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rokutouxei · 4 years ago

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our shadows fall away like dust

part 6 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | T | 3623 | [ao3 in bio]

spoiler warning: this references a scene in chapter 25.

other warnings: this fic has references to depression, some hurt/comfort, and an understandable existential crisis. essentialy, you and Theo have matching fragile emotional pieces, so you establish boundaries, pledge honesty, and do your best to make each other stronger.

A habit of playing hide-and-seek with no one, Theo calls it, whenever you ducked away from the rest of the mansion like a quietly sneaking mouse. He always catches you, of course, but knowing that he’ll find you despite any attempts you have of hiding does not ease the worry he has whenever you fall back into that.

No one in the mansion had seen you for hours, as you tiptoed past residents and crossed hallways unnoticed throughout the rest of the day. Jean said he saw you in the balcony earlier that day, looking out over the city, but then nothing after lunch. Vincent recalled seeing you help serve food at noon, but without a word to him and Dazai at the table, you had disappeared out the hall before he could reach out. Arthur last saw you even earlier, breakfast, noting that even then you had looked a little forlorn, quite downcast, while you were putting away some plates. Napoleon, on the other hand, saw you headed out the garden to get and fold a mountain of sheets, which he offered to help with, but you had turned him down.

You had not only gone missing; you’d also been completely out of character.

It doesn’t help that Leonardo had approached Theo once he’d gotten home to ask, “Something happen with cara mia?”

Theo left early this morning, on account for a series of several tasks at hand that had to be completed for an upcoming exhibit. It was one that had been building up for the past few months, and finally, you had gotten the go signal with a friendly client willing to rent you some space, and everything has been busy since. You were supposed to go with him—the artists have really become fond of you, and having you around always brightened their spirits—but you had begged off in the morning because you were not feeling well. You had sounded groggy, but also kind of sick. No fever, Theo noted, but he didn’t want to push you, in the off chance that it turned into something worse. He asked you to stay put for the day, and you’d smiled at him weakly and let him go.

But maybe he should have stayed a little longer.

Now, it’s dinnertime in the mansion. Dinners are usually your favorite, because it is then when Sebastian serves his well-known desserts, beloved to you (and, really, anyone who would have the chance to taste them.) But you were not at your usual place in the table, your dinnerware untouched. Theo came home humming, excited to have finished his tasks early—more time with you is the best time—only to feel his joy replaced with an unsettling dread upon hearing that they hadn’t heard from you in a bit. Sebastian swears he hadn’t seen you leave the mansion either, and Theo knew better, of course.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

He didn’t need to spend that long time looking. Hide-and-seek with you wasn’t a common occurrence—thankfully—but it happened often enough that he would not need much to figure out where you were. He peered out the window to check the garden (no sheets) and on his way to your room he checked in the laundry room (no sheets either) and then he knew exactly where you were.

He knocks three times on your door before opening it.

You made a promise to him once that you wouldn’t lock it, ever, no matter how off you felt, and at that moment Theo was so glad you had agreed to it. Even as he enters the room, you don’t raise your head from where you are curled up on the armchair. You don’t make any move to hide your state either: the fresh sheets crumpled in a giant ball thrown from the basket onto your bed, your messy hair, your cried-out eyes, the scratch marks along your arms made from bitten nails. Theo closes the door shut.

“Hondje.”

You make a gentle “mmmh” noise that Theo takes as approval to approach. He steps gingerly down the carpet, sitting on your bed, across you. He watches you closely for a long moment, without saying a word. You feel his stare against your skin, not burning, not angry, just warm and curious and asking. Finally, you turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are red.

Did something happen? Who hurt you? Let me help you. I love you. What did I do wrong? Who wronged you? Theo’s voice nearly shakes when he settles with “Talk to me.”

To that you only shrug. There’s not much to say, after all. Not yet. You curl tighter into a ball, your cheeks mushed against your crossed arms. You sniffle in an attempt to breathe and Theo’s heart clenches in his chest.

With every word weighed carefully, “Sorry,” is the first thing that stumbles out of his mouth—the only word of care and affection he can piece through the fog of worry that’s building in his mind.

