Sidestory:
Revelation By Dawn

by Rach, Tami and V

A trio of beeps let the owner of the rich burgundy Maserati Cambriocorda GT know that it was locked and armed. Content to wander after a half-day conference in Modena, Elena Healy let out a rather unladylike sigh of relief and flung her ratty denim knapsack over her shoulder. The refined and tailored navy suit worn that morning to Modena lay in a crumpled heap in the backseat of her car, covering a pair of recently torn pantyhose and navy blue pumps. Across the street, Elena squinted at a row of shops, thumbs hooked in the beltloops of her well-worn blue jeans. Sun warm on face and bared shoulders, she wriggled her toes in her sandals and started down the street.

No way in hell would she even consider setting foot inside any of the upscale boutiques and posh clothing shops. Elena had endured enough snobbery for one day. The new receptionist at the factory showroom had snootily assumed that Elena was merely Papa Ianniello's secretary, not bothering to give her the time of day or let the vice-president know that she had arrived. All good humor and patience had been expended in the gracefully forced smile and presentation of Elena's business card. Ageist old biddy... she'd thought it was a joke until the vice-president emerged from a previous meeting and escorted Elena into the conference room. Even after that, she managed to shoot the young woman dirty and disapproving glances as Elena waited for the rest of the group to arrive.

Elena gave a 'hmph' at the replay of events in her mind and turned down the corner. Finally... real people. She breathed deeply and smiled warmly at a woman her own age who was wiping off a few tables at a sidewalk cafe. No business suits, no board meetings, no uppity secretaries... just good hardworking people who weren't about to judge some scruffy twentysomething. As she passed the cafe, Elena caught the scrumptious aroma of something spicy and made a mental note to come back and grab dinner. She continued down the uneven sidewalk, pausing every so often to look in a store window or squint at a display across the street. A rather modest looking pottery seemed like a nice place to step out of the sun for a bit, and she pushed the door open. Chapstick-glossed lips flashed a smile at the man inside. "Afternoon," she chirped politely. "Would you mind if I looked around?"

Desiderio, who was seated behind the counter with his feet up, head tipped back, and eyes closed, started upon the entrance of a potential customer. Wrenching off his headphones, he flashed her a quick, but winning, smile and laughed. "Why would I mind? Please, go right ahead." he said cooly, the grin still on his face. Hopping over the counter and wiping his hands off on his jeans, he nodded politely at Elena. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Honestly, no." She winked at the kid and absently ran a hand through her loose hair. "I like purple, though. I'd ask about a coffee mug, but that seems so horribly trite." Elena's gaze wandered to a shelf of assorted sculptures and decidedly non-everyday creations. "What's over there?"

"That," Desi began, eyes on the shelf, "is Rafe's 'other' section. Things he makes when he's sick of pots and vases." Desi paused then, frowning, and backtracked, "Rafe being the potter, of course. Anyway!" He brightened quickly, huge grin back on his face. "Any of them interest you?" he asked, head cocked to the side.

Elena instinctively clasped her hands behind her back and took a few steps closer to the aptly named 'other' section. The yellow glaze on a particular piece made her eyes hurt, but a trio of similar sculptures in deep indigo caught her eye. "I'm not sure," she admitted slowly, scrutinizing the pieces with an engineer's eye. A delicate finger ran over the contours of the piece on the far right. "So," she drawled pleasantly, "if Rafe's the potter, am I to assume that you're not Rafe?"

"Indeed I'm not, and amen to that. No, I'm simply his underpaid sales clerk." Desi said, smirking. "Rafe's the hermit that works downstairs. It's where the pottery is, so," he trailed off with a shrug.

Elena giggled at the remark before picking up one of the indigo pieces, slowly turning it over in her hands. Pretty, to be sure... but as to what the artist had intended it to be, she had no clue. A few moments of silence passed as she frowned, eyebrows knit together as she chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "I don't mean to be dense," she began slowly, looking back to the sales clerk, "but what exactly is this supposed to be?" The corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. "I'm no artist, so you'll have to pardon my lack of imagination."

Desi looked mildly insulted. "Excuse me? You can't see the likeness? That's a portrait of me in clay."

Elena glanced up at the young man, then back to the piece. "Heh, right," she mused, catching the sarcasm a moment too late. Damned literal mindset... time to make up for it with some playful sarcasm of her own. "And it's entitled 'Dashing Teenage Salesclerk Descending a Staircase,' right?"

"Of course," Desi agreed, beaming. Unlike Elena, he had caught the sarcasm immediately, and set his pouty lips into a lopsided smile. "If you want it, I could go downstairs and check really quick with Rafe for how much the piece costs."

"Well..." She turned the piece over in her hands again, contemplating the purchase. Knowing what the artist - Rafe, she reminded herself - had meant it to be wouldn't necessarily influence the decision, but it would satisfy her curiousity. Curiousity also demanded that she try to meet this artist person. "You could, or if you point me in the right direction, I could ask him. You looked really comfy at the desk before." Elena flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Sorry for pulling you away from your music."

