Chapter Text
The knock on the door was ominous.
It shouldn’t have been; it was a simple knock, nothing more and nothing less. But Charlotte had known the timbre and weight of this particular knocking since childhood and her stomach twisted painfully hearing it now.
Mother had always insisted on proper etiquette even in the privacy of their home, but it had never stopped her from entering their rooms even if they dared ignore her knocking.
The spoon she was using to stir the soup she was making clattered into the pot. Broth splattered upwards, and she shook out the brief sting of the heat as some landed on her hand; muttering a curse, she hurried to the door. Another knock, more insistent this time. More strident.
“C-coming!”
“Well, of course you are,” Mother said on the other side. “You wouldn’t think about leaving your own mother on the landing, would you?” She laughed in the light, airy way of hers that drew so many people into believing she was sweet and harmless. It was the tone Charlotte knew signified she had five seconds to let her in before she suffered the consequences for it.
“Ragatha?”
Her hands were shaking enough she couldn't easily grasp the handle. She flinched, knowing it was too late to give Caine any sort of warning of who was at the door. She swung it open just as her unwanted company was preparing to knock again.
Mother’s expression was unguarded for a split second; she was irritated, close to outright anger at the apparent snub, and then in the very next instant the outright negativity was subsumed by a familiar wide smile that had taught Charlotte to never trust so wide a smile on anyone.
“Oh, good! You were taking so long, I was afraid you'd forgotten who I am.” She pushed her way through the door, heels clacking obnoxiously on the tile flooring; dressed in a suit of fine cloth and her hair perfectly coiffed, she struck an imposing, attractive figure. Nothing had changed in that regard in the intervening years. She spent a moment eyeing the sparse but clean apartment, the welcoming kitchen and the colorful rugs laid down over the warm blonde floorboards before humming and turning back to Charlotte. “Well. I’m glad you’re keeping up with your living space so well. It’s very– small.”
As opposed to her childhood home, where this entire apartment could fit in its living room. Charlotte tried to keep from tensing, desperately trying to figure out what Mother meant by her compliment. Was she being sincere, or was it a slight on her ability to keep things clean? “It’s, uh, easy to maintain. Cozy.”
She winced internally as soon as the word left her mouth. Would Mother take that as an insult to her old home?
“N-Not that growing up at our house wasn’t! It was great! L-Lots of space, the best bed sheets, really good pancakes in the mornings-”
Mother’s gaze was impassive listening to her rambling. She didn’t say anything at all before turning back around and walking farther into the apartment, and Charlotte felt her anxiety skyrocket. Had she said the wrong thing? What was Mother thinking of her?
She followed after her as she invited herself to a tour of the kitchen and living room. Caine had sat up on the couch and muted the sound on the bee documentary, his gaze watchful and curious. Wanting to keep an eye on him after their trip to the doctor, Charlotte had had him settle in her own apartment so she could start making dinner. The swelling of his mouth had gone down significantly but the stitches still stood out boldly against his fair skin, and by the way Mother’s lip twisted seeing him, his rumpled hair, and disheveled clothing, Charlotte knew her first impression of him was not a good one.
“I checked in on your office this morning, Charlotte, and I was told you had called off. Of course I thought nothing of it at first, you make your own decisions, but then I had a visit from Jean today telling me she saw you walking into a Statcare downtown. A Statcare!”
Charlotte flinched inwardly. Better and better. “There was an emergency, Mother, I needed to take my friend there. Eric was okay with me calling off, and I can make up the hours.” Maybe she’d managed to cover all her bases on this one, and Mother wouldn’t find a way to start berating her.
As always, her hopes were dashed. “But what were you thinking going to a place like that, Charlotte? A rundown doctor’s office where the city’s riffraff can come and go with their filthy children, spreading their diseases is no place for a proper girl like yourself! What would our friends think if they found out you’d been there? You could single-handedly ruin the reputation I’ve built up for your benefit!”
Her stomach felt hot and tight; her face was surely on fire from how flushed she felt. “I- I wasn’t trying to do t-that, Mother!” she stammered, wringing her hands. She didn’t notice Caine’s suddenly sharp gaze watching her every flustered movement. “He hurt himself, and he wanted company going!”
“Hmm.” Mother glanced over exactly once, taking in the sight of the stitches sitting bleakly against his fair skin. Her smile was distinctly cold when she turned back. “Did you allow him to fall into a door as well, dear?”
Charlotte’s vocal chords froze. Her stomach curdled. As always, she had no response, her brain unable to think through the panicked upswelling of shame.