Theo’s like that, always so sparing with his words, but they’re always so full of love. You’re thankful he’s here by your side. You force a small smile he can only see half of, but it stings him anyway. “Not your fault,” you say, and your voice is raspy and catches in your throat. “Just me. Like always.”

For a moment the two of you stay there, in shared silence, testing the air for what’s best to be done next. Theo knows he can coax the words out of you, but not now. Not yet. Now, you just need to have him pull you back to the ground. He stands up from his seat and presses a kiss against the crown of your head, gently urging you into his arms. When you collapse into his warmth, he takes the chance to lift you up princess-style into his arms. You press your face against his chest and sigh.

He turns to place you on your bed to make you more comfortable, but upon remembering it’s currently occupied, he decides to bring you back to his room instead. You place both your arms around his neck as he carries you up effortlessly. You don’t notice if anyone sees the both of you pass by. If someone were there, they make no comment or noise as you walk past them in the hallways. You focus on your breathing (four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out) and the scent of Theo’s skin. The next thing you know, you hear his door opening with that familiar swing, the sound of it clicking close, then the creak of his bed under both your weights.

Finally, you let yourself open your eyes. The lights are out, the only brightness coming from the moonlight slipping through the window, silver on the bed sheets. Theo is loosening his tie and taking his jacket off, hanging them as he prepares to sit next to you on the bed. You pull a pillow to your chest (it smells like him, like comfort) and sigh into it just as he climbs next to you.

“How was today?” you say softly, asking in advance to deflect whatever question of concern you knew he would inevitably ask you. You’re not quite ready to answer yet. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go. I hope you passed my regards to the artists.”

“I did,” he says, as he pulls you up to his broad chest into a cuddle. You lean against him, thankful to have someone to lean all this useless deadweight on, someone who will not mind carrying you. “They were looking for you before they even said hello to me. ‘Where’s the princess? Why are you alone today?’ Seems like you’re going to be a better dealer than me after all.”

“Pffsh, no way.” What you want is to be there to help him—and to see him—make his dreams come true. You’re not there to compete. “I’m still leaps and bounds behind you. They were probably just teasing you, since you’re so fun to tease.”

“I’m not fun to tease,” he argues. A little tick of dissatisfaction; he wants to demand what made you think he is fun to tease, but when he feels you smile against him, he realizes maybe it doesn’t matter. He presses you closer to him.

Theo feels defeat when he realizes he’s become used to this happening, but he immediately reprimands himself. Him knowing how to take care of you when you need him most is not defeat, it’s victory.

The both of you relax in the shared silence, not pushing, not impatient. Maneuvering the highs and lows isn’t new to either of you; the basis of most of your trust is the acknowledgement that the other understands what it means to be at the bottom end of it, facing the brunt of a bad swing. It seems pitiful, it seems scary—two people vulnerable to the same fickle mind and heart, trying to patch each other up.

You don’t notice just how tense you still are until Theo begins to run his hands through your hair gently, easing out the knots, massaging your scalp as he goes. You make a soft noise of contentment—Theo always says it sounds like you’re purring, like a cat—and fall limp against him, surrendering.

The words climb up your throat, a rocket fighting with all its might against gravity to get out into orbit.

“I got scared.”

Theo’s hands pause in your hair for just a breath, but then continues. Its steady, consistent rhythm only eases you into a more relaxed state. “About?”

About? The word echoes in your head over, and over again, into the dark cavernous abyss. About what, really? Why the hesitation—why are you so unsure? There are too many things to count. One worry riding an avalanche, getting bigger and bigger until you can no longer lift your shoulders.

“Everything.”

And it’s not a lie, really. It started off like this: yesterday, the door to the future opened as it usually does, every month, without fail. Unlike a few months ago, that very day you decided to stay in the mansion, the unlocking of the door isn’t really much of an affair anymore, except perhaps when Comte announces he’ll be off for a while and maybe you can ask him to bring some things from the 21st century, if that’s where he’s headed. It was just an ordinary, crescent-moon night.

Except it didn’t feel like it.

