Chapter Text
By the time Elizabeth and Edwina arrived at the apartment, Michaela had already released Rune from his punishment (time out alone; Michaela was still trying to figure out if her technique worked). Elizabeth dramatically placed the lettuce on the dining room table and sat down, followed by Edwina.
"I have news," Michaela said as she stood up. Both women looked at her in confusion. "I'd better sit down."
"What is it?" Edwina asked, placing both hands on the table.
"Remember that time you joked about my soulmate probably being a pain in the ass?" she asked, as a prelude. Elizabeth giggled. "Well... You were right."
"Shut the fuck up!" she exclaimed, laughing even louder. Edwina nudged her with her elbow, but she had an amused smile on her lips. "You have an unlikely connection? When? How? Why aren't we eating junk food right now?”
"You're right, let me place an order," Michaela said, picking up her phone. After a few minutes, she looked back at her friends.
"Michaela, some context," Edwina asked, tilting her head slightly.
"I was at the coffee shop that's relatively close to the hospital, trying to read some files that didn't make any sense while I was solving my Rubik's Cube when..."
"When..." Elizabeth continued, looking at her impatiently.
"When the girl tripped and ended up spilling half her coffee on my table. The coffee was really bad, by the way," Michaela said, briefly glancing at the green of her lettuce. "And I swear on my life I've never felt so bad in my life. It was like a migraine attack that got worse, and then I felt like everything was spinning.”
"Deserved for cheating at Monopoly last month," Edwina joked. Elizabeth nodded in agreement, letting out a giggle.
Michaela looked at her with mock offense before settling back in her chair.
"Anyway, they gave us an emergency contraceptive pill. She told me her name, and I decided we should quickly check if we were soulmates," Michaela continued. Pascal purred beside her, and she decided to pick him up and place him on her lap, stroking his back. "Long story short, we are, and I'm being admitted to a psychiatric hospital on Monday."
"You're going to participate in that center that performs lobotomies? You're very brave, my friend," Elizabeth said, frowning slightly.
"Anything to avoid feeling this bad again. Good heavens, I thought I was paying some cosmic karma," she complained, vividly recalling the discomfort in her temples. “There are some confidentiality clauses that I can't break because, knowing them, they're probably listening to our conversation right now.”
"What?" Edwina asked, glancing slowly to her left. "You're joking, right?"
"She is, darling," Elizabeth said, hugging her from the side and staring intently at Michaela. "You'll be out of work for a whole month? I'm a little envious."
"In exchange for a fortune that I don't think I should mention," she replied quietly, thinking about her messages with her family. "Anyway... I need both of your help during this month I'll be away."
"Wait, but... What will they do to you?" Edwina asked, processing the information. "We won't see you for a month? Where are they taking you?"
"Unorthodox treatments to sever the unlikely connection with my soulmate," she replied jokingly. Edwina looked at her as if she had two heads. "You can see me. I was just flipping through the contract on the subway, and we can have visitors, but they manage everything so the location remains secret. It might even be a money laundering operation, who knows?”
“Only you can be so calm about that situation,” Elizabeth said humorously. “Well, as long as you come back in one piece and we see you’re okay during our visits, we shouldn’t worry too much, right?”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself,” Michaela said, stroking Pascal’s tail. “I just need help so that life can go on for my children.”
“We’ll take care of Pascal and Rune,” Edwina said quickly, looking at the cat. “Well, I’ll have Liz look after Rune because he’s so mischievous.”
“I also need you to look after John’s apartment and my mother’s apartment in Knightsbridge,” she added with a sly smile. “You’ve often come with me to check on both apartments. It’s just to vacuum until they’re back in town, nothing more than that.”
“Will they be back soon?” Elizabeth asked. “I thought Helen was off on business in Italy.”
"No, she's already back," Michaela said, Pascal purring in her lap. "I understand they'll be in London soon. John also has a key to my apartment, so if you can't come one day, you can talk to him. He'll be in London for two weeks. Mom will probably be too busy with her business partners to remember that I'm the only one who gave her grandchildren.”
Edwina giggled, shaking her head as she intertwined her hand with Elizabeth's.
"Don't you think the treatment to fix the connection is viable?" she asked curiously. Michaela grimaced.
"Well... It's hard to know, isn't it? Because the symptoms were very intense, so the process of fixing the connection would take much longer than a month in a psychiatric hospital with everything included," she replied honestly. "I won't deny that she's a very attractive woman, but we both agreed to cut the tie clean. Once the month is over, I won't even remember her face or her name, so I won't have a soulmate and I'll continue living my life normally."
"That's good, because you can go back to having casual relationships without the worry of your soulmate appearing," Elizabeth remarked. Michaela let out an amused giggle.
"That didn't stop her before. I imagine it'll be worse now," Edwina remarked. Michaela looked at her with mock offense again. “I'll just tell you not to try to form a union, you'll be surrounded by rich people who have no class consciousness.”
“I’m not promising anything. In fact, I’ll bring Karl Marx’s ‘Das Kapital’ to prove I’m not like them,” she joked as Pascal stretched out on her lap, Michaela planting a quick kiss on his head. “Food should be here any minute, and don’t give Rune anything. He’s grounded for bad behavior.”
A few more details about managing her absence from the apartment: Rune trying to steal a slice of Edwina’s burger when she wasn’t looking, and two hours later, Michaela was alone with her cats. Her friends had taken care of cleaning and tidying up, so Michaela simply turned off the lights and went to her room, finding the folder of medical records resting on her nightstand.
Copies of follow-up studies for at least three patients being monitored for possible brain aneurysms now rested on her lap. Michaela had turned on the bedside lamp and slowly began to review what she saw, rereading the reports. Dr. Morton had reprimanded her the first time for doing something like this outside the hospital, but Michaela had promised it would be the last time and that she was only making copies, not the official certifications.
"Angio-CT scans," she said, frowning. Pascal pushed open the door dramatically. "Good heavens, Pascal."
