Steady Ground
"And in here, we have the master bedroom. As you can see, it's got eastern exposure, and the sunrises are really gorgeous during the fall. New carpet was installed after the last tenants vacated the premises, so it's under warranty for the next five years or so. The second bathroom adjoins this room over there. If you want, you can take a look in there, see what you think."

Oliver padded across the room, the soles of his shoes making soft noises on the thick carpeting, and he opened the bathroom door to study the contents of the next room. The floor was white tile, the fixtures dark blue. He liked the sparseness of it, a sort of austerity that appealed to him.The cigarette in his mouth was transferred to his right hand, and he used it as a pointer when he asked, "What are your leasing terms like? I'm leaning more towards buying right now."

The Realtor, a woman in her late thirties, replied, "Well, what with Lincoln Park being rebuilt and a lot of new properties going on the market, the current situation favors prospective buyers, but with summer halfway over the market's a little uncertain. What do you think of the place, Mr. Jerzyck?"

The spellcaster took another look at the bathroom, then stepped back and pulled the door shut. This was the third place he'd seen this week, and he was glad Hannah had been able to make time for this visit. He glanced at her, then around the unfurnished bedroom. "Well, I like what I've seen so far," he said with a thoughtful nod. One eyebrow lifted as he turned his attention towards the little blonde. "Hannah? What do you think?"

Poised by a window, Hannah tapped her lip and pretended to be pretentious. She drummed up what her grandmother would've said. "Well, I don't know. With all this natural light, you'll save on electricity and heating, but I'm not sure about the flooring." She tapped it with her shoe. "Is there hardwood underneath the carpet?" She crossed her arms and gave the realtor a questioning look. She had dressed for the occasion. Hannah's hair was pinned into a bun. She wore a black halter, white capri pants, and polka dot pumps. The strap of a red, beaded purse (bought vintage) swung from her index finger.

Truthfully, she liked the place. The first had been elegant but dull, not a place for an artist to live. The second, very old and beautiful, but it screamed 'hidden water damage'. This was better. A bright, blank canvas. When she opened the cabinets and peeked underneath, the craftsmanship looked sturdy, too. Hannah refused to show the realtor any real approval. Once, she tried to shoot Oliver a thumbs-up, but the agent turned back around unexpectedly, and Hannah pretended to fix her hair.

She meandered over to Oliver's side.

"The floors are maple beneath the carpeting," the realtor confirmed. "The owner of the building added it after a year of the building being put up. Mostly because of the lifting of the 'no pets' policy. Not that there have been any issues related to that, but carpet is easier to clean."

"Mmm." Oliver nodded, a half-amused expression on his face, and he stepped over to the window. There was a small balcony outside, and he opened the doors and stepped outside. The breeze had freshened since they'd made the elevator trip up here, and his dark hair brushed the collar of his shirt as he looked up into the sky. It would be strange having a permanent address after living out of hotels for so long, but he could get used to anything. He glanced back at where Hannah stood, felt the corners of his mouth turn up a notch.

"Well, Ms. Flynn and I will have to talk it over," he said as he stepped back inside, closing the doors in his wake. "If you could give us a few minutes, we'll meet you downstairs. I'll make sure to lock up." He dangled the key ring from his index finger, and once the older woman had departed, he waited until he heard the sound of her footsteps fading out to face the diminutive waitress again. "So. Hope I haven't made you walk your feet off today. What do you really think?"

"Oh god, did you notice?" Hannah grimaced and bent to take off a shoe. "These things are killin' me!" The small, reddened foot she rubbed was accustomed to flip-flops, Converse tennis shoes, and hiking boots. Heels weren't usually in the equation. "I tried to hide the pain, I swear." A spot on her foot looked sore, but there wasn't a blister. She hobbled on a foot a moment longer, looking like a flamingo, and then set it down. With regret, she worked it back into her pump.

Once upright, she looked around. "I think it's nice. It's um... it's kinda spartan. But that just means you could put paintings up everywhere," she swooshed her hands at the walls, "And people would notice them instead of the architecture. Like a gallery." Granted, all of this opinion came from a woman who spent her adolescence and most of her adult life in trailers stuffed with garage sale finds, followed by a crumbling apartment. "Way better than a hotel," she added.

Oliver smiled down at her, sent one hand rummaging through his pockets for his smokes. Coming up with the pack, he shook one out and put it in his mouth. "I'd put your portrait in the front room," he said, pointing in the direction of the hallway that led up the the larger room. "Not that I expect to be entertaining much, but I think everyone would be quite intrigued at who the beautiful blonde might be."

