your hands to release my tank and you press one of them to your heart, head resting against the truck's window, still trying to catch your breath. I lean my forehead against your shoulder and try to do the same.

"I just...have one...question...." I announce between breaths.

You're practically boneless with satiation and the only reason you're still standing at all is our very precarious position. My thighs strain with the effort to keep us both upright.

"Yeah?" you ask inelegantly, your eyes closed. I raise one eyebrow at you but it goes unseen. Apparently, I've rendered you semi-speechless. A warm sparkle of pride shimmers in my blood.

"'In the snow?'" I quote, failing utterly to keep the amusement from my voice. Sideways I understood. Upside down and into next week also made sense. Mostly. But in the snow? In September?

One brown eye opens and you gaze at me balefully. "Really, Olivia? After all that..." You make a vague, inscrutable gesture with one limp hand that immediately flops back to your side when you finish. "...that's what you want to know?"

I chuckle, sliding my fingers from inside you, resting my hands on your hips. You lower your leg and now I'm no longer the only thing keeping us from sliding down the truck door onto the pavement. I think I feel my thighs breathe a sigh of relief. "It's just that it's September, Natalia," I point out. "I don't think even Springfield has ever had a freak snowstorm in September. At least, I hope not."

"Shut up, Olivia." You close your eye, go back to recuperating.

"But--"

Suddenly you're all movement, surging against me, pressing your lips to mine, seizing my mouth in another scorching kiss.

When you pull away, I'm a little dazed. What are you, a ninja? Christ!

You grin widely, your dimples making one of their world famous appearances.

"Shut up, Olivia," you say smugly. "And kiss me again."

Which, of course, I do. I mean, I'm not stupid. A little slow sometimes, but not stupid.

The kiss seems to go on forever, but finally we wind down and pull apart. I rest my forehead against yours.

"So..." I say, kissing your cheek. "I guess it's time to be heading home, yeah?"

You shake your head ever-so-slightly, causing me to look up at you, confused. "Oh no...." you say, still grinning like the Cheshire cat.

I frown. "No?" I parrot. "Why not?"

"Because," you say, reaching for the button on my jeans. "It's your turn now...."

God, I think, feeling every cell in my body catch fire at once. I love being a lesbian.

----
TBC in the third and final installment of this series.

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 26), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 02:39:43 GMT

Hello all! Something a little different for this chapter.

I've been asked, as a moderator of Burning City, to post chapter 26 of Hide Beside Me there exclusively (just one chapter!) to promote our (fewthistle, flying_peanuts, and me) new Otalia fanfiction community.

So please follow the link below to read the next installment of Hide Beside Me. And if you feel so inclined, please join the community. Read the user info for information about the premise and sign on up!

You really want to. Really. I promise. ;)

I will go back to posting the chapters regularly with chapter 27.

Until then, enjoy!

DiNovia

Go Here! Now!

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 04:07:52 GMT

This is our new Otalia community! Go and be amazed!

http://community.livejournal.com/burn_ingcity/

And sign up! Really!

Love you!

Twoodles!

DiNovia

Announcing a New Otalia Community to be Launched this Weekend

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 17:02:38 GMT

Hello from DiNovia and Fewthistle!

Many of you know either or both of us, through reputation or actual contact, and so we do hope that you will forgive the intrusion and grace us with a moment of your time to consider a proposition (for those of you familiar with DiNovia, not that kind of proposition ;) Given the spoilers and discussion that began several weeks ago about the path that the writers of Guiding Light would take to write in Jessica Leccia’s maternity leave, DiNovia and I began to be concerned that there was the potential for the entire fandom to implode around the whole supposition about the pregnancy storyline and all the repercussions. Those fears seem to have been more than realized in the past week, with the writers choosing the most trite, cliché and hackneyed of plots in order to explain Natalia’s absence. It is, as DiNovia commented, as if they simply got out the “Guide to Crappy Writing and Cheap Plotlines” hat and starting pulling out random slips of paper: thus the uninspired, overused, insulting drivel with which we are now faced in canon.

Given the amazing time and energy, and let’s face it, love, that has been poured into the creation of this love story over the past 18 months, and the immense devotion and affection with which it has been received, it is almost inconceivable that the writers of the show would choose to go down the path upon which they have begun, but there seems little doubt that they have. Because, in the end, it is truly not about whether or not Natalia is pregnant, (although I know all of us would prefer she is NOT), but about the disregard for the character(s) that is being displayed, the suspension of disbelief that seems to be required to watch a woman 9 ½ months pregnant in real life being told she’s a few weeks/month s along, not to mention the time we all seem to have unknowingly lost, and the utter disdain that is being shown to a community that has offered up its heart and soul to this couple and this show. To have reduced this amazing tale of love and redemption to “Two Lesbians and a Penis” by the unnecessary and constant inclusion of Frank in their lives, by relying on a pedestrian, hack plot device in order to explain JL’s absence, is nothing short of criminal.

So, in order to set right that which we perceive to have been made horribly wrong, DiNovia and I are starting a new community, an Otalia 2.0 so to speak, called Burning City (name to be explained, I promise). It will be a site devoted to Otalia in all its glory, with one major exception. All storylines must either predate the debacle (i.e. pre-WoD fics) that then carry on in their own timeline, or they must stop with canon at June 22, 2009, the gazebo scene where Natalia and Olivia decide they are through waiting. No canon after that point (with the exception of other character storylines, i.e. Phillip’s illness or even Olivia’s telling of Phillip) may be used. To be perfectly blunt, no mention of a stupid pregnancy storyline to explain the absence, no Frankenbaby, no trite, worn-out clichés of a plot. Life begins, and ends, on June 22, if that makes sense.

We would like to invite you to join us in this undertaking. We know the love and affection in which Otalia are held and we are determined that this pairing and this storyline continue on long after September has come and gone. We need writers, readers, and artists of all varieties to make this a success. Both of us are extremely excited about starting this community (which will include an archived website with all stories that the authors wish to have included, separate from Live Journal. Should you not wish to participate in LJ but still want your stories included in the archive, that would be wonderful as well.) We will send out an email listing the LJ address and the address of the archive, once both are up and running and we will be making a public announcement on Passion Perfect (thanks Rachel!) about the comm.

We do so hope that you will join us, that you will post the amazing, wonderful fic for which many of you are known and loved, and that this project will help to insure that Olivia and Natalia live on in fanfiction, and in our hearts, for at least as long as Xena and Gabrielle. Thank you so much for your time and for slogging your way through this really long email! ;) What can we say, we’re both a little verbose.

Cheers,

DiNovia and Fewthistle

Otalia Dreams FTMFW

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 12:53:11 GMT

Okay,

This really doesn't happen too often. But last night I had not one, but two Otalia dreams.

In the first one, I played the part of Natalia--that is, I was seeing out of Natalia's eyes. Luckily, I looked like Jessica Leccia. Anyway, Buzz and Natalia (me) were searching for Olivia, who had disappeared from Springfield under suspicious circumstances. We found her running a tiny bed & breakfast somewhere in South Carolina where the trees were dripping with Spanish moss and the air hummed with cicada-song and humidity. Olivia had no idea who she was--she had amnesia. And Buzz and Natalia arrived just ahead of a threatened tornado. Olivia bundled all of us into what looked like a large, freestanding ballroom--and by all of us, I mean Buzz, Natalia (me), two kids who had been walking down the dusty road, and the few guests who had been staying at the B&B. We covered windows with mattresses and set other mattresses on the floor to make us comfortable. Olivia kept catching me staring at her and she confronted me. I told her a story about my life--the whole storyline up to and including a wedding. The entire time I spoke, I pulled her closer to me until she was sitting on the mattress in front of me. I was teary as I spoke, watching her beautiful green eyes for any hint of recognition and seeing none. Then I said, "So you see, I'm searching for my wife."

She reached out her hand. "What's your wife's name?" she asked, looking confused.

"Olivia," I whispered. And it was the most AMAZING thing. I watched her eyes go from a stranger's eyes to Olivia Spencer's eyes in one second. It was as if she'd blinked and her whole world, her whole memory came flooding back and it all showed in her freakin' eyes!

"It's me," she whispered and she lowered herself on top of me and was about to kiss me when....

ALARM.

Goddamn alarm. I never, ever get the kiss.

Ever.

So I hit snooze and got this second dream instead.

In this dream, I was myself and I was holding a very pregnant Natalia in my arms, carrying as if I was carrying her over the threshold of a home. Olivia was with us. We were in a gigantic antiques store, looking for a bed because we were afraid Natalia was going to give birth soon. As we were searching for the bed section, we stumbled across my grandmother (who passed away over a year ago) sitting in a rocking chair. She asked me where I was going and I told her that I was looking for a bed for my wife, Natalia, so that she could have our baby.

My grandmother asked, "You're married? To a woman?"

I replied, "Yes, I'm married. To two women. This is my wife, Natalia." I leaned down with Natalia and let her kiss my grandmother's cheek. "And this," I said, indicating Olivia next to me, "is my wife, Olivia."

"And Natalia is having a baby?" my grandmother asked.

"Yep. Hopefully today."

My grandmother looked vaguely shocked but said "Well, it sounds like a real family."

"It is," I said, and I kissed her cheek and told her we'd be back later with the baby.

Then we moved on, getting lost in glassware, until the ALARM went off again.

I love dreams like that....

;)

I was married to Olivia Freakin' Spencer twice last night! ::squee!::

Twoodles!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 25), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Mon, 29 Jun 2009 22:22:22 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 25)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer: This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09. All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

DAYS INN -- OKLAHOMA CITY, OK
OLIVIA SPENCER

Emma springs up in the bed like a jack-in-the-box as I open the door to check on her. "Natalia?" she asks breathlessly before she sees me in the doorway. "Oh. Mommy."

"Jellybean," I sigh, dropping my hand from the doorknob. I cross to the bed and sit down beside her. "Natalia has her own room. We talked about this--"

Her face crumples. "But why?" she asks, her voice a high, plaintive whine. But she answers her own question before I can even open my mouth. "I know," she sulks. "The police." She glares at the rumpled comforter between us. I wonder if she blames me for all of this. Why wouldn't she? I do.

I look at my little girl as she pulls her knees to her chest and hugs herself, the frown on her face making her look much older than her eight tender years. She's so angry, so confused...and I'm so afraid that what we're going through is poisoning her spirit somehow. How can I let that happen? How can I ruin that surprising sweetness, that precious innocence? Those things that come more from you than from either of her biological parents? She's my baby girl and I'm dragging her all over the country, scaring her half to death, putting her and both of us at risk every day just to keep her from--

Just to keep her from Phillip. Who stole her once, right out of her tiny bed with the pink and yellow Winnie the Pooh sheets. Who was going to take her away, somewhere where I couldn't find her, where she'd be lost to me forever.