She chuckled and settled back into bed. She was visualizing the circulatory system with precision using intravenous contrast and X-rays. One of Dr. Morton's patients had a much higher probability of suffering an aneurysm due to the effaced dilation. Michaela sighed and shook her head. It was almost like going back in time, but with better technology and more advanced studies. She tried to think about something else as she closed the folder. She didn't want to think about the imminent risk of rupture in one of Dr. Morton's patients.
She sank down onto the bed, but not before opening her nightstand drawer. She knew she'd have to reach for her emergency kit because her mind was racing. Michaela got up to get a glass of water when, again, she felt it.
"Francesca..." she groaned, immediately blaming the pianist. It was easier that way, easier to blame a stranger for her own pain.
Michaela walked slowly, touching her temple. The dizziness would start soon, so she needed to take an inhibitor quickly. Michaela gasped anxiously; she needed the discomfort to end soon before it made her vomit.
She wasn't even sure if the inhibitors were in the bathroom or if she'd left them in the living room, so she walked as fast as she could to the living room, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw the prescription. Michaela put the pill to her lips and ran for water, leaning against the kitchen island while she waited for the medication to take effect.
Michaela inhaled deeply before making her way back to the room, running a hand over her neck. She felt tired; the shift had left her exhausted, and having an unlikely soulmate wasn't helping her finish her work week the way she'd hoped. After closing the door without actually shutting (only because Rune and Pascal were constantly going out at night), she noticed the luminous screen of her phone on the nightstand.
9:36 pm Francesca: Did you experience any stress? I think I lost a little brain function after that migraine.
9:39 pm Michaela: No, I thought it was you struggling with your piano or realizing that latte macchiato is disgusting.
9:42 pm Francesca: ???????? No, it definitely had nothing to do with me. I was reading and drinking chamomile tea, completely relaxed.
9:44 pm Michaela: Good for you! I was rereading reports to see if the patients I met less than a month ago might die soon from a brain aneurysm, you know, the usual.
Michaela closed her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead. The lack of response made her realize she was being unfair to the wrong person.
9:48 pm Michaela: Forget it. I shouldn't have said it that way, and it's definitely none of your business.
"That sounds much worse, Michaela," she complained dramatically. Michaela didn't have to prove anything to the pianist, but she couldn't take it out on her either.
9:51 pm Michaela: What I'm trying to say is... I might have felt frustrated by how unpredictable life is. I'm sorry, it's not your fault.
9:54 pm Francesca: I didn't think it was my fault, don't worry... I don't know what else to say because, well, this is new to me.
9:55 pm Francesca: Not feeling empathy! Of course not, but this... Having a soulmate who suffers physical pain that I can also feel, who feels the same fear that I can feel is... Terrifying. I don't know how to go on.
9:58 pm Michaela: At least it will be over soon, right? We have to be positive about that. We'll be okay. In a month, we won't feel this way again.
10:00 pm Francesca: Yes, I hope so... Rest well, Michaela, see you on Monday.
10:02 pm Michaela: Rest well, Francesca, I hope everything goes well for both of us on Monday.
When Michaela finally went to bed, another hour had passed since that last message to Francesca. She adjusted her bonnet a little more and settled back against the pillow. The heaviness in her eyelids indicated she wouldn't need to resort to the emergency kit. Sighing more relaxed, she closed her eyes to end that hellish Friday.
Michaela thought she had only slept two hours when she woke up somewhat disoriented. She ran a hand over her neck, feeling it was damp, realizing she'd had a very vivid dream, or something close to a nightmare, judging by the way her chest was rising and falling. She picked up her phone and realized it was already around 8:00 a.m. Even though it was Saturday, she needed to know if Francesca had also experienced the same dream.
8:24 a.m. Michaela: Francesca, I'm sorry to bother you so early on a Saturday, but I just... I don't even know how to explain it, I just had a really strange dream. Did you dream it too?
The answer took a while; perhaps the pianist was also coming back to life from that hazy moment in her own dreams.
8:29 am Francesca: Hi Michaela, yes, it was very strange. I was running and running... But I wasn't getting anywhere. It's not the first time this has happened to me, but I wanted to get somewhere, but I just couldn't move.
8:32 am Francesca: And then that huge clown was following me. I thought he was going to eat me. I tried to scream, but I couldn't.
8:34 am Michaela: Mine started differently. There were lots of colors, but now that you mention the clown...
8:37 am Francesca: Are you scared of them? I hated them as a child.
8:39 am Michaela: I'm not the biggest fan, but I wouldn't say they keep me up at night. It's strange, isn't it? I think we're connecting with childhood memories. I once read that this could happen with deeper connections...
Michaela pressed send without finishing the sentence. She knew Francesca would understand what she meant. The intensity of the connection could make them relive past fears, feel the pain of old injuries, or even relive traumas that might have happened many years ago. If Francesca had a traumatic experience with a clown, then it was being revealed in Michaela's dreams because of the connection they shared.
Francesca didn't reply after that, and Michaela felt unable to go back to sleep. At 10:27 a.m., Edwina sent her a message with the planned itinerary for her month-long absence. Michaela joked about how quickly they were processing the news. Edwina just sent a few funny emojis and then said they would take care of everything. She wanted to do a deep clean but didn't really feel like it. Considering it would be her last weekend in the apartment, Michaela would have to do many things she couldn't do while she was gone, but she didn't know where to start.
After a quick cereal with a few berries, she collapsed on the sofa. Rune was running around chasing his wireless mouse while Pascal judged him from the heights of his scratching post. When Michaela checked the time, she realized it was time to eat something—a quick lunch, like that lettuce with tuna she'd been craving since Thursday.
She got up and prepared her food, Rune approached, drawn by the scent. Michaela allowed herself to lift the punishment just to give him a feline treat, going over to the scratching post to give one to Pascal as well, who purred happily. When Michaela returned to the sofa, she knew the afternoon would be unproductive. Michaela wanted to rest, she wanted to forget about the hospital, and wanted to focus on making the month-long experience a success.
Around 3:00 pm, her phone vibrated with a video call from John. Michaela settled back on the sofa. If it was a call from John, her mother definitely wouldn't be away on a Saturday. After accepting, she quickly let out a giggle when she noticed her mother's face. John was barely in the frame, while her mother smiled broadly, waving her hand.