The mage looked at the far wall of the bedroom, imagining furnishings in the empty space. Maybe he could hire a decorator. He wondered what his mother would say when - if - she found out he was going to settle in one place for a while. He got the cigarette in his mouth going, exhaled smoke towards the ceiling. The smaller bedroom would be for Jessica, which was something he and Hannah hadn't really talked about. Oliver cleared his throat.

"You still haven't met Jessica. Is it going to bother you that she'll be here?"

Hannah's eyes cut sharply towards the front room in silent alarm. She was trying to remember the portrait of herself. She was naked, she recalled that much. It was also tasteful and beautifully painted. But the one detail she couldn't drum up was whether or not it showed nipple. Lord, wouldn't that be embarrassing, when she finally did get introduced to Jessica. Like, 'Hi, I'm Hannah, I believe you've met my breasts.'

She cleared her throat. One foot crossed over the other, and she put her hands on her hips. "Bother me on what level?" Hannah asked. She studied Oliver with a tilted head and wondered what he was getting at. Was he wondering if she was jealous? Threatened by the idea of a Worst Case Scenario... A female roommate frolicking around the condo in a towel, inviting him to join her in pillow fights. Not that... she'd ever thought about it. Hmm. "I mean, I can't answer if you aren't more specific," she said. Hannah scratched her neck.

He shrugged a little, self-conscious for reasons he couldn't define. Or maybe a better word was wouldn't. "I've never lived with a woman before," he said. "I've never really lived with another person before, not for a long time. I didn't know if you would mind Jessica being here full-time."

He wasn't saying what he meant to say, and it made him impatient with himself. He and Hannah were friends, yes, but there was a chance that they'd be more one day. Having promised Jessica some space of her own, he wouldn't know how to back out of it now, but he hadn't really given much thought to what the blonde would say about the new living arrangement. It put him in a strange spot. He folded his arms across his chest, exhaled smoke through his nostrils.

"She's got a boyfriend," he said, feeling more asinine by the second. "Or at least a semi-boyfriend. If that helps."

"Would it make a difference to you if she didn't?" Hannah asked.

Frankly, she was more concerned about Oliver's perception of his roommate than Jessica's dating habits. She rocked back and forth on her shoes. Already, the blonde wished she hadn't asked. It made her look suspicious. She wasn't. "I mean, I'm not gonna tell you who to live with. I'm not your girlfriend, and even if I was, I wouldn't do that. If there's one thing I've actually picked up about men, it's that they don't like being bossed." She chewed her lip. "Also, you don't lose a man to another woman. You lose him because... he sucks." She shrugged. "Or you suck, whatever, somebody sucks."

This argument of hers was coming out pitiful.

Hannah waved her hand to dismiss herself. "Not that you're mine to lose. But you could be." Maybe. What the crap?

He was both bemused and intrigued by her reaction, and he looked at the floor while pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "She's a kid, y'know?" he said with a strange sort of fondness. "A nice kid, but a kid. I'm not...it's not like that with her." He was fouling it up, or at least felt like he was, and he pushed his unoccupied hand through his hair.

"I don't know, I guess this is the part where I'm scared kind of shitless," he admitted, directing his attention towards the balcony doors again. "I keep waiting for something to come along and fuck it up, something I'm doing. It's a hard habit to break."

Dark eyes focused on Hannah, that oddly boyish expression stealing over his face. "I'm glad you came out today. When we're finished here, we can go grab lunch if you want. It's...it's just nice to be with you."

"It's nice just to be with you, too." Hannah's ankles bowed so that her weight rested on the outside of her patent leather shoes. Internally, she pondered over this whole 'Jessica is a kid' thing. Somewhere along the way, she had graduated from being considered one, too. Perhaps being an immortal spirit who fell back to Earth like an odd version of an angel gave her wisdom clout. Regardless of how it happened, it was a pleasant development. "I could do lunch."

Hannah heard a plane passing through the sky. She looked out the window and watched a contrail form on its tail. An opinion began to rattle in her brain. At first, she wasn't going to say it, but then she remembered the promise she made to Oliver in the Italian restaurant about always blurting out the truth, no matter how embarrassing or potentially foolish. Dancing around things was a plain old waste of time.

"But first, a word of advice, Mr. Jerzyck, straight from the heart." Hannah gave him an open look, friendly and non-confrontational. She wanted it to come out right. "Don't wait too long. I'm starting to think I'm a pretty good catch. I like you better than anybody else, but life is short." She walked up to him and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "In other words, shit or get off the pot." She smiled brightly and strolled towards the living room.

