Chapter Text
It's late afternoon when Perry comes to collect Carmilla and Laura and walk them to Davies Hall. She walks into the room unannounced, LaFontaine at her heels.
"Are you guys ready?" Perry asks. She's in leadership-training-session mode now, a little too bubbly to mask her nerves. Laura thinks that she's missing a clipboard, and maybe a visor and a pencil over one ear. Like Kristy Thomas at a particularly intense meeting of the Baby-Sitters Club.
Laura's thoughts are wandering towards a half baked sorting of her friends to their Baby-Sitter Club counterparts when Carmilla shrugs and stands up, walks over to the door, her thumbs hooked through the belt loops of her ratty black cutoffs, and Perry makes a noise of disgust.
"Where's your stuff, Carmilla?" she asks sharply.
Carmilla shrugs. "We won't be there long, right? I'll come back here if I need something."
"Oh, no. No no no. We need you to at least try to maintain the illusion that you two are legitimately moving in. Pack a bag, or something."
Carmilla makes a face, and glances towards Laura. Laura is sitting on the edge of her bed with a neatly packed duffel bag beside her. She is feeling extremely satisfied with herself, since Carmilla had blown her off when she had suggested Perry might react this way earlier.
Carmilla looks briefly thoughtful, like she's considering whether it would be worth the effort to argue. Instead, she sighs. "Whatever," she mutters, and starts throwing scraps of fabric from the floor haphazardly into a bag.
It's a short walk to Davies Hall. LaFontaine keeps up a running commentary as they walk, describing their bio lab from earlier that day. They're in the middle of describing a particularly gruesome experiment (Perry is starting to look green, but Carmilla looks entertained) when Perry gestures for everyone to stop. They're in front of another residence building. There's a plaque that reads "DAVIES HALL" planted out front, behind a neat strip of marigolds, but other than that, it looks a lot more cinderblock than Hogwarts, and Carmilla and Laura exchange a dubious look.
"Wow, they really spare no expense for the co-eds in love," Carmilla says dryly.
Perry shrugs. "It's nicer inside," she says, but from her expression, Laura wonders how true that really is.
The gang troops inside and it turns out that Perry is right, after a fashion. The res interior is a half-step up from cinderblock, but the carpets are dingy and moth-eaten, and the fluorescent lighting buzzes and flickers.
"Oh yeah, this is much better," Carmilla says, and Laura shushes her.
"I'm just saying, maybe we should rethink this whole idea," Carmilla mutters to Laura under her breath. "We could get a pizza. You mortal-types like pizza, right? I mean really, who cares if a few newlyweds are bitching about bad dreams anyway?
"You know we all can hear you, right?" asks LaFontaine. "We're standing like, a foot away from each other."
Carmilla opens her mouth to reply, but Laura intercedes. "I care," she says firmly. "And you care, too, or you wouldn't have said yes to this."
Carmilla doesn't have anything to say to that. She shrugs. "Over the threshold we go, then," she says. She looks at Laura sidelong. "You want me to carry you?"
The implications, and the sly, impish look on Carmilla's face send an unexpected ripple through Laura, shocking and warm and (to her surprise and slight chagrin) not unwelcome. "I'm fine," she says quickly, and hopes nobody notices the higher pitch of her tone.
Carmilla smirks. Perry stops at a door and unlocks it, her heavy key ring jangling as it fidget with the lock. "Sorry," she mutters. "It's a little sticky."
Carmilla casts another dubious look towards Laura. Laura wants to ask her why she even cares, since it's not like any mundane break-and-enter is going to cause a vampire to break a sweat. She doesn't, because she doesn't want to exasperate Perry any further.
Perry shoves the door open with a tiny, breathy grunt, and steps inside. LaFontaine, Carmilla, and Laura troop in after her.
"Well. It's no Fairmont Chateau," LaFontaine comments, hands on their hips as they survey the room.
They're not wrong. The couples suite looks a lot like Carmilla and Laura's dorm room, only... dingier. The lights burn a little more jarringly, there's a rust coloured stain in a corner near the ceiling, and the floor is layered with a tacky sort of linoleum instead of carpet.
The other big difference is that there's only one bed, a low double that dips in the middle. Carmilla wastes no time stomping into the room and throwing her duffel onto the bed. She unzips it, and yanks out Laura's yellow pillow, which she throws to the head on the bed. It settles there, a cheerful swatch amidst the greying cotton sheets, and Carmilla looks over her shoulder, casual.