Somehow, you’d gotten into the habit of staying away from the door on the night that it opens. You still do rounds around the mansion sometimes, when you’re not out at work with Theo, so you get the chance to peer into Comte’s room and catch a glimpse at the door’s hourglass. It’s not that you’re willing yourself away from temptation, and crossing the door, but somehow, it feels safer, in your head, to just be away from it on that night.

Except yesterday.

You were on the way back to Theo’s room, after having a relaxing dip in the thermae, when you crossed the hallway leading to the time-crossing door. You weren’t even going through the hallway, just past it, but in the corner of your eye you felt like you saw someone down the hall.

Someone, being you.

Looking down the hallway with the moonlit window at the far end of it, illuminating the door, you could only imagine what you looked like that night you arrived, when Theo first saw you. Terrified, confused, banging at the wooden door begging it to open. What would you look like to the you back then? Already used to the life in the 19th century, perfected the manners (well, most of it), dressed in appropriate clothes. Would you have been terrified of yourself?

And with that thought, you went into the hallway, lights already long dimmed. You had in your hands a little candlestick, illuminating the space around you by a warm, yellow glow. And standing with it in front of the door that had ultimately changed the course of your entire life, you felt… small. You hadn’t thought of home in months. This was home now—Paris, 19th century. You knew that. But muscle memory of a whole life you’d lived still remembers what it was before this. Before the Louvre. Before Theo.

Without thought, you reached your hand out onto the door.

And for just a little bit, it pushed open.

You held it there, for what felt like hours, head buzzing. You weren’t thinking of going back, no, you love what you have now here, what you’ve built, what you’ll see in the future—and maybe you’re a little terrified, of course, two world wars, a plague, maybe multiple—but you couldn’t pull your hand away from it. Something kept you stuck there. You could see the carpet going through under the door, could imagine the hallway, with the paintings, leading all the way out to the other side.

At that moment, you heard footsteps from the other hallway. And you let go of the door like it was hot. Just as it clicks back into place, locked for another full month, Leonardo peered into the hallway.

“Loitering so late at night, cara mia?”

You’d be embarrassed at Leonardo having seen you in your sleeping clothes if you weren’t so flustered about the door already. “Just a little nostalgic. I should go to bed.” You cross the hallway as quickly as you can, and, greeting him quickly with a soft goodnight, scutter off into Theo’s room like nothing happened.

But something definitely happened.

You just don’t have the words to explain it.

Never have.

It just spiraled. The way it usually does—uncontrollably, like a car without a steering wheel. One thought led to another. And the next thing you know, you’re lying in bed next to the person you love the most, lying to his face about feeling sick, clutching the heavy rock of pessimism nestled in your heart.

(But maybe this is also a form of feeling unwell.)

Theo pulls you a little closer to him; the touch returns you to the present, and you wonder how long you’d zoned out on him like that. At least you feel warm now, none of the overwhelming cold that had taken over you all day. It’s always warm when Theo around. Like the first rays of sun after a long night.

And Theo thinks the same. Which is why it’s so hard to see you like this. Stuck in the 19th century, a hundred years behind what you’ve already known, it felt like he’d put the sun in a cardboard box. He doesn’t know what happened yet. Only knows that something did. And whenever something does, every time you go play hide-and-seek with him, his mind goes back to the day at the wheatfields, where he’d asked you for everything you could ever give.

And everything he cannot give.

Like your parents, growing old, turning feeble, not knowing what’s left of their child.

Like your friends, perhaps still looking, perhaps still remembering you ever so often, wondering where you’d went.

Like the places in your memory. Like the things you would have wanted to come back to—items of sentiment, places of importance.

Like the things you’d begun to build. The things you’d spent most of your life dreaming towards, all left behind a shut door that opens, like a monster, teasing, making you doubt, ask you over and over again, what did you lose, what did you trade away, was it worth it? Will it ever be worth it?

And maybe—you hadn’t talked about it, but maybe—maybe you’d wanted to let it go to begin with, and maybe that’s what made it easy to just turn away. But maybe Theo had also promised you something much more than he could give. Maybe you’d thought it was much more than what it actually was, is, will be. There’s no finding out about these things until it’s too late.

Theo wonders if it’s too late.

But even if it is, what’s left now is you, and him, and art, and everything else, so instead, he holds on to you for dear life. He has never spoken to you about this, and he has never known how to. Instead, he asks, “Can I make it better?”

