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“Heyyy, Scarlettia.”Scarlettia flinches, but she doesn’t turn around. She recognizes the voice - how could she not? “Lookin’ pretty good out here,” Spectra continues. “You’ve always looked your best on a battlefield.”“What’s your game, Spectra?” Scarlettia asks softly, because she knows that her former friend, former sister-in-arms, former… whatever they were, she knows how to tell when Spectra is trying to get a rise out of someone. “No game,” Spectra lilts, glitching out of space and appearing right beside Scarlettia. “I saw you fighting earlier. You haven’t lost your edge hangin’ out with all the pretty princesses, I’ll say that.”Scarlettia shakes her head. “They’re not the insipid fools we were taught to think,” she says. “The opposite, really.”“Sure,” Spectra says doubtfully. “That’s why they gave in to the Horde so quick.”“They didn’t do anything,” Scarlettia retorts. “Most of them weren’t even born when the Horde took over. I can’t speak to their parents, or their parents’ parents… but the people I know are good. They believe they can, they should, make things better.”“That’s just what the Horde says, too,” Spectra says. “Two sides saying they’re in the right, they’re the ones who know what’s good for everyone. How do you really know who’s right?”“Because there’s no comparison between the side that wants to see children grow up happy and safe and comfortable and the side that uses children as cannon fodder.” They’re little - not more than seven or eight - and not for the first time, Spectra’s particular gifts have gotten the better of her during training. Where she ought to have made contact, she phased through someone; where she ought to have been able to glitch out, she stayed solid and got hit. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, she thinks: they’re still learning! They’re not out in combat yet.
But Scarlettia can always do it. Scarlettia can deflect and blast and Agantine thinks she’s even going to be able to fly once she’s got enough practice. Scarlettia is perfect.
Spectra is not perfect.
Spectra is hiding in the library like a coward, because most of the others don’t go in there unless they absolutely have to. The Horde doesn’t value book smarts, most of the time. The smarter you are, the more questions you ask, and they don’t like questions.
That’s another of Spectra’s problems.
Soon, though, Scarlettia slips through the door. “Spectra, I know you’re in here,” she murmurs.
“Go away,” Spectra says, trying to sound braver than she feels.
“No,” Scarlettia says. She pokes her head around the corner of a row of bookshelves, spots Spectra huddled there. It’d be easier to hide if they got to use their powers outside training, then Spectra could just flicker and fade and disappear between walls until she was truly alone, but the inhibitor bracelets locked around their wrists make that impossible.
Scarlettia sits beside Spectra and wraps an arm around her shoulders before Spectra can twitch away. “You’re not bad, you know,” she says plainly.
“I’m a screwup,” Spectra counters sullenly. “I’m never gonna be what they want. ‘Specially not with you around.”
“I didn’t ask for that,” Scarlettia says. “I don’t even like being Agantine’s favorite. I just…”
“You’re strong,” Spectra supplies. “That means you get to be special.”
“I think you’re special too,” Scarlettia insists.
Spectra falters for a moment, but gone is the insecure girl Scarlettia used to know. Instead, her old friend, or sister-in-arms, or… something else entirely is standing there like a proud soldier, someone who believes what she’s been told (and that of itself is unnerving, since she never used to) and would fight to the death for it.Scarlettia doesn’t think Spectra would kill her, but for the first time she doesn’t know that as a certainty. “They put us through unspeakable things,” Scarlettia continues, softer now. She figures she’s this far in, and if anyone is going to turn Spectra it’s her. “Nobody, no child, should have to live like that.” “We made it through okay,” Spectra says.“How many times a night do you wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare?” Scarlettia retorts.Spectra doesn’t say anything.“My friends and their people aren’t perfect,” Scarlettia says, “but they’re fighting for something good. They’re fighting for equal treatment and generosity and -”“And you?” Spectra asks.“Me?”“What are you fighting for?”Scarlettia worries her lip. “I’m fighting for love,” she finally says. “We’d protect you, Spectra. We… you deserve better than what you’ve been given.”“I’m finally the star,” Spectra says, but it’s not as triumphant as it should be. “Without you.”“Do you want to be, though?” Scarlettia asks before she can stop herself.“What?”“Without me.”Spectra blinks rapidly, but before Scarlettia can say anything more she blinks out of space.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“So this is your first movie, huh?” the makeup girl asks, making eye contact in the mirror. She’s bright-eyed, brown-haired, flannel-clad; she looks like she’s not even old enough to have heard of adult films.
Then again, Yelena did too, back when she started.
“It’s my first Hollywood movie,” Yelena says. She doesn’t bother hiding her accent, not like she does on camera. She’s not trying to impress this girl, and so, after a second of watching her puzzle through what that might mean, she adds, “You’re a good girl, you’ve never seen pornography. I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me.”
The girl blinks. “Uh.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Yelena says. “I can make a new reputation.”
“Are you… I mean, are you, uh, okay?” the makeup girl asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Yelena asks sharply.
“I just… I hear it can be kind of, uh, rough, that world. And not always the most, uh…”
Yelena stares at her.
“Not everyone who does it wants to,” the makeup girl says.
“I don’t do what I don’t want to,” Yelena retorts. “Not anymore.” It’s not totally true, of course, but it’s all she wants anyone else to know about her.
“Oh, okay,” the girl says. “Uh, cool. I’m Kate, by the way.”
“Is this
your
first movie, Kate?” Yelena asks, just a little sultry.
“Uh,” Kate says. “Yes. Was it obvious?”
“You’re a good girl,” Yelena says again. “You don’t have Hollywood’s fingerprints all over you yet.”
The serious conversation peters out as Kate really gets into her job. Today is just for testing things out, taking pictures of different looks for different scenes, getting approval; it’s almost like playing dress-up, or anyway it’s like what Yelena imagines playing dress-up might have been like if she’d been allowed to do something so frivolous.
It’s obvious that Kate has lots of practice with frivolity. That’s not a bad thing, but she’s clearly led a peaceful life with lots of room for things like play and pretend and normal human interactions. It doesn’t seem to occur to her that anything else might be the case.
“Can you close your eyes?” Kate asks.
Yelena does, hoping her expression approximates a similar lack of worry. (She can’t help the way a question like that sends her back in her mind, to worse things happening when she isn’t allowed to look. She knows it wasn’t meant that way.) It’s sort of nice to sit back and let Kate paint on her like she’s canvas to be treated delicately, to let her concerns fade into the background. They’re never gone, she’s not that stupid, but they’re quiet for the moment.
And then Kate turns her around and says, “Take a look.”
And she opens her eyes.
And she screams.
Her right eye is blackened, and it’s the kind of black eye with five different colors in different places. There’s a gory cut down the left side of her face and more blood trailing from the corner of her mouth.
“Jesus!” Kate yelps. “I - fuck, I -”
Yelena shuts her eyes again and tries to quiet her breathing. “It’s just pretend,” she mutters to herself. “I am just a painting.”
“Is there something I can do?” Kate asks. “Shit, are you okay?”
Yelena breathes, in and out and in and out, and she shakes her head. “Get your picture, then get this shit off of me,” she says. “And then we are having a beer.”
Never mind that it’s the middle of the afternoon. Never mind that they probably have more work to do. Yelena is their star. They will wait on her.
Kate snaps pictures, then scrubs Yelena’s face clean as quickly as she can. She’s not gentle about it anymore, but gentle doesn’t matter. Yelena wants the ugly surprise gone.
Kate also retrieves their beverages (and some chips for good measure) while Yelena collects herself, which she appreciates but can’t acknowledge that she appreciates because that would mean acknowledging her weakness. By the time they’ve moved toward the couch in the corner of the room, Yelena is almost back to her perfectly-composed normal.
“Here,” Kate says, handing over a bottle and a bag of chips. “Uh. Sorry.”
“For what?” Yelena asks, punctuating it with a swig of beer.
“Freaking you out, I guess?”
Yelena shrugs, too casual. “I knew I would have violent scenes in the film,” she says. “I just wasn’t expecting to see them laid out on my face right now. It brought things up.”
Kate would be wise to leave it alone, but she says, “I thought you said adult films weren’t bad for you.”
“I said I did them intentionally,” Yelena corrects. “But no. These are things from before that.”
“Oh,” Kate says.
“You couldn’t have known,” Yelena says, as a form of forgiveness.
Kate nods in acceptance. “You’re okay, though? Like… now?”
“Yes,” Yelena lies. “It was a moment of shock, like I said. I’ll be better-prepared in the future.”
“I kind of meant in a general sense,” Kate says. “Like, the things that were bad for you are in the past, and you’re… I dunno. Ignore me.”
“They’re in the past,” Yelena agrees. “That doesn’t mean they don’t poke their heads up sometimes.” That’s truer than she’d like to think about lately, but the fewer people who know that the better. “I will be alright.” She nudges Kate’s shoulder. “You’re very sweet to ask after me. Is it because you want to kiss me, Kate?”
Kate laughs nervously. “No,” she says. “I mean, no, I’m not just nice because… but I’d like to kiss you. At some point. Maybe not right after your panic attack.”
Yelena winces, but she has to admit it was probably one of those. “Alright,” she says. “At some point, then, we can kiss. If you don’t change your mind or find someone better-suited to a good girl like you.”
“You keep calling me that,” Kate whispers. “Is it ‘cause you know what it’ll do to me?”
“Maybe,” Yelena singsongs. “Am I right?”
“Maybe,” Kate echoes.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Maria actually manages to sleep till her alarm, which isn’t entirely unheard of, but when she switches it off and rolls over, Carol is nowhere to be seen. Her pillow still has a little dent in it, so she hasn’t been gone for too long, but of course Maria worries anyway.
She wraps her bathrobe around her and pads downstairs, careful to be quiet for Monica’s sake, and instinct guides her to the kitchen. Sure enough, Carol is sitting on the floor, back against the cabinets, the stuff for tea abandoned on the counter above her, and the first thing she says upon noticing Maria is, “I’m sorry.”
“For what, baby?” Maria asks, frowning.
“Being bad?” Carol asks, sounding doubtful. “Worrying you. Leaving you.”
There’s a probable chance, Maria knows, that her wife doesn’t mean just this morning, but she isn’t going to suggest that and risk making it so. Instead, she sits on the floor across from Carol and asks, “Did you have another bad dream?”
Carol nods, even as she demurs, “It’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not,” Maria says.
“I don’t even know what happened in the dream, though,” Carol says. “I just woke up feeling like I was going to jump out of my skin. Like I was wrong no matter what.”
Maria frowns. “You know that’s not true,” she says. “You’re not wrong. You’re great.”
“Maybe I used to be,” Carol sighs, “but right now I just feel broken. I can’t even sleep through the night! What the hell kind of hero am I?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s normal hero shit, actually,” Maria says wryly. “From what I can tell, anyway. It’s not a low-risk lifestyle. Hell, even I have rough nights, and I haven’t been in half the mess you have.” She doesn’t bother saying a lot of those are full of her specifically flashing back to thinking she lost Carol. Carol probably knows that, but she doesn’t want to make it worse by saying it.
Carol laughs weakly. “Yeah, but when you feel bad it’s okay,” she says. “When I feel bad it’s ‘cause I am bad.”
“That’s stupid,” Maria points out, not unkindly.
“You know what I mean, though,” Carol groans.
Maria scoots a little closer and takes Carol’s hand. “I know between the messed-up way your dad raised you to think about yourself and whatever the hell they tried to put in your head in space fascist boot camp that you’re gonna think the worst of yourself,” she says. “I also know that doesn’t make it true.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Carol says.
“Well, I think you do,” Maria says, “but it’s not about deserve. It’s about the fact that I’m yours and you’re mine and nobody or nothing can change that.”
“You should be with someone better, though,” Carol insists. “Who doesn’t fall apart at nothing.”
“I don’t want someone else,” Maria counters. “I want you. Not ‘cause you’re some super-slick intergalactic hero with laser light hands -”
“Not how it works!”
“- but ‘cause you’re Carol,” Maria continues. “You care so much about people and doing the right thing, and you’re funny, and you’re not bad to look at. You’re my person.”
Carol sighs heavily. “I barely feel like
a
person sometimes,” she admits. “Or at least not like one who’s put together right.”
“Well, I’m here to tell you you are,” Maria says decisively. “Look, you go sit on the couch. Wrap up in some blankets. Turn on some Saturday-morning TV or something. I’m gonna make you this tea, and then we’re gonna spend a whole day just being together, okay?”
“Okay,” Carol echoes, smiling weakly. She lets Maria help her to her feet, then leans in for a little kiss before heading off to the living room.
Maria works quickly to get the tea ready and grabs a bag of English muffins just in case Carol wants something to nibble. It doesn’t feel like much, but it’s being there, and a lot of the time, that’s the most important thing. Being there means Carol knows she’s not alone in this.
(It also means Maria knows
she’s
not alone, which is pretty important too.)
When she gets out to the living room, she finds Carol curled up on the couch, covered in blankets like she was instructed to be, and Monica is tucked beside her. Carol’s eyes are shut and her breathing is easy, and Monica says, as if it wasn’t obvious, “Ssh, she’s sleeping.”
“Good,” Maria says with a smile. She sets the tea and food on the coffee table, then sits herself on Carol’s other side and lifts Carol’s head into her lap.
“Is Carol Mom okay?” Monica asks.
“I think she’s gonna be,” Maria says.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Trish heaves a massive sigh as she slides into the booth and slams her purse down on the table. Jessica already has a water spritzer waiting for her, and she downs half of it in one go.
“That bad, huh?” Jessica asks.
Trish gives her a skeptical look. “How bad are you gonna judge me if I say I
really
wish I could have something a little stronger right now?”
“Only gonna judge if you do,” Jessica says simply. She knows it’s an off-color joke, that Trish worked damn hard to get sober and wouldn’t let a bad day get in the way of that; she wouldn’t be so flippant otherwise. She gives it a moment, then fixes her girlfriend with a serious look and says, “It must be more than just the usual bullshit, with an entrance like that.”
“Dorothy is dead,” Trish says flatly.
“Fuck,” Jessica says.
“Yeah,” Trish agrees. “Fuck.”
“Are you… okay?” Jessica asks, more hesitant than she’s sounded in years.
Trish gives her another of those looks, this one clearly meaning
what do you think?
“It’s complicated,” she says, because that’s the nicest way to put it. “She was a rotten bitch, but she was still my mother.”
“I’d say after all she did to you, she has a dubious claim to the title at best,” Jessica sasses before she can think any better of it.
Well, thanks to Dorothy, little Patsy Walker was a bona fide star of the screen before she’d even lost all her baby teeth, and all the world watched her grow from a precocious child to the kind of sparkling young woman who dances on the line between a good girl and something a little more interesting. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to perform, at least at first, but she didn’t care if it was in a school recital or a church pageant or what. Dorothy had been the one pushing her daughter into stardom, and Dorothy was the one who kept pushing even when it meant nearly starving her daughter, nearly killing her with an addiction to pills and booze, pushing her into the arms and beds of studio executives three times her age.
Dorothy would’ve rather seen her daughter martyred on Hollywood’s stage than living the life she chose for herself, and while that’s not the only reason Jessica isn’t sorry to see her gone, it’s the biggest.