"Hi, love. Everything alright?" Helen asked playfully, John waving his hand.
"Hello, distant Glasgow family," she joked, clearing her throat. "Want to know what I spent the 5,000 pounds on? I swear it's not an illegal business."
"We have an idea. We got an email from the PDDL," John said, leaning a little closer into focus. "Weren't you going to tell us you have an unlikely soulmate, Mich?"
"It was going to be a funny story to tell when I got back from the mental retreat, to be honest," she replied with a shrug. "The symptoms have been horrendous, and I can't wait for them to achieve soulmate disconnection.”
"It's almost poetic that it happened to you, love," Helen said, tilting her head slightly. "Aren't you scared? It's... Quite new, even for you.”
"I should be, yes." She slowly stroked her neck. "But we have to trust the process, right? It works, unlikely soulmates cease to be unlikely, and life returns to normal. That should be enough to keep me from worrying too much... Or so I think."
"If we're optimistic, yes," John said, Helen nodding beside him. "We'll come visit you. I'm really curious how they'll keep us from discovering the route."
"Good luck with that. They'll probably knock you out before you can even look out the window," Michaela said, crossing her arms. "I'll be fine, very fine. I'll survive, and if I don't, then you'll have to press charges.”
"Good heavens, Michaela."
"Sorry, sorry, I was just kidding.”
Michaela didn't want the topic to take a more sentimental turn, so before they could ask any more questions, she casually mentioned her mother's trip to Italy. Her mother quickly took the bait, talking about her business partners, the walks she'd taken, and all the restaurants she'd eaten at, saying she'd brought Michaela a gift and hoped to give it to her soon. Michaela laughed, promising they'd see each other soon under more normal circumstances.
"Are Pascal and Rune ready to be orphans?" John asked, laughing.
"Of course not, Edwina and Elizabeth will take care of them... And you will too, when you come to London."
"Me? Please, they're spoiled brats. Rune is a menace on all fours."
"A little more respect, please. Rune has made great progress in his behavior. In fact, it's been weeks since the last time…”
A noise stopped her words immediately. She made a face that should have lasted only a few seconds, but Michaela seemed to freeze, thinking about what Rune had probably broken this time. Helen giggled, and Michaela rolled her eyes as she stood up. Someday she would see if Rune could behave better.
"The new flowerpot!" she complained dramatically as Rune fled the scene, his wireless mouse covered in dirt amidst the mess.
Her plans to plant anthuriums would have to wait until she returned from the hippie psychiatric hospital. After exhaling slowly, she began cleaning up the mess. In the background, she could hear her brother and mother talking casually while the video call continued without Michaela present.
When Michaela sat back down in front of the phone, they both fell silent. The techie clasped her hands together and smiled, almost apologetically.
"Rune's going through adolescence," she decided to say. "As you know, this is a difficult time, and now more than ever I need your support to help him."
"I'm going to give him away on Tuesday."
"John!" Helen complained, laughing, and Michaela flipped her the bird. "Don't worry, honey, when we're visiting London we'll take care of them.”
"I'll take care of Pascal, Mom. Rune is definitely the enemy of order," John interjected, and Michaela leaned back on the sofa, letting out a giggle.
They said goodbye forty minutes later, with Helen promising to visit her at the center and John repeating how spoiled and badly behaved Rune was. Michaela made a dramatic noise, pretending not to hear him before hanging up, chuckling a little as she leaned back on the sofa.
3:54 pm Elizabeth: Going-away party or do you want to go incognito?
3:57 pm Michaela: I'll probably get a migraine just thinking about how my unlikely soulmate is spending her last hours of freedom lol
3:59 pm Elizabeth: Oh??? Do you think of her that way? I didn't know that was possible.
4:01 pm Michaela: Not like that!!! I mean... Nothing, you wouldn't understand. The connection is pretty intense, so if I get drunk, she'll sense it and I'm sure she'll ask me a ton of questions.
4:03 pm Elizabeth: I didn't think something like that would worry you, Mich, hahaha
Michaela sighed as she looked at her phone screen. Elizabeth wouldn't let that go, and Michaela had no logical explanation for feeling "empathy" for any symptoms Francesca might have because of her.
4:05 pm Elizabeth: I'm so curious to know who your unlikely soulmate is, BUT I understand the importance of confidentiality.
4:07 pm Michaela: Thanks!!! It makes the process much easier once we don't remember each other for a month lol. I intend to have a quiet Sunday. You know I'm not a big fan of goodbyes (even temporary ones).
4:09 pm Elizabeth: Understood, boss! We love you. We'll make sure your cats stay obese and that your family's properties don't gather dust.
4:11 pm Michaela: What would I do without you girls? <3
She put her phone down on the coffee table and stood up, stretching her arms. Rune and Pascal ran up when they heard the robot refill in the hallway. Michaela giggled as she decided the best way to feel productive would be to do some laundry and put it in the dryer.
Michaela put on a varied playlist, ranging from jazz to the latest pop hits. Wearing a medical scrub set meant she had to wash it separately and make sure it was thoroughly disinfected, even though her duties included operating specialized equipment, processing biological samples, conducting rehabilitation therapies, and even performing medical support tests.
Michaela was doing the second load of laundry, wondering if they would have to wear some kind of ridiculous uniform at the center, when her phone rang. Instinctively, she reached into her pocket, but it wasn't there. She left the laundry room and found it on the kitchen island. Michaela laughed, a little surprised; she didn't remember leaving it there.
5:47 pm Francesca: What are you supposed to do the day before... Being admitted? It's almost like going to war.
5:51 pm Michaela: I'm doing laundry!! I have to be a functioning adult. Wouldn't you like to spend the day with your loved ones? You'll probably want to say goodbye to everyone.
5:53 pm Francesca: Did you already do it? My family received an email from the center so I just had to confirm that it was real and not some kind of scam, but I don't intend to make a big fuss, I just want to go, come back and have everything go back to how it was before.
5:55 pm Michaela: I agree with you. I talked to my family via video call and sorted out a few things with my best friends. I don't need anything more than that.
