Chapter Text
Michaela woke to voices threading up through the floorboards in soft layers, more blobs of sound than actual words. One voice, quick and bright, rising at the end of sentences, spilling into the next without taking the time to breathe, caught her attention. Eloise.
She turned her face into her pillow, smiling with her eyes still closed. She listened properly again as the rain pelted against her windows softening the room inside, she couldn’t remember a Scottish spring without rain and she’s not sure she wants to.
Stretching her arms above her head, Michaela reluctantly pulled herself from her pillows and cracked open the door, letting in the sound below as she untied her headscarf and straightened up her covers.
Eloise came through clearer now, mid-sentence, “-and I told him, if you think I’m reorganising the entire rota because you forgot to check the thing, honestly, the audacity!”
A quieter voice came through now, measured and precise. Francesca. Michaela caught herself smiling and turning towards the door without realising it.
The hallway was cooler than the bedroom, the floors creaking slightly as she moved towards the stairs, pulling her jumper over her pyjamas. The smell of tea and toast that was slightly burnt hit her on the way down. Home.
She didn’t rush it, let the sounds pull her the rest of the way, one hand sliding along the banister, grounding herself in the familiarity of it. Eloise was exactly where she expected, half-leaning against the counter, one foot tucked behind the other, mid-story and fully committed to it.
“-because apparently basic communication is optional now-oh!”
She caught sight of Michaela in the doorway and broke into a grin so immediate it felt like the sun was warming her face.
“Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living!”
Michaela greeted her halfway in a hug, arms folding comfortably around each other, “I was conducting important sleep-based research on the wellbeing of mountaineers, I’ll have you know.”
“Mm,” Eloise smirked, “groundbreaking, I’m sure. Tea? Already one there,” she added, nodding towards the table before Michaela could answer, “Frannie’s been up since six. I’m sure she measured every drop of milk like she was going to get a performance score on it.”
Michaela’s gaze flicked automatically to the table. Of course. The mug (bowl) sat just off-centre, handled twisted outward inviting her to take it. Steam still curled from the surface, matching its partner just next to where Francesca sat.
Fran herself was already dressed, composed in that particular way she had that told Michaela she’d been up a while and had assembled a plan for exactly how the day would go in advance. Michaela pushed herself off the counter and crossed the room, drawn without thinking, “morning,” she said softly.
Fran looked up in time to catch Eloise mouthing ‘Fran voice’, at her across the kitchen. Michaela smiled as clean, focused attention settled fully on her, like everything else in the room had been deprioritised without effort.
“Good morning,” Fran said, smiling up at her softly.
Michaela didn’t stop at the chair straight away. She stepped in close, comfortable and familiar, leant down and pressed a brief, gentle kiss to Francesca’s forehead. Soft and unhurried in their own little routine. She caught the way Fran stilled for a fraction of a second, barely perceptible, but Michaela felt her press closer for a count.
“Your tea will get cold,” Fran said, like that was the only relevant detail.
Michaela smiled faintly, pulling back she ran her hand once over the top of Francesca’s head before settling into the chair opposite, wrapping her hands around the mug. “You made this for me?”
Fran nodded.
“Perfect.”
Eloise made a low, long-suffering sound behind them, “hello, I’m still in the room, ladies!”
Michaela glanced at her over her shoulder, “if you wanted a cup, you could ask nicely.”
“I do ask nicely,” Eloise said, offended, “I just don’t get the precision service.”
Francesca looked up, “you prefer more milk than is optimal for-“
“I prefer not to psychoanalyse before caffeine,” Eloise cut in, though Michaela watched the way her eyes softened and her head tilted looking at her sister.
Michaela laughed quietly into her cup, “you’re just jealous, I’ve trained her well.”
“Excuse me?!” Francesca said, eyebrows rising sharply.
Michaela laughed, hand coming to the back of Fran’s chair, “collaboratively…”
“That’s not how-“
“I know,” Michaela said easily, winking at Francesca across from her, “it’s not a system it’s a vibe.”
Eloise snorted, turning back to the counter to rescue the toast, “honestly, the pair of you. You speak completely different languages and somehow still understand each other better than anyone else I know.”