“You already do,” you say, turning around so you can rest your cheek against his chest, listen through his clothes to the reliable thump, thump, thump of his heart. “It’s just me.”

“It’s not you,” he argues. It’s never you. Never to him.

“It is,” you insist. “I didn’t even feel bad to begin with, I just… I don’t know what happened. Something came over me and… now I’m just worried about things I can’t change.”

Theo feels his heart in his throat. “Is it really something you can’t change?”

A beat. “I don’t want it to change,” you answer weakly, before closing your eyes and pressing even closer to him. “I like it here, Theo.”

Theo feels something in his heart break.

“I like you being here too,” he answers.

Then, again, silence. Silence with Theo isn’t scary, isn’t worrisome—the two of you understand each other through these shared silences. There are things Theo can’t put into words and—so do you. They get said in these shared, wordless breaths. Somehow. Sometimes.

But sometimes, the words come out anyway.

“I hope one day it will be enough.”

You blink, Theo’s voice low and heavy. “What?”

The two of you turn to each other and just look. Searching, trying to understand, the look on your faces, your eyes. Theo turns away first.

“No, Theo, it is enough,” you say. “You don’t have to blame yourself. I’m still adjusting, this is normal.”

You don’t see it, but disbelief fills his features. “A part of it is certainly my fault.”

“It isn’t, and even if it is, I’ve forgiven you for it.”

Theo cradles those words to his chest. Presses a kiss on the crown of your head. "Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"It's something," he insists. "When something like this happens, when things get this way, I wish you would tell me instead.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. You sound tired. Your entire body feels heavy. “I would have, I just… I don’t want to worry you.”

“You know I don’t mind when you worry me, right?”

“I know, but sometimes you push yourself too much.”

“You know I'm willing to walk to hell and back for you,” Theo admits.

“And that’s the point,” you say as you push him away gently, a hand on his chest, forcing him to make eye contact with you. “You can’t keep sheathing an open blade with your hands your whole life. You shouldn’t,” you say. “It’s not just choosing to stay. It’s just… what started this all. I’ve always been like this, Theo. You know that.”

And he does. He knows you understand how he had, for the longest time, hid in his dark corner of revenge because you know what it’s like to carry that pain around all the time. To stand like it’s not slung on your back. To act like it’s not bothering you.

You continue, “I love you, and I love that you’re willing to do so much for me, but Theo—I want you to take care of yourself too.”

Theo has no response to that. There’s nothing more he wants to do than be at your side for every second of pain, of joy, of agony—and to be told to step back, he fears what he’s bound to lose.

You take a deep breath, sensing his hesitation. “You can’t take care of me when you’re hurt too,” you explain, pressing the palm of one hand to his cheek. “And I will never hold it against you, if you decide to step back. I don’t expect you to save me every time. Besides, I know you’re not leaving, you’re just taking a breath. Okay?”

“Okay.” Theo lets it all sink in. “But you’re not allowed to push me away when you begin to think that you’re a burden or all that. I get to decide when I’ve had enough. Is that clear?”

“Sounds like a fair deal,” you say, glad that he’s accepted your terms. You return to your safe space, face burrowed into the crook of his neck, and sigh when he begins to run his hands through your hair once again.

There are a lot of things the both of you still have to learn about maneuvering around each other: it always is, at the start of loves as great as this. And maybe now, it seems pitiful, it seems scary—two people fragile to the same fickle mind and heart, trying to patch each other up, but soon, eventually, the two of you will find a system that will keep the both of you afloat. Keep you together, no matter what kind of storms you might need to weather.

You look up at Theo once and smile; and he smiles back, maintaining his gaze on yours, feeling deep relief at the gentle, slow return of the light in your eyes.

“Thank you for finding me,” you mumble softly, cuddling even closer to him, so close that you feel most of your worries melt. “Stay with me until I’m better?”

He presses a kiss against your forehead, and you can almost hear him saying I’ll stay with you forever.

in the atelier: la mélancolie by Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée

#ikevamp #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire theo #ikevam theo #ikevam #atelier heart #fic #our shadows fall away like dust

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autisticblueteam · 7 years ago

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Unfair (South/Carolina)

[AO3] [Ko-Fi in Bio]

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2428

Warnings: Argument within a relationship.