5:57 pm Michaela: But if you have nothing to do (nothing considerably productive or even fun), I'll give you a recommendation.
5:59 pm Francesca: Oh? Tell me, I'm all ears.
6:02 pm Michaela: I don't know if you'll have time to read it all, but it's a book called “Under the Udala Trees.” It's set during the Nigerian Civil War in the 1960s and... Well, I don't want to give away any major spoilers, but it's a recommended read. At least it's a book that left me thinking deeply.
Francesca didn't reply, and Michaela considered that to be typical of her. She simply chuckled and decided to leave her phone in her pocket, just in case the pianist wanted to write to her again.
When she finished drying her clothes, she sat on the armchair to sort and slowly fold them. Less than a month ago, her Saturday plans had been very different, but it was a rather strange time for Michaela, with her therapy appointments increasing, her need for sleeping pills growing, and the constant reminder of…
She shook her head as if that were enough to banish the memory. At least it helped for a few seconds, helped her focus on something else, for example, not mixing her scrub top with an old City St George's, University of London t-shirt she still had from her student days. She started thinking about her former classmates, her colleagues, what they were doing, whether Dr. Alwyn had finally shaved his beard, which he'd been complaining about for weeks.
She inhaled deeply, her mind slowly returning to a state of calm. Michaela ran a hand along her neck, something she always seemed to do when she wanted to reassure herself that she was okay, that she was present, and that she wouldn't experience any problems that would force her to rely on Cheryl. She could manage on her own, at least that's what Michaela wanted to believe that weekend.
7:37 pm Francesca: Are Rubik's Cubes fun?
Michaela blinked, noticing the change of subject. Apparently, Francesca hadn't found her reading suggestion interesting, or perhaps books weren't her thing.
7:40 pm Michaela: They are, yes, I have quite a large collection, as I mentioned, they help me de-stress.
7:42 pm Francesca: The piano helps me de-stress, but it's also my job, so... I don't have a hobby or anything that can really take my mind off things.
7:44 pm Francesca: I felt dizzy, it was almost imperceptible, but it was there while I was going over a Sergei Rachmaninoff piece.
7:47 pm Francesca: Take an inhibitor and rest, Michaela, maybe a Rubik's Cube might help.
7:50 pm Michaela: Oh no, you're not going to worry about me, Francesca!! Remember that starting Monday, our proximity will make us hate each other.
7:52 pm Francesca: The connection is a bit confusing, I know, and I don't know you at all, but the dizziness I felt also left me a little anxious, so yes, I think it's valid for me to express this to you... Take care of yourself, Michaela, we'll do something good starting Monday, it doesn't matter if we end the week hating each other.
Michaela set aside the laundry basket for a moment, sighing almost dramatically. Francesca had no reason to worry, but she understood that the connection worked that way—that she was feeling her anguish and sorrow as much as her physical pain. Closeness without inhibitions would only make things worse, so Michaela needed to be as kind as possible before Monday when they both repelled each other like oil and water.
7:57 pm Michaela: Yes, you might be right, Francesca... Just don't dwell on it too much, okay? Monday is a turning point for both of us. I think we should focus on that and make it work.
8:00 pm Francesca: That's right, yes, I won't dwell on it too much.
8:01 pm Francesca: I'll investigate the functionality of Rubik's Cubes.
8:03 pm Francesca: And I'll see you on Monday. Rest well, Michaela.
Michaela placed her phone on the coffee table and decided to focus on the clothes she still needed to sort and fold. Her own Rubik's Cube rested near the device, her fingers tracing the squares before she smiled slightly.
"Francesca Bridgerton... If only the connections had been in our favor," she whispered before sighing, her hands returning to the mundane task of sorting and organizing her clothes.
[The second half of this connection, Francesca Bridgerton]
Francesca was outside her building, still wondering if she had packed her phone charger when a black van stopped a few meters away. Francesca looked around as the door opened. A bald, white man got out, dressed in an elegant gray suit, inclining his head slightly in her direction.
"Francesca Bridgerton," he said in a husky voice. "I'll take care of your suitcase. Please get in."
Francesca nodded slowly, watching as the man took care of her luggage. She slid slowly into the vehicle, running a hand down her corduroy pants, removing an almost imperceptible piece of lint. She fastened her seatbelt and the man got in, adjusting the rearview mirror.
"Another strangely sunny day in London, isn't it?" he remarked with a half-smile. Francesca nodded, unsure what else to say.
The man adjusted the car radio and began driving through the streets of Hackney. Francesca noticed the tinted windows and the faint scent of lavender inside. The man remained silent, which Francesca appreciated; she wasn't quite sure how to strike up a casual conversation with someone she didn't know.
But the silence didn't last long.
"When was the last time you took an inhibitor, Francesca?" he asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
Taylor had emailed her on Sunday morning warning that they shouldn't take any inhibitors after 3:00 pm. Francesca had been worried, thinking that physical discomfort would soon appear (specifically concerned about what Michaela might be feeling), but the afternoon progressed smoothly, receiving a message from Michaela around 6:00 pm, mentioning that they seemed to be handling the unlikely connection issue better. No migraines, no dizziness, and Francesca slept without any nightmares tormenting her night's rest.
"At 2:00 pm, no later than that," she said calmly, stretching her fingers across her lap. "Although I admit I'm worried about how I'll feel once I see my unlikely soulmate again."
"Don't worry about that, Francesca," the man replied calmly, extending his hand. "Here are the inhibitors you should take when the discomfort inevitably begins."
The man extended his hand toward her, and Francesca received a medium-sized metal box. Inside, she found a bottle of inhibitors and a plastic bottle of water. She closed it slowly and then placed the box on the middle seat, refocusing on the rest of the journey.
At that point, they had already left the center of Hackney, passing west along Mare Street. Francesca studied the route intently, as if she could somehow memorize the journey to wherever Michaela was. She stretched out her left hand again, as if she could play an imaginary melody, as if that would silence a recurring thought in the back of her mind.
St. Paul's Road ran through the area heading west. They had passed Dalston, and if Francesca had to bet, she'd say they were going straight to Highbury. She settled herself a little more comfortably in her seat, hoping the rest of the journey would be just as peaceful.
