#until i caught up on most of carol's scenes late last year and spiraled

[catelyngrant]

He finds her behind the little cabin they’ve settled into for the evening, alone on the porch swing that looks about five minutes from collapsing beneath her. She has a half-smoked cigarette in one hand and a leg curled under her; the other moves back and forth on the patio floor, creating a gentle rocking motion that stops when Daryl carefully settles beside her.

“Everyone asleep?” she asks, staring at the yard instead of facing him.

“Yeah.” It hadn’t been easy. Most of the kids had nodded off fine, and the adults even easier, but the events of the last few days have caught up to RJ in a big way, and Daryl knows that more likely than not he’ll be up and down through the night, begging for Michonne. And Judith - hell if Judith doesn’t remind him of the woman sitting beside him, all brittle strength and both eyes on the greater good. It scares the shit out of him.

Carol casts her gaze sideways towards him, biting her lip. They haven’t talked about what Judith told them - what Michonne told her - hell, they haven’t talked about anything, but this is a can of worms that Daryl can’t even look at tonight and he cuts her off before she can open it.

“How’s your head?” he asks, looking at his own lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her give a weary shrug.

“Hurts,” she replied. “Your leg?”

Daryl shrugs too, wincing just a bit. “‘S a bitch,” he confirms, and reaches with his good arm for the pack of cigarettes on the swing next to her. “Gimme one of those.”

Carol grabs his wrist just as his fingers close around it. “Ask nicely,” she teases, but her voice is flat. Daryl snorts, unamused, and she pulls her hand back as he selects a cigarette for himself. Wordlessly, she hands him her own, and he lights his with the embers barely burning at the end before offering it back; she shakes her head. He drops it instead, extinguishing it with his shoe.

The clear blue of twilight gives way to the black of night, the thin sliver of moon and the fire inside offering more shadow than light. Daryl’s shoulder throbs. He finishes his cigarette and shifts on the bench, more tired than he can remember being.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Daryl,” Carol finally says.

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[artificialqueens]

How Far I'll Go Chapter 5 (Ninex) - Mia Ugly, Meggie

A/N:   Previously: Nina and Cracker resolved their tension, though Cracker appears to know more than she’s letting on. The queens were grouped in threes to recreate some classic sapphic films, and Nina isn’t feeling great about his team’s performance. Meanwhile, Monet helps Nina calm his nerves.

To come: the runway, the reckoning, a flashback. And a musical number. Of course.

(Thank you to everyone who has been reading/commenting on this. Your enthusiasm is means more than we can say, and we’re so grateful.)

Here is the link for the song in this chapter, in case you want to sing along at home!

Chapter 5: I bet you’ve got secrets too

Nina wakes up and is still on Drag Race. 

(Will the same thing be true tomorrow morning? Don’t think about that right now.)

He showers, gets dressed, heads down to breakfast. As he’s waiting for the elevator he tries not to fidget too much, not to start biting his nails or tugging at the buttons on his cuff.  He’s already vibrating with anxiety and the day hasn’t even started yet. Breathe, girl (but then that just makes him think about Monét, their shared breath yesterday in the Werk Room, the warmth of Monét’s hands against his. In, out. Goddamn if Nina isn’t going to remember Monét’s voice all low and calm like that, or their eyes locked together, for maybe probably the rest of his life).

The elevator dings as it opens, and - Jesus Christ.

This time Nina recognizes the gasping couple immediately.

“What—and I cannot stress this enough—the fuck, you guys?”

Brooke and Vanjie immediately pull away from each other. Nina turns his back. He doesn’t want to see them, doesn’t need to have this conversation. If either of them think that he’s going to spend the rest of the day talking them down from whatever lovelorn panic spiral they end up in, well - they’re wrong.  That’s what they are.

So much for “it won’t happen again” and “we’re done” and all of that. Nina should’ve known better. He’s heard the speech from both of them before, after all, and look where it’s left them. (Not to belabour a point, but it’s left them here, on All Stars, making out in elevators and then pretending that anyone is fooled.)

When he gets to the conference room, the mentors have already left. Nina - tries not to feel too disappointed. It just means he probably won’t see Monét until tonight on the runway (even then, it will only be from a distance.)

Maybe that’s for the best. Nina could use a bit of distance. 

After that dream last night, Monét’s been in his head all morning, and Nina’s got to be stronger than this (put it aside, right? Give it up, throw it away. Do something else with these feelings, anything except - feel them).

He sits with Asia for breakfast, ignoring Brooke and Vanjie as they go off to separate corners of the room, neither of them speaking to each other (both of them avoiding eye contact with Nina. Thank God for that).

“I think we were okay,” Asia tells him about her scene. “Like, we got it the hell together. But those two…” She raises an eyebrow, no more clarification needed. “They gotta figure out their shit. They still fucking?”

“I - have no idea.” Nina likes Asia, trusts her, but - he really doesn’t know how to answer that question. Given the situation in the elevator this morning. And yesterday morning. And - you know, probably most mornings (nights, afternoons) since they damn well broke up.

“Did you know Trixie’s man split with her?” Asia asks the question like she’s asking Nina if he knows what the weather’s going to be like. “Vanjie told me. I guess Miss Mattel was all up in her feelings yesterday.”

“Really?” Nina’s genuinely surprised. From the vibes that Trixie gave off on social media, he thought her boyfriend was kind of a - sure thing.  Jesus, what was his name? Well, Nina knew at one point, and Trixie had been writing songs about him and - it’s all unexpected. Though of course Nina doesn’t know her as a person at all, really. Just knows her as Trixie Mattel, All Star and business mogul and celebrity shit-talker. 

“The tea is that it’s because of some pics with Katya, you know.”

“I… don’t.”

“Like romantic photos. Nothing - I’m not talking dick pics, honey. Just some shit from a show or something, you know how they are. All touchy, cuddly. Anyway, I don’t have the details or anything. Just what Miss Vanjie was spilling.” 