Summary: After the explosive Bjørndal debriefing, Carolina finds South and tries to make it up to her.

Notes: I was planning on getting more than one fic out for @rvbrarepairweek but my hand pain refused to cooperate, but I got this done. Have some Southalina.

“Think I should talk to her?”

There was a sharp crack as the panel at the door broke, sparks crackling where it tore away from the wall. South kicked the screen on its way down for good measure, glass shattering over the ground. Huffing and rolling her shoulders, she disappeared around the corner.

North shook his head with a quiet sigh. “Maybe we give her a minute.”

Carolina nodded, though her gaze didn’t leave the now juddering doors.

Behind them, there was a sigh and a muttered order to summon maintenance, which was their final cue to leave.

They de-suited in silence. Out of the corner of her eye Carolina caught sight of the bandages still covering North’s wounds—stark white against the grey of the locker room—before he dragged on a shirt. Raising his hand in a quick wave, he turned and headed back towards the bunks. Left the room somehow quieter.

Snapping a hair-tie around the bottom of her braid, Carolina sighed and stood up. She figured that minute had passed.

The halls of the Mother of Invention were still. Most of the other agents would be in bed at this hour, but North had been discharged from medical and the Björndal debriefing had been called despite the time. Three days they’d waited for North to recover enough for the mission to be officially closed. Three days. The tension on the bridge that night had built up until it was so thick a bullet wouldn’t pass through it.

South had barely spoken to her in those three days. Even the previous night, when she came to her bunk and clambered into bed beside her, she didn’t say a word. Only draped an arm haphazardly over her side and huffed. They both settled down, but Carolina hadn’t slept a wink and she wasn’t sure that South had, either.

The anger that radiated from her was palpable. Anger that was directed at her, at least in part.

All she’d done was follow her orders. What else South expected of her she didn’t know. It wasn’t like she could just say no to the Director, refuse to get on the Pelican and stay behind—even if she’d wanted to.

Carolina sighed.

It didn’t take long for her to find South in the silence of the ship. The heavy thumps of her fists against the punching bag were audible from down the hall, her frustrated grunts and groans not far behind. Green light shone from above the door. An invitation, at least in South’s language.

The door slid open with a quiet beep.

THUD.

“Fucking dumbass fucking bullshit fucking—” Streams of curses punctuated every punch, the chain rattling violently and competing with every other syllable. “Fucking cocksucking asshole fuck—”

“South?” Carolina said, her voice deliberately even. The two-one rhythm of the hits faltered slightly, but caught itself. “Are you alright?” she continued, flinching at herself.

South snorted, slammed her fist into the bag so hard that it smacked against the wall. “Am I fucking alright? Yeah, sure, I’m fucking fine. Dropped from the spot I’ve been working my ass off to keep for fucking weeks, because our fucking science professor of a Director doesn’t fucking get that putting unnecessary hard fucking time limits on a stealth mission doesn’t fucking work, but yeah. I’m fucking alright.”

“South…” It was a thoughtless question, she knew that. Why couldn’t talking to upset people be easy? “You’ll make the difference back up in no time. It’s only a minor—”

“Minor fucking setback, yeah yeah.” Another slam of her fist, the stilling bag jolted again. “Easy for you to say. Fucking— sending you in after us, like he knew we were gonna fail. You know how fucking patronising that is? Number four on the fucking board and they send me in with a babysitter.”

Huffing, she started tugging at the wraps around her fists.

Carolina sighed quietly, reached behind her to lock the door as she stepped further into the room. “I was sent along as an precaution, nothing more.”

“Yeah, like I said, babysitter. Two, actually. North fucking bitching in my ear the whole goddamn time, like that fucking helps.” The material of the wrap got caught under another flap and she grunted, tugging at it hard. “Fucking thing—”

“Let me.” Carolina approached her, holding her hands out.

“I can do it myself,” South mumbled, even as she shoved the hand towards Carolina. Taking it, she carefully freed the material and started to unwrap the rest. “It’s gonna take weeks to get back up.”

