[venice] how good it can be. [tag; pierce]

“What do you mean practically?” he quipped as the warming charm descended upon them and dried their clothes. The moment was, after all, getting a bit too serious and he couldn’t very well let that happen. No, after all that adventure and wild goose chasing they deserved something light, fun, free. Something like a boat ride through the canals of Venice. He shot her a toothy grin that was impossibly boyish, and he liked to think himself endearing. At the very least, he was memorable.

“Of course you don’t like me,” he retorted with a shrug, as though it were obvious. “You like me like me,” he added with an impish smirk, his limbs prepared to leap to his defense in the very likely event she attempted to whop him. Sometimes he wondered what she really thought of him, in her own mind, behind closed doors. Was he truly obnoxious? Or did she, like he, look forward to their little tête–à–têtes? As the boat began to slow he realized he hadn’t the time to ponder, for the next bit of adventure was upon them.

The pair stepped out of the boat, dried and overall no worse for the wear. Pierce was patting his pockets, looking for some coin for the captain that had saved them. Naturally, Erika was a step ahead, pulling the sparkling diamonds from her ears and dropping them into his hands. Pierce’s brows furrowed, fully prepared to step in and insist she needn’t give him such a treasure, but then he remembered, all at once, that she’d never do a single thing she didn’t want to. She had a trick up her sleeve.

His lips curled into a smirk as she revealed her secret to him. He shook his head fondly as she brushed past, heading towards a small restaurant and gesturing to the door. “Clever girl,” he muttered under his breath, moving closer and wandering inside. The eatery was, well… romantic? Painfully romantic. Overlooking the water, palatial buildings all around, candles flickering beside floral bouquets as couples stared longingly into one another’s eyes. Truly, he was waiting at any moment for someone to drop on bended knee.

The girl caught him off guard, pulling a chair and giving him a line. He decided to play along. “For me? How chivalrous,” he offered as he settled in, batting his lashes at her and feigning an innocent grin. “I have to admit I’m a bit nervous,” he said softly, “its been a while since someone’s taken me to a place like this,” he said, making a motion and gesturing to the impossibly sappy aura surrounding them. And then he was unraveling his napkin, gathering his silverware, making bedroom eyes at her across the table just for the sake of being, well, as he was.

When a waiter appeared he simply shook his head, pretending not to speak any Italian. He nodded to the girl across from him. “You’ll have to ask my date,” he said simply, smirking and curious to see what she would do with the reigns in hand.

"What are you? Twelve?" Erika asked as she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She'd dated too many men like Pierce. Bright, shining stars with huge personalities and a cheeky wink but they always burned themselves out eventually. Too fast and too soon. She frowned as she watched him, wondering if she ever really knew him at all. Perhaps she only knew the Pierce he chose to show her. The cheeky, ad-hoc, flirty man. They were practically strangers.

They had an odd sort of relationship. Not quite friends, not quite enemies. They'd never once stepped over the line into romantic territory. Pierce wasn't her type and she didn't mean that in a scathing, rude way. They were too alike. Also, he just wasn't Murphy Regan.

"Thank you," Erika said with a sparkling grin, just about hearing his underhand remark. Erika was nothing if not resourceful. She was flighty and reckless but she was adaptable. Also, she  wasn't really a diamond kinda girl. Anyone could see. She much preferred cheap handmade beads, printed scarves, unusual earrings. Diamonds were just a little…blah.

"Anything for my best gal," she said, joking as she clapped his back warmly before taking a seat opposite him. "Really?" Erika said, shock apparent in her face and her voice. She'd always assumed he wined and dined. He must be the girl-in-every-port sort of man. She paused, wondering if he was going to say anything else about it. Despite what he might think, she wasn't out to get him. If she was, she would have left him struggling in that corridor.

"Maybe you just need a higher calibre of woman. Or man," she tacked onto the end thoughtfully. "No judgements here," she said breezily as she followed suit, placing the linen napkin across her bruised lap. Her dress, though beautiful, had lost a little of its previous sparkle. Her hair now fell around her shoulders in loose waves, rather than the chic chignon of a few minutes ago. Picking up a knife, she examined her reflection with a frown, curling a lock of golden hair around her finger in an effort to make it stay and not frizz.