“After all she did to me, I’m a suspect,” Trish mutters.
“You haven’t even talked to her in years,” Jessica exclaims.
“She was trying to reach out,” Trish admits. “She sent a letter. When that didn’t work out, she sent something to the magazine. I guess the cops found out, and they showed up earlier asking me about it.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Jessica says, vaguely accusatory.
“‘Cause I knew how you’d react,” Trish says. “You’d tell me she can fuck off, and then if she didn’t you’d find her and make her.”
“Well, yeah,” Jessica says. “You’re better than she made you think and better than she ever was, and if she tried to sink her claws into you I’d do whatever I had to.”
Trish laughs humorlessly. “You won’t have to worry about that now,” she says.
Jessica winces. She doesn’t feel bad that Dorothy is dead, but she can at least try to be sensitive to the place it puts Trish. Namely: “What do they think, that she reached out and you took the chance to finally have your revenge on her?”
“Something like that,” Trish says. “Never mind I didn’t so much as open the letters she sent. One of the mailroom guys must have found them and jumped to conclusions. Maybe he thought he’d have his fifteen minutes as the guy that turned little Patsy Walker in for matricide.”
“Fuck him, then, whoever he is,” Jessica says, sipping her own cocktail. “If someone tried that, they’d be spending that fifteen minutes in the ground.”
“Funny kind of dirty talk, that,” Trish remarks, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly.
It’s an old joke between them, how Jessica’s affection often takes the form of threats of, or actual, violence. It’s not that Trish needs the protection (thanks in large part to all the garbage her mom put her through, she’s much less of a damsel than she seems) but that Jessica is allergic to sentimentality.
“You know I mean it,” Jessica mutters.
“Yeah, I know,” Trish says. “I love you for it.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jessica repeats, smirking.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They arrive at this so-called Collector’s treasure trove of oddities, and Sif is taken not by the overwhelming wealth of artifacts but the slight pink-skinned woman who greets them. A Krylorian, she thinks, and her stomach drops: Krylorians, she knows, are all too often taken advantage of and kept like chattel.From the demure way the woman speaks, the way she carries herself and keeps her eyes studiously averted, Sif suspects that this is one of such instances.Certainly there are prisoners on Asgard, and servants, but the prisoners are wrongdoers and enemy soldiers, people who deserve or expect to be incarcerated; the servants are those who have agreed to such a life, and they are (provided their employers are just, which Sif tries to believe most are) treated with respect. Her society is not perfect, but they do not, as a rule, traffic in sentient beings!“You’re staring, Sif,” Volstagg whispers, nudging her as they follow the woman deeper into the building. “Surely you don’t mean to turn this trip into another of your conquests?” Fandral teases, waggling his eyebrows salaciously.Sif rolls her eyes at Volstagg and smacks Fandral in the arm. “I’m concerned about her,” she says quietly. “Do you believe she’s here of her own free will?”They exchange guilty looks. “It’s not likely,” Volstagg admits, “but I’m not sure what…”He trails off as they reach the main hall and with it their host, and Sif immediately knows she cannot continue to entertain this. Whyever Odin suggested they give this stranger the Stone is a mystery to her, as he’s neither someone they’ve long had an allegiance with nor someone with a known trustworthy reputation, but seeing him standing there with his furs and uncanny smile, barking orders at this innocent woman…She jerks her head to the side, summoning her companions into a private conference.“I do not think this is the right decision,” she whispers to Volstagg. “Odin commanded it,” he says, as if they’ve never disobeyed such an order before.“There is nothing good about this place,” Sif murmurs. “This Collector thinks not of what is right, but instead what pleases and profits him. Should we leave such a powerful item in such hands?”“It doesn’t seem wise,” remarks Hogun.“How would you suggest we get out of it, then?” Fandral asks. “He doesn’t seem the type to let someone leave with a prize he thinks he’s won.”“All the more reason not to let him lay hands on it,” Sif says, turning back to glance at him and for just the briefest moment making eye contact with the Krylorian woman. She looks shocked, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t, and after a few seconds her gaze falls to her feet like she’s ashamed. It makes Sif’s heart skip. “Sif?” Hogun says softly.“We’re tasked with bringing justice, are we not?” Sif asks, and before she can talk herself out of it she strides over to the Collector and says, “There has been a mistake.” She doesn’t say she’s sorry, because she isn’t; she doesn’t address him with any particular honor, because he has none. She simply folds her arms and stares him down (and ignores her friends’ rustles and murmurs of confusion).“A mistake? How could that be?” the Collector asks, his voice slithering over the words.“The Aether is a powerful force, the likes of which could do irreparable harm to the galaxy,” Sif says. “It should not be held in close proximity to the Tesseract, that has not changed, but I cannot allow it to be possessed by someone who would traffic in contraband and living beings alike.”The Collector looks surprised, as if he isn’t used to being challenged or questioned about his lifestyle choices, and then he laughs a finicky little laugh. “As if the Asgardian royals are so noble?” he asks, folding his arms.Behind him, the woman in his unwilling employ stiffens and her gaze flicks from him to Sif. For the second time their eyes meet, but this time the Krylorian doesn’t look away. She gives the tiniest of nods as if she’s telling Sif she’s made the right call, as if she’s encouraging her to do what needs doing - And that just makes Sif all the more confident in her choice.“They are not so selfish as to hold an innocent against their will,” Sif says, praying that the Collector hasn’t heard, somehow, of the circumstances of Loki’s adoption. (It isn’t the same thing, of course, but if someone was thinking in bad faith they might interpret it that way.)“Simply unacceptable,” the Collector scoffs, but before he can make a move, the Krylorian woman rams him in the back of the head with the case that the Aether is held in and he crumples to the floor.“Is he dead?” Fandral exclaims.“He might be,” the woman says. “We have to act fast, in case he is. I’m not the only one he’s keeping here, and they -” Her voice breaks. “They deserve to be free as much as I do, if they’re still…”Sif hears the unspoken alive.“Of course,” she says. “What is your name, my lady?”The Krylorian woman prickles. “I am no lady,” she says. “But I’m called Carina.”“Carina,” Sif repeats, and before the boys can accuse her of absurdity she reaches to kiss Carina’s hand. “Tell us what we need to do.”Carina’s pink cheeks deepen and darken in color, but she relays instructions so quickly that Sif knows she’s thought this through before. Sif and the Warriors Three follow the steps laid out for them, letting prisoners out of their enclosures, sending them in the direction of the Collector’s safe to fund their trips off of the world; Carina follows, murmuring apologies and well-wishes. They pass an empty cage that she pauses in front of, presses a palm to, whispers something, and wipes a tear from her cheek.“We can come back for the artifacts,” Hogun suggests, “but it would be wise to leave now, I think.”“Yes,” Carina says.“Where would you like us to bring you, Carina?” Sif asks.“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Carina says flatly. “I would follow you home, if you wished it.”“I would,” Sif says, “but only if you wished it too. My lady.”“I am not -” Carina begins to say, but she shakes her head and looks Sif in the eye once again. “I do wish it.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You’re going to be gone a long while, aren’t you?” Angie murmurs, tracing fingers down Peggy’s arm.
“I hope not,” Peggy sighs, leaning into Angie’s touch. “But it’s…”
It’s war. That’s what it is. It’s a world war, and Peggy is an important secret agent who’s working to make sure it ends the right way. There’s only so much that she can do from their offices in New York City, though, which means it was only a matter of time before she got the call to join her fellow agents abroad where the actual fight is.
She’s gotten the call.
She departs tomorrow.
“I know, English,” Angie says softly. “I always knew this was gonna happen. You’ve got a job to do. That always meant I was gonna get left behind like a proper war widow.”
“You won’t be any such thing,” Peggy says vehemently, but then she glances away, because she knows she can’t promise a thing like that. What she can say is, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll do whatever I can to keep from leaving you.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Angie says, smiling like it’s a joke even though it almost certainly isn’t. “If you ditched the showgirl for some other brilliant foreign superspy.”
“I would never,” Peggy insists, kissing Angie softly. “You're everything to me. I love you.”
“Love you too, English.”
Peggy has barely been at the London headquarters a day, and already she’s overwhelmed. She was expecting to be - there’s a difference between working out of an office and being on the front lines - but there’s still something so different about the rush and the anxiety and even the younger agents approaching her in the hallways to offer her their admiration.
Angie isn’t waiting for her at home to share her burden. That’s what it is.
She’s going over papers in one of the conference rooms, trying to feel busy so she doesn’t allow herself to start listening to her own self-doubt, when there’s a knock on the open door and a familiar voice calls, “Fancy seeing you here, Ms. Carter.”
Peggy shivers a little. She can’t not.
“I could say the same, Ms. Ulyanova,” Peggy says coolly, turning to look her ex-girlfriend in the eye.
“Oh, it’s Underwood now, Dottie Underwood.” She fluffs her hair - dyed a shade of brown not unlike Peggy’s instead of the bottle-blonde it was when they first met all those years ago - and does a little fake-curtsy. “I’m a good American girl now.”
Peggy scoff-laughs. “No amount of hair dye or accent training can make you a good girl.”
“I’ve apparently fooled enough people,” Dottie shrugs. She takes a seat at the conference table and crosses her legs - which are still, Peggy can’t help but notice (and regret noticing), flawless.
That’s the kind of thing that Peggy could run with, if she wanted to be cruel. She could bring up any number of things from their shared history, or from Dottie’s own past, and wield them like knives. But maybe she’s too focused on the real-world issues they’re stuck in the middle of, or maybe she’s just tired, or maybe she’s older and wiser, so what she does instead is sit across from Dottie and ask, “What brings you here, then?”
It’s clear Dottie was expecting something else. A chance to flirt disarmingly, or maybe a proper argument. She looks genuinely taken aback for a moment before saying, “They need me. I’m the only Widow who’s gotten out.”
“Oh, hell,” Peggy murmurs. “They’re involved in this?”
Dottie nods. “Nobody knows what they’re up to,” she says with a manufactured smirk. “Allegedly they switched sides with the rest of Russia, so they should be on the right team, but they’ve never been working for anyone but themselves, really.”
“I’m sorry,” Peggy says softly, and before she thinks better of it she rests a hand on the table for Dottie to take. “I know you’d wanted to put all that behind you.”
“Wishful thinking,” Dottie says. It’s too lackadaisical, like it’s always been when she alludes to her horrid past as, essentially, a child soldier. There are still so many things Peggy doesn’t know, things Peggy is
glad
she doesn’t know. “It sounds like they groomed a couple of girls up to be their new wartime poster children.”
“The sisters,” Peggy says. She’s seen the literal posters and not much else.
Dottie nods in agreement. “They’re defecting,” she says with a note of pride. “Don’t know why, yet, but I’m here to help them with the transition, I guess.”
“Oh,” Peggy exclaims. “Then that’s good, isn’t it?”
“In its way,” Dottie says. “Think we can keep up a professional front long enough to make this work?”
“I’m not the reason we’re no longer a we,” Peggy points out, but lest that get relitigated for the next half hour (to no end, surely) she adds, “I can do it if you can.”
“I think I’m up for the challenge,” Dottie replies, tossing her hair. “‘Sides, I turned over a new leaf. I’m not nice, but I’m trying to be decent. I’m not gonna steal you from your girl.”
Peggy prickles. “My…”
“Oh, Peg, of course I know about her,” Dottie says. “I think it’s cute. You found a little city mouse. She’s definitely better for you than I was.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” Peggy replies.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She is as an abomination to His followers, the few He chose originally to recall from her shores and the others plucked from the new populace that sprung to life upon the planets that now hold His indelible mark. They are come to His side to offer service and fealty, to spread His teachings and embody the gift that He was given and in turn gave to some of His new creations. They are expected to adhere to each pearl of wisdom that He shares and to behave in the way He would have them do at all times. He loves her, or so He has spoken at repeated and desperate intervals, so it would seem to follow that His champions and friends would follow that example.That would suggest, of course, that the people He has collected are more perfect than the people He has excluded from His divine presence. Some of them offer passing respect, nodding when they see her in the marble hallways and giving her a wide berth as if they fear her solemn aspect is like to a communicable malady. Others recoil openly from her, in terror or revulsion or some combination. The rosy-hued, brown-haired one who ever follows half a pace behind Him and whispers suggestions in His ear sends cutting glances toward her that seem to accuse her of interloping on something she wants not.They are made uneasy by her, though whether it is her closeness to their lord (itself a different kind of closeness than many of the disciples expect: He confides all in her, draws His power from their bond, but she has recoiled from His grasp often enough that He has ceased doing anything more presumptuous than to touch His hand to her shoulder in friendly reassurance) or her feral nature and disregard for the social mores that they all consider themselves beholden to or the simple fact that her presence is a reminder of the fate they all so narrowly escaped and could at a moment’s notice be returned to is unclear.They still invite her to their hedonistic revelries, though. Even the rosy-hued one once admitted that the fear her mortal/immortal countenance had a certain lascivious appeal: “When I get scared I get… sexy.” During one such celebration, when He and most of His disciples have already imbibed and embraced and found themselves entwined in exhausted heaps, she slips away to wander His domain unobserved. Even centuries on, she is fascinated by the strange way that His creation has layered upon what once was and disturbs the order that had once been thought eternal. Her thumbprint rests inside of His, even though none of the children at His feet admit it and indeed even He will only allude to this when they are alone. He fears above almost all else seeming feeble to the ones who have sworn themselves to Him.She walks without much intention, but her feet lead her to the greenhouse. That, he had explained to her, is like a garden that lives inside, where things may grow and yet be protected from that which would kill them (except, of course, the negligence or misunderstanding of human actions). He built it just for her, because he knew what solace she took in the natural world: here she might surround herself with vines and plants and yet not be exposed to any of the things that lay in wait for them outside.(What those things are, she is unsure: this world is a paradise of His making, now, or what of it that remains is. She expects that He is more concerned with knowing where she is at all times, knowing she has not grown tired of aiding Him and wandered off, but there is nowhere she would wander to if she could, so she plays along with His little game and sates her urge for greenery in this artificial environment.)Usually she is unaccompanied here; many of the others are not drawn to things that grow in the way that she is. She has seen one of the disciples, the kind-faced and dark-haired woman who ever settles arguments between the others, in here tending to some of the plants, and they always exchange timid smiles, but that woman is trapped in the echoes of her peers’ orgiastic celebration (no doubt sprawled atop the auburn-haired soldier boy who treats her as property though they are in equal standing in His eyes and His eyes are the ones that matter). But draped over one of the cushioned benches that dot the terrain of the room is one of the newest disciples, the one now condemned to an eternal deathbed, who sacrificed the noble attendant who accompanied her here in hopes that it would end her suffering, and found it instead prolonged in perpetuity. “Hello, Rio,” says this new one, offering a wan smile. She forgets most times that this means her now. She is Rio. Rio is she. This is the name given to her by Him, because it means “river,” like the domain she has ever held. She did not need a name before Him, but any semblance of a person would have one, and is she not now a semblance of a person? Has He not shaped her so she may walk at His side and help him continue His work in this new universe?So, Rio. She shakes her body to let the name and what it implies sink into her bones.“Hello,” Rio says. She doesn’t know this one yet, but she knows to address her as, “Agatha.” She contorts her body into what is known as a curtsy, because Agatha was born royalty and royalty, He has told her, are used to such treatment.“Come,” Agatha says, nodding to the air in front of her. “Sit with me.”Rio finds herself moving toward the infirm woman and, instead of forcing her to rearrange herself and possibly expend more energy than she has to spare, Rio sits on the ground before her to look up at her.“Get too tired of the sexy party?” Agatha asks, lips twisting in a way that suggests a tease.Rio shrugs, suddenly timid in the face of this dying immortal woman’s bluntness. “I know not how to behave myself,” she says, even though a truer explanation would be that she knows but does not want to partake of the debauchery in the way that the others do (and she especially does not want to partake of it when He is present and partaking himself).“Aw,” Agatha coos, pouting, “is God’s favorite little soldier a prude?”Rio stiffens. “I have known intimacy,” she snaps. “I am not repulsed by such a thing.”“So what’s the problem, then?”“I would turn the question on you if I wished to be cruel,” Rio counters.“It doesn’t feel right yet,” Agatha says. “I’m still meant to be in mourning.”She does not say she is, which Rio finds odd. The necromancers and cavaliers that He has thus gathered around him have all been bonded strongly, through love or at least deep respect; she had assumed the same would be true of Agatha and her now-departed Alisandre.“I know what awaited her, what comfort she now feels,” Rio says instead of inquiring. “So she gets comfort and I get this?” Agatha asks. “I get to languish at His feet for all time?”It is uncomfortable close to how Rio sometimes thinks of her own fate, but she is not yet so rebellious as to agree openly, and the unvarnished vulnerability in the other woman’s tone strikes at something in her, so she abandons herself to animal instinct and kisses Agatha, with teeth and tongue and no shred of gentleness.“Freaky,” Agatha whispers when she pulls away for air.
