It occurs to me I haven't thanked my reviewers in a while. So…. here's looking at you, kids! (In her best Humphrey Bogart voice)

On with the story!

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Ian stretched, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. The window right across from the bed was open and sunlight was- Wait. His room didn't have a window across from his bed.

Then he remembered what had happened last night. He turned to look at the other pillow-and found it empty, empty except for a note and a small jar.

Ian sat up to read the note.

"Ian,

I could paint

The sky

The stars

The sun

Or you could...

Put passion on the page

In brushstrokes of

Chocolate and candorous love

Aprodiasiaca,

Shaken, not stirred
straight up,
with a twist,
served with
the wine of
two bodies locked together

With your artist's touch,

You will

Erase all lines that hid me and

Paint me sexy.

Only it will have to wait until I get home from work. Only one more day till your review board meeting! And I have some good news for you.

Lots of shameless kisses- Gabe."

Under that was a kiss in deep red lipstick. Ian looked at the jar. "Naughty, naughty Gabrielle. The French and their chocolate." He said with a smirk, getting out of bed and going to his room, retrieving his suit from where it had been thrown on the floor and getting ready for his day.

He packed up his things, looking forlornly at the calendar on his wall- three weeks was up tomorrow. What news could Gabe possibly have right now? "I guess I'll have to wait to find out." He said, retrieving a shirt and jeans and making for the bathroom.

After showering, dressing, and going about his usual morning routine, Ian found he was without anything with which to occupy his morning and indeed, the rest of his day. He got the paper, read the first few pages over breakfast and after about the sixth article on some mishap the president had had eating rigatoni at a state dinner in Italy, decided he needed to find something else to do with his time.

He attempted watching the news on the big screen TV in the living room and found that dull- more newscasters and what seemed like all of CNN discussing the pasta incident that had turned him away from the newspaper- tried read the top of the stack of best sellers on Gabrielle's coffee table and couldn't concentrate on that either, and then decided the cause was hopeless and went to make himself more toast so he could sit and draw.

While going to pick up his sketchbook and move to the much better lighting in the kitchen, Gabrielle's note caught his eye. Paint me sexy, it said.

"So few words, so many meanings…" Ian thought with a smile, picking up the note, the sketchbook, his pencils, and heading for the kitchen.

"Hello? Ian, love, where are you?" Gabe's slightly British English echoed off the walls of her apartment. But there was no answer.

Tossing her bag on the end table, Gabrielle drew her coat off and hung it in the closet, kicking off her shoes as well to search for her paramour. She found him in his room, a paint brush between his teeth and his bare toes wrapped around one of the rungs of a stool, concentrating vividly on painting something. His eyes kept looking down at his sketchpad. Gabe came over and blew in his ear, kissing the lobe softly. "Miss me much?" she asked, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth so he could answer.

"Does it look like I missed you much?" Ian asked, gesturing at the sketchpad. Gabrielle flipped through it. Page after page of sketches of one reclining woman, sleeping, a sheet's folds captured immaculately rising to cover one breast and leave the other a little open, her arms sprawled in sleep, her fingers slightly curled. Some were studies of her face, and her hand, and the curve of her neck, as if the artist wasn't quite sure he had gotten it right.

"They're very good." Gabrielle said, looking at herself in soft graphite lines.

"They're not the real you." Ian said, his voice low. "I'm not happy with the painting." He pointed his brush at the unfinished splash of colors that looked like some work of Rembrandt had crossed paths with Jackson Pollock, and Modrian had gotten in the way of a good fight.

Gabrielle regarded the picture for a few moments. "I like it. I think it represents the passion you feel for the subject of the painting, and how you can't express it clearly when she isn't here with you."

"I can't express it clearly when she's here with me, either." Ian remarked, setting down his brush with a growl and abandoning artistic pursuits for much more worldly matters.

"So what was it you were going to tell me?" Ian asked, combing his sweaty hair back with his fingertips and watching Gabe stare up at him.

"I have tickets to Paris and travel visas for the two of us. In two months, we'll be sipping coffee in a corner café and discussing how best to excavate a castle that several centuries old." Gabrielle said with a smile.

Ian thought about this a moment. "What about the review board?" he asked, studying the curve of her nose.

Gabe smiled and tickled his own. "All they're going to do is keep you confined for another month, run some drug tests and make sure I haven't been letting you into my secret stash of narcotics, and then review the sparkling clean reports I have written up on your behavior. Certain things have been left out of those reports." She assured him. "Do you think you can wait a month for me, Mr. Howe?" she asked, giving him a sort of puppy-dog face and rubbing noses with him. Ian pretended to sigh.

"I suppose I'll have to…" he trailed off, sounding bored.

Gabe pounced on him, knowing he was playing with her. "Don't give me that tone of voice, Ian, or maybe I'll tell Dr. Chrysler about last night and how you figured out you've been dreaming about me." She threatened, watching his face.

"I still find that odd, by the way. We'd never met before." Ian said, looking up at her.

Gabe laughed. "Fate is a strange one, I'll give you that. I suppose you'll want to sleep before you go before a board of people who want to put you back in prison because you're clearly a threat to society."

"I'm only a threat to high society like your self…" Ian retorted. "And I'm not really in the mood for sleep."

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Like I said, thanks all of you reviewers for being so supportive. I'm juggling a lot now, and these chapters aren't guaranteed to be wonderful. It's just kind of…fluffy. I'm hoping I'll get some plot in after my grandparent's anniversary this summer. We're going out to visit them for two weeks, so I may get some writing done.

In the mean time, I'm going to update my epic poem on fiction press. You should all go and read it, because other people say it's amazing. I'm still getting over the fact that people think it's good, because I did not put as much time into it as I should have.

Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter somewhat. Let's keep those reviews coming!