Nina thinks back to Trixie Mattel’s awkwardness from their time on set yesterday. The way she flinched when they brought up Katya. Jesus - no, no. He’s not going to take on anyone else’s drama right now. Ru Paul’s Best Friends Race? More like Ru Paul’s Messy High School Soap Opera.

Nina’s shaky and anxious for most of the day, despite his best efforts.  He tries to keep a brave face on, tries to convince himself he’s got nothing to worry about. His Lavender Menace runway look is one of his favourites: a super-cinched mermaid silhouette that drips with pale purple beads and holographic paillettes.  He feels like a futuristic Barbra Streisand in “Hello Dolly!” and can’t wait for the judges to see it.

He and Brooke paint next to each other at the mirror, a bit quieter than usual (Nina is not going to ask, is not going to give in to the Branjie drama du jour.) There’s always been a calm that surrounds Nina while he paints so he relaxes into it. He knows this part, understands it, trusts his hands with the brushes even if he doesn’t completely trust his body on the runway (or trust his sisters with their votes). He relies on muscle memory and an arsenal of information gleaned from the countless queens with whom he’s worked over the years. Makeup he’s confident in. Makeup is what he can put his hands all over and make his own. If he has nothing else, he has his face (and fully made up, with the right shade of lipstick and just the right wig, Nina feels almost pretty. Close enough that with a couple drinks in, you might not know the difference).

Today he’s chosen a deep plum eye flecked with holographic glitter. It’s a lot, it’s over the top, it’s very Nina West, which is exactly what he’s here to show them. Too much of himself got lost in Season 11 and that can’t - won’t- happen again. His glitter might exactly match the paillettes on his dress. He might have planned that. His purple eyeshadow might also match Monét’s purple lipstick from the finale night (that, he didn’t plan. Honest.) 

After he makes the connection, though, it’s almost all he can think about, which is not a good thing. He should be focusing on the competition. On turning it out on this runway. On trying to ignore the feeling that it could be his last one. 

A couple of innocuous conversations about the “inner saboteur” happen while they’re all painting together, but the producers are looking for that hook, so - of course it’s only a matter of time before they convince someone (in this case Ivy, who probably didn’t realize it was a trap) to ask the inevitable question.

“Brooke and Vanjie. What was it like being on the same team again? Like playing a couple after - you know, everything?”

Nina stiffens, knows that this question is going to fuck with Brooke and Vanjie’s heads. The two of them look over at each other and then away, before Nina forces himself to focus on his own reflection in the mirror. He packs more plum eyeshadow on his brush, taps it carefully on his eyelid, pretends he isn’t listening. (Of course he’s listening. They’re all listening.)

“It’s fine, girl,” Vanjie says, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. “Makes it more realistic, don’t it? Plus that shit is ancient history. Like, back when there were dinosaurs and shit.”

“Is it awkward though?” Shea asks. “Being on the same season again?”

“No,” Brooke says a beat too late, a note too high. Nina winces at the sound, then hopes that none of the cameras caught that. The last thing he wants to do in his talking-head tonight is answer questions about Branjie. “I mean, we stayed friends, stayed really close—” 

“Oh yeah, real close.” Vanessa snorts, runs his tongue across his teeth, stares down at the bottle of foundation on his table. The Werk Room falls silent. Brooke’s hand pauses, mascara wand poised above his right eye, waiting for the bomb to drop, waiting for Vanessa’s next move. 

Nina’s waiting too.

But Vanjie just releases a deep breath and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, we cool. We did what we did in the scene, now we just gotta wait. But baby, it’s gonna be all fine.”

* * *

It’s anything but all fine, as it turns out. 

The runway is one thing. Clearly Brooke looks gorgeous in purple (Nina isn’t blind). Vanjie goes unexpectedly high-fashion in an asymmetrical gown patterned with lilacs, lilacs also forming a crown atop her white-blonde wig—a May Queen, a Midsummer Night’s dream. Nina feels like a bag of money in his dress, and if he searches for Monét’s approving gaze from the audience, well - it doesn’t have to mean anything.  It doesn’t mean anything. Nina uses this ache for fuel, stomps the runway like maybe, maybe, maybe he’s winning Monét over. Like he’s cool and sexy and mysterious, like he could be the kind of person someone like Monét would fall for. 

He lets that fantasy carry him as he flirts with the judges, spins at centre stage, and leaves the runway walking on air (he’s done what he can, let’s hope it’s enough).

When they’re all called back to watch the films and listen to the judges’ critiques, Nina’s fantasy starts to fade. 

Shea, Nina Bo’nina, and Ivy slay (as Nina completely expected). The three of them look gorgeous (Shea’s purple dress has a bustle and train that nearly stretches the length of the runway, it’s dramatic as hell and the judges are living). Their scene is weird and glamorous and perfect: Shea as Carol, Ivy as Therese, and Nina Bo’nina as the surprise jealous ex-girlfriend have Ru almost crying with laughter. There’s no doubt that they’re going to be in the top tonight - or at least two of them will.

Brooke and Vanjie, well… Being bad at acting is one thing, but Nina can’t for the life of him figure out how they’re so bad at playing a couple when they’ve literally been doing it since their break up last fall. If only Aileen Wuornos had an Instagram, Nina thinks bitterly, they’d be fucking set. 

The looks are on point, and Asia is a lone bright star as an evil police officer, but Brooke and Vanjie are kind of a mess. Nina doesn’t know how to feel about it—it’s hard to feel anything when he’s still waiting for his own scene to play.

And then it does.

Blair reaches over and takes hold of Nina’s hand as the clip rolls, and it is - not great.

Not awful - but definitely not great.

Nina gets a couple good laughs, and Cracker looks the part, but Michelle was right - they are stiff, and they don’t look like they’re having fun. Blair in particular looks terrified on-screen (and Nina can feel Blair’s hand tightening against his as the scene unfolds).

When it ends, Nina tries to smile graciously but he knows it falls flat. On the other side of Blair, Cracker stares down at the runway.

Ross claps enthusiastically, but Ru and Michelle applaud more out of polite tradition. And that’s when Nina knows that they’re fucked. 