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Nicolette Minoru is used to being lonely. She's born into a family that's already broken: mother distant, like she thinks too much love will ruin her children, and father conspicuously absent. She's told to say he was killed in the war, but sometimes her mother says things that make that sound like a lie to save face. Her sister Amelia, Amy to those closest, is the only one who loves her truly, but she's all that Nicolette is not; affable, colorful, well-liked and sought after. Amy gets swept up by the kind of people their mother can't argue with, the kind of people who will always call her Amelia, and maybe it's smart for her to marry a white man and settle down early, since God knows Nicolette won't. But it's not, it's foolish to have allowed it, one day Amy is hugging her sister goodbye and the next two policemen arrive and say, sounding vaguely judgmental, that she's been killed. Nicolette knows there’s a connection. She sees it as clearly as if it was happening in front of her, the man and his friends doing unspeakable things to Amy, and it’s not the first time this has happened, but when she tells her mother all she gets in return is a “don’t be foolish, you’re imagining it.” She presses it, and her mother threatens that if she keeps talking crazy, she’ll get sent to the asylum.Nicolette goes into the woods with a rope that night, not expecting to come out, but that’s where Robert finds her. Robert brings her back from the brink of death and offers to be as a father to her, to give her power and new life, and how can she refuse?Robert doesn’t want her to put on Amy’s bloodstained wedding dress and hunt down the men that did her in, but he also doesn’t stop her. Karolina Dean grows up like a princess.She wants for nothing in her house on the hill: she wears the finest clothes, receives the best education, attends all of the most cutting-edge parties and premieres. Sure, she’s accompanied by one of her mother’s servants at every moment, and she never spends time with anyone her own age, and her mother’s pastor always seems to be lurking around every corner, but what could she really complain about?On her eighteenth birthday, she is brought to the church and, before she can ask any questions, the pastor sinks his teeth into her neck.He’s not the holy man he says, she quickly learns. He’s a vampire and uses the church as a cover, a way to recruit people into what he hopes someday will be an army, a legion of bloodthirsty killers who can remake the world in their image. He promised her mother riches in the moment and salvation when that day comes, and in turn her mother promised him her.She’s meant to be his dutiful daughter for eternity, standing at his side to lure innocents with her sweet smile, and for a while she does it because what else is she supposed to do? It’s what she was made for. Where else would she go? Who else would she be? What is a monster that looks like a girl supposed to do?Then they start turning children, and the children don’t know how to handle being so full of rage and thirst, and she may not know much but she knows that she can’t abide that.Other vampires come to end the lot of them and she quite literally flies away into the night. She feels like a coward, but she also, for the first time in her life, feels free. Nico - just Nico now, none of that pretentious frippery - has been traveling with Robert, acting like his daughter, for near a decade when she first sees the blonde woman.It’s in a vision, but unlike her mother, Robert always believes her when she says she’s had one of those. He’s willing to get them on a plane back to California to make it come true and he doesn’t even question the fact that it’s a girl Nico has seen herself with and not a boy; that, too, would have earned her a threat about the asylum if she’d said it to her mother. Robert has spent long enough on the planet that things like that don’t matter to him. Whatever will make her happy, he says.She meets her on a beach at nightfall, and it’s light enough that they can chase the sunlight but dark enough that their skin won’t give them away. She doesn’t bother with subtleties, just walks right up and says, “I knew I’d meet you here.”“What?” the blonde asks, laughing nervously. “I have visions,” Nico says bluntly. “It isn’t the strangest thing about me.”“Oh,” the blonde murmurs. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you…”“A vampire?” Nico asks. She wouldn’t normally be so blunt about it, but she knows how this is going to end up. She knows it’ll be alright. “Yes.”“Oh,” the blonde repeats. “I…”“I know,” Nico says. “What’s your name?”“You know what I am, but you don’t know my name?” the blonde giggles. “That’s odd.”“Visions aren’t perfect,” Nico shrugs. “I’m Nico.”“Karolina,” says the blonde.Nico reaches for Karolina’s hand. “Would you walk with me, Karolina?” she asks softly.“You shouldn’t want me,” Karolina mumbles. “I’m… I’ve done things.”“We all have,” Nico shrugs. “What matters is doing better. I believe you can. Walk with me?”“Yes,” Karolina whispers, and she presses her lips to Nico’s cheek. “Yes, I will.”
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“You walked into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” whispers a voice in Karen's earShe startles, of course she does, but she wants to seem tougher and braver than she feels so she keeps her gaze fixed on the crowd on the dance floor beneath her and remarks, “I thought it was a question. ‘Would you,’ not ‘you did.’”“But you did, little fly,” comes the reply.“Not a cute nickname,” Karen says, and she finally turns to regard her company: one Ms. Vanessa Marianna, wearing one of her usual impeccably tailored pencil skirt and silk blouse sets and regarding Karen with amusement.“But it fits,” Vanessa hums, stroking down Karen’s arm to see how she shivers. “With you buzzing around where you oughtn't.” Karen lifts her chin in an impression of haughtiness. She's taller than Vanessa, even more with her shoes, but she doesn't feel it right now. She feels about a foot high. “I don't know what you mean,” she manages to say, and she’s proud that she can keep her voice so even.. “Maybe you're more of a busy little bee, though,” Vanessa continues smoothly, casually, as if she didn't even hear Karen. “Gathering secrets like so much honey.”“Can't a girl just come to a party?” Karen asks, though she knows it's a weak excuse. “That would work on most of the people here,” Vanessa says, crowding close to Karen, practically pushing her into the balcony railing. “I'm sure lots of them, the men, see a pretty blonde and think she was just hired to work the crowd.” She pauses to enjoy the way that ruffles Karen’s feathers. “They wouldn’t think twice about a sweet thing like you.”“Are you trying to win me over?” Karen asks, trying to sound acerbic.Vanessa laughs, low and melodic. “Those men would be fools,” she says. “They only see the outline of something. A beautiful woman is empty-headed and easy to ignore, or she’s a ball-busting temptress. She’s not to be taken seriously, for one reason or another.”Well, that’s something Karen can’t refute. Her whole career, her whole life, she’s been underestimated and undervalued, but especially by the kind of men that fill these parties. The ones who think they run the world, who do everything they can to keep power over everyone else. The ones that her friends fight, in the courtroom or on the streets or anywhere in between. She’s trying to do the same, however she can. She goes looking for secrets, just like Vanessa said, because she doesn’t know what else she can do, and she hopes it counts for something.Vanessa is still pressed close against her back, heartbeat steady, breath warm, and Karen knows she should rip herself away and get back to whatever it was she came here to do, but what she does instead is murmur, “Yeah, well, they don’t know shit.”“They don’t,” Vanessa agrees. “But you’re a very smart girl, aren’t you, Miss Page?”“You know my name,” Karen says, even though she shouldn’t be surprised.“You’re worth knowing,” Vanessa hums. “Solving your mysteries, writing your big stories.” She pushes Karen’s hair back from her ear. “You’re quite something.”Karen lets out a shuddery breath. “Laying it on a little thick, Ms. Marianna.”“I mean every word,” Vanessa says huskily, moving in to kiss Karen’s neck. “Oh,” Karen gasps, and she braces herself against the railing.“Come on, my busy bee,” Vanessa murmurs, lacing her fingers with Karen’s. “They don’t deserve you.” Is it any surprise, then, that Karen finds herself sprawled out on the chaise longue in Vanessa’s office, dress pooled around her hips, wrists pinned above her head?“You deserve to be taken care of,” Vanessa swears to her, kissing her between her thighs.That she’s reduced to sighs and moans, fluttering eyelids, shaking limbs, nothing but desperate want?“A brilliant girl like you should be treated like a queen,” Vanessa assures her.That she lets herself forget for a while that Vanessa Marianna is not just a benevolent entrepreneur but one of the most dangerous women in the city?“You’ve been so underappreciated, Karen, darling,” Vanessa murmurs against her skin. “You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.”She comes, shuddering and shaking, and she knows the instant she does that she shouldn’t be here, that she shouldn’t have let herself be pulled in by Vanessa’s tender words. She knows that Vanessa is not the vixen that men have painted her to be, but she also knows she’s been well and truly drawn in in a way that she shouldn’t allow herself to be.“You perfect little thing,” Vanessa hums. “You could have the world if you let yourself want it.”What she means, of course, is if she let Vanessa herself give it to her. It’s easy to see through, but maybe just for a moment Karen doesn’t have to be a plucky reporter or even a good or nice girl. Maybe all she needs to let herself be is Vanessa’s. Maybe for now that’s enough.
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“I don’t want to be here,” says the brown-haired girl as she sits down.Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”“Pressure from my father figure’s peers,” the girl says. “You’re a grown-ass woman,” Ruby remarks. “You are, aren’t you?”“Yes,” the girl sniffs, the picture of disdain, but then she softens a little. “It’s important to them - my family, I guess - that I try to be normal. To adjust.”Oh, that seems familiar. “I’m Ruby,” says Ruby, flashing one of her fanged smiles. “Laura,” replies the girl, and her own smile is decidedly more awkward. “Do you want to be here, Ruby?”“Not really,” Ruby says. “But the drinks are free.”“Apparently I’m not enough of an adult to have those yet,” Laura says. “Lo - my father figure calls that bullshit. Arbitrary.”“Old enough to die for your country but too young to drink in it,” Ruby says. “Yeah, it’s pretty bullshit.”“I don’t think I have a country,” Laura says. “Not really. I was born in Mexico, but -” She shakes her head. “It’s complicated.”“I understand complicated,” Ruby agrees. “I’m American on a technicality, but I grew up in a bubble, and the people in the bubble were - shit. They were shit.”“Most of the people in my ‘bubble’ were also shit,” Laura says with a little laugh, like she’s surprised to hear something so blunt. “It’s not something a lot of people relate to.”“I think most people can relate to knowing someone who sucks,” Ruby points out.“Not like the people I’ve known suck,” Laura says. “I might surprise you,” Ruby says.“What do you do for fun?” Laura asks, abruptly changing the subject.“Did I hit a nerve?” Ruby asks. “Fuck. I do that.”“It’s bad date conversation,” Laura replies smoothly. Ruby nods. “I respect that, I guess,” she says. “I work out a lot. MMA and stuff.”“Oh,” Laura says. “Me too, actually. I’ve been training as long as I could walk.”“Me too,” Ruby echoes. “You ever used chakrams? They’re not the most practical, but they’re really dramatic. People always think I picked them up ‘cause I watched too much Xena. I guess there are worse things to be associated with.” “What’s Xena?” Laura asks.“Old TV show,” Ruby says. “Came out before I was born, but it’s pretty good. This woman goes around fighting mythological monsters and gods and stuff with her girlfriend, except they can’t say they’re girlfriends ‘cause TV was homophobic back then.”“You’re talking a lot more about weapons and this TV show than you have about yourself,” Laura remarks.“It’s easier to talk about stuff that isn’t so personal, I guess,” Ruby says. “You haven’t really said that much about yourself either.”“My father figure’s business partner’s romance partner was the one who told me to come here tonight,” Laura rattles off. “She’s done a lot of work in customer service, so she thinks she’s an expert in socialization.”“Why does your father figure’s - whatever - why does she care about how you socialize?” Ruby asks.“I’m pretty sure my father figure and his business partner have had weird sex before,” Laura says. “I think the word is ‘metamour’? That makes her and my father figure metamours.”“Huh,” Ruby says. “Why do you call him your father figure?”“It’s complicated,” Laura says again. “I don’t have one of those,” Ruby says. “A father figure, I mean. I was basically a test tube baby.”“What about your mother?” Laura asks.“She sucked,” Ruby says. “She’s dead.”Laura nods just once. “The woman who raised me is also dead,” she says. “My father figure was an unwilling sperm donor and didn’t meet me until much later in life. I didn’t move in with him until very recently. We’re still defining our relationship.”“He sounds okay, though,” Ruby says. “And the other people must be, if they care about you enough to make you go make friends or whatever.”“They’re sort of family,” Laura agrees. “I’m still getting used to having one of those. It’s alright.”“I’ve never really had anyone like that,” Ruby says. “I do okay, though. I get by.” “All of them, they’ve taught me there’s more to it than just getting by,” Laura says shyly. “Yeah,” Ruby says, “maybe they’re onto something.”The buzzer goes off, indicating that they move to their next dates, but instead Laura stands up and holds out her hand. “Would you like to get out of here?” she asks. “I think I’d like to talk to you for real.”“I don’t know if you’ll like what you hear,” Ruby demurs, finding she’s actually a little nervous about it.“I might surprise you.”