He was left blinking by the assertion, and as Hannah walked away from him his gaze slowly tracked after her, both eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. His shoes left marks, footprints in the new carpet, and he caught up with her just as she crossed the threshold. One hand caught gentle hold of her narrow shoulder, and he turned her to face him. The cigarette burned in his other hand.

"From the heart?" For a man who only felt things in bits and pieces, Oliver was always surprised by how much emotion Hannah was able to wring out of him. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, knuckles brushing over soft skin. He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth, longish hair obscuring his eyes. He always forgot how tiny she was until he was looming over her. He kissed her again, more lingeringly, then leaned close enough so he could murmur in her ear.

"Give me long enough to get my feet under me." He could smell the light scent of her perfume, and his mouth nuzzled against her earlobe. "I might surprise you."

"Mmm... you might." It was a job to keep from shivering; that's what having a warm, damp mouth on her ear did, particularly when it belonged to him. Hannah's shoulder twitched but she forgave herself that reaction, since it was totally involuntary. A reflex that fired off when he got close. Holding as still as possible, she wrapped the purse strap around her index finger. Her heel twisted in the carpet.

"Then again, maybe I'll surprise you." Through Oliver's shirt, Hannah used her fingernails to lightly scratch his stomach. She rose up on tiptoes and kissed the soft flesh beneath his earlobe. It was all very restrained and well-behaved, not anything to get either of them in trouble. But she couldn't resist a saucy remark. "We better go soon or else that lady's going to think we're christening your place." She pulled back and briefly pinched the tip of Oliver's nose. "Ready, or did you want to inspect the pipes..? Under the sink!"

His eyes drifted shut, and his fingertips made careful indentations in her shoulder. "We wouldn't want to scandalize the poor thing, would we? Working on commission is enough of a chore." He released her, tucked the cigarette back into his mouth.

"But we should probably rejoin the rest of the world. I have a feeling if we start to inspect the...pipes, a search party will have to be sent out. You know how thorough I like to be about pipes."

He offered her his arm, saying, "What do you suggest for lunch? I haven't eaten since breakfast. We could try something exotic if you wanted."

Hannah stared at his arm. She pressed two fingertips to her left temple. "Hang on, my brain's hung up on pipe inspections." The imagery was like a record that kept skipping. After a few times through, she shook her head and got back in the game. "Okay, I'm recovered. I always wanted to try Turkish food," she suggested and linked her arm into Oliver's. "I don't know if I can pronounce it, but I'm willing to give it a shot." She started walking towards the front door. The carpet muted the sound of their shoes.

One last look over her shoulder. Yes, she could see Oliver here. It had potential.

"Just don't make fun of me." She pointed a finger at the painter in warning.

Oliver put his right hand over his heart, only the twitching of his mouth giving away his amusement. "No laughing, I promise. I'll probably end up spilling half of it on my shirt. I've heard it's pretty spicy stuff, hope you don't mind that."

In the hallway, he locked up and gave the key back to the realtor. He was already leaning towards making an offer, but it could wait for a day or so. In the meantime, he would sit and have lunch with Hannah and they would continue to work their way back towards some sort of relationship. And he would not think about inspecting anything. At least not much.

Out on the street, he hailed a cab, and when one pulled up to the curb he held the door for her.

"After you, my lady."

"I like spice," she said. "As long as they keep the water coming, I'm good to go." Hannah ducked into the waiting cab and scooted across the seat. One day she'd get used to the idea of public transportation instead of her own car. Maybe.

The variety of decorations on the cabbie's dashboard reminded her of desert roadtrips in the Gremlin, her windows down, the dry air blowing in her hair. Someday, she wanted to go back to Searchlight, but she'd have to wait a few more years, until some of the Seniors passed away or lost their eyesight. That way, they wouldn't recognize her when she strolled into the Nugget and ordered a bunch of pancakes for old times' sake, or mopped up their money in a few rounds of Bingo.

The city was a strange place for Hannah, but as she looked out the window at the buildings, she knew that Chicago had bigger things in store for her than waiting tables. Here, she had a chance to go places. She turned and watched Oliver tuck his tall frame in beside her.

"Ready?" She squeezed her purse between her knees.

"When you're here? Absolutely." The spellcaster rested his hand on his knee, palm turned upwards in the hope that Hannah would twine her fingers with his. Hope was elusive for him more often than not, a fleeting thing, but when the blonde was close by he could sense it on the edges of everything. He wanted to hang on to how this felt. "So how has your week been? Anything new on the job front?"