“Ladies,” Ru says after a short deliberation break where Nina desperately tries to hold Blair together without falling apart himself. “What an - interesting approach to this week’s challenge. Here’s some advice: stop letting personal matters get in the way of your success.” 

Nina gulps. 

“That said, let’s move on to the judges’ critiques.”

They love Shea (of course). Ivy’s dress isn’t their favorite silhouette, but they commend her on the flawless construction and the bold use of lavender and grey plaid wrapping paper (that queen is something else). The other Nina has painted her entire body purple and green as a living, breathing representation of a lavender plant and the judges are interested if not completely sold. Either way, Nina hasn’t heard enough negative critiques to feel safe.

Brooke is next. The judges fawn over his form-fitting fully-stoned pageant gown, the pale color of the fabric accentuating the creamy undertone of his skin. Michelle especially loves that he’s wearing a deep auburn wig, says it changes his entire aesthetic and is the perfect balance to the rest of the look.

“But I see we still haven’t taken any acting classes,” she continues carefully.

Brooke purses his lips. “I actually did, I just—” He sighs. “It was a rough week for me.”

Michelle nods, narrows her eyes, and then surprisingly - drops it? She doesn’t listen to excuses from anyone,  but for some reason she doesn’t go right for Brooke’s throat this week. Nina suspects she knows exactly what (or who?) Brooke is referring to. Michelle usually does. 

Asia’s electric purple feathers are another judges’ favorite, and she’s  complimented by both Michelle and Ross for being the saving grace of an otherwise dim performance.

Nina can see Vanjie crumbling with nerves, but the smile he pastes on when Ru says his name is radiant, could light up Columbus in a pinch.  If Vanjie just knew how to channel that control into challenges - Nina forces himself to listen. 

“First of all, you look flawless. This is not your Season 10 or Season 11 Miss Vanjie. You are stepping up, girl.” Michelle smiles, and Vanjie’s face could now light the entire state of Ohio.

“But I’d like to know who made the decision that you and Brooke would play the main couple?” Ross asks.

Blackout. Vanessa’s mouth falls open. “I- We- It was a group decision.”

“We thought it made the most sense,” Brooke supplies weakly, “seeing as how we have a history.”

Michelle nods. “I get it, but it just didn’t work.” She looks at Asia. “What did you have to say about all that?”

Asia shakes her head. “I trusted my sisters. They said they could handle it and I believed them. You can’t fake the kind of chemistry that Vanjie and Brooke have. I just wish it had translated better.”

“Mmm,” Michelle agrees. “Or at all.”

“You didn’t think maybe it would be too much like art imitating life?” Ru asks, gesturing between Brooke and Vanessa, who are both looking anywhere but at each other. “Ex-lovers playing lovers? That’s…” He chuckles, but there’s little joy behind it. It’s cold, even for Ru. “That’s playing with fire, kids.” 

“I wouldn’t even have cared if it worked,” Ross says gently. “Play with all the fire you want, burn the stage down, but give us something.”

“Ross will be hearing from our union representative. Thank you ladies.”  When Ru glances over at Nina, the corners of his mouth tick upwards, but only slightly. “Nina West.”

“First of all…” Michelle kisses her fingers like a chef. “This gown? Gorgeous. Hair, perfection. You look stun-ning. But that performance, girl…” 

Nina nods. “I know.”

“Last season, every acting challenge you were high-larious. What happened?”

“There’s been a lot going on -” Stay vague, sis. Don’t be the one who throws people under the bus. You just fixed whatever was broken between you and Cracker. “I don’t think I’m settled in yet.”

“Settled in,” Michelle repeats blankly. “How many episodes of All Stars do you think you should get to settle in?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean -”

“You looked pretty settled in when you almost won last week,” Ross says.

“This is the best of the best,” Ru says, eyeing Nina. “What you brought last week was what we want, what you have on tonight is what we want, but all of you girls need to figure out whatever these personal issues are because I don’t have time for them. This is not - and I repeat, not RuPaul’s Best Friends Race.”

Nina nods. What else can he do? He tells himself not to look at Monét, not to see how he’s taking this - but Nina’s eyes immediately betray him. Monét’s perfect pink lips are pressed tight together (and, Christ, he’s even prettier than Brooke is in purple) and his hands are gripping the armrests of his folding directors’ seat.

Monét’s worried. Shit.

The judges move on to Miz Cracker, who looks like a purple technicolor acid trip of Alice in Wonderland. It’s Nina’s favorite thing on the runway, if he’s being honest.

Michelle peers over the top of her glasses. “Can you guess what I’m going to say?”

“I look damn good, but why the fuck wasn’t I funny?” Cracker deadpans. “Yeah, I don’t have an excuse. There obviously was some tension between Nina and myself, I take responsibility for that, but I apologized and we worked through it. It’s not going to be an issue anymore.” She offers her hand to Nina, who takes it and squeezes gently.

Ross shuffles his cards. “You looked amazing in the film, though. It was cast quite well.”

“Thank you. Blair and I switched roles last minute, so that’s comforting to hear.”

Ru nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns his attention to the third member of their group. “Well, I do declare!”

Blair has gone full Scarlett O’Hara realness for this runway, hoop skirt and all, and Nina and Cracker are at least five feet away from her out of necessity. The lilac taffeta falls in tiers from her fitted bodice and cinched waist. Blair’s hands are folded daintily, the white lace gloves accentuating how tiny her hands actually are. If Vivienne Leigh had a 19-inch waist, Blair’s can’t be a centimeter over 19 and a half.

Blair is smiling, but it’s porcelain, like the slightest jolt will shatter her.

“Blair St. Clair!” Ross starts with a big smile. “Is that really you in there?”

Blair does a cute little curtsy, bending as much as she possibly can in that corset.

“I love it, I love it, I love it,” Ross says. “That dress! I feel like I’m getting the vapours just looking at you, I need a fan.”

Blair—shockingly enough—has a pale violet fan hanging off her hip, almost completely hidden by ruffles. She pulls it off (“Catch!”) and tosses it toward the judges’ table while Ross claps in delight. (The fan goes pretty off course, hitting the edge of the table and ricocheting toward the ground in front of the stage. A crew member grabs it and brings it to Ross who fans himself dramatically.)