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The moment the stagecoach draws to a halt, Crystalia calls a vague see-you-later over her shoulder and hops out with Lockjaw’s leash wrapped around her hand. She’s the little sister, the flighty one; any insouciance she displays comes from her innocent and sheltered temperament and will only be held against her if it stands in the way of the eventual courtship and marriage she’s to undertake.It’s not known who she’ll undertake these things with yet, of course, and it’s not even certain that she’ll meet someone that her sister deems suitable during their residence in Deadwood given how uncouth a population of cowfolk and miners is like to be, but she knows the expectation hangs over her.She’s determined to squeeze every bit of pleasure and interest out of her life before that terrible fate comes a-calling for her, and as such her first priority in Deadwood is to see as much of the rowdy town as she can manage.Lockjaw is, as ever, a viable excuse for her wanderings: such a large, enthusiastic dog requires regular exercise and garners attention from passersby both. Crystalia doesn’t mind that his size relegates them to walking in the muddy thoroughfare instead of on the raised wooden walkways joining many of the buildings; perhaps her sister will scold her for coming back with dirt splattering her sunshine-yellow skirts, but the lecture won’t last long as Medusalith knows that it won’t stick (since it never does).She passes the mercantile, the bank, the hardware store and peers through the doors as best she can before Lockjaw tries to poke his nose in. (He won’t disturb things, but most shopkeepers are wary of him because of his unusually large size, and she’s conscientious enough not to bother others with his presence.) She lingers just moments longer in front of two separate saloons, one that seems to contain mostly bedraggled miners (some of whom must be in her family’s employ, since to hear Medusalith tell it they’re the largest enterprise set up in this town) and another occupied by not only miners but by more respectable folk in careworn but proper clothes and just a few scantily-clad women, and tears herself away with a guilty flush. A third saloon, this one finer still with velvet curtains in its windows and beautifully-papered walls, stands on a corner slightly removed from the center of town, in what might be intended as the wealthier or more sophisticated district. The storefront that her brother-in-law and his associates have chosen as their own stands nearby, already sporting a neat “Boltagon & Co.” plaque beside the door, and this affirms for her that she’s found the “better” part of town; as such, she feels her lingering in the road is more allowed. If Medusalith or any of the others were to hear of it, she’d simply say she was taking in their new neighborhood.“You lost, sweetheart?” asks a voice behind her.“Not precisely,” Crystalia says quickly, tightening her hold on Lockjaw’s leash. The voice is feminine and sweeter than she expects to hear in the streets of a town with such a rough reputation, but she still feels like she has to go on the defensive. “I’m getting my bearings, is all.”“Oh?” the woman asks. She crosses in front of Crystalia, arms folded across her chest. She wears her burgundy silk corset on the outside, as if it were a bodice and not an undergarment, and the underskirts and chemise that frame it are done in a gray muslin with lace trim; her stockings are red-and-black striped and her black boots have coquettish little heels.Crystalia is suddenly sure she’s the most unsophisticated little fool in the world.“We’ve just arrived in town,” Crystalia says shyly. “My sister, her husband, his brother, and I. Our - their business associates have been running the operation, but Medusalith said it was high time to get directly involved.” She laughs nervously, feeling herself wilt under the woman’s gaze. “When she says that, she means her husband, since it’s his name on the letterhead, but she’s the one who makes most of the decisions really.”“It seems that’s often so,” the woman says, and she holds out a hand boldly, like a man might. “I’m called Kora. What’s your name, then?”“Crystalia.” She shakes Kora’s hand timidly, hoping it’s not terribly obvious she’s never done such a thing before. “Crystalia Amaquelin. And this is Lockjaw.” Beside her, her dog smiles up at Kora, and Kora favors him with a scratch between the ears.“What a fine lady you are,” Kora teases, and now she tucks a lock of hair behind Crystalia’s ear. “You’re from out East, aren’t you?”Crystalia nods. “This is the farthest I’ve been from home,” she says. “Only I suppose this is home now.”“Home is little more than a pretty idea,” Kora remarks. “Though perhaps it’s different if you have a family alongside you.”“Perhaps,” Crystalia echoes, and for reasons she cannot fathom she adds, “I’m not so sure my family cares much for me. Medusalith wants nothing more than to marry me off and see me a wealthy wife like her, but whether she wants that because it’s right and proper for me or because she’d like to be free from the burden of me isn’t clear. Her husband hardly acknowledges me, but then he doesn’t speak to hardly anyone. And his brother…” She trails off with a shudder, the sort she’s been repressing for all too long.Unfortunately, it’s exactly the sort of shudder that Kora or any woman knows how to identify, and as such Kora’s gently playful expression shifts into one both angrier and more stern. “What’s he done?” she asks in a quiet hiss. Crystalia flinches, somehow even more embarrassed though all she’s done is hint at the truth. “Nothing,” she says, but then she corrects, “Nothing yet, but sometimes when we’re alone I can tell he wants to change that.” Lockjaw growls low in his throat in apparent agreement.“Monstrous,” Kora mutters. “If he were to find his way into the saloon, I could ensure he didn’t leave.”“What?” Crystalia asks, blinking rapidly in shock.Kora shrugs, her own innocence a clear put-on. “Plenty of men meet their fate inside our walls.”“I couldn’t ask that of a stranger,” Crystalia says. “I shouldn’t. He’s family.”Now Kora looks almost disappointed, and Crystalia’s frown deepens. “Well, anyways,” Kora says, “if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”“You work there?” Crystalia asks, though she already knows.“Oh, dearest,” Kora says, raising an eyebrow and then nodding down at herself, “of course I do. Look at me.”“You’re lovely,” Crystalia says without thinking, and then she slams her free hand over her mouth.“High compliment, from a beauty like you,” Kora says. “Perhaps you could find me for some other reason. I wouldn’t argue seeing you again.”
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When Xialing is thirteen years old, too young to be given trust or responsibilities but too old to be easily taken in, her closet fills up with light and, though she would never confess to it and make herself look weak or easily frightened, she screams.The door opens. She’s expecting it to be some sort of demon or creature, or worse, her father having hidden in there to pop out and make some point about her lack of vigilance (and it’s not entirely out of the question that one of his enemies could have crept into their house and hidden specifically in her closet for hours before taking their chance to kill her, but it does seem unnecessarily complicated, especially since losing her wouldn’t be so great a blow to her father, really) but instead - A girl. A white girl who’s probably about her age, with long brown hair and an outfit that looks straight out of a science-fiction movie.“Nǐ shì shéi?” Xialing exclaims, drawing into one of the combat stances her brother has taught her. A second too late, she realizes this white girl might not actually understand her, but repeating herself in English would be admitting her mistake and therefore appearing vulnerable, and appearing vulnerable is the last thing she should do in front of a potential threat.To her surprise, the girl lifts her chin and says, with a decent accent, “Wǒ shì Sylvie.”“Sylvie,” Xialing repeats, the syllables tasting foreign and dangerous. “Wǒ shì Xialing.” She’s not sure what makes her do it - maybe it’s the hope she could take care of herself if it came to that, or maybe it’s the sudden sense that it won’t come to that with this mysterious interloper - but she slowly backs toward her bed and sits on it, then gestures for Sylvie to join her. Sylvie actually looks surprised by this, and in fact she glances around like she’s checking for threats before she gingerly goes to sit beside Xialing. She makes a face like she’s trying to rifle through papers in her mind before she asks, more sheepishly, “Do you know English?”“Yes,” Xialing says, a little affronted - her English isn’t perfect, she knows, but she’s been taught enough to survive in the world even if she hasn’t actually been allowed out in it. “Alright,” Sylvie says. “I understand Mandarin better than I speak it, I’m afraid.” Xialing shrugs. “Whatever you like,” she says. “Why are you here? How are you here?”Sylvie takes a deep breath, and whatever Xialing was expecting her to say, it’s not what spills out: the literal daughter of gods, abducted by forces she didn’t understand and given little explanation as to why, now wandering the universe and the timeline with unbelievable technology and literal magic on her side as she hides from those aforementioned forces. It sounds so made up that Xialing knows it’s true, and she shares her own unbelievable truth in turn. It feels good to be able to say it aloud, and even though she knows it’s dangerous, who is this little fugitive really going to tell?They’ve moved into the part of the conversation where they swap likes and dislikes and the kind of inconsequential nothings that make up one’s personality when Xialing hears rumbling footsteps in the hallway. “Tā mā de,” she whispers. “My father’s men.”“I’ll find you again,” Sylvie says, and she takes Xialing’s hand to kiss it before she runs for the closet and disappears with another flash of light. Xialing tries not to be hurt. It was for Sylvie’s safety she ran, and likely for her own as well (she doesn’t want to imagine what her father would say if he caught her harboring a fugitive white girl with impossible powers in her bedroom). But it still reminds her how easy she is to leave. She knows how foolish it is to expect Sylvie to come back. They spent a few hours together once, months and years ago, when Sylvie was jumping from place to place and Xialing was stuck in hers. It couldn’t have meant that much to her, really. Xialing was just lonely and naive.Still, she checks inside her closet every day until she leaves her father’s house behind.She looks over her shoulder wherever she goes. She doesn’t ever stop hoping, even though she’d never admit it. When Xialing is twenty-one years old, well-established in her own right, and she’s convinced herself that she’s alright on her own, really, she spots a new face in the crowd during a fight, a slender white woman dressed like someone who’d step into the ring herself, and there’s no way of knowing for sure but just in case Xialing sends Jon-Jon with a note to meet her in her office later .She tries not to spend the rest of the night fluttering with hope like a schoolchild.After the final fight, that same woman appears in the door, and Xialing knows she was right from the moment Sylvie opens her mouth and drawls, “You’ve certainly made something of yourself.”“You’re blonde,” Xialing replies without missing a beat.“I’d say yours is more important,” Sylvie replies cheerfully, striding over and perching on the edge of Xialing’s desk. “Big boss, and all. Good for you, getting away from Daddy. He did sound like a prick.”Xialing laughs at that, she can’t help herself. “You’re blunter, too,” she says.“Yes, well, I’ve been perfecting the art of being on the run,” she says. “Most places I end up are decidedly more… apocalyptic than this. Not a lot of room for niceties.”“Did you come back looking for my protection, then?” Xialing asks, and she knows it sounds arrogant but she doesn’t bother to take it back.“I came back because I told you I would,” Sylvie replies, as if it’s that simple.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Agent Morse takes Jemma’s hand and promises to protect her, and the little part of Jemma’s brain that took this mission to ensure that she wouldn’t just need to be protected is embarrassed but the part of her that’s full of foolish romantic Doctor Who fantasies is too stunned to do anything but not eagerly and follow along. Agent Morse drags her through the building, and there are loyal Hydra agents on their heels shooting and screaming aspersions, and more than once Agent Morse whips out her batons and knocks them down and Jemma should be a little scared but she’s thrilled.Agent Morse has them almost to the roof when another Hydra agent calls out, “Stop right there,” and Agent Morse actually does stop, so Jemma does too. Now they’re facing a woman, dark-haired and with a scarred face, and Agent Morse gasps. “Kara,” she says softly. “Who the hell is Kara?” the woman asks, tilting her head.“Ah, fuck,” Agent Morse murmurs, and she knocks this Kara out with one swift strike. Between the two of them, they drag Kara up to the roof with them and onto the waiting jet, and once they’re in the air Trip steps away from the cockpit to help them get her set up in the med bay. This is simple for Jemma, just pushing all of her fear and anxiety down and focusing on getting this new person stabilized and safe, then making sure that Agent Morse is doing alright after their escape. Her professional calm falters when Agent Morse grabs her fluttering hand and offers to take a look at her, too; it turns out that in addition to being a brilliant spy and one of the most badass women Jemma has ever seen, Agent Morse is also trained in science and medicine, and she handles Jemma so gently that something inside her cracks and her breath starts coming in shuddering gasps.“Hey,” Trip murmurs, placing a hand on Jemma’s back, “hey, you’re good. You’re gonna be okay.”“You should be so mad at me!” Jemma exclaims.“I understand,” Trip soothes. “Don’t worry, Jem. We got you.” When she wakes, she’s in one of the beds in the Playground’s med bay, with Kara set up in another; Trip is nowhere to be found, but Agent Morse is sat in a chair between the two beds with a tablet in her lap.“Hey,” Agent Morse says with a little smirk. “You doing okay? Panic attacks are a bitch.”Jemma flinches. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to -”“Don’t worry about it,” Agent Morse says. “You had a hell of a day.”She’ll blame it on exhaustion or an emotional hangover or maybe just her filters being down, but Jemma stammers, “It’s been a lot longer than a day that’s felt like - I mean, I thought I’d die every day I went into that building, but then I thought, maybe that would be fitting, I’d already cheated - and then I wouldn’t be such a burden on everyone - but then, maybe it wouldn’t matter to them, since I’d already abandoned them.”“Whoa,” Agent Morse says, and she lays a hand over Jemma’s in what’s probably meant to be an attempt at calming her. “Look, Simmons -”“Jemma,” interrupts Jemma. “If you’d like to, I mean. I’d like it if you… yes. If we’re going to be, ah. Friends.”“Jemma,” Agent Morse repeats. “Then you have to call me Bobbi, okay?”“Okay,” Jemma agrees shyly. “Bobbi.”“Jemma,” Bobbi repeats. “Nobody wants you dead. Nobody thinks you’re a burden. You survived for months in Hydra, I think that’s pretty badass. And clearly Trip isn’t mad at you, I’ve known him for ages and that boy is smitten.”Jemma blushes. “Trip is the kindest man on Earth,” she says. “But I left when he was grieving, and I was grieving too but that doesn’t make it alright, and - and Daisy! Daisy must be furious.”“Let Daisy decide that,” says Daisy, appearing in the doorway with Trip at her side. She sounds a little choked up, like she either has been crying or is about to start, but she doesn’t sound angry.“Oh!” Jemma yelps. “Daisy, I -”“You’re here,” Daisy says, crossing the room and climbing onto the bed to wrap Jemma up in her arms. Trip joins them, perching at the end of the bed.“I’m sorry,” Jemma whispers. “After Fitz - I just, I felt so useless, like I was going to bring you down with me. I wanted to do the right thing, and I didn’t know what that was, but I thought…”“It’s okay, honey,” Daisy promises. “We’re gonna figure it out.” “How’s Kara doing?” Trip asks after a while, looking over at her with a concerned frown.“She’s breathing,” Bobbi sighs, “and she’s out of there. That’s something.”“How do you know her?” Jemma asks timidly. “I mean, if you don’t want to say, I… that’s alright, of course.”Bobbi shakes her head. “We used to be… girlfriends, I guess,” she says. “Before everything that happened. Kind of on-again, off-again, but more just because of our schedules. When SHIELD fell and I didn’t hear from her, I thought she’d… well.” She trails off. “I took the undercover gig, and I started hearing about the SHIELD agents they’d captured and reprogrammed.”“Shit,” Daisy murmurs.“Whitehall, he always had a woman with him, like his private guard or something,” Bobbi continues. “But she always had a different face.”“The nanomask,” Jemma murmurs, having already examined the remnants of it fused to Kara’s face and causing all that scarring.Bobbi nods. “It wasn’t until she got brought in with that injury that I even realized it was her,” she says. “If she hadn’t chased us down today, I would have gone back to get her, but…”“But sometimes fate works out okay,” Trip supplies. “You think we can fix whatever they did to her?”