She noticed the hand, like a first date at a movie theatre. It stayed open and waiting, just in case. She reached out and held it. "Toby's going to open the coffee shop in a couple of weeks. I've still got a spot waiting for me as a manager." A light squeeze of his fingers as the cab pulled away. "After the new pay comes in, I'll be able to quit waitressing. Oh my god." Hannah closed her eyes and breathed deep. "You have no idea how awesome it feels to say that." She savored the moment. Afternoon sunlight warmed her side as they passed through an intersection. "Once I pay off Carrie's credit cards, I'm gonna look for a new place. It'll be totally Fresh Start Hannah."

Her relief at being near the end of her job at the restaurant had him chuckling, and he said, "If you'd like, I'm sure I can talk to my realtor. She could probably show you some things you like and can afford. If it is a buyer's market, it could be a renter's market too."

The street outside the taxi was busy, and Oliver watched the traffic through the window as it flowed past them. How strange life was, that the two of them should find one another again. "I'll have to come see this place when it opens," he said thoughtfully, turning to look at her in the beam of golden light as it washed across the backseat. "I'm always looking for a place that can brew a decent cup of coffee. With you acting as manager, I'm sure you'll have the place whipped into shape in no time."

"Damn straight!" Hannah gave him a serious look. "I'll have those barista bitches running laps and doing push-ups... while balancing their trays on their backs. Just you watch." The thing about great opportunities was that they didn't come around often. She had learned to snatch them up and make the most. "But don't worry. I won't forget my roots." She patted his thigh. "What about you? Anything going on art-wise? M-a-g-i-c-wise?"

As if the cabbie couldn't spell. He probably wasn't paying attention, though.

"I'm thinking of starting a new series of paintings," Oliver said, still feeling the warmth of her hand through his trousers after she'd taken it away. "I've been hearing some talk about a demilitarized zone of sorts, where people - and those who aren't necessarily people - can go and not be bothered. If I can manage it, I think it would be interesting to capture some of them on canvas. Not for display, really, just as a lark. Now that the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, it seems like a waste to let certain images go unrecorded."

Putting it into words for the first time had him smiling a little shyly, and he added, "As for the magic, I'm gradually working my way through some new spells. Nothing overly taxing, but I am trying to stretch my muscles a bit. I met a techno-mage recently when I went to the beach, she seemed interested in showing me some of the things she's been working on. I've never been much for science, and combining anything with magic probably sounds like a recipe for disaster, but I'll at least take a look and see what she's come up with. Maybe we could teach each other some things."

"A techno-mage?" Hannah's forehead furrowed. "Like... light sabres and stuff?" Her expression revealed she was half-kidding and half-not. She really had no clue what it meant. Before he could answer, she added on, "You know... We could try something together. Technically speaking, what I can do classifies as elemental magic. I don't think of it like that, but some people do."

He hadn't considered that, and the seat creaked under his weight as he turned to face her more fully. "You'd want to?" He knew some things about her powers, the healing ability she could wield, and the combination of that and his own magic, magic he'd deliberately used to hurt someone, seemed like an odd match. Then again, he and Hannah themselves were an odd match, weren't they? There was no saying it had to be a bad thing.

"We could," he said after a moment of silence, nodding to punctuate the statement. "I've never tried layering my powers over someone else's but it could be an interesting experiment. We could find an open space later, someplace with room to work."

"It just occurred to me," Hannah said. "I don't think I ever showed you what I can do." Huh. She pondered why exactly that was and realized that situations hadn't called for it. Either she was dead, or they were sitting around shooting the breeze. "I told you how I got hurt... well, killed... that I could heal things and I went too far, but did I tell you why? Or I guess how?" She glanced at the driver again, but he was busy waving his arm at traffic and 'suggesting' things out the open window.

"No, you didn't." Another man might have reflected on how odd it was to discuss the fact that until very recently Hannah hadn't been among the living, but Oliver didn't. In a world where all things were possible, life after death didn't seem all that strange. The taxi driver stopped spilling invective, continued the cab's journey. "How did it happen?"

Hannah scooted around to face Oliver. "Okay." She stared at the palms of her hands, trying to decide how to explain. "When I was a little girl, I got sick all the time. I went to stay with a man who taught me things. He explained how to absorb energy from the elements and use it to make myself stronger. So... you know, like earth, air, fire, and water. Most people can learn to do it with spells, but as it turns out, I can just sort-of take it, if I concentrate."