"Stop making cow-eyes at me," she told Pierce sharply as she opened  her menu, reading all of the fancy things they had to offer. "It's alarming." She supposed they needed to play a role. This restaurant wasn't really somewhere for a casual dinner. Everything was set up the opposite. Everything from the flattering candlelight, to the roses, to the soft, tinkling piano music that drifted across with the gentle Italian breeze. It was very suggestive indeed.

Date.

Erika promptly ignored him. "Buonasera," the tall blonde said to the tall, smartly dressed and impossibly handsome waiter. He must be a model in his spare time. He had cheekbones that looked like they were carved by Michelangelo himself. She paused to choose. Choosing someone's meal for them was oddly intimate, like choosing a bunch of flowers. She examined Pierce in the candlelight with a gentle frown and a tilted head.

"The spelt linguini and duck ravioli to start, per favore," she said with a sunny smile as the waiter jotted everything down. If Pierce was against duck or was allergic to seafood, well tough shit.

"It's really beautiful, though," she added, sounding wistful as she poured two glasses of the chilled white wine that had been placed on the table discreetly. She seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment, a dreamy expression creasing her pretty face as she zoned out, content to listen to the gentle chatter and soft lapping of the canal against the wooden foundations. She seemed sad, almost.

"I've been here loads of times," she told Pierce. "But I've never been in there." With that, she pointed to Santa Maria della Salute, the beautiful domed building that dominated the Grand Canal that they were sitting at. "I like churches," she offered suddenly. She liked the idea of them, as a safe space to think. She liked feelings the ghosts of the past, wafting and weaving in with modern day life. Erika wasn't much of a tourist, she was always so busy.

"Cheers," she said suddenly, lifting her glass. "To not dying. Or getting caught. But the night is still young."

“Depends on my mood, really,” he said lightly in reply as she tucked her napkin upon her lap. He wondered if that would surprise him, her little joke being a reality. Man or woman, he made no judgments either. He eyed her as she stared at herself in the knife, fiddling with her hair. “You look fine,” he said plainly, “and no, I’m not just saying it,” he reassured.

“Cow eyes?” he said with amusement. She certainly was a firecracker. “I can’t help it, it’s just my face,” he said as he made a show of crossing his eyes and letting a bit of his tongue peek out over his lip. He wondered if he could make her laugh, or at least seem a bit less disappointed he was her date and not someone more dashing and interesting. He’d take whatever he could get.

“To start?” he queried, watching how she spoke to him. He understood — the man was stunningly beautiful. Far too beautiful to be a random waiter at a random restaurant on a random night. He eyed her as he eyed him, unafraid, perhaps even intrigued. This night was a toss up, after all. Nothing had really gone as expected. He watched the waiter as he walked away, as if to prove his earlier point. When in Rome — or Italy at least.

“The waiter?” he teased, “or did you mean me?” he said, presumptively, taking a glass of his whine as he wondered if he’d get a rise out of her. “The city — ahh, yes, of course. Nothing quite like Italy. Except for France,” he said, his accent coming on a bit stronger. He was prideful of his home, despite all of Italy’s charms. “I’ve mostly spent time in Rome, this is new for me,” he added with a smile. “I can see in your eyes, this city has a special place,” he observed.

“Churches, interesting,” he said, setting down his glass as he sat up a bit in his chair. “What is it about them? Repenting for your sins and all that?” he wondered cheekily. He wasn’t exactly the religious type — he believed in the Earth, elementalism, the likes of that. But nothing quite as traditional as, say, what likely occurred in a church like that. “We should go,” he suggested, “it’s only just across the way,” he observed matter-of-factly.

He lifted his glass in turn, smirking at her. “To not dying,” he said, grinning as the candlelight flickered across his face. He drank, a hearty sip, letting the drink fill him and soothe him and burn in his chest. “Ahh,” he sighed, setting the glass down gently. “That’s very good, after,” he said, visibly relaxing. “Wouldn’t you agree?” He was getting more comfortable with all of this, and he was starting to feel like himself again.