Desi shook his head. "No apologies necessary, senorita. After all, this is my job," Desi rolled his eyes heavily then, "boring as it may be." He pointed to a doorway on the right side of the counter and nodded. "Just head on downstairs and you'll find him messing about with his clay. I suggest you don't shake hands. Oh," Desi paused to smirk, the look in his eyes mischevious, "Make sure you emphasize that it was Desi who sent you. It'll tick him off."

For a moment, Elena wondered if it was in her best interest to invade someone's personal workshop. She knew what a bother it was to be interrupted while working on something you enjoyed. "I'll be sure to mention that it was your idea," she replied playfully. "Just so he knows that I'm not wandering around for no good reason." She flashed a smile at the clerk and exited the main room of the shop, slowly descending the stairs.

"Um, hello?" She called ahead in a sweet yet tentative voice. "Is Rafe down here?"

A dark-haired young man wearing naught but jeans and a liberal amount of clay looked up at Elena as she made her descent; his chocolate-dark hair was caught back in a rough band as he worked, apparently at cleaning brushes. He raised an eyebrow, wiping his clayey hands on his jeans in a vain attempt to get the stuff off; it didn't work. "Who're you?" he grunted. "Where's Desi?"

Elena paused on the second-to-last step, drinking in the delicious signt of scruffy starving artist stripped to the waist. For a moment, she completely forgot why she'd bothered to come down in the first place, much less who in the world Desi was. Glancing down, she saw the sculpture in her hands and suddenly remembered. "Oh, I... Desi. The kid at the desk? He, uh, sent me down so I could ask you something about this piece, here." Elena finshed walking down the steps and stopped a few feet from Rafe. Her stomach did a second flip-flop and she managed an even wider grin that caused deep brown eyes to crinkle at the corners. "Elena," she offered, her free hand outstretched as she forgot Desi's advice. "Elena... Majella. Who I am, I mean."

Rafe looked at Elena's clean hand, then at his own, obviously deciding whether or not to show mercy; eventually, he did, leaving her hand where it was and moving his bucket of brushes over to the sink. "I'm Rafael Fabrizio. Desi knows damn well better than to send people down to me. Hmph. I'm docking his pay," he muttered, more to himself than to the bright-eyed brunette. "What about the piece, woman?"

Something inside her bristled at the address, but she didn't show it. "I like it," she began hesitantly, "but I want to know what it is, rather than pretend that it's something you never intended it to be." Elena's voice took on a soft yet earnest tone, and she set the piece down on a nearby table.

"This?" He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, giving a derisive bark. "This is crap. I should've put it on the scrap heap. It's..." He traced a finger over one of the smooth lines of it, over one half of a symmetrical curve that spread itself up. Rafe suddenly remembered what he had been thinking about when he had been making it, and half-flushed; he covered it up in a scowl. "It's a bird."

"Oh, okay. " She didn't make any move to pick it up. "I liked the lines on it, the curve and whatnot," Elena offered as an explanation. "The glaze, too. Deep and rich and..." She stopped, ducking her head. "Sorry," she apologized swiftly. "Babbling. Happens when I really like something. Stream of consciousness and whatnot." A faint blush swept over her pale cheeks, but she attempted eye contact with the surly potter. "How much are you asking for it? If it's for sale, that is."

"That?" He looked it over again, grunted, and then named a very paltry sum. "Go tell Calavera to wrap it up. He ought to be good at folding tissue paper, even if he's shit at keeping people out of my workshop."

Elena couldn't help her mouth falling open at the price. "Are you kidding? I'd be stealing from you with a price like that. Double, with the promise to return for its twin in... well, how long would it take?" She adjusted a black brastrap that had peeked from underneath her scarlet tank top and chewed on her lip.

"You want another?" He stared at her as if she were slightly mad. "I can do another by tonight. You're crazy, donna. Exactly the same?"

She pursed her lips. "Maybe not exactly the same," she replied after a second's consideration. "Same kinds of lines, though. I love the fluidity. It's got a gracefulness to it, y'know?" She traced the long curve about the base that swept up into a gentle point. "And it's Elena, please. And not tonight, I'm sure you have lots of other work to do. Just, um., whenever." Eyes strayed to the shirtless potter's chest, and she found herself staring a little longer than she should have.

"Tomorrow morning, Majella. It'll be finished by then." He cocked his head, apparently unaware of his sculpted, lean chest being checked out. "Same glaze?"

"Elena," she corrected again, eyes back on his face. "And yes, please. The indigo is exquisite." Beaming, she hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans and leaned back slightly. "There's an extra charge for commissioned work, yes? Or, if you're going to give me that terribly low figure again, I'll simply have to compensate with breakfast the next morning when I come to pick up both pieces, Signore Fabrizio." She gave him a flirtatious wink and ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.

