Chapter Text
Bedtime was closing in on her fast. And, of course, after two relatively smooth activities, something had to happen to disrupt the peace. And that something, Veronica learned after taking off her shoes and climbing up the stairs and settling into the nursery again, was called a bath.
“Hell. No,” she said, dropping all pretenses of her latest strategy as she hid behind Heather McNamara. Well, as much as she could hide. “I don’t need one. I’ll shower if you want me to, but baths are boring.”
“They don’t have to be,” said Heather McNamara, turning around to face her. “You can have bubbles. And there’s bath toys. Okay?”
“And we can change you out of the onesie into pajamas that don’t have the feet part,” said Heather Duke. “Again, you have nothing we’ve never seen before.”
Shaking her head, Veronica stamped her foot weakly. “But I don’t want a bath. Why can’t we skip that part and just change my clothes again?”
“Because you’re Little,” said Heather Chandler patiently, “And we’re your Mommies. And we say so. And it’s my house. And I say you’re getting a bath.”
“‘m not Little, and you basically kidnapped me,” Veronica muttered, crossing her arms. She looked Heather in the eye. “I’ll take another time-out.” That might give her enough time to plot an escape. Or at least call her parents so they could pick her up.
Heather Chandler laughed. “This isn’t a negotiation, Sawyer. You’ll still have to take a bath afterwards. And since you seem to want it, your punishment won’t be another time-out.”
Veronica blinked. “Then what’s it gonna be? No candy? Writing an essay?”
Heather Duke held up her phone. “Video message.”
“I still don’t know what that means.”
“It means—” began Heather McNamara.
“It means,” interrupted Heather Chandler a bit forcefully, “You’re going to record a message for yourself. You’re going to say what you’re refusing to do, and why you’re refusing to do it. In this case, refusing a bath. And if you throw another fit about the same thing in the future, you can go over the footage and decide if you want to continue your behavior.” She lifted her chin and quirked her brow. “Okay?”
“I’m not throwing a fit,” Veronica said, stomping her other foot for emphasis. “I’m protesting an unnecessary step in my nighttime routine. That you decided for me already. Without my input.”
“By stomping your feet, crossing your arms, and talking back?” asked Heather Duke. She folded her own arms across her chest and nodded. “Interesting strategy.”
With a little whine, Veronica clenched her fists as the urge to stomp her feet again came up, but she caught it just in time. Heather Duke was likely to agree with Heather Chandler when challenged. She turned to Heather McNamara and donned her best doe eyes as she grabbed her hand and wrist. “Mama?”
Heather McNamara bit her lip. “Well...”
“Heather,” said Heather Chandler warningly.
Heather ignored her. “Can you think of anything you’d like that would make it less boring? Scented candles? Or maybe a bath bomb?”
Veronica shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Because baths are inherently boring.”
Heather considered this, eyes darting about the floor in thought. “When was the last time you had one with bubbles and bath toys?”
Oh God. It was the onesie argument all over again. She’d say not since she was a kid, and Heather would say she should do it because Little. Dammit.
In the end, she let Heather Chandler draw her a bath. But she got to pick her jammies this time: a really pink Sleeping Beauty nightgown. And a clean pair of Heather’s underwear. Because she didn’t expect she’d have to take hers off at any point so she didn’t bring her own.
She slowly climbed into the tub and sat down at the very end with her knees tucked to her naked chest. Heather Chandler poured a capful of Mr. Bubble under the faucet as the water ran, pulling the crinkly white shower curtain with big red cherries on it to the head of the tub and narrowly missing hitting Heather McNamara with the pink jug as she came in with a bucket of bath toys.
There was a big plastic rubber duck, and a bunch of little ones too—Heather called them baby ducklings, and she plopped all four of them into the warm bubbling water after their mama. And there was also a toy boat, and a little green turtle, and a blue fish, and a red crab, and a squishy purple whale. She set the bucket aside, wedged between the toilet and the tub, and when the tub was adequately filled up, she turned off the faucet.
“Do you want Mommy to sit in with you?” she asked.
Veronica shook her head. One of the baby ducks touched her hip with its little orange beak. She wanted to chuck it across the water, but didn’t. “I’m fine by myself.”