Michaela didn’t answer that, the hand not on the back of Fran’s chair lifting her mug for another sip of tea. Eloise turned back, plate in hand, and leant against the counter again, eyes flicking between them with open curiosity.
“So,” she said, “how bad is today going to be?”
“Not bad,” Francesca replied, “conditions are variable.”
Eloise laughed in time with Michaela, “that sounds like your polite way of saying potentially awful.”
“It’s within manageable parameters,” Francesca replied, smiling as she lifted a triangle of toast to her mouth.
Michaela tilted her head, unable to stop her fingers pressing into Francesca’s spine in affection. “Translation: we will probably get wet, mildly miserable, and Frannie will be right about everything.”
“I’m not always right,” Fran said.
“No, just statistically significant amounts of time.”
Eloise laughed, setting the plate down, “and you wonder why I worry!”
“You don’t worry,” Michaela said, “you catastrophes for entertainment.”
She laughed again, moving towards the table where they both sat, “right, before you both vanish into your beloved wilderness, I have got to tell you all about my date last night…”
Michaela leaned back in her chair, hand still tracing shapes along Francesca’s spine, “oh, I know I’m going to love this.”
And she did. She watched as Eloise jumped around her story, half-distracted, splitting details and circling back when she forgot something, exaggerating just enough to make Michaela laugh.
Fran listened in silence at first, then a quiet, “that surely cannot be an accurate representation.”
Michaela grinned, “it sounds emotionally accurate.”
“That’s not-“
“I know,” Michaela smiled, “not measurable.”
Eloise pointed between them, “See?! This, this is what I mean.”
Michaela caught Fran’s sleeve lightly where it had twisted near her wrist, soothing it back into place without breaking the flow of conversation, watching as Fran’s attention flicked down, then back up.
She met Eloise’s eyes where she’d been tracking the motion, something soft passing briefly across her expression but not commenting on it. It was normal, had always been normal as long as the three of them could remember.
Eventually, the conversation slowed and settled into something quieter. The tea was nearly gone and the rain had eased off slightly. Michaela pushed her chair back with the soft scrape of the oak against the floor.
“Alright,” she said, “we should probably go before Frannie recalculates the entire mountain and decides it’s too dangerous to exist.”
“I would not-“
Michaela bumped her shoulder as she stood, “kidding.”
-
She bounced back into the kitchen not long after, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on in one quick motion, still half-listening as Eloise moved around the kitchen behind her.
“Keys,” Francesca said.
Michaela patted her pockets, nothing.
Eloise held them up without looking, “honestly, Mic, you’d lose your own head if it wasn’t loosely attached.”
“I have a system,” Michaela said, opening her hands for Eloise to throw them across the room.
“You absolutely do not.”
“I have a flow.”
Francesca frowned faintly, “that is not-“
“I know,” Michaela and Eloise replied together. Pausing before brightly laughing and shoving each other in the shoulder, Francesca looking between them, smiling faintly.
At the door, she stepped into her boots, stamping them down properly. Francesca moved beside her, already ready, her routine simple and easily.
Michaela reached out automatically to adjust the collar of her jacket where it had folded inward. Smiling softly as Fran stilled, then let her.
“There, you’ll survive the elements now.”
“I would’ve survived regardless,” Fran replied, straightening her pack before heading out to the car.
Eloise watched them from the kitchen doorway. There was something different in her expression now, not just amusement but something quieter.
“Mic…” she said.
“Yeah?”
Eloise hesitated, just briefly, like she was deciding how much to say, “you know you could just… tell her, right?”
Michaela blinked, “tell her what?”
She tilted her head towards Francesca out the open front door, adjusting the way her bag sat in the boot with complete focus, unaware of the conversation inside.
“That you-“ Eloise stopped, recalibrated, “that she matters to you. Like that.”
Michaela’s mouth quirked, but it didn’t quite reach a smile. “She knows, Eloise,” she said easily.
Eloise held her gaze for a second longer, “does she?”