"Same price." He wished he had Adam there to tell him what to do; he just kept on his same half-grumpy expression, dark eyes hooded with long lashes brushing his cheeks. "I don't eat breakfast, usually, but... Hmph. Whatever you like, donna."

"No breakfast? Not even a cup of coffee?"

"Calavera gives me coffee." He gave a Gallic shrug. "When I remind him, the little bastard."

She nodded. "Something to go with the coffee, then. I wouldn't want to take work away from your darling shop assistant." Elena reached over to retrieve the 'bird', tank top stretching to reveal winter-pale skin an inch about her midriff. "So, what time should I come back in the morning? Early or later?" Her fingers absently stroked the piece in her hands as she regarded Rafe with an unfailingly pleasant expression.

"Desi opens up here at eight; I'm here at six. Come when the doors are open." The brunette shrugged again. "It'll be done by then."

Five minutes past eight, a smartly-dressed businesswoman breezed into the pottery, a small basket on one arm and a leather portfolio in the other. Dark cat-eye sunglasses hid her eyes, her black sleeveless dress accenting her ample curves. From the basket, the scent of something warm and apple-based wafted throughout the small shop. "Good morning," she called brightly, lifting the sunglasses to rest on her forehead. "Breakfast, as promised!"

"Majella?" Rafe raised his eyebrows as he looked at her, busily looking over his shelves with a critical eye. He looked as if he hadn't brushed his hair that morning, messy and scruffy and only a few bare buttons done up on his clay-stained shirt. The thought of breakfast obviously brightened him. "Calavera, did you wrap the second?"

Desi, muttering something under his breath that Rafe couldn't quite catch, pulled the wrapped-up sculpture from a shelf behind him. The scowl was evident on his face, and pointed towards Elena. He extended the sculpture to Elena and gave her his most obviously fake smile, "You should just leave the basket and go. Rafe has a lot of work to do. I can return the basket to your house tomorrow." The message was fairly obvious: go away and please don't feel the urge to come back.

The brightness in her eyes and smile dimmed noticeably as she took the wrapped sculpture from Desi. El Healy would have asked Desi who had pissed in his cornflakes that morning; instead, Elena Majella merely nodded and turned her smile towards the potter. "I don't want to inconvenience you or Signore Fabrizio any more than I already seem to have done," she replied, her tone slightly hurt. "Keep the basket." From her portfolio, she extracted an envelope containing the payment that Rafe had named, tripled upon Elena's insistence. She set the envelope on the counter, along with a business card. "Thank you again, and my apologies for the inconvenience. Good morning to the both of you." Another bob of her head, and she walked out slowly.

Rafe was quiet for a long moment, toying with the business card, long dark hair falling over his face as he read it. He thought of the stupid things Adam would do, and he thought of Desi, and he thought of the idiotic hurt tone in the woman's voice. "You're jealous," he blurted to his salesman.

"No I'm not." Desi replied instantly. There was still the faint traces of a scowl on his face. "It's just that I'm your cook, and I don't need some random woman usurping my position. I probably cook better than she ever could, anyway."

"You don't ever give me breakfast, Calavera," the potter snorted, arms crossed. "And she was only being sort of annoying. You don't say things like that to sort of annoying women. More annoying women, yes. That kind, you just ignore them and they go away. You're jealous."

"Think what you like," Desi snapped, hot flush rising on his cheeks. Like Rafe, he too covered it up with a scowl. Turning away from the potter, he set about organizing the shelf behind him. There was a gentler tone to his voice when he spoke again, "You never asked me to make breakfast for you. I would've."

"That's not the point!" Rafe flopped down, sitting on the sales bench and lifting the covered basket. "You know that if you cook something, I... like it better," he finished lamely. "You're a... good cook."

Desi looked smug, although he kept his back towards Rafe so that he wouldn't see it. Upon finally having put on a neutral expression, he turned to face Rafe and calmy reached over to snatch the basket away from him. "What did she make?" he asked as he peered inside.

Rafe elbowed him over to lift the cover; there were two small, fragrant loaves inside, smelling of spice and strongly of apple and something else he couldn't quite define. There was a little pottle of something else next to it, too, safely bound up. Obviously, it was meant for both of them. His stomach rumbled; he hadn't had anything to eat for a long while.

Suddenly, he took the basket out of Desi's hands and clutched it to his chest. Was Desi jealous? Had he wanted Desi to be jealous? Yes, he had done. God, he was mixed up; the look on the other woman's face had reminded him of Nyssa, Nun, tears in her stupid little eyes as she tried not to bawl that night with the Noord. There was still fading marks on his body from that little jaunt. He didn't like women; he didn't like women at all. In a lot of ways, he was finding, embarrassing ones that made him sick to the pit of his stomach.