“We can’t leave you alone the entire fifteen minutes, Ronnie.”
Resting her head on her knees, she turned to face the wall. “Hmph.”
Fifteen minutes. That was three time-outs back-to-back, except this one left her way more vulnerable. And bored. And wet. Warm tears welled up in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. If they saw her cry, or heard her sniffle, it was over. She’d lose the game.
Heather sighed. “Don’t be like that, Ronnie,” she said gently. “We’ll give you a minute to think about it, and you call for one of us when you’re ready, okay? We’re right outside in Mommy’s bedroom. And I’ll leave the door open a little.”
“Mmh.” As Heather’s shadow receded, Veronica lifted her head and turned to watch her leave. “Mama?”
Heather turned. “Yeah?”
And in spite of herself, Veronica grinned. “TARDIS.”
Heather sighed again, her shoulders dropping, shaking her head. Then she left, leaving the bathroom door cracked as she promised.
It was a hollow victory.
Soon as she was alone, Veronica sat there for a few more seconds, watching the various toys floating about in their listless existence, bobbing up and down in the stagnant bubbly water and bumping against the corners of the tub. She took the one little duck and its sibling that was very close to bumping into both of them and pushed them toward the faucet-end of the tub along with the rest of their family. And she did the same with the crab, the fish, the turtle, the whale, and the boat. And then she went to work on the bubbles. Straightening her legs, she let her knees slip under the surface of the warm, almost hot, water, and began pushing the bubbles away from her, to the far corners of the bathtub, covering the faucet and the shampoo bottles.
Then she pulled the shower curtain all the way over so it covered the entirety of the tub, took in a breath, and scooted forward so she could submerge her entire upper half under the warm water, knees up like she was going to do a sit-up. If the Heathers were going to make her take a bath in the future, she was going to make them remember to give her a shower cap.
She came back up almost immediately, and not a moment too soon. Three sets of feet came into the bathroom and Heather Chandler pulled back the curtain as she scrubbed her palms over her face to wipe the water from her eyes. The Heathers had all changed into their pajamas.
Heather Chandler heaved a sigh, breaking into a smile as she shook her head. “You little cat.”
Something seemed to shift after her bath, which, thankfully, didn’t last as long as fifteen whole minutes. The Heathers were a lot more gentle, even as it was going on. Heather Chandler washed her hair without hurting or yanking her head around—in fact, her long nails felt very nice against her scalp. Heather Duke helped wash most of her body, being extra gentle with her breasts, apart from her lower parts, which Veronica took care of herself. And Heather McNamara blow-dried her hair and brushed it until it was all soft and fluffy and smooth, though with two extra hands manning the brush and comb during the blow-drying, it was pretty quick.
She realized, as she sat on the toilet lid while Heather Chandler helped her brush her teeth and washed her face with a peach-colored face cloth, that the Heathers didn’t rag on each other at all during the whole thing. In fact, they hardly spoke to each other at all. There wasn’t a “Move!” or a “Shut up, Heather!” anywhere in sight.
Maybe the Heathers were winding down too.
And as she sat on Heather Chandler’s bed with Heather Duke, one of Heather’s hands resting on her back and absently rubbing calm circles against it while Heather McNamara went to grab the rocking chair from the Nursery across the hall, the tears made a return after the first of many yawns that overtook her that evening. But it wasn’t just the yawn making her tear glands act up. Her throat hurt with the lump that usually came before crying, and her mind flashed through all the things she intentionally did to annoy or tease or otherwise push back against the Heathers when all they planned to do was show her a nice time.
They let her set the pace and choose her own rules, rewards, and punishments, and were quick to forgive when her punishment was over. They let her pick whatever movie she wanted to watch for the night with no restrictions. She could’ve picked something long as hell, or boring as sin, or a horror movie, or maybe even an adult film, and they would’ve had to sit through it for her. And they paid enough attention to recall their favorite parts—they each had different favorite parts to The Cat Returns. Heather Chandler indulged her by apologizing to Heather Duke—she didn’t even know “sorry” was in Heather’s vocabulary. And they made sure she ate, and exercised, and they helped her get ready for bed without a single scoff at also having to wash her hair too.