I have never been so terrified in my life.

God, I love her so much!

Tears rise up in the back of my throat and sting my eyes. My body practically vibrates with the need to protect my baby and I know--right to the edges of my soul--that I would kill or die to keep her safe. But.... We can't keep doing this. We can't go on like this. Now I'm the kidnapper in this story and every day my reasons for doing this to her are diminished by the price she has to pay--she's already paying.

This is no way to live. This--this is just another kind of prison. For her, for me. And it won't work anyway. I can feel him catching up to us. He's like wildfire in a drought and we're the terrified deer fleeing the flames, bounding ahead blindly. Eventually we'll run out of something--time or ground or luck or even gas--at just the wrong moment and wham! He'll have her anyway and we'll all be ruined.

I cover my face with my hands for a moment. This is all so--so crazy! So out of control!

And you.... You're so turned around you almost....

I close my eyes for a moment and touch my lips with my fingers, remembering the almost-kiss on the train. You were so close, I could feel your breath, your heat on my skin.

I could almost taste you....

I stifle a groan and push the memory away. If that doesn't prove that all of this has spun way, way out of control, I don't know what does. Jesus, you almost kissed me!

A small voice inside me wants to know what's so wrong with that, reminding me that kissing you is all I've been able to think about for the last month.

The rest of the voices inside me point out, loudly, that letting you kiss me would have been a disaster! That it was probably just adrenaline or something else just as dumb because there is no way that you, the Catholic saint of Springfield, could ever--would ever--

Love me back, I think, my heart aching. Even--even if you tried, it would all go horribly, horribly wrong somehow. And how could you? Your faith wouldn't allow it and you.... If you didn't have your faith, you wouldn't be Natalia Rivera anymore. Trying to love me would change you and I don't want that. I couldn't live with that.

I sigh, looking back at Emma. She's still angry and hurt and confused, still curled up in a ball, her eyes turned away from me. I put my hand on the back of her head, stroking her gently, my fingers tangling in her long hair.

So out of control, I think, wishing I could just--just fix this. Fix everything. Phillip, Emma, you.... Make everything better. But how do I do that?

The small, unpopular voice from earlier clears its throat and suggests that I take control of the situation instead of simply reacting blindly to everything that happens. I smirk at myself. Now I know why this voice is so unpopular....

It also happens to be right.

I take a deep breath and think about what I can control and how.

First, there's Emma. We've crossed a line here and lying to her about some magic ring just seems ridiculous now. She's a good, strong girl. She's not a baby anymore. Maybe it's time for her to know what's really going on....

"Em, sweetie?" I whisper. She turns her big, blue eyes toward me and I can see they're filled with hope and distrust at the same time. She hides nothing, my little Jellybean, all her heart broadcast on her face and in her eyes. "Emma? What-- Do you remember anything about your...your father?"

"Daddy?" she asks, her voice trembling. She looks off into the distance, searching through pale, worn away memories for something to give me. Concentration makes her chew her bottom lip like I do. My heart aches with a mother's love and part of my consciousnesses marvels at the sensation, remembering that the heart that is practically clawing its way out of my chest toward my daughter is not the heart that inhabited the same spot when she was born.

This is my child. This is my child...and it doesn't seem to matter whose heart I have. My body knows.

Suddenly Emma's eyes widen and she turns a sickening shade of milk white. I wonder if she's going to be sick again.

"There was an airplane," she tells me, her voice quiet but sure. "It was small and dark and hot inside. I was scared but a boy sat down next to me and held my hand. He gave me a cup of water."

"A boy?"

"He had yellow hair and it was in his eyes. He held my hand the whole time after Daddy left."

Yellow hair? In his eyes?

I try to remember what Phillip's other kids looked like back then, but I'm stuck, drawing a blank, because I was so wrapped up in Emma and Bill and Billy trying to deport me and...and....

And I never stopped to think what was going on with Phillip's other children, with their mothers. The same terror that I was feeling mirrored on other faces. The same desperate, begging deals with God being brokered by other mouths. The same electric need to fucking do something making other fingers twitch.

Then it hits me--a flash of a flash. Jude. Jude Bauer always had a mop of shaggy blond hair that he was constantly having to brush out of his eyes.

Rick and Harley's son took care of my baby, held her tiny hand in the dark, made sure she had water....

Tears flood my eyes but I blink them away. I don't have time to feel guilty about that. I don't have time to wish things had been different between Harley and I, that I could talk to her about this, that I could thank Jude for what he did. We were friends, once, Harley and I. Weren't we? It all seems so long ago.

I force myself back to the present, back to Emma's big, blue eyes.

"What did your daddy do before he left, baby? Do you remember?"

She shakes her head. "He talked for a long time about stuff I didn't understand. Stuff about Springfield and about mommies and daddies and how sometimes mommies were bad...." She looks up at me. "I was scared. I cried and Daddy told me not to--that he would take care of me. But I didn't believe him."

She cocks her head to one side. "Why are you asking about Daddy, Mommy?" She answers her own question--again--and I'm a little concerned about how good she's getting at that. "Is Daddy the bad man Natalia told me about?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, baby. He is."

I watch my eight-year-old connect the dots of the last three weeks in her head, see it when realization hits her.

"There's no magic ring," she says...and it's not a question. She hugs herself a little tighter. "Daddy wants to take me away again."

"Yeah. He does." My voice is a lot calmer than I feel. I scoop my little girl into my lap and wrap my arms around her lean, lanky form. I'm suddenly cognizant of how fast she's growing up, of how some of that is happening right now, right here...no matter how much I wish I could stop it. "But Natalia and I aren't going to let him, okay? We're going to figure this out. We are."

"I miss the farmhouse," she says and my heart breaks a little. As much as it seems like a change of subject, we both know it isn't. It's the only place she's ever felt safe in her life. Hell, it's the only place I've ever felt safe. Really safe. Safe and at home.

"Me too," I whisper against her hair just before I kiss the top of her head.

"I hate hotels," she says bitterly. I laugh but it's a sound without mirth. As ironic as it may be for a hotel owner to say it, I hate hotels right now, too. I consider how hard it's going to be for my little farmer-girl to manage The Beacon one day. I reluctantly acknowledge the possibility that she'll sell it. I don't have it in me to blame her. If I want it to stay in the family, I can always give it to Ava.

"I know, sweetie."

Still, her brutal child's honesty reminds me that I can take control of the Phillip situation, too. Sort of.

I need my little brother, though. Where is he?

I mean, my sneaky ninja planning skills kinda petered out after I called him. I won't admit it--not even to you--but I have no idea how he can help us or even if he can. I just wanted there to be someone else on our side out here, someone who won't fuck us over. I'm tired of being fucked over.

Actually, I'm just tired in general. Tired of running, tired of being afraid, tired of dirty cars and bad food and feeling grimy all the time and miles and miles of endless highway....

I need to stop. For five minutes. To think. To figure all this out. Everything's spinning and I just need five fucking minutes.

And I need a Plan C. In case Sam never calls.

That's why I need you, you know. You're my go-to girl. You're the one who figures everything out--and I know this isn't quite the same as my crazy schedule at work or keeping straight all the medications I take but it's what you do. You fix things. You keep everything together. And maybe if we can keep everything together for just a little while longer--

I need to talk to you. Right now.

I pull away from Emma and look down at my sleepyheaded little girl.

"Do you think you can sleep now, Bean?" I ask softly, running my fingers over the back of her head again, thinking idly that her hair needs a trim.

She nods and burrows under the covers again, turning over on her side and pulling them up to her chin.

"I need to talk to Natalia for a couple of minutes, okay, sweetie? Will you stay here in the room while I go next door?" I'm silently thankful that we gave in to Emma's tantrum about the separate rooms just this once and got two rooms with a connecting door. Frankly, I was surprised that they even existed anymore, what with all the media hype on hotel break-ins. I guess Oklahoma City hasn't quite caught up to the perils of the twenty-first century.

Emma nods and closes her eyes. I lean over to kiss her.

"If you need anything, just come get me, okay, Em? I'll leave the connecting door unlocked on both sides."

"Okay," she says softly, already half asleep. "'Night, Mommy."

"Sleep tight," I whisper. "I love you."

"Love you, too," mumbles my little girl and I watch her for a moment longer until I'm sure she's well on her way to dreamland. I check the main door to make sure it's securely locked and bolted from the inside, then I open our side of the connecting door, knocking lightly on your side. I'm surprised when your side swings open a little under the pressure of my hand and I peek in. The main part of the room is empty but I can see a light coming from your bathroom. I imagine you're washing your face or something and I let myself in, leaving both sides of the connecting door cracked in case Emma needs me.

"Natalia?" I call softly but you don't answer. I wonder briefly if you're in the shower and I stop to listen for running water. Hearing nothing, I approach the shaft of white-hot light slicing across the king-sized bed that easily takes up half your room.

I come around the door and open my mouth to say your name again but it dies on my lips as I take in the sight in front of me. My heart lurches in my chest and for a second I think I've entered a murder scene, my brain--in shock--processing the hair strewn on the counter and floor as blood.

"Oh, my God," I breathe, blinking the false scenes of carnage out of my eyes. What I see when my vision clears isn't much better.

Your hair. Your long, devastatingly gorgeous hair....

It's gone. It's all gone and my eyes are wide and round in the mirror. I lift my hand toward you, reaching out to touch what's left--a short, blunt-cut bob that falls just below your ears--but stop when I see my hand trembling in the reflective glass.

"What have you done?" I ask, my voice nothing more than a heartsick whisper.

You look at me in the mirror, silent as a stone. You clutch a pair of silver scissors in both hands. Your dark eyes bore into me and they seem different somehow. More centered. Less fearful. I have a dizzying sense that you've shed some now useless part of you like a snake sheds a skin.

The tears that I successfully battled while talking to Emma rush to fill my eyes again and I can't stop them. I want to scream "Why?" but I know why. This is about the Amber Alert, about how it made you look like some illegal opportunist who'd turned on her rich boss. The police may be looking for all of us but the public is bound to remember you first because of your heritage, your coloring, your name. So--once again--you have to sacrifice. You have to change. To protect me. To protect my daughter. It's always you that has to endure, that has to make due. It's always you that gets told there just isn't enough left over for you.

Your boyfriend disappears on you and your family throws you out when you get pregnant at sixteen. Nothing left for you.

You spend eighteen years devoted only to your son and his survival. Nothing left for you.

You're reunited with the man you love and you marry him, only to have him die in a senseless, stupid accident. Nothing left for you.