He opened the envelope, looking at the money inside.

"If you want any of this," he suddenly snapped, "you go tell that Majella thing - I don't know - thank you; she'll never be a customer again if you treat her that way, boy, and she pays well." He was his father in that moment; Antonello Fabrizio, exact words, exact mannerisms. "Tell her to come in and have a cup of damn coffee or something if you need to, and if you ever speak like that to a customer again you're out on your fuckin' ass, Desiderio. Hmph."

Desi frowned, arms crossed over his chest. "I was polite enough," he protested, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders before heading out after Elena. Despite the very warm weather, Desi still refused to even consider leaving a building without his jacket on. Checking the street both ways, he finally caught Elena's figure starting to turn the corner. "Hey!" he called after her, waving his arm slightly. She paused and turned around, giving Desi a moment to catch up. Giving her his most hang-dog smile, he shrugged and gestured back to the pottery. "Care to join us for some coffee?"

Her nails dug into the cover of her leather portfolio, fury prompting her to narrow her eyes at the teenager and give that 'kid' a piece of her mind. "Why, so you can sit and shoot me dirty looks while I attempt to engage your cranky but otherwise talented employer in friendly and probably flirtatiously platonic conversation?" El Healy rolled her big brown eyes in a show of classic Yankee sarcasm. "Y'know, catching more of that charming nanny-goat attitude of yours was JUST what I planned this morning when I came to pick up that piece." Folding her arms across her chest, she glared at Desi. "You always this lacking in customer service skills, or did I just get lucky?"

Desi arched an eyebrow at Elena, his eyes narrowed in a similar expression. With a shake of his head, the acid left his expression and left a tired smile. "Depends," he started, his golden eyes lacking expression. "Do you feel lucky, punk?" he added, and laughed.

Elena sniffed, then gave a wry laugh. "What the hell, sure... but patience has a lot more to do with it than just luck." Opening the portfolio, she checked her schedule. First meeting wasn't until noon, so the morning was hers. She started back towards the shop, pumps clicking out a brisk measured rhythm. "Truce?" she called over her shoulder.

Desi soon caught up with Elena, matching her strides with his. He shrugged again, expression still vague. "If you feel one is neccessary, se�orita."

"Better to mention it now than to simply assume that we won't snipe at each other in the presence of your boss," she pointed out. A misstep caught the heel of her shoe between the brick, and she stumbled forward rather ungracefully with a slew of curses in southern-accented English. Catching herself before she tumbled to the sidewalk, Elena smiled ruefully back at Desi. "Damned heels. You mentioned coffee? As you can tell, I haven't had nearly enough this morning."

Desi nodded, an amused grin on his face. "It's a truce, then. You curse like a sailor, I might add." he said, his English broken slightly by his Spanish accent. Shrugging, he continued, still in English, "And yes, there is coffee. It's a staple of the Rafe-diet."

Elena chuckled at the sailor-swearing comment, resisting the urge to tell Desi how right he was. "I'm a former mechanic, and saying, 'oh, fiddle!' around a bunch of greasy burly guys working on engines doesn't really work too well. Pardon my unladylike language." Her mother tongue had a less-than-gentle twang, but the easygoing drawl was nonetheless friendly. "Coffee fiend, huh? Caffiene IS a dietary staple, I won't argue with that."

She placed a hand on the door, but turned back to Desi. "Seriously, I don't have any ulterior motives. I'm not going to haul him into the kitchen and have my way with him on top of the dishwasher or anything. Just... friendly conversation," she finished with a wave of her other hand and a smile. "That's all. Promise."

Desi flushed but met Elena's eyes dead on, his own flashing slightly. "Look, I don't give a damn about what you do with Rafe. He honestly has a busy schedule." he muttered through gritted teeth, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Now, if you'll kindly drop the topic, I'll make some coffee and you and Rafe can chat."

Elena opened her mouth to counter the kid's defensiveness with an 'I don't have time to baby sulky artists, I have a real job,' but decided that a nod would suffice. "Fair enough, doll." Pushing the door open, Elena put on her brightest of smiles and switched back to Italian. "Signore Fabrizio! Your assistant mentioned coffee?"

Rafe looked back over his shoulder; his shirt was slipping off his golden-warm back, and he hastily pulled the cloth back up. "Hmph. You're back, Majella," he grunted. "Calavera, flip the sign to 'closed' - and we'll go upstairs, because I'm starving. I got the kettle boiling. C'mon." He stumped up the stairs.

Desi quietly flipped the sign over and followed Rafe upstairs, Elena at his heels. With a shrug, he headed into the kitchen and nodded at them. "I'll watch the coffee. You guys can eat without me - I'm not very hungry." he explained, then slipped out of sight.

