Chapter Text
London is their sanctuary.
There is no children, no brothers or sisters-in-law, and absolutely no parents; even Evie is away, thank god, and no matter how selfish it feels, Sid can’t find it in her to care. They sit together, read together, dine together, sleep together. It’s everything that Sid has ever wanted, for them to be together like this, like any other couple might.
“Cigarette?”
Sid slips one from the case Rachel offers, accepts the light she shares soon after. There is something about Egyptian cigarettes that is so very Rachel, and Sid always finds herself yearning for the taste long after she’s gone.
She can’t help but wonder if there’s ever a time she she isn’t yearning for Rachel in some way or another. Even when they’re side by side, just like they are now, Sid wants to reach out and touch— wants to envelop herself in Rachel like the soft haze of smoke that trails from her lips as she exhales into the room that seems almost too quiet.
Sid eases herself to her feet. Shuffles off towards the phonograph in the corner and slips on one of her favourite records— a gift from Rachel, of course, the Christmas before last. She finds herself swaying along to the soft melody as she smokes, and when she turns to stub out the remains of her cigarette she finds Rachel staring up her with such glittering eyes that Sid thinks her heart might burst.
She extends her hand. Finds a grin spread across her lips as Rachel takes it, pulls herself upwards, and drifts straight into her arms. Sid instinctively slips an arm around Rachel’s waist, settling as Rachel rests her other hand on her shoulder. From there they find their own rhythm, a gentle sway around the small living room— bodies pressed tight, eyes unwavering. In Rachel’s gaze she finds everything she could have ever asked for and more; a simmering fire staring straight back at her that burns with pure, unconditional love.
“I do adore you, you know,” Sid says quietly, “I’d give anything to stay like this forever.”
She doesn’t want to sound like a brat— worries endlessly that she comes across like one, that she sounds unsatisfied with the precious time they do get together— but then Rachel is squeezing her hand, offering her a doting smile, and Sid realises it doesn’t matter what she thinks, because Rachel doesn’t see any of it. Instead, she beams straight through all of those sluggish, blackened thoughts, shines like a glittering sun through the sludge in her brain, and forgives and forgives and forgives, because that’s just what Rachel does, in all her wonderful, selfless nature.
“Me too,” Rachel admits, huffing a soft sigh as the music croons behind them.
So Sid makes every second count: smooths her hand over Rachel’s back, rubs her thumb in small, absentminded circles in time to the slow beat; pulls her in as close as she can and savours the shared warmth of their bodies.
Of all the men it could have been, of all the dance halls Rachel could have found herself in (and she had, before, with a man— but it was nothing like this, Sid thinks with a smug burst of pride), it feels something of a divine privilege to be able to hold her, here, in her home. It’s the simple kind of intimacy that Sid finds herself craving between lessons, or at the end of a lonely evening, between the visits she seems to plan her entire life around.
It doesn’t matter that neither of them are particularly wonderful dancers, either— they never really had the practice or the reason. Most of Rachel’s experience came from having her brothers— just Rupert, really— swing her around in their youth; Sid’s from moments like this, with other girls, so long ago that it feels like little more than a dream. They don’t need to be good— they don’t need to be much of anything at all, so long as they have each other.
As the music swells, Rachel leans in; kisses her slowly, softly, sweetly, tasting like smoke and peaches and cream— Sid’s new favourite things, because they linger on her lips after Rachel pulls away, as she looks at her like she’s the only thing in the entire world. That’s what it feels like, Sid realises— she does feel like the only thing: the luckiest thing, the most precious thing.
They stay like that as the song fades out— all wrapped in each other, dancing together— well into the silence that follows.