The son you've sacrificed your entire adult life for shoots a man in the heat of anger and ends up in prison. Nothing left for you.

You invest the payout from the sale of your dead husband's house in Decker's "no-fail" hedge fund and the market tanks practically overnight. Nothing left for you.

You finally buy the house of your dreams, but my crazy ex-husband comes back from the dead to threaten my daughter and you leave it all behind to take care of us. Nothing left for you.

Now this.

A strangled wail rises out of me and you turn toward me, your huge brown eyes filled with concern.

"Olivia--" You reach for me but I step backwards out of your range.

"No, no, no, no...." I swing my head back and forth, trying to deny what I see despite the evidence all around us.

"Olivia," you plead, taking another step toward me. I stumble trying to get away from you and my back connects with the wall beside the bathroom door. Tears blur my vision as I reach out, tugging on the ragged ends of what's left of that glorious mane of ebony silk that was once your hair.

"Bring it back," I beg you and your face crumples into sadness...but not regret.

"I can't," you say softly, shaking your head gently. Your hair shivers briefly with the movement.

"I want it back!" I cry and you surge forward, taking my face in your hands. They're so soft, so warm....

"Olivia!" Your voice is sharp and desperate but I can't listen. I can't!

"NO!" I roar at you. "Don't touch me!" I push you away and the shock and hurt in your eyes, on your face nearly kills me.

"Why?" you ask, crying now, too. "Why won't you let me touch you, Olivia?"

The words are almost out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Because I--I'm in--"

No! I won't do this to you. I won't hurt you like this. I'd die first!

"I'm so sorry," I whisper and I turn, fleeing the bathroom, bulldozing past you as if my life--or yours--depended on it. I head toward the connecting doors, trying to put as much distance between you and me as I can, when I hear your voice ring out behind me, clear and strong.

"You! Stop!" you order.

And--much to my surprise--I do.

-----
TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Update

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 04:18:43 GMT

My little Bumblebee came through her surgery with flying colors.

Hopefully, she'll even get to go home tomorrow. They have to make sure her kidney and bladder both are working again.

Apparently they gave her a lime Popsicle when she was in recovery and she said "Auntie Erin would love this!"

My little cutie!

Thanks to everyone who sent good wishes and prayers for her! You all rock!

*huggles*

Twoodles!

DiNovia

Delays, My Niece, and Other Stories

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 17:48:50 GMT

So, you've probably noticed that there hasn't been an update to HBM this week. Yeah, about that....

So, my five year old niece, my little Bumblebee, is having kidney surgery today and I am, understandably, distracted.

So if you all could continue to be patient with me, I promise to have chapter 25 out sometime soon. Thank you.

In other news, I had a dream last night that I was a DOT agent, specifically assigned to the Secret Service, and that I was part of a detail assigned to protect Queen Elizabeth II while she was visiting, for some odd reason, a Detroit neighborhood. An assassin had tracked her there, of course, and her guards and the detail that I was on all surrounded HRH (who was wearing a lovely ensemble in robin's egg blue) to protect her with, basically, a fort made of human beings. There were easily 75 people or more surrounding HRH and we were all completely dedicated to taking a bullet or bullets to protect her.

For our detail, HRH's code name was "The List" (yes, AD Skype people, I am aware of what that implies...), and someone from HRH's guards made a slightly amazed comment regarding the fact that we "Yanks" would place such importance on a visiting monarch, so much so that we would not only die for her but that we had stationed ourselves as the first line of defense--the outer "wall" of the fort. I smirked and broke into a rousing rendition of My Country, 'Tis of Thee, which then became God Save the Queen. I woke up before the assassin and his team attacked.

It was the most bizarrely patriotic dream (and detailed! I haven't thought of the fact that My Country, 'Tis of Thee and God Save the Queen are one in the same tune for years!) I have ever had. When I woke up, I was still singing and I knew I was imminently going to die but I was prepared for that. I was filled with such a feeling of pride and joy that laying down my life for HRH seemed negligible by comparison.

So...what does that dream mean?

Twoodles!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me, GL, Olivia/Natalia

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 01:20:54 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 24)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer:  This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09.  All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini and fewthistle for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

DAYS INN -- OKLAHOMA CITY, OK
NATALIA RIVERA

This is the smallest coffeemaker I've ever seen, I think, looking down at the tiny white machine next to the sink in this minuscule bathroom. I'll have to run it twice just to get enough for your first cup.

If you'll even let me do that anymore.

I look in the mirror over the sink. I look...tired. My face is pale and there are purple shadows under my eyes again. I've never been so tired in my whole life. Not even when Rafe had croup and I was up with him for thirty-six hours straight, walking him back and forth in that tiny, hot bathroom in that tiny studio apartment on the South Side that I hated.

My eyes are empty and I can't even manage to-- I don't feel anything. Everything seems trapped, frozen beneath this blank look on my face.

"I'm in love with Olivia," says my reflection and there's no reaction, nothing beyond a slow blink. Why? I search for my feelings in the depth of my eyes, in the tiny lines around my mouth...but there's nothing. I've felt this way so long now--forever it seems--that my face has forgotten how to acknowledge it.

"She loves me back," my reflection continues and there's no stopping the wave of elation that overtakes me, crashing into me with the force of a house falling out of the sky. Everything in me comes to life with that thought and I can feel again.  The dark smudges under my eyes disappear briefly under the heat of my joy...until....

Until I remember you walking away from me this afternoon and my heart shrivels in my chest.

I didn't think I'd ever get you back in the car. I really believe it was the fact that Emma was in the car that made you get back in it. I don't know how many times I said, "Please, Olivia!" But you kept walking along the shoulder, tears blurring your vision, and I kept edging up behind you, pleading with you through the open passenger side window and praying that no state troopers would see us. Finally Emma called out to you and you stopped, staring at her...or through her. You got back in the car and, relieved, I pulled back onto 40 before you'd even managed to fasten your seatbelt. I wasn't going to risk you changing your mind.

You haven't said one word to me since the argument on the side of the road.

I'm getting used to it, actually. I don't know what I'd say to you if you decided to talk to me, anyway.

Except...I do.

I'd say, "Please, Olivia...." but what I'd mean is Don't walk away from me. Not this time. Not ever again.

I'd say, "I love you...." but what I'd mean is I see you--all of you--good and bad...and you fill me up. You're in places inside of me that I never even knew existed. There is nothing about you that isn't a part of me now, too.

But...what would you say in return?

"I can't," you said last night, just after I almost kissed you.

Why can't you? What's stopping you?

You love me. You're in love with me. I'm sure of it. I saw it! I saw it in your eyes...and seeing it made me realize how many times I've seen it before. In the laundromat in Kansas, in the bathroom doorway in Omaha, across the dinner table from you in South Dakota.... A thousand times before those, too--and after. You love me and that's what my entire life has been about. I know it now--see it clearly for the first time. Everything I've been through, every terrifying moment that I endured, that made me stronger, has been preparing me for this, for being here for you and for Emma. This is God's will, His Divine Plan for me. You are the love of my life and that's God's work! I refuse to be blind to it or fight it any longer.

But...why won't you tell me? Why wouldn't you let me kiss you?

Is it...me? Something about me? Is it because I'm a woman? Or poor? Is it my past? Is it something else?

I know...I know I'm nothing special. Just a Colombian throwaway with a bastard child. I don't even have a high school diploma. And you're...you're Olivia Spencer!

Is it the differences between us keeping you from me? Am I not good enough?

I feel tears sting my eyes and I cover my face with my hands. I don't want to cry. Not over this. Not when Emma's in so much danger, not when you have so much to fear.

You--both of you--need me to be strong, to be here for you.

I look through my fingers and something glints in the mirror, reflecting the bad fluorescent light. My rings.

Actually, Gus' rings...one of them deemed 'magic' so we can lie to your daughter just a little longer. And really, they were magic to me...for a while. But looking at them in the mirror, I realize the magic has worn away, and now they're heavy on my hand, weighing me down, tying me to a dream that's been dead and gone since that cold morning I buried Gus on that hillside. Once those ties comforted me, reminded me that I was Gus' wife--even if it was for just a little while. But now I know...I know that marriage was only a dream. From the beginning.

For seventeen years, Nicky was all I thought about. I stayed faithful to a fantasy, conjuring him every night at the lonely dinner tables that Rafe and I ate at, or in my empty bed, praying for a day that he would come back to me, to us, and make our lives real again, whole again.

I found him--unexpectedly--and finding him seemed like God's will, written in the stone of my heart.  I came to Springfield, my eyes filled with fantasies so consuming that I stole a stranger from his family and made him mine. I almost killed you in the process, but for a few blessed months, the man I thought of as 'Nicky' sat--solid and real--at my lonely dinner table and slept beside me in my bed. I had all that I thought I wanted...until he died and the dream turned to ashes in my hands.

But even after he died, I held on. His heart in your chest. A reason to go on living, to keep you going on, too--the woman he cared so much for. Believing he lived on through you.

All delusion, because....

"Because Harley was the love of your life, Nicky. And I always knew that. Somehow, I always knew." I close my eyes and conjure Nicky again, imagining him standing behind me, his dark eyes apologizing, even still. Apologizing for ruining my girlhood, for leaving me alone with nothing but Rafe to hold onto, for loving Harley more than he loved me....

I saw it all but I hid from it, a child under the stairs, believing noises to be monsters. And Gus never said a word, thinking he owed me, thinking he was protecting me--

I look back up into the mirror, into my eyes, and I realize in a flash what it is that's keeping you from acknowledging what's going on between us. You think you're protecting me, too! You're...you're doing what he did. Apologizing for what you are, for what you think the truth will do to me. Gus didn't think he loved me enough and he kept the truth from me, making our marriage a lie. You.... You think you love me too much. Oh my God. You think your love for me is wrong! That it will hurt me somehow....

Heat, this time from anger, melts the last of the inertia from my body. I don't need your protection! I need you!

There it is, determination in my eyes. The 'freakin' superhero' you're so obsessed with is back. No more second-guessing myself, no more blame. God put me here for a reason, brought us together for a reason. We're going to protect Emma. We're going to figure this all out. And somehow, we're going to do it together. We're both superheroes. It's us together that's going to make all the difference.

I look down at the pair of scissors, glinting in the light next to the bowl of the sink, resting innocently on the faux granite counter top. I reach for them and they're cold and hard in my hand, solid and real.

The first step....

I'm still the one that people are going to remember from the Amber Alert. I won't leave you. Not now. That's the thing I can't do. It would be impossible.

So I have to change how I look.