The dark-haired potter busied himself silently a few moments, with plates; they looked small in his large hands and the knife looked like a toy. He managed to make it all the way to buttering the first piece and setting it down before he burst out, "He's always hungry."

Elena slid into a chair, ankles crossed and chin propped on her hand. "Well, he is a teenage male. They tend to be bottomless pits, if memory serves me right." She essayed a smile at Rafe during his buttering attempts. "Is he always so protective? Of your work, I mean?"

"What? Huh? No." There was a definite trace of bitterness in Rafe's voice as he absently pushed the plate towards Elena, placing it on an ancient wood kitchen table. His entire upstairs kitchen was quaint; it was scrupulously clean and tidy, however. "He can't stand me."

Elena simply nodded, glancing down at the plate. "That's for you, dear," she pointed out with a smile. "And if you wind up hating it, let me know so I can make something else." She gently pushed it back towards him, then leaned back slightly in her chair.

Rafe picked it up and chewed it without even really thinking; his eyes were obviously miles away. After long moments of slow masticating, he took another bite. "... S'good," he said eventually, high praise.

"Glad I'm not poisoning you," she quipped in a playful tone. A long period of silence passed, Elena merely watching the potter eat and glancing about the modest kitchen. It had a certain charm to it... a homey feel. "It's lovely," she murmured quietly to no one in particular. Seconds later, her nose twitched at the telltale scent of the lifeblood upon which she and Rafe existed.

Elena's nose had been quite accurate, for Desi soon brought out two steaming mugs full of the dark liquid. Desi placed one mug in front of Rafe and the other before Elena, then gave her an apologetic look. "I didn't know how you took your coffee, so I just put in some milk and a bit of sugar. If you want more, I'm at you're service," Desi paused to jerk his head at Rafe and smirk, "Since he's such a lousy host, I end up doing all the dirty work, as you see."

Rafe snorted, lifting up his mug and taking a long, greedy swig before setting it back down again. "Whatever you say, Spaniard."

"That translates to 'thanks for the coffee,' doesn't it?" She took a tentative sip of the cup set in front of her, relishing the taste. Now she understood at least part of the reason why Rafe kept Desi around; the young man was something akin to a coffee god. "Damn. This is fantastic, Desi," she commented with a completely genuine smile. "Are you sure you're not hungry? You might want to get a piece of breakfast before your charming employer inhales the entire basket." Elena sipped her coffee again, eyeing Rafe. "By the way, if you don't like Spaniards, then you'll absolutely despise the fact that you have an American sitting across the table from you," she quipped.

One of Rafe's eyebrows reached his hairline as he sipped, leaning back in his chair and moving his mug away to pop another piece of the loaf inside his mouth. Thankfully, he finished chewing before he spoke again. "Skin's too pale," he said after a while. "Thought you were from up North. But your madre was Italian, or your padre; you've got the blood in you. I thought you spoke the language a little..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Strange." He hmphed, loudly. "American woman. Just like Adam."

Elena laughed merrily, eyes dancing. Ye gods, this man was fun. Surly to be sure, but Signore Fabrizio could not be accused of lacking character. "My mother, actually. Her family's from somewhere near Modena, I think. Daddy's a Southern boy, born and bred in the country. And if Mom caught me trying to speak such a beautiful language with an atrocious American accent, she'd forbid me from ever saying another word again." She traced the rim of the mug with her finger. "Adam? Not an American woman, but he has one for a mother, I take it?"

"Indeed. Enlighten us about Adam," Desi added, slight frown on his face. He had leaned back in his chair and tucked his arms behind his head, and he raised an eyebrow skeptically at Rafe.

Rafe snorted, burying his mouth in his coffee mug again. "What isn't he? He's a mule. His madre's part-African, but I don't know any more. I'll ask him the next time he comes over."

Elena wrapped both hands about her mug, more interested in watching the pair of young men than drinking coffee. "Sounds intriguing," she murmured. Fingers tapped against the warm ceramic of the mug for a few seconds before she spoke again. "You wouldn't happen to have a business card, would you?"

"... They're outdated." Rafe pushed his chair back, still holding the mug, going over to a drawer in his living room in a cabinet; he came back holding a small, plain square with black type. He set it down, drinking the coffee again. The details seemed all right, but listed the owner as Antonello Fabrizio. "But here."

She read over the card, not commenting on the name as she took another sip of coffee. "This way, I can hand this to my cousin when he tries to take the pieces out of my living room to decorate his coffee table. I've lost two blown glass globes to him since moving here," Elena added, tucking the card into her portfolio. A beat, and she glanced down at her mug. "If you don't mind more business, I mean."

"I don't mind more business, no," Rafe said dryly before taking another bite. "... Calavera, this is pretty good. Sure you don't want some?"

"I'm fine," Desi snapped, a surprising sharpness to his tone. Laughing it off, he stood and checked his watch. "Well, we can't keep the masses out for too much longer. I'll go re-open the shop. You two enjoy your coffee." With a slight wave, he walked back downstairs.

