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Louisa usually knocked when she entered a room. Even if she figured it would be empty, she never wanted to inadvertently barge in on one (or more!) of her coworkers in an embarrassing situation. It would save face for both of them if she knocked.
So then, of course, her first clue that something was off really should have been the fact that she sidled on into the room without so much as a tap.
The second clue should have been that Margaret did not jump when Louisa barged in, despite her being half-dressed. No, instead she merely glanced over her shoulders, eyes half-lidded, and purred out, “Louisa, dear, won’t you help me with this zipper? I think it’s stuck; I can’t get it on my own.”
Almost automatically, Louisa stepped forward. She brushed Margaret’s long hair over her shoulder. It was gorgeous out of its customary bun, how had Louisa never seen it down before? Her knuckles grazed Margaret’s skin as she fiddled with the zipper. She, too, struggled to get it up. Eventually, Margaret just sighed. “Leave it, it’s better this way.” She stepped out of her dress, then, standing exposed in the most ethereal lingerie Louisa had ever seen. Margaret had always been lovely, Louisa thought, but had she always been this beautiful? Gracious, and her skin looked so soft.
But oh, wasn’t something odd? They had just been standing in front of a full-length mirror in Margaret’s bedroom, but now the rug matched the one Louisa had next to her own bed, and—ah, wait, there was the mirror. That definitely wasn’t right. Louisa didn’t own a mirror like that. Ah, but it was getting difficult to focus on that because Margaret’s hands were brushing Louisa’s neck the way her own had just been brushing Margaret's, except now it was her lips, and then—
Louisa woke up to the incessant beeping of her alarm clock. Right. A dream. That dream, the one that had been plaguing her on and off for several weeks. This one had been worse than usual, in a way. It went further, and Margaret was not usually in her underwear. In short, it would be difficult to face Margaret at all today, let alone make any semblance of eye contact. Hopefully she could keep contact at a minimal; their jobs were vastly different for the most part. It would spare both of them the embarrassment.
Of course God was unkind today. Louisa had had to interact with Margaret no less than five times, and every single time she was even more flustered than she usually was in any conversation. Her eyes kept darting to Margaret’s neck, and occasionally a little lower, even though it all was completely covered by her collar. No matter how uncomfortable Louisa normally was with eye contact, she usually at least made an effort to get close. But today, it was a struggle to keep her head up—and only with Margaret!
Just as Louisa was able to begin to relax—the day was almost over, then she could rush back to her suite and never speak of this day ever again—God decided to throw in one last meeting, just to spite her. Or, more accurately, Lord Francis asked her to convey a message to Margaret since Louisa’s suite was in that direction anyway, but she was certain at this point that she was destined to become as embarrassed as possible today. The other woman had to have noticed by now that Louisa was acting strangely, and the more Louisa talked to her, the more likely it was she’d point it out. But it would be okay! This was a simple message, and Louisa could relay it quickly and then go to her room and make a cup of tea and forget this entire day had ever happened. She could even call upon her ability and spend two or three weeks grounding herself so things would be better in the future. Yes, what a good plan that would be. Work would be over and she would be golden.
It seemed God really had it out for her today, however.
Louisa knocked on the door, because unlike her dream earlier, she always knocked. Margaret’s voice from within called out that the door was unlocked. Louisa pushed the handle to enter and immediately wished she had not. Before her was an almost identical tableau to the one she had dreamt this morning, save that Margaret was struggling to pull her zipper down instead of up.
“Thank goodness, Louisa. I’m stuck in my own dress, won’t you be a dear and help me?” Margaret turned her back to Louisa, glancing over her shoulder. She brushed her own hair out of the way as Louisa approached hesitantly. Louisa raised her hands hesitantly, then let them fall back to her sides. She repeated this action a few times, trying to clear her mind. This was too embarrassing, too close to her dreams. Margaret was starting to look a little annoyed. “Are you going to get it or not? You’ve been acting more odd than usual all day. Did I do something?”
“Oh,” Louisa breathed out. She had noticed. “No, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to--let me help, I’m sorry.” She fumbled with the zipper—it really was stuck—and prayed she didn’t break it or anything. “I really do apologize, I’m not sure what’s come over me today. It isn’t you, I just had a strange dream, and it’s—ah-ha!” The zipper came free, gliding easily down Margaret’s back. Louisa was so glad at her small victory that she momentarily forgot she had just introduced the one topic she would rather have not.