“What else is hidden in those ruffles?” Ru quips.

“A lady never tells,” Blair laughs softly.

“So yes - you look the part,” Michelle says, bringing them back on track. “But Blair. Honey. What was going on in that scene?”

The smile drains from Blair’s face.

“You showed up on set looking terrified. When I watched the scene tonight, that’s what came across the most for me. That fear.”

Blair nods. Her shoulders start to sag.

“You’re an actor. We know you can act. Do you know you can act?” Ru asks.

“Yes.” Blair doesn’t sound confident. “I just - got in my head this challenge. And then we switched roles—”

“So whose idea was that?” Ru interrupts.

Blair’s lips part. Nina has this horrible thought that Blair might say it was his idea, like an act of sabotage or something - when really, he was just trying to help. He really, really didn’t want to throw Blair off her game—

“It was mine,” Blair says. Nina exhales silently. “I thought it’d be better for the whole team, but I don’t know if it worked out that way. I think it shook me. I’m sorry.”

“You still look terrified,” Michelle says. “You’re clearly gorgeous, clearly talented. I want you to see that too, Blair.”

“I do. Or I thought I did, I guess I’ve still got some - work to do.”

“Thank you, Blair.” Ru’s voice is gentle. “Based on the judges’ critiques, I think we all know there was a clear winning team this week.” He pauses for effect, looks between them before settling his gaze on the three queens closest to the judges’ panel. “Shea Coulee, Ivy Winters, Nina Bo’nina Brown - condragulations! You are the winning team. But two of you really proved to us that Ru is the warmest colour… Shea Coulee. Ivy Winters: you are the top two All Stars of the week.”

Ivy cheers and hugs Shea, the two of them spinning briefly in place. Nina’s heart is fully in his throat, he may not be able to breathe soon.

“You’ve each won a $2,500 gift card to Wigs and Grace and a $1,000 gift card to Coolhaus Ice Cream.” Shea and Ivy embrace again, a little less excited by their ice cream prize. 

Ru continues, “Nina Bo’nina Brown, you are safe. Team Vanessa Vanjie Mateo: ladies, you are all safe.”

Blair flinches besides him, and Cracker doesn’t even blink. She was clearly steeling herself for this moment. Nina wishes he had. There was just some stupid optimistic part of his brain that couldn’t even go there, that thought they had a chance—

“That means Team Nina West: I’m sorry my dears, but all three of you will be up for elimination. Shea and Ivy: each one of you needs to decide which of the bottom queens you will eliminate if you win the lipsync.” 

Okay. Okay. It happened. Just - keep it together, don’t think about last season, don’t think about the moment they told you you weren’tgoodenoughtoSTAY—

Nina looks up briefly from his super-fun shame-spiral and catches Vanjie’s eye down the runway.  The sweet thing gives him a wince of empathy, and Nina winces back. 

“While you deliberate backstage,” Ru continues, “the judges and I will… learn macramé.”

The safe queens laugh, but Nina is wobbly on his heels, moving on autopilot to the backstage lounge. His brain doesn’t start working until he’s sitting on the couch with a cocktail in his hand, Blair and Cracker wedged beside him.

Brooke has disappeared (for a cigarette probably) and Vanjie is off somewhere talking to Asia, rolling her eyes and bobbing her head, clearly pissed off.

“Yay…” Cracker says dryly, “I blame the lesbians for this. Control your children, Brooke Lynn.” She tacks on that last part loudly, like if she yells enough, Brooke will hear her wherever he is.

“Girl, they’d probably enjoy that too much,” Shea says with a smirk, and Nina laughs (even though there is glass in his mouth). He feels mostly okay about his chances of staying. He does have a win to his name after all, and Cracker was safe last week.  But Blair… Well, she’s crying silently, furtively wiping away tears. They can all see the lipstick writing on the mirror (it might be in Blair’s handwriting).

“Do any of you—” Ivy begins, before Shea stops her with a hand on her arm.

“I’d like to talk to Ivy, actually. Other than that, I’m good. Unless any of y’all really want to - you know, make a speech or something.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Nina has a speech running through his head, his track record on the show, his win last week - but he’s surprised by Blair shaking her head ‘no.’ Cracker looks over sharply at that, hesitates - and then shrugs.

“I can cry real tears if you need me to,” she says to Shea. “But if you’re good, I’m good.”

Both Shea and Ivy look at Nina.

“I mean…” He shrugs. “You guys are in charge.”

“Great!” Shea says and grabs Ivy’s arm before pulling her to the back of the room, where they lower their heads and begin to speak quietly. 

Blair sniffs and dabs at her eyes. “I didn’t need to talk to them. What’s the point, you know? But I would like to talk to the two of you… if… I could.” Then she’s fully crying. “I just need a minute.”

Nina puts his arm around her, pets her hair while she breathes. It’s probably a moot point; it’s still early, but they all know how this works. 

Miz Cracker sits next to Blair, lacing and unlacing her fingers, not looking at either one of them. Until she does. 

“I’m really sorry,” Cracker says, holding Nina’s gaze over Blair’s head

Nina shakes her head. “We’re good, I told you.”

“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “What Ru said about personal bullshit getting in the way… That was all me. I was angry with you when I shouldn’t have been and now we’re in the bottom—”

Blair raises her head and looks both of them over with swollen, red eyes. 

“—and it’s really my fault. And fucking Monét’s—”

Her diatribe stops and she looks wide-eyed at Nina, who is still holding Blair’s hand, rubbing soft circles through the white lace glove that adorns it.

“Can I ask you…” Nina pauses. “What, um, exactly was Monét supposed to tell me?”

Miz Cracker shakes her head, trademark blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders. “No. I’m not touching it anymore. I can’t. If that idiot has something to say to you, he’ll say it on his own time.” She decisively smooths an invisible wrinkle from the front of her purple tea-length gown and folds her hands in her lap. But Nina notices that her thumbs never stop twitching. 