Michaela looked back at Fran, the way she adjusted the bag once more, the way her shoulders settled once it aligned properly, the way she existed so precisely in a world that rarely made sense. She felt her face soften.
“Yeah,” she said, “she does.”
Eloise studied her for a moment longer, then nodded, letting it go.
The air outside the house felt sharper. Cooler, damp setting into the fabric of her raincoat almost immediately, cold digging into her skin.
Michaela pulled her jacket closer, rolling her shoulders once, grounding herself in the shift as she pulled the door closed behind her, cursing off the rest of the house cleanly. In front of her, Francesca held her door open to the car, her head tilted into the wind in that specific way it did when she was tracking what came next.
“Weather is getting worse, will increase within the hour.”
Michaela glanced up at the sky, flat grey with no clear break.
“Yeah, feels like it’s building.”
“That’s not measurable.”
“Nope, it’s a vibe.”
Fran exhaled softly through her nose, waiting until Michaela giggled slightly before taking her bag and helping her into the car.
Both of their radios crackled at the same time.
“Michaela come in-” static, then more clearly, “You and Fran are cleared for your exped. Please report to base when complete.
The shift between them was immediate, focus sharpening as Michaela leant to reply and Francesca moved around the back of the car to the driver’s seat. She’d been looking forward to this day all week, the opportunity to be out on the hill just the two of them. Fran had the recon route all planned and Michaela was so excited to get out again with her, it didn’t even matter that it wasn’t some exciting rescue.
“Copy,” Michaela called into her radio, “En route to route now, check-in at summit.”
-
On the hill, the ground shifted underfoot as they climbed. What had felt like a steady drizzle below turned sharper up high, rain slanting in slipways now, carried by a wind that didn’t quite settle into a pattern.
Michaela felt the change in pressure before she thought it, a drag against her balance that pushed her sideways before she could stop it. Michaela moved with it, adjusting instinctively and placing her steps without conscious thought. Behind her, Francesca’s boots stopped, Michaela turned to her immediately.
“Yeah,” she called, “it’s weird.”
Fran’s eyes tracked across the ridge, “wind direction has shifted,” she said after a minute, “inconsistent. It’s not holding.”
“Love that,” Michaela muttered.
Francesca didn’t respond at first, “adjusting the route, we’ll angle right for less exposure.”
Michaela glanced at the terrain, it would be longer, but no question it would be safer.
“Alright, we’re shifting right.”
She didn’t argue, didn’t even consider not listening to Francesca’s guidance.
Michaela took point, slower now, more deliberate, not trying to force pace any more than it needed to be. She could feel Francesca behind her, a pressure built over years of being out on the hills together. She was always aware of where Fran was, even more than usual on the mountain in these conditions.
“Fran,” Michaela called, “talk to me.”
A beat passed between them, clear and structured reply coming next, “ground saturation is higher than predicted. Stability decreases after the next incline. Recommend spacing.”
The slip happened fast. One minute they were trudging forwards, and the next Fran shifted her weight and the ground gave slightly under the surface layer. It wasn’t a full collapse but it was enough, a foot slid and balance tipped just enough for the line to sway outwards.
Michaela was moving back before Francesca had even found her footing again.
“You okay?”
“Ground’s soft here, it goes deeper than expected.” Michaela crouched, testing it. Yeah, not good.
Francesca steadied herself before replying, “surface instability is holding less weight than predicted.”
“Alternate?” Michaela asked.
Fran pointed, “we go left. It’s narrower, but firmer. We’d have to go single file.”
“Got it.” Michaela stood, turning back to the path.
She moved to step forwards, to lead the way before a hand caught her harness. Michaela stilled instantly as Fran’s hands moved quickly, checking and adjusting. She tightened one strap just slightly more than before.
“You shifted your weight earlier,” she said, “left side compensation.”
Michaela blinked. She hadn’t noticed that. “Good catch.”
Francesca didn’t respond, just finished the adjustment. Her hand hesitated, just briefly above where the strap crossed Michaela’s heart, before dropping away.
“Hey,” she said softly and quietly between them, “you’re allowed to say you’re worried.”