Mother’s smile thinned. “That’s quite enough visiting for the day, I think, if you've become so distressed. Dismiss your– friend, was it?– and come along. We have a lot to catch up on—”
“Don’t go with her.”
The air felt like it was sucked out of the room; both women turned in stunned silence towards Caine, who had risen from his seat and was staring at Mother in a way Charlotte had… never actually seen on him before. Something… bordering unfriendly.
“It’s- it’s no big deal,” Charlotte told him weakly. She wrung her hands once more absentmindedly, and his eyes tracked the movement. When he looked up to meet her gaze, his expression and voice were both flat when he responded:
“In the space of five minutes, you’ve shown twenty-seven physical affirmations of self-comfort. Breathing has quickened four point eight five three percent. Pupil dilation has increased exponentially.”
She hated it when he talked like a computer. Hated it. She couldn’t find an argument when he did because all he ever did was speak facts.
He turned on his heel back towards Mother, his tone still clinically detached:
“You,” he concluded, “are not a nice human being.”
“I don't recall your name, young man,” Mother said with a cold glare. “Come along, Charlotte. We need to talk about your choice of… friends.”
Her stomach flipped. Knew already what sort of lecture she was going to hear (maybe even receive). She started to follow behind by rote, mindlessly following decades of habit under her mother's hand–
And then her way was blocked. Caine stood with his back to her, his small size somehow bigger in his agitation as he glared at Mother.
“She doesn’t have to go with you.”
Charlotte's mouth fell open. “Caine,” she hissed, “what are you doing?”
He ignored her. Perhaps hadn’t even heard her, distracted as he was with Charlotte’s unwanted guest.
Mother, for her part, was quickly overcoming her own shock at his audacity; her expression flickered, revealing the ugliness beneath for just a moment before it was smoothed away. “Charlotte is my daughter, which means she knows the importance of familial obligations.”
“She’s also an adult, which means she can make her own decisions!”
A bit rich coming from the guy who hated it when they didn’t want to go on his Adventures. To be fair, though, the Circus had been his world, his rules, and he’d been terrified of the thought of them Abstracting if they didn’t participate in them.
Well-meant, poorly executed. So what was he up to now?
“An adult,” Mother sneered, “who's been god knows where the last decade and a half! She was barely an adult then, and she certainly seems to be struggling with her responsibilities now if she's already calling off work!”
Why must she say such hurtful things in front of her own daughter?
And why oh why did it have to be Caine she said it to?
“Mother, please–”
“Quiet, Charlotte. Come on now, and I’ll get you back on your feet. I've got a friend who's willing to give you a position and much better pay at the estate firm he owns. Your helpful talents can be better utilized somewhere else.”
A job position directly under Mother's thumb, no doubt. Another way to watch her every move and control her every decision.
One more thing to threaten with taking away if she wasn't obeyed.
Caine once again filled the silence when her vocal chords froze. Her mind never worked quickly enough when it came to Mother.
“You ought to know that she has been quite helpful here with us!”
“Charlotte? A help?” And Mother laughed, gaily as if she’d heard the funniest joke, and Charlotte felt her eyes burn. “She tries her best, the lamb, but there are so many things she still has to learn, and I don't want you poor dears to have to deal with her disappointments–”
Caine lost all patience.
“She. Is. Not,” he exclaimed, slamming the floor with his heel, “a disappointment! She is brilliant and loyal and you should be proud of her for all of her accomplishments! She's quick-witted, and brave, and she is always– always!– trying to help others when they need it!”
“Caine,” Charlotte whispered, her eyes burning now for an entirely different reason. She had no idea what Mother thought because she couldn’t look away from him.
“She makes the world better and brighter simply because she exists!”
Her throat closed up. Stunned silence fell upon them all again, louder than anything said thus far. Caine didn’t move from his standing from where he was between mother and daughter, though when Charlotte dared to actually look at Mother it seemed she had been shocked into complete inaction. Her eyes were wide, her mouth actually hanging open; then she blinked, and the shock morphed into cold steel again. Charlotte’s stomach dropped.
“You're welcome to your opinion, sir,” Mother said softly. “But saying it does no one any good– no one cares to listen to it anyway.” She turned her cold anger Charlotte’s way, imperious as ever. “Come along now, Charlotte, before I’m tempted to freeze your bank accounts and divorce you from this family.”
Her stomach didn’t just drop this time; it formed a cold, solid ball and sat there like a stone.