When the car pulled up outside a Georgian-style building on the outskirts of a residential area in Islington ten minutes later, Francesca pressed herself a little closer to the window. Daphne lived just a few blocks away. Maybe Michaela knew her. Maybe they'd bumped into each other in the park once. Maybe Michaela wasn't so indifferent to her after all. Maybe that unlikely connection had been sparked long before.
"Michaela Stirling," the man's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Francesca instinctively shifted in her seat. "I'll take care of your suitcase. Please, get in."
The door opened, and Michaela climbed in slowly. Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, and Francesca soon felt an annoying throb at her temple. Michaela put a hand to it and groaned softly.
"Definitely super brain," she muttered before taking off her sunglasses. "Do you have a plan B in case this is a kidnapping?"
“No, I didn't think about it, I didn't even register it as a hypothetical scenario.”
"Well, I do, and I have a few ideas," she added with a half-smile before grimacing, Francesca feeling the same annoyance. "You handle the maneuvering while I distract the driver. If we do it right, we might not die trying."
"As long as I don't need to parallel park," she replied, and Michaela chuckled.
"You have a sense of humor, Francesca," she remarked, and Francesca glanced at her, noticing the change in her hairstyle.
She considered mentioning it but stopped herself, turning instead toward the window, just in time for the man (whose name she still didn't know) to get back in, closing the door gently.
"Another strangely sunny day in London, isn't it?" he repeated what he had said to Francesca as Michaela fastened her seatbelt.
"Don't get used to it, man," she replied, shrugging, her glasses resting in her lap.
About five minutes had passed when they both complained at the same time. Michaela glanced sideways at Francesca as she brought her hand to her temple. Francesca felt an unbearable stabbing pain and a sudden dizziness that made her almost curl up in her seat. Both felt the discomfort at much higher levels than the day they met.
"Now's when you should take the inhibitors, ladies," the man said calmly. Francesca opened the box, her hand trembling slightly.
"You first," she said to Michaela, handing her the bottle. The woman nodded as she put the pill to her lips.
They took turns with the water bottle, breathing in short gasps, Francesca feeling like she had run a marathon because of how fast her heart was racing, Michaela next to her sighed, running a hand over her forehead, without saying anything.
A few minutes passed, and Francesca felt a sudden heaviness in her eyelids, as if she hadn't closed her eyes all day and just wanted to sleep. She turned slightly and noticed the technologist running a hand over her closed eyelids, opening them again and blinking, almost confused. She turned too and looked at her with a frown.
"Do you feel it too?" she asked softly.
"Yes, I'm very... Very sleepy, which is inappropriate. I slept eight hours last night."
"Of course you did, Francesca," she replied, slurring her words. Francesca laughed at how funny she sounded. "I feel like I'm about to go into surgery to have my wisdom tooth pulled."
"I don't think it works like that. They only give you local anesthesia for that.”
"It depends on the complexity of the operation," she debated, and Francesca stretched out her hand, watching her fingers move almost imperceptibly.
"I feel like I'm about to go into the operating room for a heart transplant," she finally said, sinking into her seat.
"Why a heart and not another vital organ?" Michaela asked, nudging her gently. Francesca looked at her. "I'm going in for... A liver transplant."
"Are you a frequent drinker?" It was Francesca's turn to slur her words, and Michaela let out a little laugh.
"No, I used to be... I used to self-medicate and abuse sugar, but now I'm almost, almost, almost rehabilitated."
"If it weren't for the 'almost,' you'd be rehabilitated." Francesca giggled, closing her eyes. Michaela laughed too.
"I can't believe that made me laugh. We were definitely drugged," she complained quietly, letting out a sigh.
Francesca thought she was succumbing to the sudden exhaustion, letting sleep take over, when she felt a soft touch on her hand. She slowly opened one eye, then the other, blinking, somewhat disoriented. She looked to her side and saw Michaela seemed asleep, reclining relaxed in the seat, her left hand brushing against Francesca's right.
"Why are you trembling, Francesca?" she asked, and Francesca had to lean closer to understand her. At that point, neither of them was fully conscious.
“I just... I don't know, I'm worried about what might happen," she replied without moving her hand away; unlike her cold fingers, Michaela's hand felt warm.
"Nothing bad is going to happen to you," she promised, as if she truly knew. Francesca chuckled at that. "And if something does happen, then we'll file a joint lawsuit. Does that sound... Does that sound like a good plan, or should you sleep on it?"
"I'll consult with the family lawyer," she said jokingly. She was tired, but even in that drowsy state, she noticed the trembling in her hand gently stopping, as if Michaela's touch was all it needed to calm down.
And that definitely didn't make sense to either of them.
"This is the funniest conversation I've ever heard," the driver said with a chuckle. Francesca closed her eyes again. "Get some rest, ladies. We have a long way to go."
Francesca thought she had entered an alternate universe or was living an extremely psychedelic dream, but when she woke up she sat up slowly, noticing that she was still in the car but that they had stopped. She gave Michaela a gentle nudge when she noticed she was still asleep. The woman sat up more dramatically, almost jumping out of her seat, and Francesca pressed herself against her window, somewhat nervous about her reaction.
"Good heavens," she exclaimed hoarsely, blinking a couple of times. "Where are we?"
"I have no idea. Are you feeling alright?" She asked, and Michaela nodded slowly.
"Yes, just... Nothing. I felt a little disoriented."
The door swung open, but this time they weren't greeted by the driver (who hadn't even introduced himself) but by Taylor, who smiled broadly before gesturing for them to get out. Michaela glanced at Francesca before doing so. When they both stepped out, they were in a covered parking garage, and the driver was sitting on a nearby bench reading the day's newspaper. Francesca frowned slightly before looking at Taylor.
"Welcome officially to the PDDL," the man said, adjusting his tie. "No time to waste. I'll show you where you'll be staying, and then we'll get straight to business.”
"And the suitcases?" Francesca asked, glancing behind her. Michaela had perched her sunglasses on her forehead.