Laura can feel her mouth open in surprised response. "When did you even swipe that?" She asks, knowing she sounds more impressed than she ought. Vampire speed, vampire stealth... but damn, Laura hadn't even noticed. And she'd made a point of noticing the path of her yellow pillow ever since Carmilla had adopted it as a pet.
Carmilla shrugs. "While you weren't looking, cutie," she says. It's not sarcasm, which Laura thinks is admittedly an improvement.
"Anyway," Perry says loudly, and Laura jumps. "Just, uh. Settle in. Take a look around. I'll check in on you guys in the morning? And hopefully things will sort themselves out soon!"
Perry leaves quickly after this, and LaFontaine follows. Carmilla turns to Laura. "Home sweet home, huh?" she says, raising an eyebrow.
"I guess so," Laura replies. She walks further into the room and sits tentatively on the edge of the bed. It's not so bad, she thinks. Comfy, even. "So what do we do now?" she asks.
Carmilla sits down next to Laura and tucks one foot underneath herself. "Dunno. You're the gumshoe here, remember?"
"You're the one who is like, four hundred years old," Laura retorts. "You have centuries of espionage training on me. Mata Hari was probably like your weekend tutor or something."
"Cookie, I lived in a box buried underground when Mata Hari was at large," Carmilla points out. "I was concerned less with spying and more with my slow dissolution via emaciation."
Laura feels herself blush, and she bites back a quip about how Carmilla probably got plenty of practice in her pre-tomb days, because she thinks it feels rude. Carmilla gets a hollowed, sad expression when she talks about her subterranean exile that makes Laura feel awful. She can't imagine what it might have been like, to waste generations trapped in a coffin, but she knows it haunts Carmilla, so she tries not to bring it up.
Carmilla is staring at the floor now, fingers drumming impatiently against the bedspread. Laura can feel a kinetic blur in the air between them, and she glances at the bed. Her fingertips are so close to Carmilla's that they almost touch. Laura snatches her hand back quickly, and runs it through her hair self-consciously.
"I guess we could go around, knock on some doors?" says Laura. Her voice sounds higher than normal. "Say we're introducing ourselves to the building, but actually see if we can dig up any dirt instead?"
"Good one, Nancy Drew."
Laura's head shoots up. She's expecting sarcasm because of the nickname, but when she looks at Carmilla, the other girl's face is open, sincere. Laura hesitates, and then smiles, and Carmilla smiles back, and it takes a full seven seconds before Laura realizes that they are staring at each other beaming like idiots and she clears her throat and jumps to her feet. She sees Carmilla watching her, thoughtful and unreadable.
"Shall we?" asks Laura. She offers her hand to Carmilla, even though she surely doesn't need the help. Carmilla takes her hand anyway, and Laura tugs her to her feet. Carmilla's hand feels warm and solid in her own, the plush apple of Carmilla's palm pressing against Laura's. When Laura lets go and Carmilla drops her hands to her side, Laura tastes a metallic tang of loss on her tongue.
"Lets," Carmilla says agreeably.
It's dark when they come back. Laura is tired. But she's pleased, too, because she feels like they've made some headway in their investigation. They'd met three other couples in their hallway, actually stayed and had a drink with one, and learned quite a bit more about what the disturbances were. Weird nightmares, check. Exhaustion, check. Unidentified sores on girl's legs, check. All had also mentioned hearing general bumps in the night, although they'd done so awkwardly, fidgeting with their hair, looking at the floor, trailing off as though they weren't sure of what they'd actually heard. One girl had mentioned waking up in the middle of the night, paralyzed like something was pinning her down, but there had been nobody in the room except herself and her partner beside her.
"Ally and Ariel seemed nice," says Laura, stifling a yawn. They'd been the couple she and Carmilla had stayed to have a drink with.
Carmilla looks at Laura sidelong. "They were fishy. Everyone we talked to stank of fish."
"Well that's not very nice," Laura retorts. "I think the fish smell comes with the building, anyway."
"Metaphorical fish," Carmilla says. "The fish of suspicion."
"You're being paranoid," says Laura. "They were all really nice!" she tilts her head to one side. "Oh, right, I forgot. You don't know what nice looks like."
"We're supposed to be investigating for your friends," Carmilla points out. "I'm not being paranoid. I'm being... investigatory or whatever."
She has a point. Laura almost says as much, but she finds herself smothering another yawn instead, gritted teeth doing little to dispel her sleepiness. Carmilla raises an eyebrow. "Past your bedtime, sweetheart?"