“No matter what happens, I hope—” Blair clears her throat and takes in a deep breath, which she releases as a shaky sigh. 

Nina shakes his head. “Blair, you don’t—”

“Wait, wait. Just listen.”

Both Nina and Cracker shut up and look at her.

“It’s going to be me. We know that.”

“Blair—” Cracker tries again.

“I was in the bottom last week. We know. Okay? We know.” Her bottom lip trembles but she straightens her shoulders, nods decisively. “I just want to say, you were great teammates. Like really, really - nice.”

Now Nina thinks he might start crying. No. NO. Keep it together.

“And I really like working with you.” Blair smiles sweetly. “Miz Cracker, you’re so funny, and I’ve looked up to you for so long. I can’t believe I got to work with you again.”

“Blair—” Cracker starts, but her voice breaks.

“Nina, you’ve taken such good care of me this whole time.  You really looked out for my feelings, and you were so sweet.” Blair squeezes Nina’s hand. “And I just really hope everything works out for you and Monét.”

Nina chokes a bit. But so does Cracker (great, they’re more in sync now than they were during the challenge).

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, are you two - not -” Blair blinks her eyelashes, looking at Nina in shock.

“No, nope, we’re not,” Nina says quickly. “Nothing - happening there. No ma’am.”

Blair watches him for a moment, and then narrows her eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” What is even happening? Vanjie and Brooke are the bad actors, Nina is Oscar-caliber. Is he losing his touch? Or is it just where Monét is concerned (and God, wouldn’t that be a nightmare)?

“Okay. Just - I thought. You know, from this whole conversation. And the way he looks at you.”

Cracker makes another choking sound, and Blair snaps her mouth shut. 

“Never mind. I must have - gotten confused. Sorry. Forget anything I said.”

“Except for when you said how great we are,” Cracker amends, pulling Blair into a hug. “You can’t take that back. I need this.”

Nina is grateful that Cracker always seems to be able to make Blair smile, and Team Cheerleader hugs it out. Moments later, Ivy and Shea come back from whatever corner they were hiding in, each of them looking grim. Before they’re all led back onto the mainstage, Vanjie grabs Nina and squeezes his hand.

“It ain’t gonna be you, girl. Keep it on-lock, you’ll be fine.” 

The other queens have similarly encouraging things to say to Cracker and Blair, and Brooke even goes in for a hug before the crew comes to get them.  Then they’re on stage again, lights so bright they’re making Nina feel dazed.

Don’t look at the mentors, he tells himself, and this time he listens. He’s too embarrassed - can’t possibly think about meeting Monét’s eye right now. (Here I am, totally fucked and on the verge of going home. Still glad you picked me?) 

“Welcome back,” Ru says as the lights flash. “Two top All Stars stand before me. Ladies, this is your chance to impress me, win ten-thousand dollars, and earn the power to give one of the bottom queens the chop. The time has come for you to lip-sync. For. Your. Legacy.”

And for my life, Nina thinks to himself. Oh God, he should have poured his heart out to Shea and Ivy, should have told them how much he wanted this, should have—

“Good luck. And don’t fuck it up.”

The opening beats of the Eurythmics’ “Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves” start and Shea immediately starts ripping off the train of her dress. The queens around Nina lose their minds.  Ivy got changed into a spangly cocktail dress for the lip-sync, but Shea kept her original gown - except now it’s been turned into a sexy purple bathing suit, and she looks stunning. Nina can’t say he’s in the headspace to pay much attention to anything that’s happening on stage, but the other queens and the judges seem to be cheering with every move Shea makes. Ivy’s classy and quirky but she isn’t the dancer that Shea is.  She can’t command a stage in the same way.

Nina focuses on breathing. Focuses on not falling over. Stares at the crumpled heap of Shea’s train, purple fabric stretching down the runway, while somewhere in the background Ru cheers with delight.

This can’t be the end. Not yet. Not yet.

Nina blinks and somehow the lip-sync is already done. As the music fades, he feels Blair’s hand slide into his. He forces himself to stay present, pay attention.

“Ladies, I have made a decision,” Ru says as Ivy and Shea catch their breath, both of them looking hopeful. “Shea Coulee, you’re a winner baby. You’ve earned a cash tip of ten thousand dollars. That means that Chad Michaels - you’re also a winner. You’ve won a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

There’s some cheering from the mentors, but Nina barely hears it over his pounding heart.

“Ivy Winters, you are safe. You may join the other girls. Will the bottom three queens please step forward?”

Nina walks forward in a daze, Blair’s hand still held tightly in his. After a moment at centre stage, Cracker reaches down and takes his other hand. 

“Shea Coulee. With great power comes great responsibility. Which queen have you chosen to get the chop?”

Shea sighs, but doesn’t draw it out more than she has to. “I love this queen and this ain’t personal.  I made this decision based on past performances, so I’m sorry, I gotta go with Blair.”

She takes Blair’s lipstick out of her neckline. Nina hears Blair take a deep breath beside her. 

“Blair St. Clair,” Ru smiles sadly, “as it is written, so it shall be done. You are and always will be an All Star. Now sashay away.”

Blair straightens her shoulders. She looks up and smiles brightly. She seems to Nina the most confident and beautiful she’s been since they first started filming.

 “Thank you so much for another opportunity to show you and the world who I am. I’m going to keep growing and getting better, and I’m going to make you so proud of me.”

Ru nods, Michelle smiles, and Ross might wipe away a tear, but Blair’s eyes are dry as she hugs Nina and Cracker, then turns and walks down the runway. 

She pauses before leaving and strikes a dramatic pose. “With God as my witness, I’ll never be eliminated from Drag Race again!”

Everyone laughs, genuinely laughs, because Blair is funny when she can relax and be herself. Nina’s hands are shaking as Cracker slides over and wraps her arms around his waist.

Safe safe safe safe safe.

“Con-drag-ulations, All Stars,” Ru says cheerfully from the judges’ panel. “And, remember: if you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else? Can I get an amen? Now let the music play!”