I grab a hank of my hair with one hand and raise the scissors with the other. It's like a rope, long and strong and dark. Black coffee strands of history in my hand, like that tribe that kept its records tied up in knots of string. I saw them in a museum, once. The sign said no one knew how to interpret them anymore, a thousand years of history lost in the long, stretched-out time between knowing and forgetting.

I take a deep breath and slide the scissors over my fist, closing my eyes as I close the blades, the long, sharp sniiiiiiiiiiiiip sound jarring me. My history comes away in my hand. Long, dusty summers in the cartel's compound followed by long, lonely years running from my father's rage.... I hold it in my hand, then let it go, watching it drop to the floor around my bare feet. After a long moment, I look back up into the mirror, tears of defiance blurring my vision. I close a fist around more dark locks.

This hair was growing before I came to Springfield. Before I saw Nicky again, after seventeen years of longing and wishing and hoping.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before I slept with him. Before I told Harley that I had.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before I took him from her. Before I married him.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before Gus died, rushing to your side in the hospital. Before I gave you his heart.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before Rafe shot Jeffrey. Before he went to prison.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before I lost the $80,000. Before you got it back for me.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before I bought the farmhouse. Before you and Emma moved in with me.

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Before I realized what was happening between us. Before I gave you my heart....

I blink at my reflection in the mirror. I'm still holding the last of what I cut in my hand and it feels...strange. Dead and lifeless, even though I know it was dead before, too. What's left of my hair curls softly along my jawline and my head feels both light and vulnerable, like I've taken off armor or put down a shield. The woman that looks back at me from the mirror is both familiar and completely unknown to me. Naked now to God's plan...and to whatever you decide about us.

But I'm not afraid. I was born to do this.

I'm still staring at the new Natalia Rivera, my past scattered along the counter top and the floor, when you suddenly appear in the mirror beside me, your emerald eyes paling with unconcealed horror when you see me.

"Oh my God," you breathe, staring at my reflection. You reach out one hand as if to touch me...but you don't. You're shaking and I can't tell if it's with guilt or despair.

"What have you done?"

TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 23), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Sun, 07 Jun 2009 21:11:59 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 23)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=G/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer: This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09. All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

I-40 EAST BETWEEN ALBUQUERQUE, NM AND OKLAHOMA CITY, OK
EMMA SPENCER

I don't like this car either. It's too small and it's dirty and it smells like our Christmas tree that we had this year and Sophie's dog Max when he gets wet. It makes my nose crinkle up.

You're driving again and you and Mommy are quiet again, like at the Grand Canyon. I kinda feel mad about that but at least it's better than you lying to me, which you've been doing a lot.

I know the secret mission isn't about any ol' stupid ring. I don't know what the secret mission is, but I know it's not that. If you had a magic ring that could do good things, then you'd just do something to the bad man and make him go away or be nice or something. How dumb do you think I am, anyway?

And you and Mommy are being bad-weird again. You haven't been bad-weird in a long time! Not since right after I read my essay at Family Day. But Mommy keeps sneaking looks at you like she's done something bad and you keep looking at Mommy with shiny eyes and a new, sad smile. What happened on the train last night anyway? And why did we have two different hotel rooms? I woke up with Mommy hugging me and when I looked at her, she was still wearing her clothes and her makeup was all smeary. Some even got on the pillow!

But you weren't there and when Mommy woke up, I asked her where you were. She said, "We have to be careful now, baby. She can't stay with us in the same room anymore. The--the hotel employees might notice us all together and they might tell on us."

"Tell on us to who?" I asked. "The bad man? Does he have spies watching?"

Mommy shook her head. "The bad man told the police about us, Emma. They're looking for us."

"You mean, like Uncle Frank?" Uncle Frank wouldn't work with the bad man, no matter what. He wouldn't. He likes us! He says I have pretty hair and I like when he comes over and brushes it for me. He does it so soft, like he's afraid it will pull right out of my head or break or something.

"Well...Uncle Frank is probably looking for us, yes. He may have told other police departments in other cities about us. It's possible all the police are looking for us."

"All of them?" I felt like I wanted to cry; my throat hurt and it was hard for me to talk. My eyes stung and I kept blinking, trying to make the blurries go away.

She just hugged me. "I'm sorry, Jellybean," she said, her voice sad. "This is all my fault."

I didn't know what to say so I just hugged her back. That's when you knocked on the door and you had a bag from the grocery store with three yogurts and three orange juices. You were smiling that new smile at Mommy but she wasn't looking at you. She was busy with the yogurts and her voice was all funny, like when she talks to Uncle Frank. Too high and too nice. Not Mommy at all.

And now we're in this stupid car you bought, with the funny dog smell and the rips in the back of the seats, and all I can think about is how bad this is! I'm not having fun on our super secret mission anymore. I'm scared and sad and my tummy feels funny because I know there's no magic ring. But what happened? Why is the bad man after us if it's not for a ring?

Did you do something wrong? Did Mommy? That can't be right, though, because you never do anything wrong and if Mommy does, she always makes it right again. She figures out how to fix it and she does. So if you didn't do anything wrong and neither did Mommy.... Is this...my fault? Did I do something bad at school or somewhere? Are the police looking for me?

I don't feel good. I think I might barf.

"Mommy?" I say and Mommy looks back at me at the same time you look into the mirror at me.

You say, "Uh oh," and start to pull the car off the road. "Olivia, she's going to--"

Mommy already figured that out and she holds the plastic bag from the yogurts for me as I barf, whispering, "It's okay, baby. I'm right here."

I start to cry after I'm done and you've stopped the car. Mommy ties the bag up and gets out of the car to throw it away. You get out of the car, too, and open the trunk. After a few minutes, you open my door and kneel down in front of me.

"Oh, you poor thing," you say and your voice is the same voice you always use when I'm sick. You wipe my face with a wet wipe thingy and kiss my forehead. "You don't have a fever. Do you think you're just car sick, Jellybean?" you ask. Before I can answer, you look at Mommy. "Olivia, hand me that bottle of water, please." She hands it to you and her eyes are big and very, very green.

You open the water and make me rinse my mouth out, telling me to spit outside the car. When I'm done, you pull me into your arms, hugging me tightly. "I'm sorry, Emma," you whisper. "This isn't very fun, is it?"

I shake my head against your shoulder and I can feel tears start to leak out of my eyes. "I don't like the car. It smells bad!"

"Is that what made you sick?" asks Mommy. She opens the other door and sits next to me, rubbing my back.

I shake my head again.

"Then what, honey?" you ask.

More tears leak out from my eyes. So many I can't see right.

"Did--did I do something bad? Is that why the police are after us?"

"What??" Your voice is high and angry and Mommy says a bad word right after and pinches her nose for a minute.

When she opens her eyes, she's looking at me. "No, baby, you haven't done anything wrong. The police aren't after you. I promise."

Your eyes are big and round and you are staring at Mommy even though she's not looking at you. "You told her about the police, Olivia? Why on Earth would you do something like that?"

Uh oh.

Mommy looks up at you quick and her eyes are squinty and dark. I don't know if I'm supposed to be happy that she's mad at you this time and not me, but I am.

"Because she wanted to know why you weren't there this morning like you always are, Natalia," she says, her voice low. "What was I supposed to do? Lie?"

You blink and you look like you want to scream, "Yes!", but you look at me and you can't. "Well...no. I--no, Olivia. But--"

"But what? You don't think I'm doing a good job with--with--" She looks at me and doesn't finish what she was going to say. "You think I'm a horrible mother. That I--"

"No!" You try to hold Mommy's hands in yours but she won't let you. "Olivia, I didn't say that! I just--she's just a little girl.... The police--she's scared. I would be, too. I was."

Mommy looks at you for a long time and the longer she looks, the shinier her eyes get until one little tear leaks out and drips down her cheek. Instead of wiping it away, she scoots backwards out of the car and starts to walk by the rail on the side of the road, her arms crossed over her front. Is she going to walk all the way to where we're going?

You sigh and you look like you think you should go after her but then you look at me and shake your head a little. "That," you say, touching my cheek, "didn't go very well, did it?" You smile that sad new smile again and I know you're thinking of Mommy. I shake my head "no," but I don't say anything. You look out through the front of the car at Mommy, who's still walking away from us. Will she come back? Will we have to chase her?

Suddenly you get this look on your face and it's the same look you get when you're trying to figure out why the dishwasher isn't working again. You look at me and you're trying to decide what to do. I can tell.

"Emma, do you remember being on an airplane when you were little?" you ask and your voice is very low and whispery.

I'm trying to remember when my heart starts going really, really fast and--

I barf again and you move just in time so I don't do it on you.

"Okay, honey," you say to me when I finish, giving me more water to spit out. When I'm finished, you hug me tight. "It's okay, sweetie. Don't worry. I'm right here."

Tears start leaking out of my eyes again. "Natalia?" I ask.

"Yeah, Jellybean?"

"I'm scared."

You kiss my head and hold me tighter. "I know, honey. I am, too."

"I want to go home," I say, crying harder.

"Me too, Emma. More than anything."

I pull back and look at you. "Then why can't we?" I ask, getting a little mad. If we all want to go home, why can't we go?

"It's just not safe right now, honey," you say, your eyes all sad.

"When will it be safe?"

You reach up to brush some hair out of my eyes.

"I don't know, Emma. I don't know."

Now, I'm scareder. Maybe it wasn't so bad before....

When you were lying to me, I mean.

-----
TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 22), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Sat, 30 May 2009 01:57:30 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 22)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer:  This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09.  All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for the longer bits of exposition. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
A/N*: I should have mentioned this before. I know that this is not canon, but I have chosen to place Springfield in Ohio, mostly to make my research life that much easier. Yes, I am obsessive about my research, which is why Natalia was able to make it to Overland Park, KS in one night to be present for it's sunrise at 6:54am (7:54am Springfield time) on 2/23 (roughly when chapter 2 took place). No, really. I looked all that up. And more. I'm that much of a fact geek. Sad, but true.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

SPRINGFIELD, OH*
CLARK COUNTY JAIL

"Rivera!" barked the CO, making Rafe look up from his carb-laden dinner. The short and stocky officer motioned for Rafe to join him at the doorway, and the young man sighed. While not exactly heartbroken that he'd apparently be missing Salisbury steak night, he dreaded the hunger that would come later, in the middle of the night, when his brain would betray him by remembering his mother's arroz con pollo that she was practically famous for...or her sanchoco, sopping up the juices from the bottom of the bowl with her arepas. He wouldn't sleep tonight, but it wasn't like he could refuse the summons. He sighed again and took his tray to the two big garbage cans in the corner of the cafeteria, trying not to mourn the loss of overcooked meat covered in gravy that tasted more like paste than anything else. Brown paste.