“It won’t—”

South cut her off with another snort.

“Oh it fucking will and you know it, Carolina,” she bit. Carolina carefully finished unwinding the wraps on one hand and took the other, starting the process over. “I worked fucking hard to keep that spot but I fuck up once, fucking— once! And— ugh!”

“It won’t take you weeks, South.”

Tugging her hands back, South tore the wrap away and threw it. “Shut the fuck up, like you fucking know shit. When was the last time you dropped any fucking lower than the top fucking spot, huh? When was the last fucking time you had to claw your fucking way back up?”

Exhaling, Carolina’s fingernails dug into her palms. “South—”

“No, really, when? Because fuck its easy to fucking say that it’s gonna be so easy when you’ve never had to work for shit anyway!” South snapped, throwing her arms out. Always so expressive, her entire body speaking for her just as much as her words. It made her so much easier to read than anyone else, circumvented Carolina’s usual issues with the subtleties of body language.

But it made her anger feel all the more vitriolic.

“That’s not fair,” Carolina said, the sharp sting of her nails burying into her skin.

South snorted again, spun on her heel and walked away. Stopped at the wall, slammed her palms against it and turned to look back over her shoulder.

“You know what else isn’t fucking fair? That you get to sit pretty up there at the top of the fucking board whilst I have to fucking put up with being punted down whole ranks at a time for shit that isn’t my fault.” The weight of her eyes pushed down on Carolina, but Carolina gritted her teeth and pushed back.

“That’s not my fault either, South!” she retaliated. Swiping the wraps from the floor, she balled them tight in her fists. “You know damn well I’ve worked hard to get to where I am, South. Don’t you dare imply that I don’t work for it. I came here to talk to you because you’re my girlfriend and you were upset, do not make me regret that by treating me like I’m the enemy.”

There was a single beat of silence… and then South’s shoulders dropped. “Shit…”

As the heavy weight of tension tumbled away from her, she let her head fall against the wall and took deep breaths. Smacking her palms against the wall one more time she huffed and spun on her heel, arms folding loosely under her chest but beckoning for Carolina to come closer.

Sighing, Carolina crossed the distance between them and rested a hand on her arm. Caressing slowly over the muscles and the scars, she glanced up and met South’s eyes for the briefest of moments before the discomfort pressing at the front of her skull was too much. The moment her gaze flickered away, South’s hand cupped her cheek.

“Fuck, babe, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice now softer. The undercurrent of frustration hadn’t faded entirely, but it was no longer aimed in her direction. Leaning into the warmth of her hand against her face, Carolina exhaled. “You’re not the fucking enemy. I know all that shit, I do, just— fuck. I’m so fucking tired of this shit, Lina.”

“I know.” Raising her own hand to the back of South’s, her thumb rubbed circles against the skin. “I’m not trying to... dismiss, that, it’s just—”

“That you’re kinda shit at comforting people?” South said, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Scratching faintly behind Carolina’s ear, fingers brushing through her hair, she teased, “Yeah, I fucking noticed.”

“I can still leave, you know,” Carolina countered, without conviction. “…I’ll train with you. Help you boost your numbers.”

South snorted. “You kicking my ass does not help boost my numbers babe.”

“It doesn’t have to be sparring. We can do that off the record, you might even learn something.” She pressed a kiss to South’s palm and squeezed the back of her hand. South rolled her eyes, but that hint of a smirk had spread.

“You work too fucking hard,” she said, and from her it didn’t sound like an insult. Like an admonishment. From her, it was this strange mix of praise and concern that took Carolina a moment to place. “That’s fucking where my anger-fuelled cockshit of a brain is really wrong. You work too fucking hard babe, its gonna be the death of you.”

Responding would be too much like admitting something. Too much like acknowledging everything that she’d rather not face.

So she didn’t respond.

South— bless South because she never pushed, she never knowingly overstepped boundaries she had no right to overstep. If she caught the hesitation, the way Carolina tensed, she didn’t say a word. The roughened pad of her thumb brushed over her cheekbone and she guided her in for the kind of gentle kiss so many would call uncharacteristic, but that Carolina had become well acquainted with.