"They're already in your rooms. I assume that with the nap you took, you don't need any extra rest," the man said, walking forward without turning around. "Both of you agreed to keep your mobile devices, but there are some modifications that needed to be made to your operating systems. It's all temporary, of course."
Michaela instinctively reached for her front pocket, and Francesca did the same with her jacket. Neither of them had their phone, but a woman appeared with a tray through one of the doors and approached with a smile. Both phones were on the tray, and Michaela picked hers up with some apprehension.
"Geolocation is disabled, and any map apps will stop working for a month," Taylor said as Francesca inspected the phone as if it had been stolen. "You'll be able to receive your first visitors in a week, two people at a time. We've also limited access to direct calls from your phones. You have landlines in your respective rooms that you can use to communicate with your loved ones, but with a limit of three calls per day."
"It's a very elegant way to monitor the calls, Taylor," Michaela remarked, crossing her arms. The man didn't turn around at her words.
"What can I say? I like knowing we have everything under control," the man said as an elevator door opened at the end of the hall.
The man pressed an unnumbered button, and the elevator ascended smoothly. Michaela huffed as she leaned against the mirror. Francesca decided to put her hands in her jacket pockets; they suddenly felt cold.
"Sixth floor, Francesca. Your room is 11. Michaela, your room is 22," the man said as the doors opened. "As you know, you need to be close even when you're suffering from a migraine. The rooms are designed to maintain a safe distance, but with the advantage that, by opening your respective doors, you can find each other if a symptom becomes so unbearable that you need to be close."
"What?" Francesca asked. "It's not supposed to work like that... I, well, I read that the closeness will become even more unbearable as the days go by."
“Yes, that happens when they are not under advanced treatment to break the bond, Francesca, for you it will be different... At some point your symptoms will mutate and you will feel something totally opposite to the other, that will force you to get closer to regulate your own symptoms.”
"Great, I hope Francesca stays with the dizziness, I hate it," Michaela said as they walked on.
Taylor stopped in front of door 11 and took a card from her pocket, handing it to Francesca. With a gesture, he indicated that she could enter. Michaela moved forward a little, perhaps just to snoop around, but Taylor signaled that they should continue. Michaela sighed as Francesca entered, noticing her suitcase beside the bed.
It was a fairly spacious room, with a large bed in the middle. Neutral tones adorned the space. There was a large closet and a closed door, which Francesca quickly inspected, discovering the private bathroom with a small laundry area. Francesca slowly closed the door and then looked around. The large window was covered by a curtain, which, when drawn back, gave her an exclusive view of an almost endless green valley. There were no houses in sight, but there was a police-like checkpoint surrounding the property.
It was confusing. They could be as close to London as they were far away; both scenarios were possible in this situation.
The landline phone sat on a small dresser, and the bed was flanked by two nightstands. Francesca was about to remove her scarf to examine everything more closely when she heard a strange noise. She quickly shifted to find its source.
"Francesca, we're ready to continue," said the loudspeaker version of Taylor's voice. Francesca spotted the intercom by the door.
She slowly opened the door and found Michaela leaning against the wall while Taylor smiled warmly at her. Without another word, he led them back to the elevator. The sixth floor only had two rooms, the elevator entrance, and the emergency stairwell, plus a huge window overlooking a courtyard that appeared to be covered.
The inhibitor had taken effect, but Francesca felt a sudden twinge of discomfort when her elbow brushed against Michaela's arm. Michaela pulled away as if the contact burned her.
"What color is your bed?" Michaela asked casually, and Francesca remained silent for a few seconds.
"Why do you care?"
"Oh? What's wrong, Francesca? Wasn't there a piano waiting for you inside?" she replied playfully, looking at her.
"Did they have a mountain of Rubik's Cubes waiting for you?" she asked, frowning. Michaela shook her head with a sly little smile.
“No, but they left me satin pillowcases, satin bonnets, scarves and hair products. I think they thought I'd forget those at home, but it's appreciated, I suppose.”
The elevator doors opened on another floor, perhaps higher or lower; Francesca hadn't noticed. Both women followed Taylor, who instructed them to enter, sit face-to-face, and work honestly with the interviewer. They both nodded, and Taylor opened the door. They entered slowly, entering a room that resembled a therapist's office. A Black man with a neatly trimmed beard awaited them in the center, seated at the middle of the table.
"Francesca and Michaela, welcome. Please, have a seat," he said, and Francesca walked to the chair on the left. "My name is Christopher Anderson, and I'll be conducting the first session."
"Putting those 10,000 pounds to work," Michaela whispered, and Francesca settled into her seat.
"We'll have a preliminary interview, a type of interrogation scientifically designed to induce apathy and ideological repulsion among you. You might feel some discomfort during the session, but we have the necessary inhibitors to ensure it concludes without further problems."
He placed a jar of green pills and two water bottles on the table, opened his folder, and Francesca interlaced her fingers on the table, glancing sideways at Michaela.
“We won’t use set blocks. I’ll ask you random questions to change the dynamic as we go along, okay?” he said, lifting his folder. “Each of you will give your answer, as formulated or pragmatic as you like. Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes,” said Michaela. Francesca simply nodded, still staring at a small pattern on the wooden table.
“Is the Monarchy a useful constitutional institution for the stability of the State or an obsolete and undemocratic expense that perpetuates class inequality?”
“The aristocracy is unjust,” said Michaela, straightening her posture. “If I could ask for anything, it would be the immediate creation of a republic.”
“I… I agree, although…” She paused for a few seconds, searching for the right words to complete her answer. “Some think that maintaining it would preserve the identity-based pragmatism of the United Kingdom… It’s not exactly a good thing, I know.”
“That makes it horrible. We don’t need people on expensive thrones in ridiculous clothes. We need the total abolition of the monarchy,” Michaela said, looking at her.
“Good, very good,” Christopher said, smiling slightly. “Should abortion be permitted for any reason up to the 20th week of pregnancy, or should the limit be lowered based on modern fetal viability outside the womb?”
Total silence filled the room. Michaela looked at Francesca, perhaps waiting for her to speak first, but Francesca didn’t quite know how to respond. It was a debate that ranged from the ethical to the medical, challenging the limits of her morality.