Alex and Aiden, when he stopped over occasionally, had advised her to create her own bank accounts outside of the ones she had still connected to her family’s estate. ‘What better way to keep you under her thumb than by hijacking your money? Put money somewhere else she can’t touch, and there you go. Problem solved.’
Thank God she’d listened to them. Thank God. She had separate savings. Not a lot at the moment, but enough.
Now Caine moved, turning swiftly on his heel to stare up at her. He knew of the separate bank accounts, having never learned to not snoop, and right now she could read his thoughts clearly in every desperate line of his face.
Tell her to leave. You’ve got us now, you don’t need her.
There was fear beneath his irritation, and the simple realization made her stomach hurt just a little less. He was concerned for her. She had an entire group of people who cared for her, and they were all here living in this apartment complex.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. Curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Straightening to her full height, she looked Mother in the eye and spoke as firmly as she could:
“No, Mother. I’m not going with you. I want you to l-leave.”
If Mother had been shocked by Caine’s outburst, there was no way to describe what she seemed now. Anger, surprise, disbelief; it all coalesced into one expression, and for one terrible moment Charlotte was sure she would reach across and strike her. It hadn't stopped her before.
But Caine was there, still blocking her way, and better yet he was a witness. She saw the moment Mother realized this too, and the ugliness of her expression deepened.
“I always thought you were an ungrateful brat, Charlotte, who never learned her manners. I hope one day you come to your senses– but I suppose that's too much a task for you.”
With one last venomous look at them both, she turned on her heel and left.
The door should have slammed shut; it was how it always sounded in Charlotte’s daydreams. But the reality was a simple quiet creaking and the click of its closing, so meagre as to be utterly unimportant, and then they were left in the yawning silence of the storm’s sudden departure.
Charlotte’s knees were weak and wobbly, and her eyes were blurry; she searched blindly for the chair she knew was there and collapsed into it. The panic and fear and resentment boiled over, and she buried her face in her hands and laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed until a hitch in her breath turned her hilarity into sobbing–
“...My dear?”
A gentle touch on her knee, quickly gone. Charlotte’s panic shattered, and with a sharp, startled inhale she came back to herself to find Caine kneeling in front of her, mismatched eyes wide and fearful. His hand was still raised but the fingers were curled in gently, and the gesture struck her as a soft, gentle one. They blinked at each other, and then Charlotte sniffled. Wiped at her wet eyes and cheeks and felt her face flush again when she realized…
He’d just seen her break down. Witnessed her cry like the weak pathetic thing she was. She couldn’t even bear to tell her own mother off, for God’s sake, how could he ever think of her as anything other than a failure? How–?
A flutter of white. She blinked again and saw it was a handkerchief, waved gently in her field of view; Caine still kneeled in front of her, his own fears diminished, and he continued to hold out the cloth for her.
She took it, and his gaze warmed.
“There we are, my dear,” he said softly. Fondly. “Right as rain.”
How could he look at her- at any of his humans- with so much love? How could none of them have ever seen it while trapped in the Circus?
She cried harder. Pressed the kerchief to her face to muffle the sobs, and saw the way panic twisted at his expression again. He glanced wildly around as if hoping one of the others would spontaneously appear, someone better equipped to handle such strong emotion, but there was no one.
He stood and hurried away, and she didn’t bother watching his retreat; her sobbing continued, sure he was going to leave her alone and pretend he had never been here at all–
Footsteps. The soft rustling of fabric unfurling, and then a weight fell over her shoulders. The soft blue of her blanket pooled around her, and he tucked it firmly in before hurrying away again. But no, all he was doing was grabbing her another kerchief. He was muttering to himself all the while.
“Human comfort, human comfort, what do you humans do for comfort? Ice cream? No, we’ve already done that. Movies! No, Ragatha prefers being outdoors. A movie about the outdoors? No–”
She heard him bustling around in the kitchen, the scrape of the soup pan sliding off the heat and the quick patter of his footsteps pacing back and forth.
“Something to drink! Human comfort requires warm drinks! Pomni and Zooble prefer coffee, Kinger tea, Gangle and Ragatha– aha! There we are.”
She wanted to tell him to make sure the stove was turned off but couldn’t find the words. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes instead. He was bustling around again and she heard the sound of liquid being poured into a cup. Another pause.
“Hmm. Never used a microwave before. How-?” A series of beeps. “Oops! Nope, not ten minutes! Would it burn in there after ten minutes? A minute is good, that’s how long Zooble warms theirs up!” more bustling, followed by the beeping of the microwave; the tinkling of silverware against ceramic, and then he walked into view again holding a steaming mug of… something.
“Ragatha?”