Erika watched him for a moment. She'd never really took the time to think about Pierce's sexuality. It wasn't a big problem for her. They'd always flirted but they'd never crossed that line, there had never been a cause or intent for it. She shrugged casually, effectively ending that discussion. "Fine?" The tall blurted out, her eyes wide in faux shock. "I think the phrase you're looking for is beautiful, resplendent, radiant, sparkling. Any collection of the aforementioned words would suffice~"

In spite of herself, she found herself laughing. She rolled her big blue eyes as the sea breeze ruffled her hair. Pierce was a bona fide doofus. They always did this, though. When the conversations strayed, even a little bit toward sensitive or deep subjects, one or both of them  offered comic relief. She wasn't sure why. Maybe they just didn't trust each other enough.

"Absolutely," she said briskly with a clap of her hands happily. "Did you want the duck or the seafood?" She asked as she sipped at her wine. "Or do you want to share?" The plates were small but incredible and after her near death experience and a dunk in the near frozen canal, Erika found herself suddenly ravenous.

Erika pursed her lips and gave Pierce a flat look, deciding not to answer as she shook her head. "Special is one way to describe it," she said gently. "I almost died here once," she admitted to the taller man, not really expecting shock or sympathy. "I also fell in love. The two sort of go hand in hand," she explained with a wan smile.

"If that was the case, I'd be in there for a decade," she said with a short laugh, gazing at the building that dominated the famous skyline. "I dunno," she admitted. "They're peaceful. They're beautiful," she went on, wondering why it was so easy to openly spill her guts to the man sitting across the table from her. "And no one tends to bother you," she said with a soft smile. Maybe it was the wine going straight to her head or the possibility of hypothermia setting in but she felt…comfortable. Unguarded. Free.

"I think it's probably shut now," she added, disappointment hinting in her voice as she sighed. "I have very few morals but I draw the line at breaking into a church," she added as she cracked a smile.

"Yeah," Erika admitted. "You're not terrible company. I don't like being proved wrong," she said. It was now easier to block out the heavily in love couples around her because she wasn't on her own. Deep down, she knew she liked Pierce. They did the things they did for different reasons but that didn't mean she didn't respect him for it. He was driven emotions whereas she was just doing her job.

"Ooh lovely," she said brightly as the waiter deposited their food. Like the Italians, Erika picked up her fork and spoon, twirling the pasta against the curved utensil and popping it into her mouth. She needn't pretend to be ladylike; it was only Pierce.

"Try that," she said eagerly. For a woman who couldn't cook at all, she was very keen on her food. "Is that really cool cheese shop still in Dahliental?" She asked. "Down the side street, near the gallery? They have the best brie," she said with a wistful smile. "Don't get me wrong." Erika added as she waved her fork around carelessly. "France is great but it doesn't beat Italian food," she said with a nod.

It was sweet that Pierce was so proud of his motherland. Erika? Not so much. Her tiny little fishing village on the south west coast was pretty but it didn't hold very many opportunities. She was flying high now but she still felt a little bit…incomplete. A bit wayward. Empty. Now that the adrenaline started to wear off, Erika felt a little sleepy. Idly, she forgot where she was and gently started to play with the golden leaf necklace that she hadn't been wearing prior to their escape.

“Alright, alright, pardon me your eminence,” he teased her as he rolled his eyes. He watched her roll her eyes in return and everything seemed to be as it was. Silly, lighthearted. Stupid, perhaps. He did stupid well. “A bit of both, I reckon,” he replied plainly, sampling each of the dishes. “I’ve always been a bit indecisive,” he joked. They were both to die for, naturally. Funny how that happened sometimes, two perfect options, two perfect paths. How could you choose between two perfect things?

“Love?” Pierce pounced, smirking. “L’amour,” he purred, his French accent not all that out of place among the romantic scenery. “Let me guess, tall, dashing, brilliant?” he teased her as he sipped his wine and nibbled at the food. He wasn’t terribly hungry, despite everything. All the adrenaline had left him with a topsy-turvy stomach. “He saved the world by day and wrote sonatas by night?” he wondered with that smirk of his. She was probably going to whop him. He deserved it.