-
The path tightened, the wind buffeting them against the rocks, not broken by the terrain anymore but more direct. Bursts of it became more unpredictable and Michaela found herself adjusting automatically, her feet bracing, body compensating before thought. Behind her, Fran’s silence became too loud, sitting just wrong inside Michaela’s head.
“Fran?” she called.
Nobody answered her so Michaela turned just enough to see her. Francesca was moving but it was all wrong. Her back was too rigid, too precise, Micaela could see the way her mind was locked into too many variables at once.
“Frannie,” Michaela said, sharper this time, “look at me.”
She watched Francesca’s eyelashes flutter against her pale cheek, before her pretty blue eyes lifted to meet Michaela’s.
“Hey,” she said, “I’ve got you, just me, yeah?”
Fran blinked again, processing, mouth opening and closing a few times.
“I know,” Michaela interrupted her, “you’re right, it’s messy.”
Another gust of wind hit, stronger than before. The line wavered between them and Michaela anchored herself more firmly.
“Listen to me, we’re going to take this one step at a time. You don’t have to run all of it at once.”
Francesca didn’t move, her breathing had changed to something shallower and faster that Michaela wish she didn’t recognise so well.
“Left foot, for me, Frannie.”
Another gust hit them again, Francesca squeezed her hand and stepped forwards.
“Good, stay with me,” Michaela said instantly, “you’re okay.”
They kept moving forwards like that until Michaela was sure that Fran was with her and had come back from the edge of too much. They moved again, slowly, steadily, until the ground widened and the wind dropped just enough to ease the pressure.
“Alright,” she said, squeezing the hand in hers, “you’re okay.”
Fran was still, just for a moment, before she squeezed Michaela’s hand back and resumed movement, more fluid now and back to her usual self.
They reached the summit later than planned, not by much, it had been within their planned margins, but enough that Francesca noticed. Michaela saw it in the way her shoulders held their tension and her hands happed on the strap of her bag.
“We made it,” Michaela said lightly, pulling the flask from her pack.
“Yes, but-“
“We’re good. I’m counting that as a win.” She smiled softly up at Fran, passing her the thermos, smile turning into a grin as she got no argument back.
They worked the decent cleanly and mostly in comfortable silence. Michaela took the lead, as she always did, pausing only once at the split point between the faster line she would’ve chosen if she was alone and the longer, safer route within every measurable point Fran could want. She could feel the pull of the faster one in her bones, they way it would cut time, increase exposure, set her blood pumping in the way adrenaline always seemed to do. She chose the longer path without looking back at Fran.
-
The team took it in turns to man the base during night shift, a pair swapping off with the day crew one night a week to cover any incoming calls and send out pages if required. John had known Francesca and Michaela came as a package deal long before the three of them took their positions on the team, and didn’t hesitate to correct the initial assignments of the team leader before him as soon as he was promoted.
Surprisingly for many, Michaela liked being in the base when it was quieter. She found calm in organising the ropes in the kit room, checking the gear, and coming through to the main space to sit with Fran as she reviewed her screens and maps from the day.
The world felt quieter when it was just the two of them on night shift. Not because it was any quieter than other night, but today, she supposed, because it had been so loud earlier.
Michaela found Fran outside, near the edge of the base, where the light didn’t reach as strongly in the way that she knew bothered her so much when she was trying to look at the sky. She paused before interrupting her, taking a moment to look at her with her long back, arms folded, and head tilted back into the dark like she was trying to translate something the longer she looked.
“You disappeared on me,” Michaela said, coming to stand beside her.
“No, just needed to be out here.”
The breeze picked up just slightly, and Michaela found herself stepping closer to Fran without thinking too much about it, shoulders brushing together, smiling when Francesca didn’t move away.
“Was it too much today?” She asked.
Fran thought for a minute before responding, “no, just… too many variables.”
Michaela smiled faintly, “yeah, I get that.”
They stood in silence with the stars for a little while, before the light pressure at her shoulder increased as Fran leant into her.
“You did good today,” Michaela said, Fran voice back again.
Fran shook her head slightly, frown appearing on her face, “we were too slow to summit.”
“Yeah, but we adapted.”