Margaret turned around, quizzical expression on her face. “A dream? What kind of dream could you have had that would make you act so weird around me?”
She broke into a small frown as Louisa turned beet red and stammered out “o-oh, nothing really...that exciting, honestly! It’s mostly just me, it’s not really something in particular about the dream or anything!”
The dress was slipping off Margaret’s shoulders. Louisa desperately avoided looking, glancing instead somewhere behind the other woman, but oh, gracious, the mirror was perfectly angled this way and the skin of Margaret’s back looked soft, and Louisa felt horrible for looking, and this was probably the worst moment of her life, and was Margaret talking?
“—A terrible liar, Louisa May Alcott,” she was saying. Oh dear. “I can’t imagine what kind of dream you must have had to treat me this way. Have I been that unkind to you in the waking world that even in your dreams I’m so, what, horrible that you can’t even look me in the eye?”
Damage control. Louisa needed to do damage control, and fast. She felt like she was going to cry at any moment. “It’s not that you’re horrible!” Her throat felt like it was going to close up, but she continued, probably louder than she should have been. “I’m incredibly fond of you, and I keep having strange dreams about…” She trailed off. There was no way she could say that out loud. It was too embarrassing, Margaret’s stern face was gazing at her all-too-intently. Ah, Louisa was thinking about things way too much. She needed to start speaking on impulse, needed to distract herself enough that she could just say what she had to instead of thinking too hard and ruining things further.
Margaret grabbed one of Louisa’s hands, face softening into one of mild concern. She was asking if Louisa was okay. There wasn’t really a need to respond, because the hand was enough. Margaret really was as soft as she looked, and it was all just too much. Louisa had to do something, and if she just focused on the warmth of Margaret’s hand and nothing else, it would be okay. She just had to...act on impulse. She was always most comfortable with planning ahead, for sure, but in cases like this, that led to overthinking, and then—oh dear, it was starting. Better act now.
She leaned forward a little quicker than she intended, and pressed her lips to Margaret’s. They were slightly chapped, like she’d been outside in windy weather for too long. Louisa found it fitting and couldn’t contain the quiet giggle that arose as the thought came to her.
Margaret looked thoroughly confused. Louisa couldn’t blame her. What kind of madwoman spends an entire day acting like someone is the last person they want to talk to and then not only helps her undress but kisses her and then laughs about it? She cleared her throat, brushing her hands against her skirt in an attempt to cling to a semblance of dignity. “I do apologize, Margaret. I’m not sure what came over me. These dreams have been, ah...distressing me lately. I really am sorry.”
The other woman’s grasp on her hand tightened as she pulled Louisa closer to her. “Oh, no you don’t.”
“...Excuse me?” Louisa felt like she might tear up again. Had she really done something that out of line? She supposed she wasn’t entirely sure how Margaret felt about women; it was her mistake for assuming…
“No one kisses me and then tries to say it was an accident. Louisa, dear. Tell me, honestly. What exactly are these dreams you’ve been having?” Her face was curling into a smile. She had a pretty good idea, didn’t she? Louisa struggled to respond, stuttering. Margaret had completely cornered her.
“I-I really do mean it when I say I’m fond of you, Margaret!” Was her voice always this shrill, or was her anxiety getting the best of her? “I enjoy your company, I really do!” That...was not what she meant to say at all. “No, I mean. Rather, I mean, you know, oh, goodness.” She took a deep breath, willing her cheeks to cool down at least a few degrees. Louisa felt like she would catch fire at this rate. Her expression turned incredibly serious as she finally managed, “I think you’re incredibly lovely and you even consume my dreams and I’ve been distracted by that all day.”
Margaret looked like the cat that got the cream. “So you’re telling me you’re so fond of me that you couldn’t resist giving me a kiss?” She was teasing her, even though it was certainly obvious how distressed Louisa was. Louisa nodded, more than a little hesitantly. She didn’t expect Margaret to take things in the direction she did, that was for certain. “Do it again, then. And don’t laugh this time, if you’re really that serious!”
Had she wounded Margaret’s pride? The thought almost made her want to laugh again—or was that the relief? Instead, she fought the urge and instead leaned forward once more to give Margaret a proper kiss.
As they pulled back, Louisa’s head spinning a little, Margaret murmured, “Now, what else happened in your dreams?” She let her dress slip to the floor, and Louisa felt faint, suddenly. Then Margaret’s lips were on hers again and Margaret’s hands were travelling down Louisa’s back, and—
It turned out God really had just wanted her to have a little fun.