Elena watched the young man descend the stairs, then turned back to Rafe. "Is he always this defensive towards new customers, or does it have something to do with the position of the stars?" The half-smile gave evidence to slight worry.

Rafe's voice was a low, grinding husk, his eyes the only clue as to how much this was a bad thing. "... He doesn't get this defensive usually."

"I see." The reply came after a moment's reflection accompanied by fingertips slowly tapping the table, her voice softer than before. It was probably time for her to leave, she realized. Imposing upon the pair, pushing her cheerful-morning personality upon a far more reserved person... her sense of propriety screamed that she should know better and not be so damn smothery.

Elena took a final gulp of coffee, then turned on her smile once again at full-dazzle. "I don't want to keep you from your work with ridiculous female chitchat. Desi had said you were rather busy. Perhaps I could stop by with breakfast again sometime, if you don't object?" She winked at Rafe with the offer.

Rafe grunted. "Do what you like," he shrugged, then hesitated; "You cook well."

Elena felt her cheeks go warm and looked down at her hands to hide her face. "Thanks." A pause while she tried to recover and think of a better follow up. "Makes a difference when there's people to cook for, though. If I get the urge to make breakfast stuff, then I'll swing by once in a while to share." Blush gone, she lifted her head and tilted her head to the side. "Am I being too forward? I mean, with breakfast and all..." She trailed off, fingers tucking a nonexistent loose strand of hair back.

There was a crash of pottery breaking, followed by a loud "Mierda!" of surpise, then some rapid, incoherent mumbling in Spanish downstairs as Desi picked up the pieces of a fallen mug. Apparently, he had heard Elena offer further breakfasts.

"No," Rafe deadpanned. "I'll just need a little time to... let Desi get used to it." Convince him that his cooking means more to me.

"Oh." Elena made a mental note to wait at least two weeks before even considering a repeat breakfast performance. "Otherwise, your inventory might suffer?" She winked at Rafe and started towards the stairs.

Surprisingly enough, the dark-haired potter gave her the tiniest of wry smiles. "Hmph. Yes."

"I'd have to buy the lot on sheer principle then, which would incur a year's worth of breakfasts." The last few words were said in a louder and more playful tone, for the sheer purpose of antagonizing the sales clerk. Entering the shop, she turned back to Rafe, grinning. "Then again, such destruction would certainly require the creation of more artwork, would it not?"

Rafe just snorted, leaning against the sales desk, hands splayed back on it. "It's all I ever do... Calavera, did you turn the sign back over?"

Desi, knelt on the floor and picking up some of the larger pieces of the mug he dropped, shook his head at Rafe. "No. I'll go do that now." he muttered, scooping up the last bits and depositing them in the trash. Giving a nervous laugh, he wiped his hands off on his khakis and shrugged, "Guess that'll be coming out of my pay."

Rafe stared at him in obvious surprise, dark eyes wide as he folded his arms. "Calavera, it's a mug. Who cares about a mug? I break three of them a week."

Desi flipped the sign over and peered out the window, brushing the bangs from his eyes briefly and changing the subject. "The sidewalk is getting busy. Got to love tourism." he said with cheer, although it was difficult to determine whether ir was false or not.

"Love or tolerate?" Elena replaced the dark sunglasses over her eyes and tucked the portfolio under her arm. "Or something else, maybe?" Her voice took on a clearly flirtatious tone. "I'm sure I'll see the both of you again... later rather than sooner," she added, sweetly but pointedly at Desi. "Have a pleasant rest of they day." Elena beamed at Rafe, then blew a rather cheeky kiss at Desi before leaving the pottery. She managed to contain her laughter for a total of five steps after the door shut, after which she burst into girlish giggling.

Desi pursed his lips and frowned, watching Elena's retreating back through the window until she was fully out of sight. Drumming his fingers lightly on the sill, he turned back around and leaned his elbows against it, eyes on Rafe and his tongue clucking idly on the roof of his mouth. Finally, he said, "What a bitch." and moved to stand behind the counter.

There were obvious lines of confusion and irritation on Rafe's face as he glared at his shopkeeper, though he didn't quite look as if he knew why; he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, stomping off in silence to his pottery.

"What?" Desi shouted after him, quickly hopping over the counter to follow the potter downstairs. "What?" he repeated, almost angrily.

"You like women," Rafe hollered back at him, stomping towards his paintbrushes. "You're all over that little idiot Camellia whenever she comes over here - why are you being so stupid today?"

"Of course I like women!" he cried, feeling his cheeks grow hot. "And I'm not acting stupid. You're acting stupid! You're - you're just being dumb." For the first time ever, Desi was incapable of coming up with a sufficent insult.

Rafe raised both of his eyebrows, checking the temperature on his kiln and generally bustling about his workshop in a red-hot temper. " Dumb? How am I being dumb, Calavera?"