All she had to do was accept a onesie and a bath. Two very simple, very small things, but she made them into such big deals, and for what? The onesie was actually comfortable and very warm aside from the feet (which was basically walking over the coals of hell), and the bath wasn’t half bad once it stopped being a bath. Heather McNamara did her best to make it fun, but she didn’t even give it a chance.
Did Brats feel guilty after bratting? This guilty? Was this normal? Or was she just extremely bad at it? None of the websites said. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt about her behavior. Hindsight was such a bitch. And the worse she felt, the less she could hide it. When she turned away from Heather Duke, she was met with Heather McNamara setting the rocking chair across the room before making her way over, and all she could do was turn away again and rub her eyes with her fists and pray the tears would just stop.
“Ronnie, you okay?” asked Heather McNamara, plopping down to the left of her.
God, even calling the Heathers by their Caregiver titles didn’t seem as weird as she initially thought it was only two days ago. In fact, it sounded really nice, and wholesome, and sweet, and comforting. And she had three Caregivers. Three.
Veronica nodded, carefully removing her fists from her eyes.
“Mmhm,” she squeaked out. Her bottom lip trembled.
So she wasn’t a Brat. She didn’t have the heart for it, and that was fine. She knew that already.
But maybe...
Just maybe she was...
“Are you sure?” came Heather Duke’s answer on her right.
She let out a sob, bringing her fists back to hide her eyes. “Not really...”
Almost immediately, two pairs of arms wrapped around her, one around her shoulders and the other about her middle. Heather McNamara let go as Heather Duke turned her toward herself and eased her head onto her shoulders.
“What’s the matter, Ronnie-baby?” asked Heather McNamara. “Are you sleepy? Does something hurt?”
“Let her cry a little first,” said Heather Duke, pressing her warm hands against Veronica’s back and rubbing it some more. She even threw her legs over her lap. “She’s been trying to hide it since we came out of the bathroom.”
“I think she misses Heather,” said Heather McNamara, and she scooted over some and patted her back. “Mommy’s almost done in the bathroom, okay? You’ll see her again really soon.” And not even a second later, she gasped. “Look, Veronica, Mommy’s here!”
Reluctantly, she pulled away from Heather Duke’s warm embrace and tried to breathe. Someone presented her with tissues, helping her blow her nose and dab at her eyes, and wipe the corners of her lips. She sniffled frequently, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles when her hands were empty, keeping her head bowed and her gaze staring at their feet, hidden by slippers matching the Heathers’ pastel pajamas.
They took her hands and led her over to the rocking chair, where Heather McNamara sat in the seat and held her as Veronica sat across her lap, legs spilling over one arm, her head tucked in the crook of Heather’s neck before she moved it to her shoulder, sniffling pitifully as she lifted one hand to finger the collar of Heather’s soft pajama top. Pressing her cheek to Heather’s shoulder, she closed her eyes and let the gentle rocking and Heather’s warmth comfort her until her eyes were dry and her sniffles were all but gone.
When she was sure she could get through the next moment without crying, she opened her eyes again and carefully looked about her. Heather Duke sat on the floor while Heather Chandler stood with her arms crossed, holding her elbows. Both were staring at her. And, of course, Heather McNamara held her in her arms as she rocked her in the rocking chair, occasionally patting the side of her shoulder.
“I’m sorry I was such a brat,” she croaked.
“That’s what you were upset about?” asked Heather Chandler.
Veronica shook her head. “Not just that...” She swallowed.
“Heather, get her some water.”
Without a word, Heather Duke got up and left the room.
Heather Chandler sighed. “What else?”
Veronica bit her lip, peering up at her cautiously. “How did you know you were a Dom? Not even a Mommy Dom, just a Dom in general.”
Heather stared at her. “Have we met?”
Well, maybe the proof was in the pudding with her. Veronica’s gaze fell onto her lap, and she shifted in Heather McNamara’s lap, sitting up and scooting off Heather’s lap slightly before locking eyes with her. “How’d you know?”