His voice trembled slightly; he eyed her like he was afraid one wrong move would cause her to burst into tears again. He held out the mug for her, and she took it with an attempt at smiling her thanks, blinking when she saw what he’d made.
Hot chocolate, dark and rich. He’d even added a few marshmallows. She took a sip to clear her throat.
“Could you– soup, on the stove— turn the heat off?”
He leapt to it, relieved to have more to do. Then he was back, still worried but calmer now that she wasn't so upset.
“Is there- what else can I do for you, my dear? I can grab another blanket, or maybe put on a movie about horses for you? Or I can go find one of the others–!”
She shook her head. “Just– stay,” she whispered. “Please?”
His expression softened again. Quietly, gently, he did as she asked and sat down on the couch beside her, still holding her hand. She squeezed his fingers, waiting in silence as her emotions settled and her hands stopped trembling. She gave him a watery smile after taking a sip.
“Thank you, Caine. I- I appreciate you standing up for me.” No one had ever really done that before.
She didn’t really think anyone thought she was worth it.
“You did nothing wrong, Ragatha.” Uh oh. He was being completely serious now; he never used her name unless that was the case, and she could count one one hand the amount of times she had ever heard him use this tone of voice. “I… I may not have understood everything she said, but that I know. She can’t see you for what you are, and that is very sad.”
Her breath left her in a sharp, loud puff of air. Her eyes blurred again. “I just- I'm never good enough for her.” Her voice was soft. Trembling. “I try, and I try, and I try, and every time I hope I'll finally get that moment– and it never comes.” She wiped her eyes, disgusted and suddenly angry with herself. “Is that why I was a ragdoll in the Circus? Because I'm soft, and easy to tear apart?”
He looked momentarily stunned: in all the time they'd been in the real world, none of the humans had ever willingly brought up the Circus in his presence. In a rare sign of tact, he hadn't pushed it, but instead of being excited or amazed about its mention now, he actually seemed affronted. “As if my Personality Programming would be so shallow and cruel! No, my dear, your avatar may have shared aspects of these darker thoughts of yours, but a ragdoll throughout human history has been a comfort to adolescents and a help in allying their fears!”
She was tempted to scoff. That was the most ridiculous reason she'd heard yet. She hadn't comforted anyone in the Circus, and even if she had it didn't matter anyway; the number of Abstractions testified to that fact.
But she wanted to believe him. Wanted desperately to accept the claim she'd done some good, even when she knew it would never be true.
“I didn’t think parents would be so cruel to their children.”
Caine’s melancholy voice broke her out of her spiraling.
“I don't think they should be,” Charlotte said, unable to hide the bitterness of her tone. “It's not generally how parenting is supposed to go.”
“But- but you're a family! Doesn't that count for something?”
His innocent righteous anger at her mother's habits was both a comfort and a tired refrain she'd said to herself too often to count.
“Family's complicated.” Now the decades-old weariness joined the bitterness. She stared up at the ceiling, struggling to even out her breathing again as a new, weaker wave of panic gripped her. Her hands trembled as she took another drink, and a drop of the hot chocolate fell onto her pants. She stared down at it for a long moment, then spoke into the yawning silence again in a flat voice that didn't sound like her own: “When we were kids… my sister, her name's Katie… there was an accident, and she got hurt. Hit her head on the front doorknob. The blood, it… the way it coated her hand. The way she screamed when she saw it. She was just little, she didn't understand.”
She glanced over at him, suddenly ashamed. Suddenly frightened of his judgement. But he merely blinked at her, enraptured and concerned with her story, willing her to continue.
“Mother had her looked over. She didn't need stitches, thank goodness, but she had to have some of her hair shaved to bandage the cut. Mother forced her to wear hats for months until it grew back… she kept on saying it was shameful to have one of her daughters look less than perfect at any moment.” She thought it over, all the years of quiet shames, the desperate wishes for affection brutally squashed, the inability to ever live up to impossible standards, and shook her head in a helpless way. “I never missed my parents’ house, you know. Not once in the entire time I spent in the Circus. I never even thought about not being in these apartments with you all, either; it feels more like home here than it ever did there.”
She stared down into her half-empty mug, missing the way his expression softened further. His eyes might have glistened but it could have been a trick of the lights, and he squeezed her fingers.
His voice was the most gentle she'd ever heard it when he spoke: “That house was never built for you anyway.”
A breathless, pained laugh escaped her; leftover tears spilled down her face. They sat in the calm silence, comforted by their companionship, as they listened to the sounds of the clock ticking the hour away.
For now, it was enough.