"Pro-choice and preserving the mother's life, always," Michaela finally said, looking at Francesca almost with disappointment.
Francesca shifted nervously; she agreed, of course she did, nothing could supersede the wishes of the pregnant woman, but she had spent too much time thinking, as always, about the variables and hypothetical cases. She had no reason to feel uncomfortable with Michaela's disapproving look, but she was feeling it, guilt settling in her chest.
“Next question, Francesca?” Christopher asked, and the pianist simply nodded. “If you had children, would you send them to state schools in disadvantaged areas to break the elite bubble, or would you pay £45,000 a year to Eton or Harrow to secure their financial future, perpetuating the class system?”
Francesca’s shoulders slumped. Her sister was part of that percentage of mothers who paid £45,000 a year to guarantee a “high-quality” education, and while her nephews were still loving children, she knew that elitism was present from the moment they crossed the gates of their respective schools. Finally, she cleared her throat to answer.
“Many say that opportunities are equal, but often children from vulnerable areas who break the cycle of poverty and stigma face far more challenges in their adult lives, constantly having to prove they deserve a place in society and the job market,” Francesca began, feeling the coldness of her fingers. “My nephews are part of the system, but that doesn’t mean I agree with it… I think I’d like my hypothetical children to experience the reality beyond the bubble of privilege.”
“My hypothetical children would study at an accessible school that addresses their needs and ambitions. I don’t want spoiled children who take everything for granted, but I also don’t want them to go through hell when it comes to opportunities. Although, does meritocracy really exist today?”
Francesca shook her head at her question, agreeing with her point of view.
“Is it acceptable for climate activists to vandalize artworks at the National Gallery or block traffic in central London if it draws attention to ecological collapse?”
“Yes, discomfort is the only way to react to injustice of any kind,” Michaela replied, looking at Francesca.
“People are more outraged by a defaced painting than by the extinction of ancient reefs, I agree.”
“If you both support the public NHS, but one of you has a minor medical emergency and the state waiting lists are six months long, would you use your private insurance at the Bupa hospital in Chelsea or wait in the public queue out of class solidarity?”
They glanced at each other quickly, almost silently challenging one another. Michaela crossed her arms again, and Francesca took a deep breath.
“I’d use my private insurance,” the pianist said sincerely, looking Michaela in the eye.
“Me too, which is ironic of me, but… I have to use the privilege of my last name, right? I’m sure Francesca understands that too.”
“More than you think, yes,” she replied, still looking at her.
“Digital etiquette and micro-infidelity in the high-society ecosystem. How many consecutive ‘fire’ emojis on a third party’s Instagram stories are enough to be considered flirting or disrespectful to the partner?”
Francesca blinked a couple of times, confused by the change in tone. Michaela shifted in her chair, seemingly deep in thought.
"One is a sign of sisterhood," Michaela said, raising her index finger. "Two is a compliment, three fire emojis is a formal invitation to cheat and spend the night together."
"I... I don't know, I don't use those kinds of emojis to prove anything to someone else, to be honest," she replied slowly, looking at her hands.
"So how do you flirt on social media?" Michaela asked, looking at her, but before she could answer, she spoke again. "Unless you don't flirt that way, of course."
"I... Never mind, next question, please."
"Do you think a romantic relationship can survive and maintain real intimacy over a long distance, or is physical proximity a non-negotiable requirement?”
“I think distance is a test of honesty,” Michaela began, straightening her posture. “If you need someone to be physically in the same room as you to remember their worth, what you have is dependency, not connection.”
“I think intimacy is built in small daily rituals, not in scheduled calls,” Francesca said, letting her guard down. “Distance is often the refuge of those who are afraid of real commitment and prefer to love an idealized concept rather than a real person.”
A strange pull made Francesca place her hand on her chest at the same time as Michaela, both avoiding eye contact for that brief moment.
“Is sex without emotional commitment a valid form of personal freedom and self-knowledge, or does it inevitably fragment the emotional psyche of those who practice it?” Christopher asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s valid, but it’s a double-edged sword. You can sleep with someone casually, but it’s never ‘without commitment. Because... Come on, you're giving your body and your time," Michaela said, without looking up. "The thing is, we're so terrified of getting hurt that we label it 'casual' to pretend we don't care if that person leaves the next day.”
Francesca stared at her, processing the honesty of her words.
"Exactly. I think casual sex often masquerades as progress, but it's usually just quick consumption to fill emotional voids. I'm surprised you see it that way, considering your... Usual flippancy, Michaela."
Michaela chuckled but didn't look up.
"I'd rather risk getting burned than live frozen, Francesca."
"In your personal relationships, do you consider hiding pain or jealousy an act of maturity, or a form of destructive dishonesty?”
Michaela was the first to speak again.
"It's cowardice disguised as good manners. In our environment, we're taught that showing pain is losing control," she said, stroking her chin. "So we pretend nothing affects us. We hide everything under irony until you realize no one truly knows you. I think it's a very lonely way to live."
"It's not always cowardice. Sometimes it's protection," Francesca interjected. "Not everyone deserves access to your personal or past wounds. If you open your privacy to just anyone, you lose your safe space."
Michaela glanced sideways at Francesca but didn't meet her gaze. The strange pull returned to her chest, but Francesca avoided reacting.
“If a partner betrays your trust, whether through a serious lie or infidelity, do you believe in rebuilding the bond through forgiveness, or do you consider the breach of trust to be irreparable damage?" Christopher cleared his throat, glancing at them both out of the corner of his eye.
“Forgiveness exists, but the initial dynamic is lost… If you forgive, you have to accept living with the ghost of what happened. I don’t know if I have the strength to look at someone and constantly relive the moment she decided I wasn’t enough.”
Michaela still wouldn’t look at her, and Francesca frowned before deciding to answer.
“I think trust is like a contract; once it’s broken, trying to fix it only prolongs the agony out of fear of being alone,” she said in a whisper, her hand clenched into a fist. “True self-respect lies in knowing when to walk away, even if you desperately want to stay.”