“Pfft,” dismissed with a grin. “We both know you like to be bothered, Erika, despite how much you may protest it.” And there had to be some truth in it. She’d had ample chances to send him packing, time and time again, and yet here they were together. Either his sentiment was true, or perhaps even more interestingly — he was an exception to the rule. “I think I’ll agree,” he said with a nod. “Breaking into a church… my luck’s bad enough as it is,” he said with a laugh. No need to tempt the cosmos.

“I’ll take it,” he said of her assessment. Not terrible. A pretty decent way to put him in only a few short words. Before he knew it she was spooning pasta into his mouth, and dammit it was good. “Italian is a close first, then, if you must insist,” he countered. He was prideful of his homeland and nothing would change that. “Yes, yes — it’s still around. Still delicious,” he agreed with a waggle of his brows. “I’ll get you some next time I stop by there,” he said idly as he slurped up some more noodles.

The conversation dwindled as they ate, lost to their food. He’d found an appetite when the food was before him. It was impossible to resist. He watched her, the girl off in her own world, twirling her necklace. A new necklace. A particular necklace. Suddenly, all of it came flooding back to him. He set down his utensils, drinking his wine, trying to pull his focus away from it. No, the bubble had burst. He couldn’t put it back together despite how much he wanted to.

“Was it worth it?” he asked simply, looking at her gaze. “All of it — you, me, the canal, this dinner,” he said with a somber smile. “You’ve won, and then some,” he offered as he nodded towards the jewelry. He wasn’t an idiot. It had to be the box. As easy as it was to lull himself into the idea of friendship and fancy, they were rivals. And she’d bested him. He could respect it, but he couldn’t respect the circumstances. She stole for her bosses, little greedy goblins. He’d been trying to settle an emotional debt. If there was one he wanted to win, really win, it was this one.

“At least it looks good ‘round your neck,” he offered, raising his glass in a slightly barbed toast. She was the victor and she had to own it.

Erika blinked.

It was like a needle skidding off a record, the inevitable screech as it all came to a halt. She frowned, not understanding what he meant before she realised she'd been playing with her necklace. She'd forgotten all about the damned box. She was having a nice evening with Pierce. It was like old times, before either of them got mixed up in this silly game.

The tall blonde flinched as though she'd been slapped as she visibly recoiled from the iciness of his tone. You've won he'd told her. He'd made it sound dirty and seedy, like this was her fault. It wasn't. He'd been there at that mansion, too. He'd wanted that box, too. He'd made the first break to find it. He'd tricked her, he'd outsmarted her. They were in this together.

"It wasn't a game," she told him, her eyes wide and innocent, her pleasant voice sounding thick, like it was clogged with emotion. There was a lump in her throat that was thicker than sludge and sharper than sadness as he sat there, drinking his wine and painting her out to be the villain in this story.

Was he forgetting that she'd come back to help him when he was paralysed? That she'd smashed that window and orchestrated their escape? For all of their tiffs and run ins, she did genuinely care about him but Pierce was throwing it all back at her in spectacular fashion. She swallowed, placing her cutlery down on her barely touched food as she gazed at him. This wasn't the Pierce she knew. The Pierce she was familiar with was handsome and carefree and cavalier. The man sitting across from him now was bitter and twisted.

"Don't say that," she whispered as she dropped her gaze, her long fingers nervously fidgeting  nervously as she wrung her hands together desperately. She looked up, just in time to see him raise his glass to her sardonically and she felt it like a sucker punch. She stared at him as tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. Pierce could call her whatever he wanted but he should never question her character. She was a good person and he was painting her like a pantomime villain. At any moment, Erika was expecting the wait staff to boo her.

Her brain was swirling. She'd never thought Pierce was capable of this. Did he not understand? This was a competitive industry. She did as she was told because she needed the money. Erika didn't know what to say. Her tongue felt heavy as she looked at him, her eyes wide as she frowned. Pierce Lachapelle had left the building and she didn't like his replacement.