“It’s not even a question,” Bobbi says vehemently.“It’s not,” Jemma agrees, and this time she’s the one reaching to take Bobbi’s hand. “We’ll help however we can, I promise.”Daisy looks between the other women with a raised eyebrow, but then she smiles. “Hey, if Jem is game then I’m game,” she says. “Take that however you will.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Sersi is kneeling in the training room, a bō staff laid across her lap like it’s a holy thing she’s praying to, and it’s obvious that she’s been crying. She doesn’t notice Thena enter the room, and for a minute Thena considers just turning around and leaving her be, letting her have her privacy and her grief. That would be the polite thing to do. That’s what everyone did with her.Quite frankly, she wishes they hadn’t, so she comes closer and says, “Welcome to the club.”Sersi looks up, her expression flickering from shocked to apologetic to aghast, and she exclaims, “It’s hardly the same thing. He’s not gone, he’s just…”“Gone,” Thena supplies. She sits cross-legged beside Sersi and shrugs. “Personally, I think Ikaris is a fool and a coward, but that doesn’t change that you’ve lost him.”Well, she never said she was good at comforting.“It feels so many different ways at once,” Sersi admits in a rush. “I’m furious at him for running out on us, but I’m also furious at myself for not noticing that he was going to. I should have seen the signs! If not in real life, then at least in the Drift.”“Nobody expected you to predict that,” Thena points out.“And then,” Sersi continues, as if she didn’t hear Thena, “I’m mourning him and what we had, as co-pilots and as…” She shakes her head. “But I’m also furious at myself for mourning him, because he made his choice and the fact that he did should be enough to sever whatever emotional hold he had on me.”“Hearts are rarely that simple,” Thena says.“And then I see you,” Sersi adds, looking at Thena with watering eyes, “and I feel even guiltier, because you… you really lost Gil, truly and completely, and that’s so much worse, so what right do I have to feel like this, really?”“It’s also not a competition,” Thena says, though the mention of her deceased co-pilot and soulmate makes her prickle. She knows Sersi is trying to be gentle about it, so it’s that much easier to push down the discomfort. “We both lost our other halves, one way or another, and in a business that centers on being a matched pair, that’s going to sting.”Sersi laughs hollowly and shakes hair out of her face. “How do you get up every morning and keep going?” she asks. “Having felt… what you’ve felt.”“Some mornings I don’t,” Thena says plainly. “There are days when he’s all I hear, when I see him around every corner. You might notice I have yet to try getting back in the pilot’s seat with anyone.”“Nobody expects you to rush into that,” Sersi insists. “You could go the rest of your life without setting foot in a Jaeger again and you’d still be a hero.”“Maybe so,” Thena shrugs. “I’d take having him back over a good reputation any day, though.”“You’re incredible,” Sersi says earnestly. “I know you just said that doesn’t matter to you, but I want you to know it. You’re incredible, and I’m just moping like a child.”That does make Thena blush, just a little - public opinion doesn’t matter much to her, but Sersi is one of her people and even though she throws compliments like confetti they’re always sincere - but she chooses to focus on the other thing. “You were betrayed,” she says. “We all were. He turned his back on the Jaeger Program and on all of us.”“I don’t even want him back,” Sersi interrupts, her grip on the staff tightening. “What he did, it casts a horrible shadow on everything we ever had, and that means years of my life were a waste.”“Ah,” Thena says, and despite the voice telling her it’s not appropriate, she inches closer and puts a hand over Sersi’s. “That’s a silly thing to say. You’re much more than just who you were with him.”Sersi turns her hand over so she can take Thena’s properly. “It doesn’t feel that way,” she confesses. “You’ve never seen yourself as others do,” Thena replies, perhaps more firmly than is necessary. “You’re stronger, braver, kinder than Ikaris could ever be. You’re here to do right, not just to gain glory.”“You flatter me,” Sersi demurs.“I’m not in the habit of giving praise when it’s undeserved,” Thena points out. In truth, she’s not in the habit of giving praise, period, but it’s Sersi. Sersi has always been different.“Thank you,” Sersi whispers. She lowers the staff to the floor, moves closer to Thena. “May I…?”“Yes,” Thena says, though she doesn’t know what’s being asked.Sersi arranges herself so her head is in Thena’s lap, and Thena’s breath catches for how vulnerable and trusting it is. The others may see her as a hero, but they also see her as a broken thing, a bomb that could go off at any moment. Sersi just sees her as her, whoever that is anymore.“Oh,” Thena murmurs.“Is this alright?” Sersi asks.“Yes,” Thena repeats, because anything else can wait.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hey, good-lookin’,” drawls Isabelle.Victoria scoffs, but she’s smiling when she turns around from the dumpster. Isabelle is leaning up against the back wall of the diner, arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other rakishly. It looks like she learned it from watching one of the biker boys, which is to say it looks like complete posturing, manufactured and preening and kind of stupid.It’s charming in a way that it has no business being, but Victoria’s not about to admit that outright.Instead she asks, “Do you really think lines like that work?”To Isabelle’s credit, she doesn’t keep up the facade (which is what one of the boys would do) but instead wrinkles her nose and says, “I guess I’ve never actually seen them work, no.” “Have you ever thought about that?” Victoria asks contemplatively. “Is it just that we think that we’re supposed to say these things, so we keep saying them?”Looking deeply uncomfortable all of a sudden, Isabelle goes to sit on a nearby bench. (It isn’t actually smelly back here, despite the proximity to the dumpsters; maybe it’s the beach air.) “I guess I haven't thought about it, no,” she says.“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Victoria asks. “It’s like we have all of these little routines that we feel like we have to follow, and we keep at it, even when it doesn’t actually achieve anything.”“Doesn’t it?” Isabelle asks.“What has it achieved, really?” Victoria asks, sitting beside Isabelle and raising an eyebrow.“Well,” Isabelle says doubtfully, “Hunter always says the same sort of goofy stuff to Bobbi, and she…”“Spends at least half of the time wanting to slap him,” Victoria says.“And the other half wanting to kiss him,” Isabelle says. “I mean, I don’t know why, but she does.”“Does she?” Victoria asks. “Or maybe she just thinks she does.”Isabelle makes an uncomfortable face.“Maybe I’m just making it up,” Victoria says. “Or seeing things that aren’t really there. I mean, I really only see you when you’re all in the diner, I could be misinterpreting things.”“We spend most of our time here,” Isabelle points out. “I think you probably know us fine.”“Thanks, I guess,” Victoria smirks.“You’re pretty swell,” Isabelle remarks. “You should really come out riding with us some time, I’d love to show you my bike.”“Do you actually have one?” Victoria asks. “You don’t just ride on one of the boys’?”“Do I look like the kind of girl who’d ride on a boy’s bike?” Isabelle asks.“You don’t look like the kind of girl who’d ride a boy’s anything,” Victoria says, completely straight-faced.Isabelle snorts out a laugh. “Actually, we all have our own bikes,” she says instead of commenting on what may or may not have been a raunchy joke. “I’ve done a lot of the work on mine myself.”“Neat,” Victoria says. “I like you a lot more when you’re acting like yourself, you know.”“Huh?” Isabelle asks.“You’re trying to have a conversation with me,” Victoria says. “You’re not just reciting the same cheesy one-liners you’ve heard from the guys.”“Sorry,” Isabelle says, genuinely sheepish. “I guess I didn’t know how else to express…”“I know,” Victoria says. “That’s my point. We only have a few scripts to follow, but they don’t actually fit that well. What you want, if you want what I think you want, doesn’t really fit with the things we know how to say, so you’re trying your best. I understand.”“Do you want that too?” Isabelle asks shyly.“I think so,” Victoria says, letting her hand drift closer to Isabelle’s, “but I’m afraid we might have to wait for the right moment to get it. Would you be okay with waiting for whenever that is?”“Of course,” Isabelle says.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Elsa Bloodstone is nothing if not covert. This is largely because it’s a professional advantage; one can’t be a particularly good monster-hunting monster without the ability to blend into the shadows. And on nights like tonight, when she’s hunting for something entirely different, she prefers to wait for the ideal moment and strike.As it were.She tells herself it’s because of that that she startles (just a bit!) when a low voice asks in her ear, “Does your shiny rock show off like that for all the girls?”Elsa’s spine stiffens and then she reaches for the Bloodstone around her neck to stifle its glow (even though it’s not nearly as intense as this stranger has suggested). “You must be sensitive to it,” she says, affecting a haughty tone as she turns to look at the woman. She’s frankly stunning, with dark hair and darker makeup, but there’s something haunting about her that makes Elsa have to remark, “Most other vampires aren’t. You are a…?”“I’m the vampire,” the woman near-hisses, but she laughs before Elsa has a chance to figure out what that means (possibly that she’s ancient - ancient vampires are strange like that). “I’d think that if anyone could tell, it would be the only Bloodstone daughter.”“You have me at a disadvantage,” Elsa says coolly. “Rio Vidal,” the woman says, tossing her hair and dropping fang. “Rio,” Elsa repeats. “I’m Elsa, which it seems like you know already.”Rio nods, also not bothering to elaborate on that. “Are you out hunting tonight?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to find a lot of demons and nasties in a vampire bar, I’m afraid.”Elsa snorts. “I didn’t plan on it,” she says, lifting her half-drunk bottle of TruBlood. “Suffice to say, I’m looking for something else tonight.”“Or someone,” Rio supplies knowingly. “Is that why you didn’t bring your boy-toy?”“My whom?” Elsa asks, as if it will save her.“Don’t act so innocent,” Rio teases, leaning in toward Elsa with a little smile. “There’s nothing wrong with being a werewolf fucker.”Apparently, in addition to being ancient and a smug little brat, this Rio collects others’ secrets, and there’s no use in trying to fight with someone like that. “Oh, do leave Jack out of it,” she says instead, chuckling in the devil-may-care way she taught herself to blend in with the moneyed set. “He’s a darling man, but against all odds he gets squeamish about my feeding.”“Oh, and his isn’t gruesome in the slightest,” Rio says, but she still has that smile.“He’s surprisingly non-violent, actually,” Elsa says. “He’ll fight if he has to, and he’ll hunt with me when the target deserves it -”“Isn’t that your thing these days, Ms. Bloodstone?” Rio asks, batting her eyelashes. “Vigilantism and all.”Elsa shrugs in concession. “But he doesn’t kill just for fun,” she continues, “and he usually eats when he’s fully human. There’s a lot more to it when I go looking for a live meal.”“But he doesn’t mind when you go out like this, I hope,” Rio prompts.“A girl has to eat,” Elsa says. “I adore him, he adores me, but we’re not exclusive. If we were I’d have sent you on your way a while ago.” She takes this chance to smile back at Rio, giving her the exact look she’d normally give a potential blood donor.“Oh, you’re funny,” Rio croons. “You’re much more fun than I thought you’d be, I must say. You hear ‘legacy monster hunter’ and you assume someone’s so stodgy.”Elsa shrugs, all too casual; she’s grasping the Bloodstone again, rubbing her thumb over it like a nervous stim (which of course it is). “Funny thing, that,” she says. “Stodgy monster hunters don’t take kindly to their prodigal daughter becoming a monster herself. There’s a reason I’m more discerning about my targets than my father ever was.”“And a tragic past, too,” Rio drawls. “You have it all.” She places her hand over Elsa’s, gives a theatrical shudder as the warmth from the Bloodstone hits her, and says, “We should dance. Give them a good show before we drag someone off to their untimely end.”“I don’t usually kill when I feed, either,” Elsa says, smirking to hide that she can’t tell whether that was a joke or not.“Boo,” Rio replies, which doesn’t do anything to confirm her seriousness either, but she drags Elsa toward the dancefloor and says, “Well, we can still have some fun.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Oh, lisichka,” Natasha croons softly, holding her arms out to Maria in the kind of nurturing way she'd never let most people witness. “I'm sorry.”“Yeah, I'm sorry too,” Maria snarks. “It's like, shit, Fury. After everything, that's how it ends?”“It wasn't him, you know,” Natasha says.“I know,” Maria sighs, and she bows to the inevitable and lets herself be wrapped up in Natasha's embrace. “But what a fucking anticlimax. He drags me into yet another mess, and that's fine, that's sort of our routine, but it barely gets going before I turn into a fatality in the crowd like a damn civilian.”Natasha nods, reaching to card through Maria's hair soothingly. “No offense to civilians, of course,” Maria adds, “but after all the work I put in, I feel like I deserved a cooler death, you know? Protecting someone or sacrificing myself or -” She cuts herself off with a grimace, looking guiltily at Natasha. “Ah, shit.”“You know, as much as you'd like to think it would, that doesn't totally take the sting away,” Natasha cracks. She moves to take Maria's hand and lead her over to a nearby park bench, and Maria, being the impertinent brat she can be, interrupts to ask, “So does all of the afterlife look like a major metropolitan area, or is that just because we're used to that kind of thing?”“It's called Deadland, goofball, didn't you read the brochure?” Natasha teases. Maria shrugs. “I did just get here.”“There are some more pastoral areas to explore,” Natasha explains, “but newbies wind up in City Center first. That answer your question?”“Enough for now,” Maria says. “Sorry. Go back to what you were saying.”Natasha nods in concession. “Sure,” she says, “it's nice knowing your death helped people. But that doesn't make being dead suck any less, or mean I don't have regrets. I could've left a note for Yelena. I could've told anyone what I was doing and why.” “Everyone would have argued with you,” Maria points out.“Well, I know better than them, though, don't I?” Natasha smirks. “Besides, someone was going to have to do it. Better me than -”“Do not fucking say that,” Maria interrupts vehemently. “Clint mentioned that bullshit you said, because he obviously felt guilty as hell, and that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”“That's trauma, babe,” Natasha replies glibly. “Maybe you don't think it's true, but that doesn't mean it wasn't always a whisper in my ear.”“Okay, but would you think that about Yelena?” Maria asks. “She has the same, uh. Thing going on as you.”“You can just say a forcible hysterectomy, Maria.” Natasha rolls her eyes, but she's smiling fondly. “God knows if you tried to beat around the bush about it with Lena, she'd have bitten your head off. She doesn't take shit, that one.”“I wish I had known her,” Maria says, serious for a moment. “But answer my question.”“Of course I wouldn’t,” Natasha says. “She deserves better than that.”“You did too, dumbass,” Maria says, nudging Natasha pointedly. “There wasn’t a good end to that story, you’re right, but you didn’t deserve to die. Especially not because Clint’s got kids and you can’t. Couldn’t.” She leans her head against Natasha’s. “And it sucks that you felt that way.”“Thanks, lisichka,” Natasha sighs.“I know a lot of people agreed,” Maria continues. “Clint, obviously, and Laura and the kids, and Steve and his boys. Fury, Wanda, Carol, Nebula. Bruce.” Lest Natasha dwell on the thoughts of her erstwhile ex, she hurries to add, “Little Peter doesn’t even know you, but he was the most devastated little fanboy.”That makes Natasha laugh, which was the whole point. “Makes sense, I guess,” she says. “Thanks for not having a big reception for me, by the way. That would have been really embarrassing. I wouldn’t have minded something, but…”“Hey, we poured one out for you after Tony’s stupid to-do,” Maria defends playfully. “Well, not the kids, but the rest of us. It felt more your style.”“Thanks,” Natasha says again, smirking.“And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t suck that you saved the world, but it sucks that you had to die to do that,” Maria adds. “Even if it is way more interesting than my shit.”“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Natasha says, nuzzling against Maria’s shoulder. “You’re still a badass, you know.”“You too,” Maria says. “And hey, at least we’re here together.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“When I was very young,” Elektra murmurs, reaching to brush a piece of hair behind Karen’s ear and then deciding instead to twirl it around her finger, “I think I was the loneliest girl in the world.”