“That I’m a Dom?” Veronica nodded. Heather blinked. “I-I’m not, Ronnie. I’m a Switch.” She smiled sheepishly. “I came pretty close to switching several times tonight. Didn’t you notice?”
It was Veronica’s turn to blink. “No.”
Heather giggled. “That’s okay. It’s easier for me to keep a Big headspace with just Heather and Heather, so no one really knows my Little side. Everyone just assumes I’m a Dom and I let them. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Then how did you know you’re a Switch?”
Heather shrugged, rocking in the chair a bit. “You take a look at the relationships you’re involved in and figure out how you feel. It’s all about trying new things and keeping the stuff that makes you feel good and safe.”
When Heather Duke came back with her water—warm water in a baby bottle, which Veronica accepted after some hesitation—she asked her the same thing. How did she know she was a Dom?
“Charlie’s Angels. Lucy Liu,” she said simply, perching herself at the foot of Heather Chandler’s bed. “This is why representation is important. Now, drink your water.”
Veronica stared down at the warm bottle in her hands with its blue collar and silicone nipple. All she had to do was lift it to her lips, tilt her head back, and suck, but at the same time, she couldn’t just do that. So she looked up at Heather McNamara, and Heather handed the bottle off to Heather Chandler while she got her settled on her lap again, rocking her as the chair shifted underneath them. And when Veronica was all settled again, her head on her shoulder, Heather took the bottle back from Heather Chandler and slipped the teat in Veronica’s mouth at an angle.
And even though she knew it was water—she could see clear as day that it was water—Veronica found herself slightly disappointed that it wasn’t milk. But her whole body eased as she suckled; her shoulders fell, she tucked her arms to her chest and her hands curled into gentle fists, and she even kicked one of her feet, though that could’ve just been a natural twitch. Now that her feet were cold, she actually missed the onesie.
“Good girl, Ronnie,” whispered Heather McNamara, “Don’t drink too fast, okay?”
She nodded. “Mmhm.”
“What about you then?” asked Heather Chandler, and Veronica tore her gaze away from her bottle to look at her. “How did you know you’re a Little Brat?”
Even though the bottle was still half-full, she turned her head and pushed it away with her hand.
“I’m not a Brat,” she mumbled, looking down at the floor. “I’m definitely not a Brat.”
Heather chuckled. “Yeah, we know. You were trying way too hard to make us think otherwise. Especially after your timeout.” She smirked. “But it’s very big of you to finally admit it.”
“Wait, what?” asked Heather McNamara.
Heather Chandler ignored her. “And being Little?”
Shoulders hunching, Veronica turned away from her, fingering Heather McNarama’s pajama collar again.
“Just now, I think...” she whispered. And she buried her face into Heather’s shoulder. “I think I want to change my answers.”
This time, the Heathers didn’t leave her alone to do her assignment. They sat with her and took turns reading the questions aloud and she had to give verbal answers. This time, she sat in front of Heather Chandler, with Heather’s legs and arms wrapped around her middle and her chin resting on one of her shoulders.
For the matching question, and the one about nicknames, her answers stayed the same. And so did her six punishments. But her rewards changed. Instead of all of them, as she cheekily circled, she was only allowed eight to start. Special playtime with Little Heather McNamara was added in so she could have a playmate and Heather could switch on occasion. It was a reward for both of them, really.
“New diaries fall under the ‘new books and toys’ reward,” said Heather Duke. “And puzzles are toys.”
“Logic puzzles too?” asked Veronica, “Like, Puzzle Baron?”
“Yes,” said Heather, “It’s an activity book, so it counts.”
“Well, it’s also online.”
In the end, her rewards were new books and toys (books was an umbrella term; it included coloring books, logic puzzles, and dairies), playtime with Little Heather McNamara (which Heather was very stoked about), movie nights with her Mommies (in addition to her weekly movie nights with Martha and Betty), extra treats like cookies and candy, new stuffed animals (Heather McNamara’s idea, naturally), choosing meals or help baking treats, one-on-one dates with her Mommies (either as Caregiver and Little or just Veronica and a Heather), and special handwritten notes.
She stood by her Maybe bubble for the Yay or Nay question on gifts too.