Desi paused, obviously in thought, running his tongue quickly over his lips - a sign of nervousness in the teenager. "I - " he stammered, then threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know! You just are. And I'm not." he muttered. Seating himself heavily on a bench, he sighed and let his shoulders sag.

"Somebody ate a big bag of stupid today," his boss said acidly, hands splayed palm-down on his workbench. He whirled around, hands moving in rough, expressive strokes as he talked. "So a woman comes in with her chest out to here, and a voice that doesn't shrill, and what do you do? Hmph. You want to strangle her. Calavera, normally you'd ask her for her phone number. Are you jealous that she talked to me and not you? Because, you idiot Spaniard, I don't want any of her. Dio mio."

"Of course not!" Desi protested, glaring at Rafe. "She's too old for me. And her chest wasn't that big. Did you notice that when she laughed, she got a double chin? I don't want her either."

"Somebody has sour grapes." Despite apathy, Rafe's artist eyes had noticed that Elena did not possess a double chin. (It wasn't hard to tell.) "Calavera, I don't want a woman. I don't like women!"

Desi's mouth fell open, liquid gold eyes wide with surprise. "Rafe - " he stopped, suddenly feeling awkward. "You're serious?"

The Italian's cheeks flared dark red beneath his golden tan; to keep his hands busy, he started re-washing his brushes again, despite the fact that they were all clean. "I didn't mean it like -that-, Calavera," he sputtered lamely. "I mean, I'm not... I'm not..."

"Gay," Desi finished, his voice barely a whisper and tight. His eyes had taken to staring at his feet.

The potter's mouth opened and closed again; when he found words, they were rough and too fast. "I'm not gay. If there's one thing Rafael Fabrizio is not, it is gay."

"Me too. Not gay, I mean. At all." he agreed, nodding firmly to himself. Gradually he raised his eyes to Rafe, expression unreadable. "We're not."

Rafe snorted, almost bitter and vaguely sad, face carefully away from Desi's as his large hands scrubbed brushes underneath the tap. "I know that much."

The Spaniard's eyes rested on Rafe's back, again licking his lips nervously and clearing his throat. The weight of the moment fell on his shoulders and made him feel bent, while his stomach twisted into knots that refused to untie themselves no matter how Desi assured himself that nothing was going on. "Rafe, face me," he said at last. His voice cracked slightly towards the end, but Desi cleared his throat again and moved his eyes to the floor.

Rafe turned around, obviously surprised and mildly perturbed by the tone in Desi's voice; he set the brushes down, leaning against the bench, eyeing the nervous golden-eyed young man as he leant back on his elbows. For some reason, the look on Desi's face made his organs feel like they had been freeze-dried. "What is it, Calavera?"

Desi took a tentative step forward, then another, and another, until he and Rafe were about an arm's length apart, then took a deep breath to steady himself. "You're... honestly not currently interested in any woman? At all?"

"Of course I am. Le Blanc's mother. No."

"Okay," Desi said, laughing uncomfortably. If Rafe looked closely enough, he'd notice that Desi was trembling slightly. With new resolve, Desi took a large step forward, closer than he had ever wanted to be to Rafe before, and whispering "Okay" - more to himself than Rafe - wrapped his arms around the potter's neck. Before Rafe could react, Desi had pulled him down slightly, while he moved on to tip-toe to meet his lips with his own. The contact was electric and frightening, but Desi shut his eyes and pressed his lips forcefully against Rafe's, determined not to back away.

The potter's eyes bulged out in a manner rather reminiscent of a goldfish, arms giving way slightly behind him before he caught himself and propped himself back up. He made a wounded noise into Desi's mouth, like a little baby bird, not knowing how to react. Maybe Desi was testing him. Maybe he wasn't supposed to kiss back. Maybe Desi wanted to know if he was gay -

Had it been a test, Rafe failed miserably. Clumsy, his lips moved to brush back.

With the returned kiss, Desi grew more confident and moved so that he was closer to Rafe, his neck craned upwards to make things a bit easier for the surprised potter, lips easing into something more gentle and tender. Desi's tan skin had transformed into scarlet, even his ears, and all he felt was the heat in his cheeks and the warmth coming from Rafe's body, but he also felt the urge to continue, not to run for once - he had been wanting this for a while now, and it felt as if his body was lighter now that the act was completed.

Rafe suddenly gasped, hand in Desi's soft hair, pulling his face back away from his with extra gentleness as he stared at the younger man. "Desi," he started, garbled. "Why - I - Too old - "

Desi's face, although it seemed impossible, turned a deeper shade of red. He coughed quietly and tried to ignore the warmth on his lips and the urge to kiss Rafe again. "I - I know," he stopped, shaking his head, and then picked up again, "I mean, I don't know, but I - know- and... W-was it bad?" Desi finished, eyes huge.