The CO, Barton, known to all the inmates as "Jake," frowned. The motion of brows, mouth, and jaw looked like a rockslide on his chiseled features. "You're wanted in interrogation, Rivera," he said, and his voice was not unkind. Barton liked the Rivera kid well enough. He had manners and tried to keep his nose clean more than the others, and the CO suspected that had to do primarily with the kid's mother, who rarely missed a visitor's day. Had rarely missed them. Until recently.

"Interrogation?" asked Rafe, surprised.

Barton didn't elaborate. He led Rafe through two sets of barred gates and out into the book-in area, opening one of the myriad identical doorways along the hall, all of them painted a chilling shade of industrial beige.

"Take a seat," he said to Rafe, shoving him toward one of the metal chairs. Rafe lowered himself into it, ignoring the cold and discomfort of the utilitarian chair, too busy regarding Frank Cooper with unreadable brown eyes, the mirror of his father's.

"Where is she?" asked the detective, his face hard and angry.

Rafe's eyes widened slightly but otherwise remained inscrutable. "This is about Ma?" he asked, unable to keep the confusion from his voice.

Frank's eyes hardened, turning the color and temperature of rain-drenched slate. Suddenly, he lunged forward, slamming both hands on the table that separated him from the younger man.

"Don't play games with me, Rafe," he ground out, his jaw clenched with rage. "Where. Is. Your. Mother?"

"I don't know, man!" Rafe's eyes had begun to simmer and he turned a fiery look at Barton. "Take me back to my cell," he ordered, rising halfway out of his seat only to see Frank nod sharply at the CO. His ass met the chair again a second later, Barton slamming him back into it without a word.

"Jesus!" complained the young Latino. "What's it to you, Frank? Not getting any pops from that fake Amber Alert? Whose idea was it to make Ma look like some wetback illegal, anyway?" His mother hadn't really told him much about what she was doing when she'd last visited--just a vague story of helping Olivia keep Emma safe from Phillip Spaulding. She thought the less he knew, the safer he'd be. Looking at Frank Cooper now made Rafe realize that his mother was one smart woman.

Frank's eyes narrowed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't? Frank, man, did you watch that thing? It made my mom look like a fucking criminal."

"Watch your mouth," warned the detective.

"Fuck you," snarled the young man. "You're in Spaulding's pocket. On his leash, like one of those freakin' Taco Bell dogs. Which is really messed up if you ask me because didn't he kidnap Harley's kids and make her beg for them? You're really working with that cabrón? If Harley knew, she'd be pissed. Those boys are everything to her. That sucks, Frank."

"No, I'm not working with Phillip!" exploded Frank, running his hand through his hair, agitated.  "We just want to find her--"

"Emma?" asked Rafe, and Frank hesitated just a second too long. "You're not after Emma, are you? That's Spaulding's angle. You're after Ma...."

"She shouldn't be out there, Rafe. Olivia--I don't know--seduced her somehow, made her do those things, made her go--"

"Wait, what??"

Frank's disgusted features glazed over with a cold fury. "It appears," he said tightly, "your mother and Olivia might be...in an unnatural relationship."

Rafe froze in his chair for a long moment, regarding Frank Cooper with dark, searching eyes, like he was a bug under glass. Then he threw his head back and laughed.

Frank's confusion was palpable. Even Barton shifted uneasily from size 13 foot to size 13 foot. "What's so funny?" asked the detective.

"'An unnatural relationship?'" repeated Rafe incredulously. "Man, even if that's true--and until Ma tells me herself, I won't believe it--you have got to come up with a better way to say that."

Frank blinked once, then frowned deeply. "That's your problem? I tell you that Olivia Spencer has put some sort of--of spell on your mother, a pure, naive, innocent--"

Rafe threw up both hands. "Whoa, man! A spell? Are you serious?"

"How else do you explain it, Rafe? Why would Natalia go with Olivia like this otherwise? Why would she put herself at risk like that? Why would she leave you? Her home? Why would she chase after Springfield's own whore of Babylon?"

"Frank, dude--'whore of Babylon?' You're making this all a little too--biblical. Isn't it possible that Ma saw a friend who needed her help and she did the one thing that comes naturally to her: she helped her out?"

"No." Frank shook his head again. "Not this time. This time it's different. Olivia's in charge, pulling all the strings. And she's ruining a good, sweet, pure woman who never hurt anyone--"

Rafe snorted. "Are you listening to yourself, Frank? Do you even remember why Ma and me came to this crappy town? She stole Gus from your sister! She locked Olivia in a bathroom and almost killed her! My mother isn't a saint, Frank! She's just Ma!"

The wind dropped out of the detective's sails just a little; he seemed to have forgotten Natalia Rivera's "prior bad acts" until just that moment. "But Olivia--" he tried again, his voice not as strong in its conviction as it had been.

"Seriously, man?" Rafe leaned forward in his chair, palms face down on the table in front of him. "If you think anyone has the power to make my mom do anything that she doesn't want to do, you don't know my mom. She was sixteen when she had me. No one wanted her to keep me--not her mom, not the Church, not her friends. But she kept me anyway. Her mom threw her out on the street, calling her puta and worse, thinking that would be the end of us both. But Ma never backed down. She kept a roof over our heads, food on our table, and clothes on our backs--all paid for legally--with nothing more than half a high school education, a prayer, and her fucking will.

"You wanna know who the whipped one is, Frank? It's Olivia. Who got Olivia to fight for her life after the transplant? Who got her to move out to the farmhouse? Who makes her take her medicine every single damned day? My mom, that's who! I wouldn't have believed any of those things were possible but I've seen it for myself."

The young man pushed away from the table, crossing his arms over his chest. He snorted at Frank with derision he didn't even bother to conceal. "You don't know my mother at all," he sneered. "You need to open your eyes."

"What if they are...together, Rafe? Like that?" The detective's anger slowly crept back into his voice and into his eyes, though Rafe was hard-pressed to tell if it was anger at his little speech or at something else. "That's wrong. It's against God and nature and your mother knows that. You know that! What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I--" Rafe laughed again, but there was no mirth in it. "Since when are you Mr. Church?" When he got no immediate answer, the younger inmate rolled his eyes. "This isn't about religion with you. Not really. This is about you losing to Olivia." He shook his head. "You really are a tool, Frank." He stood and this time Barton didn't slam him back into the chair. Rafe took this as a good sign and he moved toward the door, wanting to go back to his cell to get a head start on remembering his mother's cooking. He turned back just before Barton opened the door.

"Look," he said, his eyes vaguely troubled. "I thought Olivia was this place's resident man-eating bitch, so I don't believe what you say is true. I don't even get why you'd think it. But even if it was true, Frank, as long as my mom is happy and loved and taken care of the way she deserves, I'll stand by her. You know why?"

Frank raised his eyebrows at the boy.

"Because she stood by me. Even when I fucked up my life and hers, pulling that trigger that day." His dark eyes filled with sadness and guilt. "Plus she's my mom, Frank. I love her."

Rafe turned without waiting for the detective's response. He had better things to do.

-----

PITCHIN, OH*
AN ABANDONED BARN

Phillip Spaulding watched Grady Foley's legs swing slightly in the dim light slatting through the spaces in between the boards in the wall, the creak of the meticulously tied rope the only sound in the abandoned barn. It would be days--perhaps weeks--before anyone would find the hapless hit man, and when they did, they would find the note Phillip had forced him to write. Or they wouldn't. It truly didn't matter to Phillip either way. The only thing that mattered was that his daughter's kidnapper had been sent to Hell where he so desperately belonged.

His cousin Dinah's little stunt at the television station had piqued Phillip. Thwarted for the moment in his pursuit of his youngest daughter, Phillip had turned his attention to his eldest, hoping to bridge the gap between them with promises of protection and vengeance on her behalf. He had learned of Lizzie's kidnapping from a very uncomfortable Doris Wolfe after he'd sought the mayor out for information on one Raphael Rivera, son of the inimitable Natalia Rivera. To say he was surprised that Gus' bastard had found himself a guest of the county government was overstating things, to be sure. And however difficult it might be to utilize the unfortunate young man from his current...accommodations, Phillip was nothing if not persistent. From the mayor, Phillip had discovered that the young man would be eligible for a hearing regarding possible early release sometime in the next month or so--if the boy continued to behave himself. The younger Spaulding intended to have that hearing moved up, if possible.

What, after all, would the lovely Latina helpmate of his ex-wife do when faced with the unexpected release of her son?

That plan had been put on the back burner, though, the instant he'd learned of Lizzie's kidnapping. When pressed to reveal the possible suspects in his daughter's case, Doris had responded with a name so obvious as to be ridiculous. Bill Lewis simply lacked the twist of cruelty that would allow him to forcibly confine another human being in a basement, blindfolded, restrained, and afraid. His nerves would have undone him long before his plot came to fruition. Phillip dismissed the possibility immediately and asked who in Springfield had that twisted cruelty inside them?  Who had the ability to frame an innocent man?  Who had the requisite skill set to execute such a heinous act?

"Other than you?" Doris asked, and Phillip had smiled. Doris could only give him one name--other than his own, that is--and, unable to reach his eldest daughter in any other meaningful way, Phillip hoped that avenging the terror-filled days she'd spent in the company of Grady Foley would convince Lizzie to give him another chance.

He had expected Grady Foley to say almost anything to allay his fate once he realized that his time upon the Earth was soon to end. He had not expected to have Dinah Marler's ruination handed to him on a silver platter.

Who's John the Baptist now? he thought, looking up at Foley's purpled face, frozen in the rictus of a gasping death.

The serendipitous discovery of Dinah's involvement in Lizzie's kidnapping only further proved to Phillip Spaulding that God Himself was on his side.

Foley, of course, had needed to die. His affront against Lizzie was not only inexcusable, it was something he couldn't manipulate to his benefit. And once the displaced Australian had played his final card, damning Dinah as his luckless--but not innocent--co-conspirator, he was simply no longer useful. Like yesterday's news or an empty wine bottle, making Grady Foley useful again would have taken too much effort. Better to discard him now.

Dinah, on the other hand....

"Well, you wanted a rematch, cousin dear," he said, turning finally from the scene of Grady Foley's demise, brushing his gloved hands on his jacket.

"My serve."

-----
TBC

Comments are love!

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 21), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Fri, 22 May 2009 00:38:12 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 21)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer:  This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09.  All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

THE SOUTHWEST CHIEF BETWEEN GALLUP AND ALBUQUERQUE, NM
NATALIA RIVERA

Oh God! I just wanted a few minutes to breathe...to think. Everything's all.... Too.... I--I think I'm in shock. I just wanted five minutes of peace. After I got you and Emma settled. After the train left Flagstaff and I could let go the breath I'd been holding since we left the cafeteria. No one followed us. Nobody looked at us twice. I was so relieved.