The cab hit a pothole and jostled them around. Hannah braced herself and then kept talking. "After I learned how to absorb it, I learned how to release it, too. Some energies, like for instance earth energy, have healing qualities, which you probably knew. You just have to be careful not to give too much. Which is where things went down the toilet for me, personally. I'm not well-known for impulse control."

She held up her palms, like, 'what can I say?'

"I can't create anything from scratch, like Pyro or Storm from X-Men. I can just... manipulate what's there. Move stuff around." Hannah shrugged.

On impulse Oliver lifted Hannah's hand away from his leg and touched their fingertips together. Her skin was warm and soft, and he studied her expression, trying to fathom how she felt about wielding such a power. He had never thought about his magic other than when he was casting, but he lived with the necessary energies to work wonders - or to do harm - just the same. His mouth quirked at the corners.

"I'll keep you grounded. No more accidents for you, Ms. Flynn."

From the looks of things, Hannah felt pretty nonchalant about power. In her view, it only came because she was weak to start with. The gift was like a great equalizer. Never being the sort for grand schemes, it hadn't occurred to Hannah to use them before, except when she had to. Or when it made a funny joke. She touched Oliver's hand and saw how much bigger it was. "So that's a yes? You'll try it with me?"

Now she saw possibilities. Ways that it could be interesting or useful, ways that it could help Oliver, depending upon what magic he wanted to work. Another way to bond while they figured things out. "I could be your personal energy drink, only without the drinking. You'd just have to touch me."

"I will try it. I think it could be very interesting. Besides, any excuse to touch you sounds good to me." He let go of her hand long enough to run one finger down the underside of her forearm, then re-linked their fingers. There were more restaurants outside now.

"I'm glad you're here." The taxi was slowing down, and Oliver looked at Hannah with one of his odd little half-smiles. "I mean not just here with me, but...alive. I don't think I said that before and I should have. I should have made it clear."

Hannah smiled, but then she winced. "Honestly? Thanks for saying it, 'cause I wasn't sure. I mean, I know we used to say we hated being pulled apart, but then I was alive, and you seemed..." She chewed her lip. "Nah, I don't wanna put it on you, because it could've just been paranoia. But at first I thought you were disappointed that I was normal, because normal girls ask more of men than spirits." She lifted her shoulders. "But I wasn't gonna apologize for being back or complicating things."

Oy, was that a serious conversation. She regretted saying it. "It doesn't matter." Hannah shook her head. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be, so that's that. No explanation required."

His smile widened cautiously, and when the taxi stopped he opened the door and climbed out, then held it for her. He might not know exactly where he was as yet, but he was getting his feet under him again. As long as he had time to get his head on straight, he could acquit himself admirably.

"No more serious talk for now. We'll eat and talk about furniture or something."

"Oooh, end tables." Hannah waved goodbye to the cab driver and propelled herself across the seat. "I'm partial to lamps, but they don't spark much conversation. Oh, I know what we can talk about! Wall color." She swung her purse and hit his leg with it. She wanted Oliver to know everything was alright. "While we wait for our food, you can tell me if you're going to leave it all white or use colors. And then I can suggest sherbet orange and green as a combination, and you can look at me like I'm crazy and not realize I'm pulling your leg."

"I like color," Oliver said. He could smell the food aromas from inside, and his stomach growled a warning. "But I will try to keep your sense of humor in mind if you start making suggestions. Otherwise, I'm likely to do exactly what you bring up, just for the sake of perversity."

He got the door for her, and a wizened old man behind the counter peered at them through the lenses of his half-glasses. "Two, please," the spellcaster said, and the older man spoke rapidly in a language he didn't understand. A much younger woman, probably college-aged, bustled into view, and she led the two of them to a table near the window.

Menus were placed at their chairs, and she took out a notepad. "Drinks?"

"I'll have hot tea." Technically it was too warm for it, but the inside of the establishment was cool. "Hannah? What did you want?"

"Your perversity is my happy place of zen," she said. Hannah sat down and took a confusing menu from the waitress. Lucky for her, it had pictures, which were useful in identifying food. "Water. Lots of water." She smiled at the girl and opened the laminated pages, feeling abnormally small behind them. The top of Oliver's head was just visible.

Twisting her mouth at the corners, she perused the descriptions of lunch entrees and the corresponding pictures. Her eyes wandered to a photograph of Turkish coffee and bulged. Why did it look like sludge? On the other hand, the kababs and pasta looked like safe bets. Hannah brought the menu to her face and placed her nose on top. She watched Oliver over it.

"Psst," she whispered. "Betcha can't pronounce number 7."