Swiftly, she reached behind her neck and unhooked the heavy golden chain. She placed it in the middle of the table, halfway between them both as she rose to her feet. "It was never a game," she told him gently. It seemed pointless. He wouldn't listen, he was upset and angry. If he wanted the box, he could have it. It was fine. It wasn't risk losing herself over something which, in the grand scheme of things, was fairly insignificant. She parted her plump lips to try and get Pierce to reconsider but she decided against it; there wasn't anything else to say to him.

The evening was ruined. There wasn't any fun, carefree comments. This wasn't a dinner between friends. This had turned into a nightmarish situation and she was certain after tonight, they wouldn't see each other again. It was just one of those things. An uneasy truce and a tentative friendship was galloping towards an end.

Stepping around the table, she leaned down and pressed a kiss against Pierce's cheek. "If I won, then why does it feel like I've lost?" She whispered to him, squeezing his forearm affectionately before stepping back and away. She took one last look at Pierce and heaved a heavy sigh. She gave a single nod. She understood. Turning on her heel in a flash of baby blue, she was off. Her long bare legs strode away from the restaurant, breathing heavily as she turned a corner and strode straight the deserted St. Mark's square, leaving Pierce and that damned box behind. On she went, having absolutely no idea where she was going but half way across the grand piazza, she burst into tears.

Oh, fuck.

He blinked at her as she spoke, her eyes welling, her tone falling. He’d gotten pissy, sure, because he had all but forgotten about the nature of this evening until he was confronted with it face to face. It was there, gleaming beside her collarbones, beautiful and bright. He wished he hadn’t noticed it. He’d tried to forget about it. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. “Erika, I —“ he tried, but something in her had changed. Shifted. She was looking at him like a monster and suddenly he was feeling like one.

She’d saved him, she’d thrown up that ward. She’d shown him how to leap from the building and plunge into the canal. She’d been the real adventurer, he was just along for the ride. She’d won, he meant that in every sense. She was the victor. The box was hers. It just felt like shit to know that he’d failed, to have to question whether this meal between them, this friendship between them, was just part of the game too. But as she unhinged the cord from her neck he knew that he’d made a terrible misjudgment. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

The necklace was sitting on the table, ripe for the taking, and he didn’t want it. Not one bit. Not if this is what it meant, if this was the cost to bear. “I didn’t mean it like that — ” he explained, shaking his head. She was rising, touching his arm. Kissing his cheek. He blushed, just a little, and felt an overwhelming sense of panic surging in his chest. It was just like before, when the water was rising and they were both truly at risk for losing everything. He’d fought then, as hard as he could, but he couldn’t save her. The river had whisked her away and tried its damnedest to drown him, too.

“Erika, wait, Erika!” he hollered, rising promptly from the table as the girl turned and began to run. He grabbed the necklace — obviously not wanting to leave it around all these muggles — and was affronted by their server. The handsome man had become very pushy, now, believing them to be bouncing before paying the bill. “Please, I need to — you don’t understand,” Pierce barked angrily, the man’s furious Italian whizzing past his ears like bullets. “Take it, Jesus, take it!” Pierce shouted, emptying his pockets onto the table. The man was satisfied and he ran, having egregiously overpaid the bill. He didn’t cate. Money came and went. But this — this was a mess he might not be able to clean up tomorrow.

He was barreling as fast as he knew how, his legs sprawling and long as onlookers murmured at his recklessness. He saw only pieces, the hint of baby blue fabric spinning around the corner. The lingering scent of her perfume. He was running on pure instinct and, of course, luck to boot. “Erika! For God’s sake Erika!” he bellowed, pigeons fluttering all about as he booked it through the grand piazza. He saw her, finally, the girl stopping and crying. It broke him, his lungs burning for air as he closed the gap like a wounded puppy.

“Stop, please, Erika — stop,” he begged, pleading, bending down to be closer to her level as she looked so absolutely stricken. To see this at all was painful, to know he’d caused it was like a fatal blow. He wanted to touch her, reach out for her, but he was certain that wouldn’t end well. So he spoke softly, desperately, begging her in every way he knew to relent. He stood, all at once, shaking out his limbs as a few people stopped to examine the situation. This was a private moment, albeit it in public, and they appeared to be developing an audience.