Despite all her hard edges, her bite, her anger… South knew when to be soft.

The pressure of her lips slowly faded, South stepping back and standing straight, but Carolina’s arms hooked around her neck and she followed her. Stole another kiss away, eyes scrunched shut and their noses knocking together. Strands of hair fell against Carolina’s face and nearly poked her in the eye, quickly swept away by swift fingers and tucked behind South’s ear.

“Feeling better?” she said softly, letting one hand fall to rest against her chest. Behind her neck, she still clutched the discarded wraps.

“I could fucking lie and say yeah, but— nah, not really.” South laughed dryly, shook her head. “Fuck me, I took it out on you. That was a real bitch move. And shit, babe I love you but you talking to me still doesn’t change the fact I got fucking— kicked down a spot on the board and fucking talked down to.”

“Okay.” It wouldn’t have been any different had their positions been switched, Carolina could hardly deny that. Comfort… it meant something, but it didn’t erase multiple days, weeks or months of frustration and hurt. “Thank you for being honest.”

Another snort. Funny how that noise became almost comforting in its familiarity. “Agreed to be, didn’t we? Look, fuck— thank you, for coming after my ass. You didn’t have to fucking do that.”

Carolina shrugged. “You’d come after me.”

“Damn fucking right I would. Even if I am as dickshit at comfort as you are.”

“I suppose we are both pretty bad at this,” Carolina said with a sigh and a half-smile. Running her finger along the seam of South’s sports bra, enjoying the uneven pressure against her skin, her gaze flickered up to meet South’s for another fleeting moment. “I’m sorry that I intervened today. But I have to follow my orders and in the end, I can’t say I’m not glad I was there. You’re capable,” she said, South’s mouth snapping back shut, “but that machine gun turret nearly took both you and your brother out. I’d rather not know what would have happened if it hadn’t been the three of us.”

“Ugh,” South huffed, pulling Carolina’s hand up from her chest to shake it around, “why do you have to make fucking sense, huh?” Pressing Carolina’s knuckles against her lips, she exhaled. “Fuck. Look, yeah, I know you gotta do what you’re fucking told but I hate that you get told to do that shit. That fair?”

“That’s fair.”

“Good. Because it’s real fucking shitass. Shit, I know this shit’s gonna happen and I know you’re not doing shit to spite me but fuck, it sure feels like the Director is.” Carolina’s teeth buried into her lip. Dropping her hand, South stepped away and shrugged back into the upper body of her suit. “If I’d fucking set those trackers like North kept jabbering about I’d have gone over time and been punished anyway. Can’t fucking win around here.”

Nothing about this was fair, no, but what were they supposed to do about it?

Staying quiet, Carolina held out the wraps. South dumped them inside her helmet along with her gloves, sighed and turned to the pile of armour by the wall. She must have come straight here.

“I’ll help you carry your armour back to the locker room.”

“Thanks babe.”

Together they gathered up the discarded pieces of South’s armour, a comfortable quiet filling the room. The tension hadn’t faded away entirely, but there was always an underlying tension here. But three days of silence were over. They’d talked, they’d apologised, they were trying—that was what mattered. That meant more than words spat in anger.

“You know what you are?” Carolina asked, not hiding the amused smile on her face as she hip-checked the door lock. South raised a brow. “A swearsaurus.” South stared at her, unblinking, and Carolina muffled a laugh. “You know. A thesaurus of swears.”

A beat.

South laughed.

Real laughter, not that dry, humourless sound from before. The kind of genuine laugh that seemed to be growing rarer and rarer these days. Carolina enjoyed the look on her face as she backed out of the room, amused smile now a grin.

“Sometimes, I fucking forget that you do that,” South said through lingering laughter, kicking back at the door control as they left. “Your fucking terrible puns. Fuck.”

“I’m hardly wrong.”

“Nope, but its still a terrible fucking joke.”

“Made you laugh,” Carolina said, casting her a cheeky smile as she turned on her heel. “I’ll take it.”

That night, South was back in her bed and back to her usual self. No more uncomfortable, unnatural silence; just a warm body at her back and the attitude she’d come to know and love. Things would always be complicated, but dammit they were trying.

That had to count for something.

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