The Italian looked as if he dreaded the answer, suddenly looking much younger than the sixteen-year-old in his arms. "... No."

It was as if Desi didn't hear Rafe's answer. "I'm sorry, Rafe, I'm really so sorry," Desi whispered, the words coming out in a rush, tumbling over one another.

Thankfully for the mood, Rafe shut Desi up abruptly by kissing him again. It was quite sadly obvious that the potter either had little or no experience in the kissing department, but he was willing to learn despite the little annoying voice of Conscience that was drilling his forehead. Rafael Giovanni Fabrizio, you should -not- be doing this. Desiderio doesn't know what he's doing.

Desi welcomed the kiss and the chance to stop talking - the awkwardness left him once more and he felt in his element (kissing, of course), his lips warm and soft against Rafe, not minding the slight clumsiness with which Rafe kissed him. Slowly he pulled back and exhaled slowly, arms draped heavily on Rafe's shoulders. He chanced a grin at Rafe, a weak one - but a sincere one.

Rafe couldn't decide to be ecstatic or self-loathing, which made for an amusing cocktail. He ran his fingers through Desi's caramel- coloured locks, down to the small of his neck, one arm hesitantly looping around the other man's waist. "... Hmph."

"Your hands are wet." the Spaniard said softly. He didn't seem to care much. Instead, Desi smiled fully, a brilliant expression which seemed to light up the whole room, and ran the back of his fingers down Rafe's cheek, thumb brushing gently against the bone.

"My hands are usually wet." The smile on Desi's face made him so beautiful that Rafe's knees were weak. "Get used to it."

"Okay," Desi agreed passively. He was too light-headed and dizzy to put up any sort of argument, and now was hardly the time to argue. He reached up and brushed dark hair from Rafe's eyes, placing it gently behind the potter's ears. Suddenly he burst out laughing and threw his arms around Rafe's torso, hugging the man close.

"... Are you having hysterics?" Rafe grunted, worried. "I can get you... a cup of tea, or something."

"No, no," Desi replied, shaking his head and smothering his giggles. "Besides, your tea is horrible. No, I was just thinking of how - jealous- I was of that woman. I wanted to strangle her, like you said." His hand moved down and slipped into Rafe's, the radiant smile still on Desi's face. "Now I'm not so worried."

"Jealous?" The puzzle piece slipped into place like Desi's hand into his, the potter's face suddenly clearing as he unexpectedly started to laugh. "You - were jealous - oh, Calavera!"

"You would've been jealous too, had you been in my place," Desi muttered, grinning sheepishly. Standing on tip-toe again, he raised his lips towards Rafe's and smiled against his lips.

"Hmph. Would not. I'm used to women flirting with you." It was awkward speech against Desi's mouth, trying to lightly kiss and talk at the same time. "... Are you really... gay?"

Desi paused, pulling away from Rafe and biting his lip. "I don't know," was the soft reply. Desi's skin suddenly turned to ash. "Mi madre, me va a matar." He quickly translated for Rafe, although he was sure he got the gist of it. "My mother is going to kill me."

"Do we have to tell your mother?"

Desi smirked, then laughed, his color returning. "No. We don't." he grinned, wrapping his arms warmly around Rafe's neck. He paused slightly before speaking again, his voice gentle, "What about you? Are you gay, you think?"

"... I don't know. I..." His face burned in embarrassment. "I don't know what it feels like to be... gay. Probably. I'm kissing a damn boy."

Desi's face was a similar color to Rafe's. "Do you mind, though? That I'm a guy? I mean - I don't know, I don't really care, I just say like who you like. But that might not be the way you feel." he sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"... I don't care." He'd stopped caring a while back, really. "But, Calavera, you love girls. You drool over them. Are you sure...?"

"Correction," Desi said haughtily, "girls drool over me. But yes, I'm sure." His index finger traced up and down Rafe's spine while Desi smirked. "None of them could hold my interest for that long. But you're odd enough to keep me around for a while, to say the least."

Rafe felt as if he was stuck in a particularly surreal dream. "... Okay."

Desi paused to think for a moment, then grinned. "How about I close up the shop until after lunch and we can goosh over each other like idiots?" he suggested, smirking. "And we can work on your kissing technique."

The potter surprisingly went bright scarlet, nodding like a dog with a loose neck, docilely straightening up and murmuring his agreement. "... Good idea."

"I'll be right back," Desi promised, dashing up the stairs and nearly running into a shelf before catching himself and skipping over to the window. No customers had come in during his absence, and he calmly flipped the sign over. He glanced out the window briefly and noticed that the sidewalk had been cleared of its pedestrians, due to a heavy rain. Briefly, he wondered if Elena had been caught in the downpour (secretly, he hoped she had), but was soon heading back downstairs. Outside, it could rain and storm all it wanted - La Fabrizio remained sunny.

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