Nina is dancing but his heart is pounding as loudly as the music. Relief is making him dizzy and the flashing lights aren’t helping matters. Cracker hugs him again and he’s so damn grateful for that, just to have someone anchor him to the earth for a moment. He knows the mentors are probably coming up on stage, but he doesn’t see Monét in the crush of queens around him. It’s fine. It’s good. He’s in no fit state to try to impress anyone right now.

Nina’s one of the first to leave the runway, and he knows he’s got to go get changed, get ready for his talking head interview (which is going to be - let’s not kid ourselves - intense after this elimination), but he still finds the first quiet spot that he can, ducks behind one of those tall tool boxes full of set pieces or cords or something and just lets himself shake. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  He’s here, he’s here, he’s got to calm down—

“Nina? Girl, hey now—”

Nina looks up (even though he doesn’t need to, would know, has known that voice in the dark) as Monét comes closer to him, eyes full of concern. 

“I saw you tear off that stage, knew you were feeling some kinda way. And if you want to feel your feelings by yourself, if you need a minute, I get it. But listen - you’re still here. Okay? It was awful, but it’s one challenge, and you’re still here.”

Nina nods, but he can’t stop having flashbacks to Season 11, can’t stop remembering the depth of the hurt and disappointment when he was sent home. He feels like his heart is already in shards just from anticipation, and it’s hard to remind himself that it’s actually still intact. He’s still here.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry–” Nina tries to catch his breath, tries to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. This version of himself is the last thing he wants Monét to see.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Because I’m on your team, and - this challenge should have been easy for me, for us—”

“Nina West.” Monet’s got his serious face on, something Nina hasn’t seen much of yet. “This mentor shit don’t mean anything to me, okay? You think I need twenty-five K so bad? Nah, girl - with this voice? With this ass? Nah.”

Nina feels a laugh rising tightly in his chest. Monét deserves a fucking medal for trying to make him feel better.

“Don’t worry none about me. Jesus. You put this challenge behind you for yourself. You move forward and win this crown for yourself.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I don’t.” Monét’s voice goes a bit too loud, and he stiffens as they both realize it. His eyes are on Nina’s, and Nina realizes he’s holding his breath. This - what is -

Monét exhales a weak laugh and Nina feels the ghost of it against his lips. “Shit. I mean - I’m allowed to have favourites, right?” 

It’s so sweet and ridiculous that Nina’s face breaks into a smile, and as he does he feels the slow slide of a tear down his cheek. Wonderful. Fantastic. Could he be more pathetic?

Then Monét is reaching out, wiping the tear away with the soft pad of his thumb.

“Hey, now. No crying, Jean Grey.” Monét’s voice shakes, and he doesn’t drop his hand. His fingers stroke gently along Nina’s jaw, angling his face up and into the dim light. Studying it like it’s a priceless piece of art.

Nina feels - something strange happening in his stomach. Like he might be sick. Or maybe can’t breathe? It’s tough to say, so he says nothing - just stares at Monét and tries to keep his heart beating (but at least if he drops dead now, his face will still be warm from Monet’s hands. If he dies, he’ll still have had someone look at him, just for a moment, like he was a masterpiece).

Monét’s mouth opens, and Nina’s eyes drop briefly down to his lips. His lips are something else, just - devastating. 

They should kiss, maybe.  That would be - would be okay. 

Even if Nina ruined everything after the finale, maybe - maybe Monét would still want to kiss him (Nina remembers the taste of his mouth, remembers how soft it was, how desperate it made him feel, pressing kisses against his neck, chest, hip—)

That’s when a couple of electrics coming stomping through, hauling lights.

Nina flinches. Monét drops his hand. Steps back. 

Nina tells his heart - in very strong words - not to punch its way out of his chest.

“I’m - uh - anyway. You gonna be good?”

“Sure,” Nina says, still trying to remember why breathing is important. Was that - something? Had that been something? Or was he just -

“And I’m sorry about Cracks.” Monét keeps talking, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. “It’s kinda my fault that - she was all in her feelings.”

“Oh. Really, it’s okay, we talked it over. I think we’re cool.”

“Shit, thank God. I was worried that she was gonna be like this for the rest of the season.  Couldn’t resist the Nina West charm, right?”

“Actually –” Nina’s mind skips carefully over the ‘Nina West charm’ bit. There are some things he cannot survive. “She said this thing - you should probably know about it - I think she might be angry at you now?”  

Monét looks carefully blank. “Really.”

“She seemed - when we talked about it - upset about something you didn’t do? Or didn’t say, actually. She said she thought you were going to tell me something.”

Monét makes a soft noise from deep in his throat, like a ‘huh’ sort of sound but if you were also choking.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Doing real good.” 

Nina doesn’t need to say anything else, and he doesn’t really want to know - but he also kind of wants to know (he also still kind of wants Monét to kiss him, to touch his jaw again and lean forward and just—)

He clears his throat. Don’t think about kissing. “What were you supposed to tell me?”

“Oh, I—” Monét hesitates. Just for a second.  But Nina notices. Then Monét smiles, radiant and white (and just off enough to clock the flaw). “I have no idea. But I’m sure that bitch will have no problem sounding off at me about it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nina isn’t going to push. Not right now. 

“Well, maybe I gotta go do some damage control,” Monét says with a laugh that sounds brittle. “Congrats on making it through another episode, Nina West. Always knew you would. One step closer to that finale, right?”

“Right.” Nina forces himself to breathe, to smile, to watch Monét walk away. 

It seems to Nina that as Monét walks down the hallway, he’s almost walking to a beat. As if there’s low music playing in the background, like the strumming of some stringed instrument.  Nina can almost hear it.

“Was that a moment?” Nina murmurs to himself, and then - no.  No. Oh shit, he’s singing.

“Did we have a moment?

Was that a moment right there?

Or am I overthinking everything,

Always in my head

But that felt like a moment

With your hand on my skin.

If I could only speak

I’d ask you what it meant.”

Monét doesn’t turn around, doesn’t hear him (thank God) because Nina can’t stop the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“And I don’t know why I can’t just say what’s on my mind.