“Exclusivity and new relationship models,” Christopher said, straightening up in his chair. “As progressive women in London today, do you believe monogamy is an outdated patriarchal imposition or a necessary psychological structure for emotional stability?”
“Most of the people I know use polyamory to avoid taking responsibility for other people’s pain,” the technologist began, placing both hands on the table. “I’m selfish. If I give my vulnerability to someone, I want to know that that space is exclusive. I don’t want to be an option on a list of more than two people.”
“I agree with you.” Francesca smiled slightly, nodding. “Monogamy doesn’t have to be patriarchal if it’s chosen from a place of equality. Exclusivity is a form of mutual care. Creating a sanctuary where only two people live requires a lot of courage.”
Michaela nodded in agreement, and they looked at each other intently. Christopher cleared his throat before smiling slightly, almost amused by the situation.
“Let’s move on to the macroeconomic impact,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “What is your current position on the long-term consequences of Brexit on vulnerable sectors of the UK?”
Francesca straightened up in her chair. She had spent so many hours discussing this topic with such passion with her older sister, Eloise, that she was ready to answer, but she noticed something different, as if a sudden laugh were rising in her throat. She looked at Michaela and saw her smirk, as if it were a very amusing topic to discuss.
“Honestly, I couldn’t care less about Brexit.”
She blurted it out, staring at her intently. Francesca felt heat rise to her cheeks; she couldn't believe what she'd just heard and definitely wanted to make her point clear now more than ever.
"What do you mean you don't care? It's been the biggest geopolitical and social disaster of our generation." She blinked rapidly. "It destroyed entire communities, the inflation, the loss of rights..."
"I know, and I don't care. I'm Scottish."
Francesca looked at her as if she had two heads. That made no sense considering the negative impact Brexit was having on Scotland.
"I can't believe you said something so profoundly ignorant!" She raised her voice slightly, surprising herself. "Being Scottish doesn't exempt you from macroeconomic reality, damn it! The majority of the Scottish population voted to remain in the European Union, and it's been one of the most devastated regions!”
Michaela crossed her arms slowly, leaning back in her seat. She didn't try to defend herself, simply looking her up and down, her eyes gleaming with something akin to fascination. Michaela seemed strangely delighted by the situation.
"I need internet access right now!" she demanded, dramatically rising from her chair. "I need a tablet to show you the statistics on the negative economic impact, the labor shortage, and the projected loss of revenue for the Scottish government. You're... You're insane if you think this isn't a topic that interests you in the slightest."
Francesca began pacing the room exasperatedly, talking incessantly, citing ONS data, her chest heaving. Meanwhile, Michaela remained utterly silent, enjoying the spectacle. She stared at her without blinking, almost fascinated by the character she hadn't known Francesca possessed, by the magnetic presence she exuded while fighting for her ideals. Francesca was furious, but Michaela thought she had never seen her so vibrant, approachable, and beautiful.
"...So don't you dare use your damn Scottish heritage to feign intellectual apathy.”
Francesca inhaled deeply, ready to continue speaking, but Christopher gently raised his hand.
"I think that's enough, Francesca."
"But what she's saying makes no sense, it's economically false..."
"Michaela knows perfectly well it's false. She was just looking for a reaction... And you gave it to her."
Francesca looked at Christopher and then, extremely slowly, at Michaela, who was looking at her with a gentle smile, her arms crossed, watching her so intently that Francesca could feel the heat rising up her neck again.
She felt an almost violent thermal shock in her chest, and Michaela placed her hand on her own chest as she lowered her gaze. Christopher cleared his throat and, as he stood up, indicated that before leaving, he should give them a journal, a physical way for them to record their thoughts for the entire month. Francesca hurriedly took hers while Michaela slowly examined it. When they left the room, Francesca practically ran to the elevator, with Michaela following at a brisk pace.
"You have a voice, Bridgerton. I thought you'd always speak to me with the voice of someone who doesn't know what they want or can't express it."
"You don't know me."
"I don't pretend to."
"Then leave me alone," she pleaded as the doors closed, pressing the button she remembered was for their floor. "Do you want me to hate you intensely? If you keep acting like this, you'll succeed before the day is over."
"Oh... What a shame. I didn't know such a noble heart as yours was capable of feeling something like that." She tilted her head slightly, not looking at her. "Hate is such a big word, so terrifying... I don't know, Francesca. I think we'll have to write about this in our diaries.”
The doors opened and Francesca hurried to her room. The last thing she saw was Michaela walking away with a quick wave of her hand. Francesca collapsed onto her bed and opened her diary, taking the pencil inside and pressing it firmly to the paper.
Francesca Bridgerton's first diary entry titled "How Long Will It Take for Me to Lose My Mind?"
"Michaela Stirling is the most... Unbearable person I've ever met, smiling and laughing as if everything that comes out of her mouth is a funny joke. I don't know why she sees the world that way, I don't know why she's so determined to make me hate her, but if this connection doesn't kill us with its symptoms, then we'll find a way to... To hate each other, to not be able to stand each other, and I don't know what's worse. What's worse than feeling hate? Feeling resentment or feeling fear, a terrible fear that this will completely ruin me.
I'll try to stay strong, but having her as my unlikely soulmate is testing me in every sense of the word.”
Francesca slammed the diary shut and placed it on one of the nightstands, rubbing her forehead. She was feeling the beginnings of what would be an unbearable migraine, so she needed to get an inhibitor soon.
As she stood up, she couldn't help but glance at her suitcase. With a huff, she went to unzip it. The first thing she saw was the cover of "Under the Udala Trees," which Michaela had mentioned on Saturday. She had bought it online after the recommendation and decided to bring it along to read in her free time downtown. Francesca inhaled and exhaled for a few seconds before taking the book out. She was annoyed, but she placed it gently on the duvet, almost as if she wanted to apologize for her behavior.
"Why does everything have to be so complicated?" she asked softly, running a finger along the green cover.
Francesca felt a new twinge in her temple and remembered that she would soon feel worse, so she continued on her way to get her medication. If the first session had started like this, Francesca was already anticipating that she would return to her room every afternoon with an unbearable migraine.