“Alright, c’mon,” he said, motioning for her to come hither. His tone was different, lighter, pained but less unsure. “Stand up, you’ve got this,” he said, jumping back and forth on his tiptoes as he rolled his neck. He was getting loose, limber. “C’mon, right here, right in this area,” he said, patting his right cheek. “This, this will hurt the most — right on the cheekbone,” he said, patting the raised plane. “Right in the middle, the hollow, that’ll hurt too but probably not as much,” he offered. “A slap would be best for me, really, open palm — but this is about you,” he conceded, nodding despite his nerves. “If you want to punch, close that fist up, I won’t stop you,” he said with a nod. “Just… try to avoid this,” he offered, a little bit of comedy beneath his words. Playfulness. Old Pierce.

“This is the money maker,” he said, motioning to his face, “and a split lip, broken nose — well, that’ll take some serious mending charms and we all know that without my looks I”m pretty much spent,” he teased with a half-smile. He stood still then, strong and true. His offer still on the table. “C’mon,” he said, “just hit me. Give me a whop,” he said plainly. “I’m an ass,” he said bluntly, no beating around the bush. He swallowed hard, the small group now eagerly awaiting to watch what happened next. Pierce was nervous, but at least she couldn’t apparate away on him. Not here, with an audience. Despite their magic and their secrets in this moment they were just Pierce and just Erika.

“Just… make it quick?” he said, closing his eyes and wincing, prepared for the blow. After a moment, he peeked one eye, slowly — cautiously. He was ready for it. He just hoped it would make her feel better.

Erika didn't want to talk. She was tired of talking. She honestly didn't want to see him. She felt ashamed and her ego had been kicked to the curb. If he wanted the necklace then that was fine. It wouldn't be the first time she'd returned back to Gingotts empty-handed. The goblins were never really pleased with her work, despite her trying her best. She had a tendency to finely pick out certain things, rather than bring back barrel loads of gold. That was what separated her from other treasure hunters but it was a shame that Pierce was unable to see it.

The tall blonde knew Venice well. As a whole, the city was expensive. Off the mainland, everything had to be imported through the lagoon which meant that food and drink was astronomically priced. She shook herself, swallowing her sadness and disappointment. That exchange further proved that their uneasy truth had finally come to an abrupt ending.

"What?"

In a flurry of cool wind, she spun, all blue fabric and blonde hair. She scowled at him in the darkness, tear tracks marring her porcelain skin. He needn't run after her and she was vaguely annoyed that he had, it had ruined her dramatic exit. It was impossible to storm off. She wasn't mad, she was just hurting. The sting of being proved wrong was very painful indeed.

"What?" Erika asked again, her eyes wide as they shifted from Pierce's face to the gathering crowd around her and suddenly, she felt embarrassed. It must have caused quite a scene, her flouncing off and him running after her quickly. Anyone'd think it was a lover's tiff. The treasure hunter found it hard to be in his presence at that moment. Maybe she'd misunderstood him but she found his words at the dinner table to be cruel and cold. The way he raised a toast to her was mocking. He had the damned box. Why couldn't she go home?

"Pierce, I'm not going to hit you," she said softly, her voice catching on the wind as her cheeks burned with the shame of being watched. She picked up little snippets of the Italian conversation around them. Erika heard the words fight, stupid and tourist.

Erika was trying really hard to turn over a new leaf. The old Erika wouldn't have thought twice about ripping his hair out but this was New Erika. She frowned at him, wondering how the Hell they'd gotten to this point. The last fight she'd gotten into was the catalyst for Murphy breaking up with her. It didn't matter that they were no longer dating or that she was holding on in vain; a promise was a promise. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. Since the dome at Hogwarts, she was in a very fragile state and she wanted to be as centred as she could.

Pierce needn't be doing this.

She'd clearly upset him. She'd saved his life but she'd also duped and conned him and he was entitled to be annoyed and lash out. She also couldn't help but pity him. Punching him wouldn't help. Yeah sure, he'd made her cry but so had lots of men. She wondered if it was worth making a clean break.