But I've been staring out this window for hours now--without a single thought in my head.  My brain feels like I left it in the back of the freezer for a year. Frozen. Useless.

We...we just barely made it on this train. And by the time we got the tickets and the baggage and Emma settled, the train was on its way and you--thank God--you fell asleep. Finally.

You're still sleeping and I'm so grateful because even that was my fault--you sitting on that couch all night, too disgusted to sleep in the same bed with me. I cover my face with my hands, willing myself not to cry.

Oh God! What's happening to me? On top of everything else, now I find out that I'm--I'm what? Attracted to you? That I have some sort of crush on you? That I'm infatuated?

I glance across the aisle at you and I gasp, completely unprepared for my reaction. You're asleep in your aisle seat, your head resting against your own shoulder, Emma curled at your side, her head in your lap. You have one arm around Emma's shoulders, holding her to you. The other one lays next to your leg in the seat, palm upward, fingers still, curled elegantly. Tendrils of your honeyed hair have pulled from the hasty ponytail you created this morning and they frame your face, relaxed in sleep. Your long eyelashes lay softly on your cheeks and your lips are parted slightly. You are so beautiful and all at once a wave of feeling crashes over me and through me, stopping my heart inside me, stealing my breath.... Tears fill my eyes and I blink them away....

You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and suddenly I realize...this isn't a crush.

Everything...everything crystallizes in a single moment of recognition. Months of misunderstood longing and sudden, inexplicable giddiness; of a feeling of connectedness and closeness like I've never felt before; of a growing protectiveness and a deliberately ignored undercurrent of desire--it all makes perfect sense to me now. All those nights trying to forget that kiss.... Waking up in your arms the other morning...and trying to recreate that feeling of sanctuary the next night....

Oh my God. I'm in love with you.

For a brief moment, my heart takes off, soaring like a kite catching the edge of the sky. Then...then it crashes at my feet, dropped from a windless height to shatter.

That--that woman. That's what she saw. My heart in my eyes. Was it so obvious? Did you see it, too?

It doesn't matter what she saw; she was still wrong! She had no right to say those things about us! I feel my face heating with anger all over again.

Stupid, ignorant so-called Christians!

I know I shouldn't be so judgmental--after all, the Catholic Church isn't known for its tolerance of anything outside the tired 'one man, one woman, married with children' blueprint.

I know. I remember what it felt like, to be the one the church ladies sneered down their noses at, to be the one children pointed at, and the one men, caught between leering and embarrassment, turned away from. I remember the nuns' hard eyes and Father Benito's sad, disappointed smile when he gave me communion every Sunday. But even though they all abandoned me or judged me or laughed at me, even though I was alone--with a fatherless baby growing in my belly and a decision to keep him firm in my heart--God never turned from me. I felt His love and His protection every day. In the smile from the dark-haired girl at the El who took my token as I boarded the train. In the few-and-far-between ten dollar tips just when I needed them most. In the free clinic in the basement at St. Basil's, when Rafe was little and burning up with fever and I had nothing to spare for doctors or medicines. Even in the days when all I asked for was to make it to the end of yet another shift and I did. God's love is unconditional. I know that. I lived that.

That's how I know that people who believe homosexuality is against God's commandments are...misinformed.

None of us are perfect and God's love never wavers. Look at everything His children do.... Wars, torture, murder, hatred, deceit, infidelity.... All this is in the world and all this can be forgiven, but loving someone of the same sex...can't? I don't believe that. Love...real love...is never wrong. It can't be. God is all about love and when you feel love you're experiencing that love through God. You're allowed to feel what He feels. And that's what's so wonderful about it--when you feel that direct gift from God, when you feel that love, you have to cherish it with all your heart. Love like that doesn't harm anyone. Ignorance like that woman's is only proof that she doesn't know God at all. Not really.

I thought about this a lot just before Rafe went through puberty. I was working three jobs--again--and one of them was as a waitress with a wait staffing service. Cater waiters, with our little tuxes and bow ties. Half of them were actors supplementing their incomes with work that wouldn't interfere with daytime auditions. And half of them were gay. My best friend at that job was a gorgeous man named Guillermo. He had the sweetest heart wrapped in a body that couldn't have been more perfect if it had been carved out of marble. He was an actor and a model but he'd also worked for the company for years, on and off. He was the best cater waiter I've ever worked with and he trained me. Until then, I'd only worked at diners and coffee shops. Cater waiting is an entirely different animal.

Guillermo was also gay. I was young and naive and curious all at the same time. He was so sweet with me, though. Let me ask the most.... I'm sure he thought I was an idiot. Thinking back now--the questions I asked.... He never made me feel bad, though, and he answered everything. He told me how he'd known he was gay and I remember being surprised at how young he knew. He explained to me that everyone goes through puberty at roughly the same time and that many people know then--how did he put it? 'On which side their bed is buttered?' He had and he'd had to hide it. He knew his father would kill him if he ever found out. The day he graduated high school, he moved out of his parents' house. He was sure his mother suspected and if she did, then his father wouldn't be far behind. He left before they could throw him out. It was so sad to me. I mean, my mother had thrown me out but that was...different. I made a mistake. A preventable one. Guillermo hadn't done anything wrong. He was a sweet, loving, talented, hardworking man who also happened to be gay. And for that one thing his parents would disown him?

It was after one day of talking to him between courses at a corporate banquet, somewhere between the soup and the entrée, that I decided that no matter what, I would support and love my son. Gay, straight--none of that mattered. What was important was the man he became. Not the gender of the person whom he loved. Raphael would never have to worry that I would turn my back on him.

I look at you and the butterflies I felt in the cafeteria return--and they bring friends. I never...I never expected this for me. That I would fall in love with a woman....

Not just any woman, either. Olivia Spencer. The most beautiful, the most frustrating, the most complicated woman in Springfield.

It doesn't surprise me. Not really. We've been so close this past year and you've become so important to me, so integral to my life. And you've taught me so much about who I am...what I'm capable of...what kind of strength I possess. Someone might think it's because of Nicky's heart and maybe...maybe my connection to you started there--started with me being unable to let go of the last piece of what I thought was my happiness. But this--what I'm feeling now, this great big open place inside me, filled with hope and sadness and longing and desire--this isn't about Nicky's heart. This is about snuggling on the couch together for Friday Night Movie Night. This is about our I-wash-you-dry talks after dinner. This is about listening to you hit snooze over and over every morning.  This is about you and--and--

And I should have seen this coming.

If I had seen this coming, I might have been able to stop it. I might have been able to spare you all the confusion and--and maybe none of this would be happening now.

If I'd been able to stop it, you'd be getting more sleep than you are. If I'd been able to stop it, that harpy in the cafeteria wouldn't have seen what she thought she saw and we'd all be safe.

I--my head is spinning again, guilt dancing with longing, fear and self-recrimination with confusion and so much love. What I need is faith. What I need is the words that have always brought me comfort. I reach under my seat and pull out my smaller bag, the one with all the necessities. Toiletries, first-aid kit, Bible.... Yeah, I'm exactly that way.

I unzip it and reach into it, finding the soft leather cover of my very old, very worn Bible...the first thing I bought with my very first paycheck. I ate ramen noodles all that week, but I didn't care. God came first. That mattered to me.

I pull the book into my lap and run my fingers over the cover, saying a little prayer of thanks for the wisdom held within. Then I open it to a random page, letting circumstance tell me what I need to read.

I gasp when I see what page I'm on. The Song of Songs. The poem of love between King Solomon and his bride. I've always loved this book, both for it's lyrical language and how it makes me feel.

It's chapter five and my eyes scan the text, looking for whatever relevance I can find. It doesn't take me long to find it.

⁴Thou art fair, O my love, as Tirzah,
Comely as Jerusalem,
Terrible as an army with banners.
⁵Turn away thine eyes from me,
For they have overcome me.

I take a deep breath. That's...that's about you, about your eyes. They completely overwhelm me sometimes. Some days I could look into them forever, lost in the shifting shades of green and gray and gold that say so much and so little at the same time.

And the 'army with banners'? That's so you when you're strong, in control. A force of nature. You take no prisoners then, eyes flashing, power crackling around you like lightning. I miss that Olivia. I miss the Olivia who told Alan Spaulding to go to Hell...and meant it. I miss the Olivia who went up against Decker and won.

Another wave of delicious sensation washes over me and I try not to look at you. It's a battle I lose before it's even begun and I turn again to you, feeling the intensity of my emotions dissipate enough to allow anguish to creep into my heart.

Damn Phillip Spaulding for stealing your confidence. Damn that woman at the cafeteria, too!

But...but it wasn't her, was it? It's me--my fault! I'm the one doing this to you...undermining your strength, endangering Emma. I'm the weak link in this chain. If the woman in the cafeteria could see it then others will be able to as well. How...how do I stop that from happening? How do I keep my eyes from betraying me? And more than that--how do I keep my face from betraying us? I'm the one that sticks out in our little family. The Amber Alert practically screamed 'That dirty field rat did something bad to the nice white lady and her little girl!' When people see us, it will be me that they'll recognize. Not you. Not Emma. Me! I'm not the person to rely on. I'm the biggest danger to Emma now. You need to rely on yourself. You're so much better at fighting than I am and right now, we need someone who can fight. We need the army of you, banners flying high.

I turn away from you, my heart aching in my chest, tears blurring my eyes. I stare out the window to my right, the darkness of the New Mexico countryside rarely broken by clusters of lights indicating life, indicating a gathering of people in some common endeavor. Families in homes made warm against the winter chill; children safely asleep while parents sit in kitchens, talking over the last of a pot of coffee, or in living rooms, watching the evening news. Knitters knitting long, periwinkle scarves, glasses perched halfway down their noses, the blue light of the television set reflected in the lenses. Farmers getting caught up on the state of the world existing outside of their worry over seed prices or a tractor that needs repairing. Children asleep, cheeks pink with heat from the radiators, dreaming of a summer that lies slumbering in the cold earth.

That's what I want. I want to go home. With you, with Emma. With Rafe, when he's freed from that hellish prison.

I want to be in our kitchen, leaning over a pot of my special chili, breathing in spice and heat as I listen to you and Emma quietly going over her spelling words for the big test tomorrow. I want to wake up in the morning before you, slipping silently down the stairs to start a pot of coffee, setting your favorite mug next to the machine to wait.

But...but what if we never get to go home again? What if this is our life now? Or worse, what if you find out how I feel and you don't...can't....

Tears drip off my cheeks before I realize I've begun to cry and just as I wipe them away, I feel a hand on my arm and I jump. It's you, of course. Who else would it be at 2 o'clock in the morning, on this train speeding through nowhere?