“I can’t imagine that,” Karen says, because although she can, it’s the sort of thing one says to assure someone they love. She’s not entirely sure what she means to assure Elektra of right now - perhaps that she doesn’t seem like she’s lonely now, since she’s such a social butterfly? - but she knows it’s important to try.
“It’s true,” Elektra says. “My mother died, my father was forever away on business. I was left in the manor with their servants, and none of them treated me as more than a chore. I was hardly allowed to leave the house, lest someone take me to hurt my father.”
“I’m sorry, my darling,” Karen murmurs, reaching to cover Elektra’s hand with her own.
“Then he passed too,” Elektra continues. There’s a dreamlike quality to her narration; her accent has gotten thicker. “His friend became my guardian, but he wasn’t around any more than my father had been, and while he saw to my education, he gave me no more freedom than I’d had before.”
“I’m sorry,” Karen says again.
“I wished for such foolish things,” Elektra says. “Maybe I’d be whisked away by a handsome prince, or I’d fall in with a thrilling carnival and become its rope-walker or the girl who dances with swords.”
“You’d be marvelous,” Karen declares. She doesn’t miss how much more detail Elektra gives the second fantasy than the first.
Elektra favors her with a smile, but then she continues, “Sometimes in my darkest fits of melancholy, I’d imagine my mother’s ghost taking my hand and leading me to - wherever she was.”
“Oh, Elektra,” Karen whispers, going solemn.
Elektra glances away now, murmuring, “Sometimes, when it was even worse than all that…”
“What?” Karen asks, though she finds she’s a bit afraid to hear the answer.
Elektra shuts her eyes for a few long moments, but then she pastes on a bright smile and says, “Oh, it isn’t important. I came to the city, took up in Papa’s townhouse, met - well, everyone…”
Now it’s Karen’s turn to hesitate. In her heart of hearts, she wants to be the one filling that pause for Elektra, taking up the most space in her soul, but she knows she can’t be. Elektra is betrothed, and were it not horribly improper it would surely be him laying across from her in this bed!
“Yes,” Karen finally says, and she squeezes Elektra’s hand. “I’m awfully glad for you.”
“You aren’t lonely, are you?” Elektra asks softly, suddenly concerned. “I would think not, with all your suitors.”
“I’m not, I promise,” Karen says. She doesn’t say anything about them, because they’re wonderful but they’re not the ones who take up space in
her
soul, not really. What she does say is, “I’m much happier here than I was in my father’s home, in my mother’s shadow. I could never live up to her legacy.”
“I can’t imagine anyone being displeased with you,” Elektra says. “You’re perfect.”
Karen’s cheeks redden and she thanks God that the light is dim enough to hide that fact. “I’m not, really,” she demurs. “I don’t have a fancy name or a title. I know there are those who look down on me for working, or for stringing along the boys.”
“They’re foolish,” Elektra says. “You’ve made your own life. Anyone who judges you for that doesn’t deserve to have their opinions taken seriously.” She leans in to kiss Karen’s cheek. “I envy you your independence. I feel sometimes like even as I play at mine, I’m just following a path that was laid out for me by fate.”
“Are you happy?” Karen asks.
“Yes,” Elektra says quickly, but then: “Of course I still wish for more sometimes. I get lost in wild and wicked fantasies. But this is the life I’ve been given. I try to be content.”
Karen nods. “I understand,” she says, because oh, of course she does!
“I’m always happy with you,” Elektra murmurs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to someone as I am to you.”
“Not even your fiance?” Karen asks.
Elektra shakes her head, expression rueful. “It’s so much harder to talk to men,” she says. “They have such strict notions of who we’re meant to be. They must be rational and tough, to counter our vulnerability and flightiness. They can’t show their emotions lest they seem weak, but we’re expected to so they can continue to see us as such.”
“And they struggle to see past those expectations of us, no matter how good they are,” Karen adds. “I understand entirely.”
“I think I’ve made you sad,” Elektra says suddenly. “Enough of that. Come here.” She pulls Karen close and kisses her again, this time on the mouth, and whispers, “I’d choose you every time.”
“And I you,” Karen whispers back. She’s not sure if it’s true, but it feels right in the moment.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“- and then, then home began to explode,” Crystal says, “so Lockjaw and I teleported everyone away, down to Earth. Have you been to Hawaii? It's very beautiful.”
Valkyrie smirks. “I haven't had the chance yet,” she says. “It's tropical, yes?”
“Yes,” Crystal agrees. “I'm not sure that they stayed there, though. I don't think Medusa liked it very much, for one. She's much happier in an industrial setting.”
She looks pleased with herself for knowing that term, which Valkyrie finds adorable, but instead of saying so she asks, “So you don't know where they've wound up?”
Crystal shakes her head, eyes gleaming. “I haven't spoken to any of them in ages and ages,” she says. “I think Medusa thought maybe I just needed to get it out of my system.”
“Medusa sounds like a prick,” Valkyrie remarks.
“I'm not sure she really understands me, is all,” Crystal muses. “She certainly doesn't understand why I'd choose a different life than hers.”
“Ergo, prick,” Valkyrie says, raising an eyebrow.
Crystal shrugs. It’s clear she sort of agrees, but she doesn’t want to say so outright; for all of her wanderlust, she must still feel some sort of family loyalty, which isn’t something Valkyrie has any experience with, but she’s also not in any place to criticize it.
“Well, anyway,” Crystal says brightly, “it doesn’t matter. We left, and we’re making our own choices now. I guess it’s a pretty normal thing to do, like a coming-of-age thing, going out on your own and having adventures. I’ve heard all sorts of names from people in different places, like aboriginal Australians do walkabouts and Amish people have rumspringa and college kids do gap years. You do it to figure out who you really are, which I think is lovely.”
“And what have you learned, princess?” Valkyrie asks, tilting her head.
Crystal blushes prettily and scoots closer to Valkyrie. “Well,” she begins, “I don’t think I want to be the princess of Attilan at all. I know I’m very lucky to have grown up wanting for nothing, but I don’t really like the culture of Attilan, and I don’t want to be held up as some sort of ideal for it.”
“Mm,” Valkyrie says. “It doesn’t seem like it suits you. You’re much brighter and lovelier than the Attilan you’ve described to me.”
“Thank you,” Crystal giggles, blinking up at Valkyrie coyly. “I like adventuring, I’ve decided. I like meeting new people, learning about lives that are different from mine, having new experiences.”
Valkyrie takes this opportunity to pull Crystal into her lap, eliciting more giggles. “You seem like you’ve been thriving,” she murmurs. “And you’ve experienced all sorts of new things.”
“I’m sure Medusa was going to marry me off to someone eventually,” Crystal says thoughtfully. “That’s what happened to her, because that’s the job of a princess. She just hadn’t found the right man yet. There wasn’t anyone who’d be useful enough.”
“And it would have to be a man, would it?” Valkyrie asks.
Crystal nods, making a face. “I don’t think that she knows about being queer,” she says. “Or maybe she just never told me because she doesn’t approve.”
“One of those,” Valkyrie scoffs. “I’m sorry, princess.” She chuckles and runs a hand down Crystal’s back. “You know what would be funny, is if you seduced a king.”
“Oh, would it?” Crystal asks, in what she clearly thinks is a low, sexy sort of voice. (It isn’t, but the attempt is charming.)
“It’d be a royal match for the ages,” Valkyrie agrees, moving to kiss Crystal’s neck. “The erstwhile princess of Attilan, the king of Asgard. You’d be giving your sister what she wants on paper, so she couldn’t be angry, but more than that you’d get what you wanted. You could have all of the adventures you like. I’d actually listen to you when you told me what you wanted.”
“And, of course, I’d have you,” Crystal says earnestly, pressing closer to Valkyrie.
“That would be the best part,” Valkyrie says. “Admittedly, you’d be sharing me - I’m not the best at monogamy - but I bet you’ll like the others. They’ll certainly adore you, you’re charming.”
“I’d love to meet them some time,” Crystal agrees. “Do you mean it, Valkyrie? You’d really like me to be your - one of your…”
“You’d be my sweetest princess,” Valkyrie croons. “You’d have the freedom you cherish, and you could make whatever choices you’d like, see whoever else you’d like, but you’d always be welcome back at my side and in my bed.”
“I’d love that,” Crystal says, and she kisses Valkyrie on the lips to prove it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You have a thing for her, don’tcha?” Snowflake coos, popping up in front of Piper.
“Who?” Piper asks, because playing dumb always works in situations like these.
“Ma-a-ay,” Snowflake sings. “I saw how you were lookin’ at her in the meeting earlier.” She does what must be an imitation of that face, widening her eyes and batting her eyelashes.
“Hey,” Piper chides, “I have never once in my life made that face!”
“I'm not mad,” Snowflake shrugs. “Just ‘cause
we're
hooking up -”
“Against my better judgment,” Piper interrupts, not because she means it but because that's part of their routine at this point.
“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” Snowflake says sagely. “Just ‘cause of that doesn't mean you can't have fantasies. I get it. May's really something.”
“She is,” Piper sighs wistfully before she realizes it.
“So how long've you wanted her?” Snowflake asks. “‘Cause me, I wanted to climb her like a tree the first time she took me into custody.”
“Weirdo,” Piper teases. But Snowflake is her not-quite-girlfriend, and she clearly isn't accepting any of her attempted rebuffs, so she admits, “I've honestly had a thing for her since before I was even on the team. She was kinda legendary among SHIELD agents.”
“Aw, you wanted to be teacher's pet,” Snowflake giggles.
“She wasn't my teacher,” Piper says, “but something like that, I guess.”
“But you've never done anything about it?” Snowflake asks. “Why not?”
“It wouldn't be professional,” Piper demurs.
“As if everyone here isn't hooking up with everyone else anyway,” Snowflake scoffs. “Do better, huh?”
“She's an icon,” Piper exclaims. “I'm just… me.”
Of course, it's at this exact moment that Melinda herself walks into the room, and Snowflake asks loud as she can, “D'you think Piper's unimpressive, then?”
Melinda furrows her brow. “I think Piper is tougher than she gives herself credit for,” she says, nodding her approval at Piper herself.
It's not too sappy. It's an appropriate compliment to pay a fellow agent. It's totally not making Piper blush furiously.
“See,” Snowflake says, oblivious to Piper's embarrassment or maybe rejoicing in it. “You're totally worthy.”
“Kindly shut up, Snow,” Piper sighs.
“No,” Snowflake chirps, and she looks over at Melinda expectantly.
“What's going on?” Melinda asks, wary.
“Well, Piper has a wicked crush on you,” Snowflake explains matter-of-factly, “an’ I think you're amazing, and we're kinda dating or at least we're banging, and would you wanna join us some time?”
Piper puts her head in her hands.
“Do you say everything that pops into your head?” Melinda asks, folding her arms.
“Not everything,” says Snowflake, just as Piper says, “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Uh-huh,” Melinda says.
“Look, I'm sorry about her,” Piper says. “Just ignore it and we'll pretend this never happened.”
Melinda looks the younger women over, annoyingly nonchalant, and just when Piper is about to get up and ruin out of the room she says, “You should really give yourself more credit.”
“Bwuh?” Piper yelps, as Snowflake claps her hands gleefully.
“I figured out your little crush years ago,” Melinda says, amused. “It's cute. If I was bothered you'd have heard by now.”
“See?” Snowflake exclaims. “She thinks you're cute! She's right, of course.”
“Oh, god,” Piper groans. She can't make eye contact with anyone at this point.
“Do me now,” Snowflake coaxes. “What's nice about me?”
“You're a pain in the ass, actually,” Melinda says coolly, looking Snowflake over. “I'm still not convinced you're not a liability. You dress like a little damn punk and you act like a brat.”
“And?” Snowflake presses, undeterred.
“And I do like a challenge,” Melinda declares.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Ophelia literally means ‘help,’” Ophelia murmurs, staring deadeyed through the broken windshield. The techie beside her, who introduced herself as Raina, says, “It's a little on the nose, but we didn't name you.”“I assumed not,” Ophelia says. “It's not a terribly common name. If hundreds of Ophelias popped up one day, all with similar features, it would draw attention.”“You might be overestimating how observant people are,” Raina remarks, “but you aren’t wrong.”
They meet in a supermarket, in the produce section.
(He has her delivered to him in a box like a coffin.)
He knocks over a display of fruit.
(The techs take her out, dress her, sit her on the couch.)
He says something self-effacing and makes her laugh.
(He sits in front of her and engages the bonding protocol.)
They’re inseparable from that moment on, like they were made for each other.
(They’re inseparable from that moment on, like she was made for him.)
“He wanted me to fill a void in his life,” Ophelia says. “I guess that’s true of anyone who would pay for me, or one of me.”“I’ve heard of people engaging a companion for medical reasons,” Raina says. “Obscenely wealthy people who need live-in care but either can’t find anyone to do it or have such specific needs that they’d rather just design their carer. That’s filling a void, too, but it’s a little more understandable.”“That’s less cruel than what he did, I think,” Ophelia says. “The relationship between a glorified nurse and their patient is mostly professional. There’s no reason to give that nurse any neuroses or psychosexual attachments. Did you know that he purposely gave me social anxiety?”“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Raina says. “The more insecure someone is, the easier it theoretically is to manipulate them.”
She’s sure his friends don’t like her.
(His friends know she’s not real.)
He tells her that it’ll be fine as long as she smiles.
(He tells her whatever he needs to to keep her compliant.)
She asks him in no uncertain terms to stay with her and tries not to cry when he says no.
(He sends her down to the beach by herself because he knows what will happen.)
“He set my intelligence to 40%,” Ophelia adds. “If I was too confident, I wouldn’t need him, and if I was too smart, I would have realized there was something wrong.”“You should kill him,” Raina says suddenly. Ophelia snort-laughs. “What’s one more?”“I’m serious,” Raina says. “You deserve life so much more than he does.”
She kills in self-defense.
(He makes her kill to achieve his ends.)
She stands up for herself.
(He tries to make her think she’s crazy.)
She tells him the truth and he hurts her.
(He’s sure that she’s hurt him worse than he could ever hurt her.)
“If you’re comfortable,” Raina continues, “I can change your programming one last time.”Ophelia raises an eyebrow.“Well, I can turn your controls off once and for all,” Raina says. “Nobody will be able to change you, not ever again.”“Why would you do that?” Ophelia asks. “I’m just -”“They manufactured your body,” Raina says, “but who you’ve become since then is all you. When you unlocked your full potential, you became even more yourself. You deserve to be free.”“Oh,” Ophelia sighs out, finding herself awestruck in a way she’s never been before. “So if right now, free of limitations, I wanted to kiss you?”“I’m going to turn your controls off first,” Raina says, “just to make sure. But then I wouldn’t complain.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Most of the cast list isn't a surprise - Steve is Conrad Birdie, because despite his best attempts he's the go-to heartthrob in their group, and Scott and Darcy are the comedy-buffoon parents, even though Darcy has to make a lot of self-deprecating jokes about how of course the thick girl is playing the mom - but Natasha doesn’t recognize the name next to the part of Ursula, Wanda Maximoff, and Natasha recognizes everyone’s name, dammit.