And I don’t know why I can’t just ask you what you’d like.

It seems as if we talk so much but never even speak.

And all we have are pleasantries

The hi, how are you’s, I can’t breathe

With all this silence rising like the sea.”

He stops. Takes a breath. He can still hear music.

“But that felt like a moment,

An honest moment just then

It felt like something real, maybe

A little more than friends.

Did we have a moment

When you touched me like that?

I’ll press it between pages

And then play it, play it back.

And I don’t know what you’d do if I said

How I feel.

Maybe you would laugh at me

Say none of it was real.

Or maybe you’d be kind

Oh God, the worst thing you could be

With all these little tragedies

The walls I’ve built in front of me

Are falling to the ground now

Just like leaves.”

The chords swell just like the rate of Nina’s pulse when Monét touched his face. 

“But was that a moment?

It felt like a moment to me.”

Music crashes like waves, builds like a barricade, and Nina holds his breath against the weight of it.

“Was that a moment?

Could it ever be?”

Then he pauses. What do you do in this situation, what do you say? Do you make the first move, risk your dignity? Or do you convince yourself that it’s just in your head? (He thinks and thinks and overthinks before the song continues.)

“That wasn’t a moment.

Okay, fine, we touched

But you’re like that with everyone

You’re lovely and beloved

That wasn’t a moment.

Please don’t let me fall.”

Nina breathes between his clenched teeth before he sings the final line: 

“That was nothing at all.”

The music fades out, giving Nina just enough time to wonder if he should seek professional help before Monét is walking quickly back towards him. Nina can’t move, can only stare in shock.  Monét probably didn’t - hear any of that, right? That was just another one of Nina’s weird musical fantasies that started up when he got that All Stars call (he really should probably talk to someone about that, to be honest.)

“I almost forgot,” Monét says under his breath (while Nina tries not to get too distracted by the way his lips form the words), “ and you didn’t hear this from me. But, girl, you better make sure that wig’s taped down for the next challenge.”

Nina lifts his hands to his hair - it’s fine, it hasn’t shifted at all.  

“What?”

“From what I hear, it might get snatched.” Monét winks before he walks away again, and Nina - oh.

Shit.

It’s time for the Snatch Game.

* * *

Interlude: Monét, finale night

“So like - girl. Okay. So.” 

Monét runs his hand over his bald head, desperate for something to do with his hands. His face is done but he hasn’t put his wig on yet, is waiting for the last possible minute (this one bugs him, and he really should get rid of it, but it was stupid expensive and he’s still kinda wearing it out of spite).

Anyway.

“So this might sound funny. You might think this is crazy - shit.”

He swallows. Breathes, and tries again.

“I’m gonna sound like a stalker, maybe - but - ”

“Oh. My. Jesus.” There’s a pounding on the bathroom door and Cracker’s voice echoes in the room. “Your phone is out here, who the hell are you talking to? Do you have a burner phone in there? Are you calling your secret family?”

Monét hears Bob’s loud laugh in the background and winces. 

“He’s secret straight, I’ve been tellin’ you this whole time. Got all these side-chicks.”

“Monét!” Cracker knocks again.

With a sigh, Monét cracks the bathroom door, peering into the room where his two friends have been waiting, already dressed and a couple of drinks in (okay, fine, it’s finale night - Monét might also be a couple drinks in at the moment). Bob’s boyfriend is there too, all suited up with his hair pulled back - and if he looks a bit like Cracker out of drag, well, no one’s going to mention that.

“Will you just stop?” he hisses at Cracker. “I’m trying to work out how I want to… You know…” He widens his eyes at her, praying she’ll get the hint. They talked about it at lunch a couple days ago. She knows better than anyone else what Monét is planning. 

“Oh shit,” Cracker mumbles. Then a smile graces her features. “Oh shit. Tonight? Okay, then. Werk. Glad you’re finally taking my advice.”

“Girl, we would have left your ass and gone down to the bar if we knew you were going to hide in the bathroom all night, practicing your Oscar speech,” Bob shouts at him. Doesn’t matter what the size of the room is, Bob has one damn volume setting. “You’re giving up your lame-ass Miss Congeniality trophy, remember? Not accepting a new one.”

“Fuck off.” Monét gives up on hiding, comes out of the bathroom to hunt for the bottle of whatever everyone else is drinking.

“It’s not his Oscar speech that he’s practicing,” Cracker sing-songs, raising an evil eyebrow as she sinks back onto the loveseat.

“You can fuck off, too.”

“Ooooh!” Bob says with exaggerated delight. “That speech. Tonight’s the night, huh? Okay, well. Let’s hear it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Monét rolls his eyes.

“Speech, speech, speech!”

“Fuck off, Bob.” 

“Listen, I’ve been waiting for you to put the moves on one Nina West for two motherfucking years now.” Because Bob always knows what her sister needs, she produces a bottle of tequila from behind her back and hands it over to Monét. “Or have you forgotten the reason your sorry ass was in Columbus to begin with on that fateful weekend?”

Monét takes two (larger than necessary) drinks and replaces the cap. Liquid courage or some shit. “Yeah, okay. I was with you, taking care of you, like always. Never forget.”

Cracker reaches over for the bottle. “So what are you going to say?”

“I don’t fucking know. I didn’t exactly get that far.” Monét sighs. “Everything I come up with makes me sound like a stalker.”

“I mean…” Bob shrugs. “If the size 12 Pleaser fits…”

“Fuck off, Bob!” Monét grabs his wig and marches over to stand in front of a mirror, trying to position the piece correctly. Maybe he spends a little more time on it than is absolutely necessary. Maybe he’s trying to avoid anymore teasing from Bob and Cracker. Eventually, he can’t stall anymore, so he pats it down one final time, fluffs out the bits above his ears, and swivels around, gold sequins casting light around the room.

Cracker’s smiling at him. “You’re stunning.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me, bitch. I been knew.” Though (don’t tell Cracker, it’s nice to hear).