"Hey," you say softly. My heart thuds painfully in my chest with the sound of your voice. "Are you okay?"

I wipe my eyes but I can't look at you. Your simple touch, just the slight pressure of your hand on my arm makes me shudder. If I look at you now, you'll know the secrets of my heart. I can't risk that. Not when I'm to blame for backing us into this corner, for destroying every gain we've made since I found you at that laundromat. "It's all my fault," I whisper brokenly. "I'm so sorry, Olivia. It's all my fault...."

You don't seem to know what I'm talking about; your voice sounds so confused. "What's your fault?"

I glance up at you, hoping you can't read everything I feel in my eyes. "We almost got caught...back there. Because of me. Because I couldn't walk away."

You smirk a little and I wonder if that's about me. Then you frown and I can see that you have no idea what happened. I never told you. We were--there were so many other things to worry about when we left the cafeteria and--and I couldn't tell you while Emma was there, listening. She--there's no reason for her to know how--how I almost got her taken away from her own mother.

"Couldn't walk away from what?" you push, the frown lingering around your beautiful mouth. "What happened?"

"I--I don't know," I blurt, reacting to the concern I see in your eyes. How can I make you understand without making you turn away from me? "I don't know what she saw or what she thought she saw but--but a woman--a stranger--called us 'filthy'...'godless'...and I couldn't...couldn't hear that. She had no right! She doesn't know us!"

You close your eyes and for a second--one heart-stopping second--I think I've said too much, that you know how I feel. Desperate, I plunge on with the story. "She didn't know what she was talking about," I say angrily. "She had no idea what she was saying! It was just hateful and...and wrong! But I couldn't walk away! I had to...to stop her. And because of that, the other woman recognized me and called the police! Oh God, Olivia! I'm so sorry.... I almost got us caught. Because of me, Phillip almost had Emma!"

"Shhh...." You pull me into your arms and I resist the urge to simply melt into the comfort of your embrace. God, help me! I beg for strength I don't have. You run your fingers through my hair and all I want is to bury my face in your neck and stay here forever. Where it's warm and soft. Where I can feel your heartbeat against my lips. "It's okay," you whisper soothingly. "It's not your fault."

"If I had just kept my mouth shut...." My head is tucked under yours and I can hear your heart beating, strong and sure. Tears come to my eyes again; I think about how grateful I am that you're still here and about how worried I am about you. All this stress, all these crazy sleepless nights and days of fear...they're not good for you. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. I just couldn't.

You pull back to catch my eye. "It could just as easily have been me, you know. I offered to take care of the spill, didn't I?" You chuckle ruefully. "Think about what would have happened if she'd said those things to me. Remember Towers--with the PTA mommies?"

What if it had been you? YOU would have torn that bigot apart! YOU would have sweet-talked the old lady with the phone out of her phone call! All I could do was run!

I hate how weak I am.

"You got us out of there, Natalia. You kept your head, came up with a plan, and executed it flawlessly--without any help from me. Or anyone else, for that matter. I couldn't have done that."

I shake my head. You're making it sound better than it was. You're making it sound like it wasn't my fault. "But--"

"No buts," you say, cupping my chin in your hand. "It's all true, isn't it?"  I nod, reluctantly. I did do those things but it's not the amazing feat you're making it out to be!

It's not.

A small smile dusts your perfect mouth. "Forget about what happened in the cafeteria. We're fine, everything worked out--"

No. No, I can't let you do this. I can't let you lie to yourself. I didn't save us! I nearly got us all caught! "What if it hadn't, Olivia? Where would Emma be now?  Where would you or I be?" The thought of you in prison makes me sick to my stomach and yet it's a real possibility. If we get caught, you could go to prison! What would happen to you there? Violence, bad food, no health care to speak of.... And Emma. Phillip would have her, corrupt her. She'd grow up to be some twisted version of him instead of the sweet little Jellybean she is now. How can I live with that? I can't.

I can't.

I can only think of one way to fix this.

Your eyes suddenly fill with fear and it slices into me. It almost makes me stop what I'm about to do. Almost.

"We're fine, Natalia," you say, your voice pleading. "It's fine--"

"No, it isn't!" I hiss, burying my face in my hands.  "You don't know that!" I continue, swiping angrily at my tears as they fall, betraying me.  "It's not fine! Everything's moving too--too fast! It's spinning out of control and I can't--I don't--"

"You said we could do this," you whisper harshly, your voice low and desperate.  Your eyes go a little wild and your breathing becomes ragged, panicked. "Natalia, you said--"

I have to do this, fast and clean. Like an amputation. Oh God, it's like I'm cutting out my own heart, but...but it's the only way....

"Olivia," I say, taking your hands in mine.  I shutter my heart, my voice in ice, finding it somewhere deep and dark inside myself, somewhere I don't often go. It's bleak and airless in that space and I feel that bleakness take me over. "Olivia, we should--we should split up."

For a long, sickening moment, everything stops and there's nothing in the whole world but the shock in your eyes. Then tears spill down your cheeks and you gasp as if you've been stabbed. I reach for your face, wanting to take it all back, wanting to wipe the stain of horror and devastation from your eyes but before I can, you pitch forward in your seat, clutching your chest. You try to breathe in but it sounds like you're breathing through a wet sponge.

Oh GOD! OhGodohGodohGod!  "Olivia? Olivia! Stop! Just stop!" I look around desperately but there's no one to help us. I'll--I have to do it myself. I have to fix this.  I grab your wrist and find your pulse. It's fast. Too fast.  But it's strong and steady. No lurches, no missed beats. "Olivia, look at me," I say as calmly as I can manage, reaching for and cupping your face in my hands. "Look at me, honey," I plead. "I need you to breathe slowly in and out, okay? Can you do that for me?" You nod and I mirror the movement with my own head, willing you to breathe. You do the best you can but you still sound like the carburetor of the '76 Chevette that was my first car. It was a piece of--

"N-Natalia?" you croak and I see the fear in your eyes.

"It's okay, Olivia. It's okay."  My fingers flutter over your cheeks, trying to soothe you, trying to bring you back to me. "Breathe for me, sweetie. I'm right here.  Right here." Slowly, breath by breath, you begin to sound better and I reach for the water bottle in my cup holder, uncapping it in one twist. "Can you drink this? A few sips...."

Your hands are trembling as you reach for the bottle and I hold onto it with you, our fingers intertwining as we tip water into your mouth. You swallow two gulps before pushing the bottle away. I recap it and drop it in my seat, my hands going back to your face. "Tell me about your pain. What does it feel like?"

"Sharp," you gasp. "But easing up." You gesture vaguely at your chest, making a slashing motion that follows your collarbone. "Here."

"Okay. Okay." I take a deep breath. "Any abdominal pain? Pain down your left arm? Left side of your neck?"

You shake your head 'no' and I let out the breath I was holding. I reach down with one hand and check your pulse again. It's slowing now, but still strong. Good. That's good.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, realizing that this, yet again, is my fault. I look into your eyes and realize that I'm so lucky. So lucky that this was just a panic attack and not something much worse. Not something that--that would take you away from me forever. I make a decision on the spot: I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere. I'll--I'll figure out a way to hide these...feelings and we'll be okay. We will.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," I whisper, stroking your cheeks with my thumbs, looking into your fearful eyes with my worried ones. "We'll figure something out.  We--we'll keep trying together, okay? Please, Olivia. Forgive me...."

I can do this. I can be the superhero you think I am. Or I can die trying.

As if in a daze, you reach out and brush a strand of my hair away from my eyes. "You're...staying?"

"Yes," I say, nodding, tears flooding my eyes. "Yes, I'm staying."

The smile that blossoms on your face is the single most heartbreakingly beautiful thing I've ever seen and before I realize what I'm doing, I'm leaning toward you, my gaze focused on your perfect mouth, my own lips parting in anticipation of the kiss I'm about to give you. Your eyes widen, realizing my intent too late. Just before our mouths touch, a quiet click sounds overhead, followed by the soft, silken voice of one of the train's porters.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to be arriving in Albuquerque in just about eight or so minutes here. If this is your destination, please take a moment to check that all of your carry on luggage and belongings are secured and ready for--"

You gasp and pull your face from my hands, your eyes wide with surprise. "I--I can't...." you whisper brokenly and you bolt from your seat as if it were on fire.

My hands still hover in the air, empty but unable to move. I look at you and you're fumbling with your luggage and waking Emma, trying to get her awake enough to get off the train and onto whatever bus we'll have to take to the hotel. You look up at me for two seconds, just a glance really. But my hands slowly sink from their position and fall into my lap. I'm...stunned. Because the look in your eyes is so vivid, so clear and I realize how many times I've seen it before, blind to its meaning, to its plea.

But it was there. I saw it, an emerald truth I've seen a hundred, a thousand times before.

You.... You love me, too....

-----
TBC

Comments are love! (Told you I'd fix it.)

DiNovia

Fic: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 20), GL, Olivia/Natalia

Sat, 16 May 2009 20:52:01 GMT

Title: Hide Beside Me (Chapter 20)
Author: DiNovia
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Chapter=PG-13/Overall=NC-17
Archival: P&P, Kimly, and AUSXIP of course. Everyone else, please ask.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Phillip Spaulding has returned to Springfield with a vengeance. Olivia Spencer, afraid that Phillip will take their daughter Emma from her again, flees Springfield with the help of her assistant, Natalia Rivera. Can they stay one step ahead of Phillip? Will they ever be safe again?
Content Disclaimer: This is an AU story--based on a drabble I posted in February--that splits off from the "I can trust you with my life!" scene on 2/16/09. All canon after that does not exist in this story. Also, the Phillip Spaulding that returns in this story is still bat-shit crazy and evil. Graphic depictions of love between two consenting adult women are contained within, obviously, but not for a while.
Source Disclaimer: I do not own Guiding Light or the characters therein depicted. I do not seek to profit from this story.
A/N: I tried to remain as close to character as humanly possible but as I have only seen YouTube clips of Otalia and no full episodes, I cannot guarantee the results.
Style Note: As some of you have noticed, I am switching POVs for every chapter. Natalia, Olivia and Emma will tell their stories in their own words, first-person present tense. Any other exposition needed will happen in third-person past-tense. This will cover the urgency I need and will also allow for omniscience for exposition with multiple characters. I am very interested in knowing whether this style works how I have intended it, so let me know.
Thank You: To mightbefound and bldy_destini for beta-ing this story. Thank you also to Tiff for helping me to figure out the major plot problems I'd been having and for being on call when I forget them and need to review. ;) Thank you to djshiva for your comments and general enthusiasm for this story.