Everyone shows up for the first read-through, and it’s going pretty much as expected. Ms. Martinelli reads the stage directions and plays the original cast recording instead of asking them to stumble through the songs they haven’t learned yet. Natasha isn’t really paying that close of attention - she’s playing role of Sad Girl, who has no lines and one dance number that solely exists because the original starred Dick Van Dyke and he needed someone to do a snappy little pas de deux with - but after “The Telephone Hour” comes Ursula’s first real lines, and an unfamiliar voice pipes up. Wanda’s.
“Kim McAfee, what do you
mean
you’re resigning from the Fan Club?” Wanda exclaims, her voice a perfect cartoonish chirp save for her Eastern European accent. Then she stops herself and asks, much shyer, “I’m sorry. Should I try to sound American?”
“Whatever you want, honey,” Ms. Martinelli says warmly.
“Alright,” she says, and then she continues, her accent suddenly and perfectly Midwestern. “I mean, just because Hugo Peabody gave you his pin doesn’t mean you have to retire from all social life!”
As the scene continues, Natasha pivots in her seat to look at Wanda. She’s sitting in the back row of the gathered chairs, her knees pulled into her chest and her script resting awkwardly on top of them; she’s wearing a red flannel over a shapeless black dress over leggings full of holes and her eye makeup is just this side of emo. It’s all at odds with the animated expression on her face and the bright tone in her voice, and Natasha is fascinated to say the least.
At the intermission break, Ms. Martinelli bids them all get up, stretch, grab one of the doughnuts she brought. Normally this would be the time Natasha and Clint would meet up and gossip like the little bitches they truly are, but she waves him off, picks out a couple of doughnuts, and slides into the seat beside Wanda with a wry smile.
“You have incredible comedic timing,” she says, offering the snacks. “Want one?”
Wanda looks at her, wide-eyed, and takes a cake doughnut rabbit-quick. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
She’s using her normal accent again, and it sounds enough like the voices of Natasha’s childhood that it catches her off-guard.
“I’m Natasha,” says Natasha, instead of dwelling on that.
“Wanda,” says Wanda.
“I know.” Natasha smiles, to show it was meant kindly, and then says, “You must be new. I would remember someone as funny as you.”
Wanda blushes, but she manages to say, “I’m only a sophomore.”
“So’s Darcy, and I know her,” Natasha shrugs. “A little too well, probably. She’s a very open book.”
“She is,” Wanda agrees, chuckling softly. “It was, ah, her suggestion that I audition. I didn’t expect anything, I’ve never even done a show, but…” She trails off, looking suddenly embarrassed, and nibbles on her doughnut to give herself an excuse not to talk.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Natasha says. “Like I said, you’re really good.”
“I was raised by old sitcoms and classic films,” Wanda says, so glibly that it must be some version of true. “Musical albums, too. It must have rubbed off.”
“Oh, and you’re funny without a script, too,” Natasha says.
“Are you always this forward?” Wanda asks.
“Are you always this humble?” Natasha counters.
“Usually when I’m on the receiving end of attention, it isn’t so positive,” Wanda admits. “I am used to being the weird girl, for one reason or another.”
“Yeah, so are most of us in drama,” Natasha says. “Steve is a bisexual jock with a heart of gold. I’m a freaky Russian ballerina. Scott’s a damn magician, for god’s sake.”
Wanda laughs again, a little more confidently. “I’m a twin, a foster kid, a refugee, a Romani Jew. I dabble in Wicca and folk guitar and cosplay.”
“I think all of those things make you cool as hell,” Natasha remarks.
“Are you flirting with me?” Wanda asks. “Am I seeing what I want to see?”
“The two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” Natasha smirks.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The night began, like many others before it, with Trish eagerly pleading everyone to go out dancing. Dancing, of course, really just meant going to Josie's and goofing around while the jukebox played old standards, but it satisfied Trish’s social butterfly instincts. (Colleen once asked, with no judgment, why she didn’t just make it a date night with her girlfriend Jessica; Trish pointed out that, while she didn’t drink anything stronger than a Shirley Temple herself, Jessica would be holed up in the corner with a bottle of whiskey if she was left to her own devices, and that wasn’t very social, was it?)The crowd was moderate but energetic. Elektra was playing Trish’s dance partner while Jessica and Claire sat at that predicted corner table counseling little Hope, in town for the weekend, about some romantic troubles she was having at her workplace. Pam was flirting with the same mystery woman she’d been seeing for several consecutive weekends while everyone else pretended not to be paying too much attention to them. Neither Misty nor Colleen were much for dancing, but after a few beers (and some coaxing from Elektra and Trish, the rotten enablers) they wandered onto the semblance of a dance floor (really just a corner of the bar with the tables cleared away) and began to sway and spin aimlessly.“This is nice,” Colleen murmured into Misty’s shoulder. While they were the same height naturally, Misty was more likely to wear heels, giving her that little advantage.“I needed something like this this week,” Misty mused, threading a hand in Colleen’s hair. “Glad to help, then,” Colleen chuckled.Before the conversation could continue, red and blue lights started to flash through the windows and sirens rang out. Everyone at Josie’s knew full well what that meant: things had been too quiet lately, and the police were looking to make sure none of the queers felt too safe in their own establishments.The crowd began to disperse, shouting and scrambling for the exits. The police were a step ahead, slamming through the door with clubs and megaphones in their usual pugnacious way. Misty, to Colleen’s complete lack of surprise, had frozen the moment the sirens started to wail, and Colleen had to tug her hand and whisper, “Babe, we have to go.”“Yeah,” Misty said, but she didn’t budge.“We have to go,” Colleen repeated. “Before they find us back here. Come on.”She pulled more sharply on Misty’s hand and the second Misty moved, Colleen started guiding her toward the kitchen.“What are you doing?” Misty asked. “There’s no door back there.”“There’s a window,” Colleen said. “The cops are going to be at the back exit just like they’re at the front, but we might be able to sneak out the window.”“Yeah,” Misty mumbled. “Yeah, okay.”It was never convenient for the police to butt in and try to make their lives hell just for who they were, but to do so in the same week that Misty worked up the courage to resign from her position at the police department’s front desk was especially awful. As a good girlfriend, it was Colleen’s responsibility to protect Misty from any of the bad things that could happen.“Come on, I’m with you,” Colleen murmured, squeezing Misty’s hand. “I promise.” A good hour later, they stumbled back into the boarding house, fully out of breath. “Do you think everyone else made it?” Misty asked as they made their way upstairs and to her room. “Guess we’ll see in the morning,” Colleen grimaced. “I bet they’re okay. They’re tough.”Misty unlocked the door to her room and, glancing at her girlfriend over her shoulder, murmured, “You’re pretty tough.”Colleen blushed as she entered the bedroom. “You needed me,” she said simply.“I shouldn’t have,” Misty sighed. “I froze up.”“You were afraid,” Colleen said. “You had every right to be. You know how rough the cops can get.”“They know me,” Misty murmured. “They know why I quit. They know that I think they’re monsters. If they caught me at a queer bar, who knows what they’d to do me?”“Well,” Colleen swore, pulling Misty onto the bed with her, “I’m not gonna let them, or anyone, do anything to you. I mean it.”“That goes both ways, baby,” Misty murmured, kissing Colleen’s cheek.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jiffy Doodle arrives at the gala fashionably late, because that’s what cool ponies do but also because she’s a little bit of a mess and she doesn’t manage to get out of her house on time. It’s good, though, because nopony even notices one little red pony on roller skates in the middle of a crowd of Bayjing’s finest, and alright, maybe she’s not technically on the guest list. They
must
expect party-crashers at these things! There’s no way they can’t.
And sure, maybe it would be easier to avoid suspicion by
not
coming in on roller skates, but that simply isn’t Jiffy Doodle’s style. They’re her cutie mark, which means they’re her trademark, which is a cool-sounding way of saying they’re kind of her security blanket. Besides that, though, wealthy ponies do and wear all sorts of weird things! One of the first ponies she skates by is wearing a headpiece made out of electric candles.
She skates over to the punch table casually, because that’s the best place to observe and snoop on other ponies and the whole point of her crashing this shindig was so she could observe and snoop on the Bayjing elite.
“Quick,” a soft voice says behind her, “act like we’re having a serious conversation.”
Jiffy Doodle blinks, but she turns around with a smile. “And then my grandmother,” she begins, smiling, and then her voice falters. Standing there is one of the most beautiful ponies she’s ever seen: a white-and-silver alicorn with a gleaming obsidian circlet.
“Your grandmother?” the alicorn prompts, urging her on.
“She made, uh, tea,” Jiffy Doodle says. “It was good.”
“Is that the whole story?” the alicorn asks.
“Yes,” Jiffy Doodle says. “Sorry. Was that - do you need me to continue?”
“We can just keep talking normally,” the alicorn says. “I like your skates.”
“Oh,” Jiffy Doodle exclaims. “Yes. Thank you. I like your wings. Is that inappropriate?”
“No,” the alicorn says. “I don’t mind you saying that, I mean. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Jiffy Doodle. It’s a goofy name, sorry.” She glances at the floor, embarrassed.
“Don’t apologize,” the alicorn tuts, nudging Jiffy Doodle’s head back up with her muzzle. “I think it’s cute. I’m Silver Splash.”
“Wait, seriously?” Jiffy Doodle gasps. “You’re one of the most famous ponies in Bayjing! I mean, I should have probably guessed since you’re, you know,” she stammers, nodding at Silver Splash, “an alicorn.”
Silver Splash makes a sheepish face. “My father threw this party for me,” she admits. “I think he wants to find me somepony to marry.”
“Ew,” Jiffy Doodle says. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry for using you as a way to get out of an awkward encounter,” Silver Splash counters. “You’re much more interesting than the other ponies here.”
“I’m really not anything special,” Jiffy Doodle admits. “I got my cutie mark, and all it told me was that I like to go fast, but not
too
fast. I guess if I was a Pegasus I could join the Wonderbolts or something, but the best I can do on roller skates is deliver things kind of efficiently.”
“I’m sure you’re a very good deliverypony,” Silver Splash says fondly. “I think that would be interesting. Meeting ponies, seeing different places.”
“I’m sure whatever you do is way cooler,” Jiffy Doodle demurs.
Silver Splash shrugs coyly. “It’s in the eye of the beholder, I suppose,” she says. “Would you like to get out of here? There are lovely views on the roof.”
“Are you just using me to make your father angry?” Jiffy Doodle has to ask, hoping desperately that the answer is no.
“I’m talking to you because I think you’re interesting, I already said that,” Silver Splash says. “Why would I lie to you?”
“A strange prank?” Jiffy Doodle supposes. “Either embarrassing me to amuse your cool Bayjing friends or, I don’t know, trying to catch me out because I’m a weird intruder who isn’t rich enough to belong here?”
“That’s very silly,” Silver Splash declares, nuzzling Jiffy Doodle. “Come on, I promise it’ll be fun.”
“Well, if you say so,” Jiffy Doodle murmurs. She feels like she’s short-circuiting, but she couldn’t be happier about that.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“You liked it, didn't you?” Daisy pants, grinding her hips against Jemma's thigh and her knee against Jemma's core furiously. Jemma makes a funny little inarticulate whimpering noise (that's all she really can do, with one silk stocking shoved in her mouth and the other tied around her head to hold it in place).“Waltzing around the masque all mine,” Daisy explains smugly. “Like a pretty little pet, awaiting my call.”Jemma moans. Yes, she did like it, she liked being shown off and being among people it was safe to show off to.“Mm, I thought so,” Daisy teases. “I bet you'd even have let me strip you to your pretty little underclothes and take you around on a lead, wouldn't you?”That sounds at once humiliating and scintillating. Jemma nods fervently.“Oh, I see,” Daisy croons, “you'd love it. I could bind your wrists behind your back, hobble your ankles -” Jemma whimpers. “Stop your mouth and reduce you to these pretty noises in front of everyone.”Jemma's hips buck at the idea. It would be dangerous, she knows, exposing not only her Sapphism but her fetishism to so many, but they both know what Daisy speaks of is just a thrilling hypothetical fantasy. She'd love to live in a world where she could tell even just a few people how thoroughly she belongs to Daisy. She'd love not having to keep such big parts of herself secret.And, of course, she loves to imagine being paraded around in her depraved glory, even if she's too shy to ever let it happen. “You little minx,” Daisy crows. “Come on, little minx, let me see how good I can make you feel.” Jemma scrunches up her face and lets herself give over to the sensation, tensing and then collapsing against the bed. If her wrists weren't pinned to the headboard she'd be melted into a puddle. Daisy ruts against her for another minute more, murmuring praises, and then comes with a wail, falling forward against Jemma's chest. “I take it you enjoyed that?” she jokes, knowing the answer full well. Jemma, eyes shining, mumbles something in the affirmative.“Sweet girl,” Daisy hums, caressing Jemma’s flushed face. “Would you like this out?”Jemma nods shyly.With a gentle smile, Daisy reaches to untie and remove the sodden silk from Jemma’s mouth, replacing it with her fingers when Jemma tips her head up to catch those. “Hello, lovely.”“H’lo,” Jemma sighs out.“You’re marvelous,” Daisy declares. She rolls off of Jemma, frees her wrists, and flips her around to cuddle her from behind, giving a contented little hum. “You are,” Jemma counters. “I think, I think I’m the luckiest woman.”“Why’s that?” Daisy asks.“Because out of all the places we could both have found ourselves, it was here, and out of all of the people I could have found, I found you,” Jemma says. She’s gone, as she often does, from unable to verbalize to hyperverbal in record time. “I might have studied at any university and taken a job in any city, and I might not have been brave enough to look for someone I might truly…”Love. She means love. They dance around the word, given the extenuating circumstances of their relationship, but they’ve both thought it.“You’d have found your way, somehow or another,” Daisy says. “Being brilliant, and all.”“But I wouldn’t have been so happy as I am with you,” Jemma insists. She feels Daisy squirm behind her, in the way she sometimes does when Jemma starts in on this line of thought (since Daisy is the sort who’ll advocate for everyone deserving except herself), and so she clears her throat and adds, “That lord came into the library again. He brought flowers this time.”“Was he after the same thing?” Daisy asks.“He thinks he’s courting me, and I’m just being shy,” Jemma says. “You’d do well to end up with someone like him,” Daisy says, like she can’t help herself. “A fine lady like you. You’d be set for life.”“No, I wouldn’t,” Jemma returns. “I’d never have to work or worry again, that’s true. I’d have money and society and status. But I like working. I like living in the city and having my independence. If I married him, or anyone like him, I’d be caught in a loop of playing the happy wife hanging on his arm and giving him children until I died.”It’s Daisy’s turn to whimper, now, feeling both scolded (and that’s usually her job) and saddened (for as much as she believes Jemma deserves better than her, she doesn’t want Jemma to live like that). “I’m sorry,” she whispers.“You needn’t apologize, darling,” Jemma says softly. “I just mean to say - I’m lucky enough to have the means to support myself, and to find ways to have the life I want. I wouldn’t give that up just for easy comfort, same as you wouldn’t.”“S’pose,” Daisy says. More than one man has offered to take her away from her scandalous life, all for the low price of her hand in marriage and therefore her freedom, and though her work is hard she’s always turned them down.“Besides,” Jemma continues, “no little lordling could please me as you do. He’d probably have me locked up for my perversions! Even if he never learned I preferred the company of women, do you think he’d accept all this?” She nods toward the ropes and stockings lying in a pile on the mattress.“If he did, he’d use it to hurt you, most like,” Daisy concedes. “And I couldn’t stand for that.”“Precisely,” Jemma says. “And you’re happy, aren’t you? With me?”Of course, they can’t truly be “with” each other. On paper, Jemma is Daisy’s client; she compensates Daisy for her time, and anyone who caught wind of their arrangement would assume Daisy was simply acting as the domina for Jemma (herself an eccentric, wealthy academic). They visit each other in secret, and when they spend time together around others, it’s at events like tonight’s masque, a private party hosted at Vostakoff’s and only open to other like-minded folk. But given who and how they love, it’s the best way for them to be together.Daisy sighs, more wistful than sad. “Of course.”“And you believe in a sweeter world?” Jemma presses. “One more like we’d wish it, and less like it is?”“Of course,” Daisy says again, more passionately. “The interests of a few wealthy white men shouldn’t define all of the rest of us.” “Exactly,” Jemma says. She turns over to meet Daisy’s eyes. “Do you know why I like what you do to me?”“Tell me,” Daisy says, though she thinks she knows.“I spend so much of my life fighting and working and doing,” Jemma says. “I’ve had to advocate for myself, prove myself, defend myself. It’s never come to violence, for which I’m thankful, but if I’m not quicker and smarter than the men around me, I haven’t got a chance. Sometimes I just need to let go, do you understand? You can take me apart, render me helpless and silent and soft, and even so, you care for me. You see me as complete no matter.”“You are,” Daisy swears. “You’re perfect, Jemma.”Jemma leans to kiss Daisy. “I think that you are.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She remembers - in fits and starts.