Around them, the crowd seemed to lose interest and became a little restless and agitated, a few seeming to drift off. Just then, a loud rumble of thunder shook the square, sending the pigeons scattering as a flash of lightning streaked across the sky. "Well that's poetic," she mumbled as she squinted at the heavy clouds that weren't there a few minutes ago. "I'm not going to hit you!" Erika yelled over the thunder as the heavens opened and the rain fell. It was like a bucket of water dumped over her head and within seconds, she was soaked through.

"We need to move!" She called out to him above the noise as people dashed around them in different directions. "Acqua Alta!" She said as she pointed to the floor of the piazza before she realised he didn't speak Italian. "High water!" She translated as the rain hit her hard, causing her to wince. Venice was barely above sea level and with this much rain, it'd flood. She didn't have time. Grabbing his arm, she hauled him behind her, breaking into a jog as she struggled against her heavy dress.

Out of breath, she hid and flattened her back against the jutting façade and the arches of the grand white Doge's Palace. She squinted as the lashing rain and she knew they couldn't stay long. Panting, she slicked back her wet hair. Her favourite little family run gelato shop wasn't far. Without warning, she reached out and slapped Pierce right across the face. Not hard but with enough force to turn his head. "You're a real dickhead, do you know that?" She asked him but she didn't sound angry. "Let's get ice cream."

“Erika please!” Pierce hollered, taking a cautious step closer and presenting himself. He was ready for it. He could handle it. “Just let it go, you’re not gonna hurt me, I mean, not that badly anyway,” he offered as the sky boomed overhead. He glanced up and then back at her, a temporary moment of awe settling in on him. She wasn’t doing that, right? You never knew, as they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And hell's fury had nothing on a scorned witch.

“If only we were in black and white,” he joked alongside her, though she didn’t seem too keen to humor him. Especially not once the sky opened and rain was falling in torrential, prickling sheets. If Pierce was cold, Erika was freezing, and when she took off running he once again followed her -- only this time it was out of self-preservation rather than a grand gesture.

Her hand grabbed his arm as he was just catching on -- high water.  And she wasn’t kidding. They were racing through the piazza as water rose beneath their feet and all at once he was reminded of that time, all those years ago, when the water was rising in the temple and it was her life or his. He’d pushed her to her own safety with some degree of fear that he wasn’t going to make it, though his elemental abilities had ultimately spared him. And now it was backwards, Erika pulling him to safety as he trailed her in every sense of the word. He really did feel awful. He really did need her to save him.

Before he knew it they were standing under a facade, the woman slicking her hair back as Pierce caught his breath. This was wild, a proper adventure, jumping out of windows and running through flooding streets. He was breathless and yet it all felt so right. It felt like an important moment. “Erika, I --” he tried, taking a step towards her. And then, as quick as a flash of lightning, her hand was slapping him across the face with enough force to turn his head. It hurt, of course it hurt, and he reeled for a moment before his own hand moved to gingerly touch the red skin of his cheek.

He glanced up at her with shock, perhaps a bit of hesitation, before cracking the biggest smile he had in months. “Oh, Erika,” he breathed, grabbing her hands and holding her gaze. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me,” he said, his eyes playfully misty and he held the moment for a beat. He hoped to make her smile. If there was a God, perhaps he’d even get a laugh. He leaned closer, planting a quick and innocent kiss on her cheek before nodding.

“Ice cream sounds perfect,” he said, “my treat.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out his wand, giving it a little shake before watching it pop out and open up like an umbrella. The muggles wouldn’t even notice. He held it over their heads and then hesitated, furrowing his brows and patting his pockets again. “Actually, on second thought,” he offered, “I think you’ll have to get this one,” he said to her with that mischievous smirk of his.

“Fabio back there cleaned me out,” he explained as he eyed her. “There was something a bit more pressing on my mind than waiting around for change,” he said with soft earnest. He held her gaze for a minute more before nodding outward. “Shall we?”

"Because I'm a girl?" Erika blurted out incredulously. She was in no mood to humour Pierce and she batted away his attempts of a joke like a star baseball player. She was feeling fragile. Her ego and her bum, had been bruised in the assault and she was in no mood to play happy families. Inadvertently or not, Pierce had upset her. "I've got two older brothers, matey boy, so I'd be careful who you're making fun of."