It is totally past her bedtime, but the way Carmilla throws it out like a challenge makes Laura want to argue like a little kid. But dad, I'm nine years old, I can stay up as late as I want! Laura makes a face. "I'm fine."
Carmilla smirks. "Whatever you say," she says. She pauses a beat and then adds. "Well, I'm tired. I'm gonna crash."
Relief floods Laura, because she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold up her stubborn front. It quickly ebbs when her gaze skitters to the lone bed. She looks at Carmilla, and then quickly at the floor. "Um."
"Relax," Carmilla says, divining her hesitance. "I can sleep on the floor. Done it before, remember?"
Slowly, very slowly, Laura looks up, carefully running her next words through her head. "You don't have to," she says finally. "We can, um. We can share."
If Laura has smacked Carmilla over the head with a frying pan, she doubts she could have looked more stunned. Carmilla shakes off the expression quickly, but a tiny smile still plays over her lips. "Seriously?"
Laura shrugs self-consciously. "Sure. Just keep your cold feet away from me."
"I don't have cold feet."
Laura snorts. "You're dead, Carm. All of your extremities are cold."
Carmilla has nothing to say against that.
It's shortly afterwards, when they're climbing into bed together, that Laura feels the first prick of nerves. Despite her joking, Carmilla's skin isn't cold. Maybe it's not as warm as Laura's, but it's warm enough for Laura to feel her presence when they wriggle under the covers, less than a foot away. Carmilla quickly mumbles "G'night," and rolls onto her side, but Laura stares at the ceiling, tension rendering her wide awake.
Carmilla smells good, like copper and roses and musk. It's kind of driving her crazy, and for a fleeting second Laura wonders what would happen if she rolled over and curled herself around Carmilla, fitted their bodies together and buried her face in Carmilla's dark hair. She feels a thrill at the idea that makes her clench her knees together, and she feels her face flush hot. Laura sneaks a look at Carmilla. Her shoulders rise and fall steadily, even though Laura thinks there's no way she could have fallen asleep that quickly.
Laura stares at the ceiling again. This was a huge mistake, she realizes, and it's not because she doesn't want to share Carmilla's bed-- quite the opposite. She rolls onto her side, her back to Carmilla's, and draws her knees to her chest. It doesn't help. Laura swears she can feel the bumps of Carmilla's spine, inches away from her own, and she wonders how close their backs are to touching. She'd scoot to the edge of the bed, but it's a small double: there's nowhere for her to scoot. She edges closer to it anyway, putting heavy distance between them. It doesn't help.
Laura is about to make some dumb excuse (hey, you know what? The floor looks kind of comfy after all!) when a loud bang rattles the room, and Carmilla and Laura both sit up fast, Laura flailing ungainly limbs, Carmilla rapid and alert. They exchange a wild, hurried glance and sit motionless, tense and listening in the dark. Were they about to strike gold on their first night?
After a long, long moment, Laura lets out a breath, and Carmilla's shoulders relax.
"Must just be old pipes or something," Carmilla says.
"I guess so," Laura replies. But she's nervous, because it hadn't sounded like old pipes, and weren't the girls who tried to make rational excuses the ones who always died first in horror movies?
"Maybe we should take a look around, though," Laura adds, and then winces, because what an even more horror-damsel-ey thing to say. What's she going to suggest next, that they split up to cover more ground?!
Carmilla looks skeptical. "I think we'll be fine." she looks up at Laura through her lashes. "You nervous, creampuff?"
"No, I--" Laura pauses. Why lie? They're staying overnight in a freaking haunted honeymoon suite. "Yeah," she admits. "I guess I am."
What happens next has Laura half convinced she's dreaming, because the next thing she knows, Carmilla is sliding up next to her, looping her arm over Laura's shoulders and tucking her chin into the curve of Laura's neck. "Relax," says Carmilla. Her breath tickles Laura's skin. "I'll protect you."
And then Carmilla pulls Laura onto her side and lets her arm fall from Laura's shoulder's to her waist. For a long time Laura stares at the wall, wide-eyed, memorizing the feel of Carmilla's chest pressed against her back, and then she covers Carmilla's hand with her own and lets her eyes drift shut. They fall asleep together, their limbs entwined, long bronze strands of Laura's hair twisting with Carmilla's dark ones.
They wake up the next morning to a scream from the other end of the hall.