THE SOUTHWEST CHIEF BETWEEN GALLUP AND ALBUQUERQUE, NM
OLIVIA SPENCER

Something--a sound, maybe, or the train jostling along the tracks--wakes me from a sleep that I never intended to fall into. There was so much to do, but right now I can't remember what any of it was. I try to move my head, hissing with pain. The crick in my neck is excruciating and my eyes are dry and sticky. I feel grimy and gritty and unclean and I really, really want to take a shower. I raise my hands to rub the last of the sleep from my eyes, only to realize I'm clutching my cell phone like a lifeline. For a second, I have no idea why. Then I remember....

Oh my God! Sam!

I check it for recent calls and there's nothing. Dammit. Where is he? I sigh, realizing he could be anywhere in the world. I wouldn't know. How would I know? I hardly ever talk to him. My own freakin' brother, the last of my blood family, the little boy who used to follow me around like a puppy when we were kids...and I can't be bothered to call him more than once a month. If that. He still sends me flowers every Mother's Day and signs the card the same every time: "To the best big sister ever. Thanks for being a mom for us when we needed one." The first time I got that bouquet, I didn't get out of bed for a week. Some Gerber daisies and a tiny card was all it took to knock me on my ass, drowning in guilt and shame. The last time...well, it barely even registered. It was after my transplant and I was still...not well. Not ready for anyone to love me again. Not ready to love myself again.

Emma's head is in my lap and she's fast asleep. I know she's snoring softly though I can't hear it above the noise of the train. I run my fingers over the side of her face and through her hair. She has a lot of Sam in her. Her curiosity, her boundless energy, her sweet temperament.... Those things didn't come from me and they damn sure didn't come from Phillip. It has to be Sam. And here I am, practically ignoring the man that could be so much more to Emma. The father figure she needs and deserves. A man whom I trust and love already, who won't run out on me, on us. Who won't make promises he can't keep. And I've relegated him to the realm of...what? Obligation? Is that any way to treat family?

No. No, it isn't. You taught me better than that.

I look across the aisle of the train to where you're sitting. You're awake and looking out the window, watching the lights of sleeping towns go by as we roll past them in the darkness. Your hair is unbound and falls around your face and shoulder like an ebony curtain, hiding your expression from me. You are so beautiful. My heart fills with a confusing mixture of love and anguish, clenching in my chest like a fist, stealing my breath.

Dammit, Gus, I curse, feeling tears sting my eyes. You forgot something! When you went away, you left your love for her in this beautiful heart you gave me. And now it's in me so deeply, I can't remember what not loving her feels like! She's changing me.... Cell by cell, atom by atom, she's recreating me. And it feels so right! Like this is who I was meant to be! But it isn't, is it? It's just a dream I can never have. She would never understand, never accept my love for her. How could she? It's...it's not worth having. It's not safe, not normal. And I'm not worth having either.

You lift one hand and wipe something from your cheek. It's then that I realize you're crying.

No, no, no....

I know I should keep my ass in this seat. I know I should stay right where I am. But I won't. I can't. I'm drawn to you like the sea to the sand, stretching toward you even as I'm pulling away. Back and forth I move and you, my constant shoreline, are blissfully unaware of the spell I'm under. It'd be laughable if it weren't so sad.

I slide out from underneath Emma, making sure she's comfortable and still sleeping before I cross the aisle to you. Our car is nearly empty of other passengers and the few that are here are either sleeping or are safe inside their artificial bubbles of privacy afforded by mp3 players and laptops and--for the old school amongst us--thick paperback books. I sit in the aisle seat next to you and place my hand on your arm. You jump.

"Hey," I say softly. I try for soothing but you look anything but calm. "Are you okay?" I know the answer before you even open your mouth; I see the Bible in your lap.

You wipe your eyes and you don't look at me. I can feel you trembling and I pull my hand away so I don't imagine it's me who makes you do that. "It's all my fault," you whisper brokenly. "I'm so sorry, Olivia. It's all my fault...."

I have no idea what you're talking about and I shake my head. "What's your fault?"

You glance up at me with frightened eyes, black under the dim reading light over your head. "We almost got caught...back there. Because of me. Because I couldn't walk away."

Oh, that. I smirk at myself. How soon we forget. A couple of hours of crappy sleep on a train and the sight of you crying, and my memory turns into Swiss cheese.

Then I frown. I don't know what happened in the cafeteria. One minute I was about to fall asleep in my Pasta Primavera while Emma asked me if you'd be bringing her more ketchup and the next minute, I was on my feet, ready to come get you. I couldn't hear what was going on but everything in your bearing said you were arguing with that woman. And everything in me wanted to come to your rescue. Except I didn't think you needed it. You seemed to be handling it fine on your own.

"Couldn't walk away from what?" I don't really want to know, do I? I can tell by the look in your eyes, the one that's making my stomach lurch with dread. But I'll hear this confession, powerless to turn away from you. "What happened?"

"I--I don't know. I don't know what she saw or what she thought she saw but--but a woman--a stranger--called us 'filthy'...'godless'...and I couldn't...couldn't hear that. She had no right! She doesn't know us!"

'Filthy?' 'Godless?' What? Who says things like that to a complete stranger? Especially when that stranger is you? Anyone can see-- I mean, what would ever make anyone-- Oh. Suddenly I know what it was and my heart sinks like a stone. Oh, no....

I close my eyes. It's so much worse than I imagined. Some vicious cow saw what's in my heart and attacked you for it. Fucking hell! I'm ruining everything without even trying. God!

"She didn't know what she was talking about," you continue angrily. "She had no idea what she was saying! It was just hateful and...and wrong! But I couldn't walk away! I had to...to stop her. And because of that, the other woman recognized me and called the police! Oh God, Olivia! I'm so sorry.... I almost got us caught. Because of me, Phillip almost had Emma!"

"Shhh...." I pull you into my arms, fully, painfully aware of the Bible pressed between us. I run my fingers through your hair, trying to keep my touch light, comforting. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

"If I had just kept my mouth shut...." Your head is tucked under mine and I feel your voice against my breastbone. It makes me shiver even when I know better. I can't help it, even now. Goddammit!

I pull back for a moment and catch your eye. "It could just as easily have been me, you know. I offered to take care of the spill, didn't I?" I chuckle morosely. "Think about what would have happened if she'd said those things to me. Remember Towers--with the PTA mommies?"

Your eyes widen as realization dawns in them and now my voice is serious. "You got us out of there, Natalia. You kept your head, came up with a plan, and executed it flawlessly--without any help from me. Or anyone else, for that matter. I couldn't have done that."

You shake your head, not believing me. "But--"

"No buts," I say, cupping your chin in my hand. "It's all true, isn't it?" When you finally nod--reluctantly--I let a small smile curve my lips and let you go. "Forget about what happened in the cafeteria. We're fine, everything worked out--"

"What if it hadn't, Olivia? Where would Emma be now?  Where would you or I be?"

Suddenly my mouth feels like it's filled with sand. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, are stained with dread, with doubt and...and I put it there. Me! This is my fault! I look at you more closely and see the exhaustion that you're trying so hard to hide, see the worry and the tension in your face, your body. My heart begins to race in my chest like an over-wound clock, like time slipping through my fingers.

"We're fine, Natalia," I say, my voice pleading. "It's fine--"

"No, it isn't!" you hiss, burying your face in your hands. Please don't cry! I think. I can handle anything but that right now. Please don't cry.... "You don't know that!" you continue, swiping angrily at your tears as they fall.  "It's not fine! Everything's moving too--too fast! It's spinning out of control and I can't--I don't--"

"You said we could do this," I whisper harshly. I know I'm practically begging now, but I don't care. You said we could do this. Don't...don't do what you did when Alan started in on me about Emma.  Don't--oh God--you're giving up and I don't know what to do, how to fix this. The laundry metaphor isn't going to work here, I think, whining. This is too big, too fucked up. I can't...breathe right. I feel dizzy. "Natalia, you said--"

"Olivia," you say, taking my hands in your own. Your voice is calm, empty of inflection. Your eyes are empty, too. I've never seen you like this. You're scaring me. "Olivia, we should--we should split up."

For a second, I have no idea what you've said. By the time my brain catches up to my ears, it's like a bomb has gone off inside my skull. I can't hear anything. Not you, not the train, not even my own heartbeat.

You're leaving me. It's too much.... All this...it's too much for you so you're going. Just like that. You're going.

The whole world and everything in it stops. Just stops dead, contracting down to that one airless, incomprehensible concept. Then--without warning--it explodes outward again, like the Big Bang, obliterating everything in its path, replacing it with this new, sickening reality.

Oh God! You're leaving me! I did it, I fucked it up, and I wasn't even there when it happened!

Gus' heart was too open. I couldn't--I couldn't stop it. I couldn't hold back my love for you and it--it ruined everything.

Tears rush to my eyes and I can't stop them. I think I'm going to throw up. Everything is swimming in front of me, your face melting inside my tears, your hands reaching for my face.

The pain comes then, and I knew it would. Somehow I knew this was all it would take to end me: you walking away. Agony lances through my chest like I've been stabbed--like I've been ripped open by one of your fucking garden claws--and I clutch at the place where there should be a gaping hole. Where there should be blood and meat and bone. I pitch forward in the seat, struggling to breathe. My lungs are made of wet newspaper and I feel my throat closing around the ache of un-wailed grief.

I'm going to die. Right here on this fucking train to Albuquerque. In front of you. You, the one thing I can't have. You, the one person that I'd give anything to keep. Oh, God! You're leaving me! I've pushed you away and this fucking cowardly heart can't take it, can't keep beating for me anymore.

A hissing noise that I can't place crowds out the rest of my thoughts and a veil of white gnaws at the edges of my vision....

I'm going to die. Right here, practically in your arms.

And all I can think is I wanted to go home with you. To our kitchen, green and warm. Just one last time....

-----
TBC

Comments are love! (Unless they're death threats, in which case, they aren't so much love as...well, death threats.)

Repeat after me: "She always writes happy endings...."

DiNovia

Jesus, Ducks, and All That's Holy....

Mon, 11 May 2009 18:35:35 GMT

Please stop with the hammering and the banging metal shelves and the drilling and OMG the friggin' fucking NOISE!

*hides pounding head under arms*

Really? This is what I come back to after a perfect Otaliacation?

*waits to die*

May Frank Cooper enter your homes unannounced and without knocking! And may he call you 'Princess' and feed you morsels of spanikopita even if you're not hungry!

Jesus in a Purple Prom Dress! You people are frickin' LOUD!

Ugh.

41 more minutes. I can endure 41 more minutes.

I can.

*turns up iPod*

*again*