“If the surprise gift is homemade, then it’s a yay. But if the surprise gift is bought, then it’s a firm maybe. I feel bad getting gifts in general, but at least with the homemade ones I know you put, like, effort into it.”
Heather Chandler smirked, squeezing her waist gently. “Can’t be bought, can you?”
Veronica smiled shyly. “Not really, no.”
And finally, there were rules. Heather Duke had another chuckle at her answer before crossing it out.
“Alright,” she said. “Last thing and then we can put Veronica to bed.”
“Since you’re still learning, we won’t count your intentionally bratting it up as breaking the open and honest part of the communications rule, or as an act of self-harm,” said Heather Chandler, “Even though it clearly took a toll on you toward the end.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Veronica mumbled, looking down at her lap sheepishly. Her cheeks grew warm. “I thought that was how you saw me.”
“Cute, but unnecessary,” said Heather Duke, “While it’s great you want to please us, it shouldn’t come at the cost of your mental well-being.”
“Yeah, just be yourself, Ronnie,” said Heather McNamara, “We’ve still got lots of time to figure it all out with you.”
“With me,” Veronica repeated, intentionally leaning back against Heather Chandler and turning to face her, “So like not deciding I need a bath if I literally put my foot down and say no?”
Heather Chandler shrugged. “I thought that was you being extra bratty.”
“That was me being genuine!”
“Hey, you wanted me to decide everything else for you.”
“That was me being bratty.”
“What?” asked Heather McNamara. “But that—I don’t...” She looked from the faces of the Heathers to Veronica. “That’s not what that means?”
It took a bit of time, and some of the rules were, well, weird, but she could accept them. They were reasonable. In addition to the first three, she also agreed on a good few more.
- No speaking to strangers. Group project partners are okay.
- Schoolwork comes first. Homework must be completed before playtime is allowed.
- Stay hydrated! Try for at least 2 bottles of water a day.
- If going somewhere without accompaniment, you must text the chat/one of us before you leave and after you come home. And during the outing if possible.
- No reading ahead during storytime if the book is a chapter book. Don’t spoil it!
- Good morning and goodnight texts will be sent through group chat when you wake up and before bed (unless sleeping over at one of our houses)
- Goodnight texts = you are in bed and about to sleep, not scrolling through social media.
- You will not hide your online status on social media.
- If you get a stuffie, you have to name it.
- Try to write at least one diary entry before coming out of Littlespace.
- Don’t force yourself to be something you’re not.
In between brainstorming, she finished her bottle of water, even though it wasn’t warm anymore. And she texted her parents goodnight, as well as Betty and Martha, and she followed the Heathers back to the Heather Chandler’s bedroom across the hall, and she allowed them to tuck her into the right side of Heather’s bed.
“We’ll start fresh in the morning, okay?”
Veronica nodded. “Okay. Yeah.”
For the little they spent of it, Sunday morning went well. They woke up toward the tail-end of ten o’clock, and after a nice breakfast of milk and cereal, and coffee, she changed back into her clothes—which had been washed and dry-cleaned sometime between her bath and her waking up. By the time the Heathers dropped her off at her house at about noon, she felt both sad and disappointed it was over. It was like she’d reached an epiphany in a dream, and just before she could put the knowledge to the test, she woke up.
Retrieving her phone from her purse, she opened her message app and looked at the threads. Only two group chats: Mom and Dad, Betty and Martha. Should she start one with the Heathers, or should she wait for them to do it? They did just drop her off, so they know she got home safe...
Hmmm...
Nah. Heather Chandler was probably still driving the others home, and she didn’t want to cause an accident.
“I’m home,” she drawled as she pushed open the front door.
“Welcome back,” said Mom from the kitchen. “Betty and Martha are upstairs waiting for you.”
And all at once, Veronica’s mood lifted. “Yeah?”
“They’ve been here since ten,” said Dad at the table, nibbling on a piece of pâté toast. As she made her way up the stairs, he called after her, “Hey—Veronica, have you eaten yet?”
It was still too close to breakfast for her, but she’d eat if Martha or Betty wanted to. They were not going to believe the day—and night—she had. And it was probably going to take more than one round of pâté to get through it all.