“That’s not the same,” she replied, turning a little to face Michaela.
“No,” Michaela looked up at her face, smiling still, “but we were still good. You don’t have to get it perfect every time.”
Fran’s head tilted a little, a mannerism Michaela was sure she’d gotten from her, or the other way around… It was hard sometimes to figure out where one of them ended and the other began.
“If I don’t, someone gets hurt.” Ah. There it was. Michaela felt it land like a physical blow, her chest almost physically compressing at the pressure Fran placed on herself.
“I’m still here,” she smiled, hand coming out to cup Francesca’s elbow, watching as she deflated a little at the physical touch, nodding once sharply before turning back to the sky and leaning her shoulder into Michaela’s.
-
She found her again, much deeper in the night, in the bunk room. The base was much warmer than they kept the cottage, more exposed to the heat of the sun in the day and the relentless stream of people that came through the space.
Michaela paused just inside the door, letting everything settle around her. The sound of radio chatter turned low behind her acted as comforting brown noise as she toed off her boots and left them by the door, crossing the space without too much thought.
Fran wasn’t laying down, resting, she was just sat back against the pillows, sketchbook beside her with her pencil sticking out of one end. Michaela blinked as younger versions of Fran sitting in exactly this position flooded across her eyes.
“You haven’t eaten,” Fran said, not looking up from where her fingers traced the pencil lines on her page.
Michaela huffed a quiet laugh, “hello to you too, sweetheart.”
“You should eat,” Fran added, like the first part hadn’t been sufficient.
“In a minute.” Michaela muttered as she stepped deeper into the bunk room, closing the door most of the way behind her just enough to soften the noise from the other room.
“You okay?” she asked, softer now in the quieter space.
Michaela didn’t rush her, but smiled when Fran nodded a little shyly. She crossed over and sat down on the rickety bed opposite, then after a second’s consideration, decided she was too far away and crossed to sit on the end of Fran’s bed.
The sound of pencil on paper calmed Michaela’s nerves so much she found her eyes blinking slower and slower, before she felt cool fingertips on her forehead and pushed herself up on her elbows. Fran had finished her sketch and turned it around to face Michaela.
It was the moor with soft ground she’d slipped on earlier, captured beautifully with long wispy lines showing the conditions and dimpled tufts of heather showing the ground coverage. As always, Fran let Michaela take it all in in silence, finger coming out to trace the ridge where she had panicked and been brought back.
“I should have adjusted sooner,” Fran said after a while.
Michaela frowned at the pattern, reaching out and nudging Fran’s sleeve where it had ridden up in her sketching, pulling it back down into place and leaving her thumb on her wrist.
“You always go there,” she said quietly.
“Where?”
“To the point where you think you should have been faster, or better, or… something-er.”
“That’s because it’s true.”
Michaela shook her head, small, “no, it’s because that’s how your brain keeps things from getting worse.”
Fran didn’t respond to that, letting Michaela’s thumb move back and forth on the soft underside of her wrist.
“Hey, look at me.”
Fran hesitated, just long enough to mark it, then her eyes flicked up to scan across Michaela’s face before making eye contact. She smiled softly at the brunette, not trying to pull her anywhere she wasn’t ready to go.
“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” she said, almost a whisper.
Fran’s brow furrowed, confused. “That’s not-“
“It is to me.”
“That’s not how-“
“I know,” Michaela said gently, “it’s not how you measure it.”
Francesca’s mouth snapped closed and she watched her as she processed before shifting her weight, drawing one leg up onto the bed to angle herself more comfortably, enough so their knees brushed. She pushed herself closer until they were pressed together and opened up her hand in front of them, allowing Fran, as she always did, to take it into her own at her own pace, curling her fingers lightly as Francesca’s own, much longer, ones played with the digits.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
Michaela nodded, although Fran was busy staring down at their hands as she played with Michaela’s fingers.
“Then we sit here, and we don’t solve anything for a minute.”
She tipped her head slightly, just enough that it brushed against Francesca’s, not pulling her out of her ministrations, just seeking another point of contact, closing her eyes, finally allowing herself to rest.