A clap of thunder resounded in the square and it felt like the sky was being ripped apart as the foundations of the ancient buildings trembled. Erika winced as she rain lashed down on the marble buildings, sending the famed pigeons scattering. The sky was purple and deepening fast. She frowned at the livid clouds as the water pooled at their feet. She didn't fancy running, really. The near escape and the dunking in the frigid canal had her wiped out. All she wanted to go was check into a plush hotel, take a nice hot bath, collapse on the bed and sleep for fourteen hours.

She hadn't meant to slap him. Erika hadn't wanted to do anything that he'd asked for and she hadn't meant to hit him that hard. Even in the dim light, she could see the bright pink imprint on his skin. "What?" She asked, panting and her eyes wide in both shock and confusion. The tall witch was nonplussed, standing with her feet glued to the floor. She wrinkled her nose at him when he came towards her and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. Erika had always been touch-responsive. Pierce wasn't her favourite person at the moment but she was softening.

"Fabio," Erika repeated with an arched eyebrow but the ghost of a smile tugging the edge of her mouth. That was how Pierce Lachapelle had avoided dying; he was charming. They'd never crossed that line. In all the years they'd known each other, they'd been strictly platonic. Why? Because they were too similar. They were really just gender swapped versions of each other in the way they thought and acted. Pierce wasn't a bad guy, he just didn't tend to take things that seriously.

His pointed look made her frown. "Hey, come on," Erika said softly, trying to avoid going any deeper. "Don't get all soft on me," she joked weakly. She wasn't in the right mind for this. They'd gotten too deep at dinner when she admitted that she'd been to Venice before. She didn't actually think that Pierce would use any of that against her but this was a wicked world and no one could be one hundred percent trusted. Except for her nanna.

Reaching out, she gave him a shove as she let him take the umbrella as they made their way down to the steps. The umbrella was a nice touch but it was ultimately made redundant. She was bruised and freezing. Her body shivered as the drips of rain slid down her exposed skin. Her hair was a matted mess on the back of her head and most of her make up had melted off, leaving her freckles prominent.

Erika didn't bother running. "Venice is lovely in the rain," she offered as they walked, the hem of her beautiful evening gown weight down by the water as she dragged it behind her, seemingly without a care in the world. They stood out. They weren't dressed like the regular tourists or the locals. Italians also tended to stand out but for very different reasons. They were impeccably dressed and coiffed and carried a sort of seemingly effortless elegance. People around the darted for cover, dragging lovers and children with them and shielding their cameras from the torrential downpour.

On they walked, following the curve of the Grand Canal. As they wandered, Erika pointed out various things. Old churches, boutique shops and eateries. Venice was like a rabbit warren. It was full of twists and turns and tiny side streets without names. Taking a left, Erika turned down one. Down a cobbled and ramshackle street was an equally ramshackle building. It was warm and bright and the strains of accordion and big band music drifted out. Upon opening the door, a cheery bell chimed to announced their arrival as the smell of sugary sweetness greeted them.

In front of the counter there were countless trays filled with gelato, of every colour and flavour imaginable. Their entrance had alerted the owner and he turned, his chubby face lighting up as he saw her. "Bella!" He called, his eyes wide as his moustache quivered excitedly. Erika laughed. "Buonasera Franco," Erika replied as she reached out to loop her arms around his neck as the shorter man gave her an affectionate squeeze. The shop keeper eyed Pierce with some sort of trepidation before lowering his voice. She blushed when he pointed out that Pierce wasn't the same man he'd seen her with last time.

The last man he'd seen her with would have been Murphy. "No, he's not my boyfriend," she soothed him. "We attended an event together but things didn't go to plan," she admitted with a wry smile, gesturing to her appearance.

"Could I please have a double scoop of cherry?" She asked Franco who smiled brightly and adjusted his apron to do just that. Erika turned to Pierce. "Best ice cream in Venice," she said swiftly. "I came in every single day for an entire month when I was on holiday a few years back," she admitted with a grin. "And whack some panna montata on top of that as well, please, Franco."