“Soooo…” Bob says slowly, drawing out the syllable for far too long, watching Monét carefully as he reapplies his lipstick. He could do that downstairs, but honestly he likes annoying Bob. “How are you gonna do it?”

“Do what?”

“Woo Miss Nina West. Seduce her. You gonna buy her a drink at the after party? Tell her you’ve been stalking her online like a crazy bitch ever since you saw her in Columbus back in 2017 but didn’t have the guts to say anything?”

“Don’t even -”

“Or tell her you, like, were all lovelorn and shit for the entirety of Season 11? Tell her how many watch parties you dragged me to just to catch a glimpse of that ass?”

“Bob,” Cracker says, a warning in her eyes.

“Or maybe you’ll lay on that ex-Miss Congeniality charm? You know she’s probably gonna take your crown this year, right? You gonna ask her to come upstairs so you can show her how to properly polish the trophy? Oh, Jesus, won’t that be annoying. Two of you.” Bob scoffs.

Monét rolls his eyes. “If I make a move on Nina West, it’s none of your goddamn business how I go about it, Roberta.” He grabs his earrings off the table, fixes them to his lobes. “Now. Can we please go before I’m late to my own give-up?”

Bob holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. But you better clear the air tonight. It’s been how long now that you’ve been fucked up about her? It’s getting embarrassing -”

“Bob, drop it,” Cracker says, all low and soft in that voice she reserves only for Bob. Whatever they had together was a long time ago, but they still definitely know how to press each other’s buttons. It’s usually annoying. Tonight, Monét is grateful.

Bob and his boyfriend trudge ahead with little regard for Cracker and Monét as they walk to the elevator, but Cracker turns to Monét and grabs his hand. “Hey. Ignore him. He’s… You know.”

Monét nods. “I know.”

“I’m proud of you.” Cracker smiles. “Like - get it, girl. Took you long enough. And then you can introduce us. I always thought Nina and I would be friends.”

“Don’t go crazy now. Nothing’s happened yet. I don’t even know what to say.”

Cracker shrugs. “Just… be you. You know, everyone loves you so just… Go with that. Trust your gut.”

So Monét does. 

He also trusts champagne and tequila, and wonder of wonders, it seems to fucking work. Nina laughs and banters and smiles at him, gorgeous and glittering with alcohol, and for once in his damn life, Monét feels like this is something that’s supposed to happen. Like he’s in the right place at the right time and this is a sure damn thing.

So he invites Nina back to his room (put that speech on the back-burner, girl, just for now) and Nina says “yes.” 

Jesus of all Christs.

As Monét walks back up to his room, his final remaining braincell (listen, he’s had some drinks) thinks it’s a good idea to text Cracks: “It’s HAPPENING!!!!!!!” like some sort of schoolgirl. She responds immediately with the eye-roll emoji and several eggplants. Whatever, she loves him.

He gets his paint off, gets changed - wishes he had time for a shower, but the last thing he wants to do is miss Nina’s knock. It feels like a lifetime and also thirty seconds before Nina shows up outside his door still in his paper-doll pink, and it’s ridiculous and adorable and hot as hell, and the rest of the night just - disappears. 

Magic.

So clearly the last thing he’s thinking about is giving Nina West this like - awful crazy-bitch speech about maybe having a crush on him for longer than he should’ve. The alcohol helped him not think about it too much (and Monét’s a damn over-thinker. He might not seem the type but that’s ‘cause he makes flawless look so easy, child). The next morning (afternoon), there’s no alcohol left in his system to blame and Monét has to - as they say - step his pussy up.

So he asks Miss Nina West out for lunch. 

He’s as cool and casual as he possibly can be when what he really wants to do is just roll back under the blankets with that man, but - lunch, first. Then - his stupid ass speech. Then, hopefully - the rest. Like, rolling around in blankets, a relationship, a proposal somewhere down the line, a minivan and four kids and white picket fences… All that good stuff (Jesus Christ, calm your tits girl).

He might fucking floss after Nina leaves, might spend a bit too long moisturizing.  Whatever, it’s nothing. He’s not building this up in his head or anything, he’s just - making an effort (Nina West is the reigning Miss Congeniality okay? Monét ignores the fact that he’s the reigning All Stars champion).

And when he goes down to Nina’s room, clutching the rest of the clothing Nina left behind, and running over his dumb-ass speech in his head (“This probably sounds - stupid, okay, but I saw you at this show back in Ohio two years ago - no, don’t laugh, it was a good show, you looked good, and I remember - I thought -”)

But Nina doesn’t answer the door.

Monét waits a bit, knocks again.

No one answers.

Fuck. 

He wishes he’d gotten Nina’s phone number, because maybe he’s gone out, or had to meet up with someone, or is in some hotel room holding back Brooke Lynn’s hair as the queen cries out her broken heart (Monét ain’t blind, right? He knows what that shit looks like). Or maybe Monét got the numbers wrong (that was a lot of tequila), and this ain’t Nina’s room.

Shit.

Or maybe -

Nah, nah, he won’t go there. Nina West is not the kind of person that would ghost someone. Monét’s sure. 

Pretty sure.  

No, there’s no way.

He can’t wait in the hallway all day looking like some sad-ass puppy, so Monét folds the rest of Nina’s clothing, stacks it outside his door.  Then he impulsively decides to leave his number as well. (Nina could get his number, right? From so many other queens, so Monét has zero chill, but fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained or some other cliche bullshit he read on a cross stitch sampler at his Nana’s house.)

In his hand, his phone buzzes with a text from Cracker.

Bitch where are you??? Let’s do lunch. I need to know allllll the details! Then another eggplant Emoji. And the water droplets, which Monét thinks is just crass, but whatever.

Meet me in the lobby, Monét fires back as he turns around and walks back down the hall toward the elevator. 

There’s an explanation, he’s sure of it. 

He allows himself to entertain the idea as he rides the elevator down to the lobby. Nina will text, apologize, they’ll work things out, get them sorted. Everything will be fine in the end.

Monét has burned red-hot (silently, from a distance) for Nina West for way too long. 

There’s no way it’s going to end like this.