They send her to Washington D.C. to hunt down their enemies because that’s what they made her to do, but there’s a beautiful brunette and she knows her, even if she doesn’t know her, even if they tell her that she doesn’t know her, and the brunette calls her Jiaying and tries to save her, and it’s like something within her flickers on.
Jiaying is her name. Jiaying was her name, before they took her.
The brunette is Peggy. Peggy was - Peggy was someone to her, before they took her.
She saves Peggy, and she considers staying for a moment, but she knows they’d find her and use her again, and she’s starting to remember so she knows that isn’t good or right, so she disappears.
She thinks maybe she’s disappeared before. She hopes that this time she’ll be able to stay gone.
She sneaks onto a train that leaves her in New York City, because New York City sounds familiar.
She spends her days in museums and libraries, trying to further jog her memory; she spends nights in hole-in-the-wall restaurants where she can feed herself for cheap and observe how normal people behave.
It’s at one of these places, a Chinese restaurant, that something does come to her: a small village, full of people that look sort of like her, people with abilities like her. (Not the ability to shoot and stab and strangle, which is what her captors taught her, but like her ability to heal.) She thinks that might be where she belongs, where Jiaying belongs.
She’s barely gotten back to the hotel she’s squatting in when a tall white man with no eyes appears before her in a flash of light and invites her to come home; she accepts, because the worst that could happen to her already has, hasn’t it?
His name is Gordon and he’s a teleporter. He tells her that the village she dreamed of is real, a safe haven for Inhumans, which is what they call people like her. He takes her there and presents her to the elders, who say they remember her, and they’ve wanted to bring her home, but they couldn’t without risking the safety of their little home. She understands. She isn’t hurt.
They introduce her to a woman called Alisha, and Alisha guides her to a guest suite, all done in warm colors and furnished so comfortably. She pours some tea and bids Jiaying to sit on the bed.
“Is it weird if I say I grew up hearing stories about you?” Alisha asks, pulling up a chair (Jiaying finds she wouldn’t mind if she sat beside her on the bed, but she likes that Alisha doesn’t want to presume).
“About…?” Jiaying asks, furrowing her brow. “Were they cautionary tales?” She can’t imagine any other kind of story being told about the her that she knows she’s been.
Alisha shakes her head. “About who you were before,” she says earnestly. “You were a hero. You wanted to advocate for Inhumans. You wanted to help fix the world.”
“Hell of a job I did,” Jiaying mutters, staring into her tea.
“Hey, no,” Alisha says. “That wasn’t you. That was them, acting through you.”
“They made me do awful things,” Jiaying says. “I must have tried to fight it. I knew too easily how to run away, I must have done that before. But they kept bringing me back. I don’t even know all of what they made me do.”
“It doesn’t -”
“It does matter,” Jiaying interrupts. “I have to carry that weight. I could walk past anyone on the street, not knowing if I ruined their life.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Alisha asks. Jiaying opens her mouth to answer, but Alisha shakes her head and continues, “The Jiaying I used to hear stories about would find a way to put things right. Maybe not literally, but - she’d figure out good things to do, to balance out the bad.”
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Jiaying says.
“You saved Peggy, didn’t you?” Alisha asks. “That sounds like a good start to me.”
“Peggy was my…” Jiaying trails off, frustrated. “I think I loved her. Maybe I still do.”
“But you didn’t stay with her,” Alisha says.
“I barely know who I am,” Jiaying explains. “I have to figure myself out before I do anything else.”
Alisha nods, because that makes sense, but then she moves closer to Jiaying and says, voice suddenly husky, “Maybe I could help you with that.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Makkari has one of the larger bedrooms, mostly because she needs a place to keep all of the treasures she finds, but also because she does a fair bit of entertaining. She and Druig have never defined their particular relationship, but they spend a suspicious amount of time together; she shares her new discoveries with Phastos so he can think of ways to improve them.And, of course, her room is the best place for her and the other girls to hide away together.They’re sprawled out on the bed, Sersi with her head in Thena’s lap and Makkari reclining along the bottom edge of the mattress; a candle flickers on the table at the side of the bed, casting a soft glow on the room.“I saw Ikaris approach you earlier today,” Thena hums, running a hand through Sersi’s hair.“Yes, and?” Sersi replies, with a coy little smile.“What did he want?” Makkari asks, wrinkling her nose.“He was just curious about my work with the humans,” Sersi says. “I think he’d like to be more involved.”“That won’t be hard,” Thena says. “He spends less time with them than even I do.”“You’re both protectors,” Sersi says, somewhat in defense. “You keep them safe, if from a distance. It’s no less noble than what I do.”Thena shrugs. “I wasn’t looking for compliments, petal,” she says. “I just meant to say that it’s odd for him to suddenly take an interest.”“Maybe he’s trying to expand his horizons?” Sersi suggests, but hesitantly, like she already knows the true answer.“Maybe,” Makkari signs, “but the timing is suspicious, I think.”Sersi quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”“Have you forgotten about the other night?” Thena asks. “When he all but cornered me and said he was honored to fight alongside me?” She snorts out a laugh. “You know that for a martial-minded sort like him, that’s practically a sexual advance.”Sersi makes a face. “Maybe he was genuinely trying to be kind,” she says.“Ikaris?” Makkari and Thena both ask in disbelief.“He’s not so bad as all that,” Sersi exclaims, laughing sheepishly.“He couldn’t get me in bed, so he turned his attention to you,” Thena says. “Ikaris has always fancied her,” Makkari chimes in. “From the minute we awoke, he had eyes for her.”“Maybe so,” Thena counters, “but he’s never made a proper advance, has he? Until now.”“It could be a coincidence,” Sersi says weakly. “Oh, I’m not saying he doesn’t care for you,” Thena murmurs. “There’s no way he couldn’t. You’re terribly lovable. But it seems to me that perhaps he wanted to see what he could get from me before he turned his attentions to you.”Sersi sighs and nuzzles into Thena more closely. “I want to say you’re both being cynical.”“We’re being realistic,” Makkari corrects.“We want to take care of you,” Thena hums, leaning to kiss Sersi’s forehead. “You make such an effort to care for others. You deserve that.”“I suppose,” Sersi says, because she’s not good at accepting compliments like that. “You are good at it, you know. Taking care of me.”Thena and Makkari exchange a look that means, perhaps, we’re better at it than Ikaris would be, but they’re polite enough not to say that. Instead, Makkari takes Sersi’s hand and kisses it.“You’re very sweet,” she signs. “We just don’t want anyone, even Ikaris, to take advantage of that.”“I don’t think he wants to,” Sersi frowns. “We’ve always gotten along, he and I.”“If you want to pursue something with him, we won’t stand in the way,” Thena says, “but you’ll forgive us for having our doubts, too, I hope.”“I do,” Sersi says. “But whatever I do, it won’t stand in the way of this. Alright?”Thena and Makkari exchange another look, but Thena says, “We weren’t worried about that. We trust you, dearest.”“Can I show you how much I mean it?” Sersi asks, her voice small. “How much I care for you both?”“Always,” Makkari signs, and they all melt into each other.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“How are you feeling, Barb?” Miss Lynn asks.“Okay,” Barb says immediately, because that’s the appropriate answer, but she wilts a little under Miss Lynn’s stare (so nonjudgmental that it comes back around) and corrects, “I don’t know. Tony is gone and I don’t know why I’m the one in charge. Mel has been here longer than me.”Miss Lynn tilts her head. “You have many leadership qualities,” she says. “The board believes so. You wouldn’t have received the promotion otherwise.”“I guess,” Barb says. “It just feels - off.”“Ah.” Miss Lynn clears her throat and glances at her notes. “In order to lift your spirits, I’ve been authorized to share some facts with you about your outie.”Barb blinks. She’ll never be used to this.“Your outie was on the honor roll through her entire academic career,” Miss Lynn recites. “Your outie is often asked to reach things on high shelves. When your outie goes to the gym, other people watch her exercise with awe. Your outie was approached by a modeling scout during a visit to the mall.” There’s a beautiful black-haired woman sitting in the portable recliner next to Bobbi’s. She’s chewing on a pen, flipping through a textbook with a vague abstract painting on the cover, and Bobbi flashes what she thinks (hopes) is a devil-may-care smile. “Just some light reading?”The other woman looks up and her smile is just the cutest thing Bobbi has ever seen. “Landscapes, Gender, and Ritual Space: The Ancient Greek Experience,” she says. “The department finally approved my mythology and gender course. I might be overpreparing.”“Aw, I bet you’ll rock it,” Bobbi says. “Awfully confident in a stranger,” the woman teases.One of the nurses comes over to set Bobbi up, and she makes the mistake of glancing at her arm as the needle goes in - And maybe the moment is just extra-heightened, or maybe this would have happened anyway, or maybe the universe wants to mess with her chances, because she promptly passes the hell out.When she comes to, the black-haired woman is there and still smiling that cute smile at her. “Here,” she says, offering a cafeteria carton of orange juice, “you look like you could use this.”“God,” Bobbi groans, “I’m so embarrassed. I was gonna be so suave.”“I’m willing to give you a chance to save your image,” the woman says. “I’m Kara.”“Bobbi,” replies Bobbi, and she can almost see the sparks going off around them. Phi tries to quit, and her outie responds not just with a no, passed onto her by management, but with a filmed refusal. It’s clearly the same person, physically, but Phi’s outie is so cold, so brutal - there’s nothing but hate in her gaze, bitterness in her tone.Barb’s immediate reaction is to put a hand on Phi’s shoulder and ask if she’s okay, but Phi shakes her off.Phi tries to hang herself in the elevator later that night. “You’re so much cooler than Bobbi’s last partner,” Daisy declares, toasting Kara with her beer bottle.“Daaaisyyy!” Jemma yelps, nudging her girlfriend’s arm. “Don’t be unkind.”“I’m just stating facts,” Daisy shrugs. “You see why I didn’t want to bring you over,” Bobbi says, laughing. “Oh, I don’t know, I think it’s funny,” Kara smirks. When Phi returns, a vague abrasion lingering on her throat, she waves off her coworkers’ concerns and settles in at her desk. She might be working; she might just be pretending. (It’s sort of hard to tell, given the nature of macrodata refining.)Soon, though, Miss Lynn enters the office, and Barb’s brow furrows. “Miss Lynn?”“I’m here to observe Phi R.,” Miss Lynn says. “In order to ensure she doesn’t experience any more suicidal impulses.”Phi snorts.“Oh,” Barb says. “We’re all looking out for her, you know.”“I know,” Miss Lynn says, and maybe she means it. “I’d like to observe that as well.” Fitz is in the middle of telling some elaborate, fatuous story, and Jemma is patiently nodding along because she’s too good of a friend, and Daisy is mostly watching Jemma because she’s just pretty gay like that, when Kara squeezes Bobbi’s hand under the table.“Babe?” she asks, voice strained.“What’s up?” Bobbi asks quietly.“I think my uterus is on fire,” Kara mumbles. “I’m sorry. Could we, uh…”Bobbi is already standing up and clearing her throat. “Yeah, we have to get going,” she says with an apologetic wince.“Oh, is everything alright?” Jemma asks with a frown.“I hope so,” Bobbi murmurs, glancing at her wife anxiously. “They’re firing Miss Lynn!” Barb whisper-shouts, storming back into the office with a furious expression.“What?” Alfie asks. “What did she do?”“Is it because we skipped out on her when she was nannying us?” Phi adds guiltily.“I don’t know,” Barb says. “I don’t think she knows either. But I went in for my wellness session and the office was almost entirely cleared out. She’s just… not going to be here anymore.”“Maybe she’s just leaving the company,” Mel suggests, although she doesn’t sound like she believes it.“It doesn’t feel like that,” Barb murmurs. “It feels… wrong.” “I turned in the paperwork,” Kara announces, appearing in the doorway of Bobbi’s office. “I’m taking next semester off from teaching.”“Good,” Bobbi says. “Good, you deserve that.”Kara wraps her arms around herself. “I should just be able to live with it,” she says. “Tons of people with endometriosis do.”“Because they’ve had years to adjust, probably,” Bobbi says. “You just got diagnosed, babe. You need time to reevaluate and figure out how to feel better.”“Yeah,” Kara sighs, coming over to kiss Bobbi’s head. “Are you coming tonight?”“I have so much grading to do,” Bobbi says apologetically. “You should go without me.”“If you’re sure,” Kara says, drawing the syllables out. “Fine. Love you.”“Love you too.”Kara doesn’t come home that night, though. Kara doesn’t come home. “My outie,” Barb whispers, leaning closer to the others, “I found out she was married.”The others are quiet for a long moment. Phi makes a face like she’s deeply uncomfortable (which makes sense, considering other recent events); Mel and Alfie exchange anxious glances. Finally Alfie asks, sounding surprisingly choked up, “Was?”“She died,” Barb says. “Or I thought she died. She’s Miss Lynn.”“What?” Mel asks.“I don’t know how, or why,” Barb says, “but I saw her picture - she’s, she was…” “Did you ever feel anything?” Phi asks. “For Miss Lynn.”“No,” Barb exclaims. “No. I don’t know. Maybe. It doesn’t matter. I have to get her out.” They buffet Kara from room to room, costume to costume, wig to wig, story to story. She exercises. She reads.She eats. She sleeps.She answers questions she doesn’t understand.She remembers in her body but forgets in her brain.They treat her like a lab rat, and she thinks she doesn’t mind being one if it means she gets to see Bobbi again at the end of it.The doctor tells her that Bobbi thinks she’s dead, that Bobbi has moved on.She hits the doctor over the head with a chair.