Archive of Our Own

“You think this is too much?” Sasha asked, crowding her sister at the vanity mirror and adjusting the neckline of her strapless dress.

Fiona reasserted her space with her elbow as she opened a tube of lipstick. “How should I know? The one and only other time I’ve been to a wedding I was posing as a server and pickpocketing guests.”

Sasha shrugged, eyeing her reflection with a thoughtful frown as fiddled with the hem. Fiona couldn’t resist a roll of her eyes. It was weird, seeing Sasha in a dress she’d chosen for herself, and not as part of some scheme. A first.

It felt like there’d been a lot of firsts with Sasha lately.

Fiona pouted to apply her lipstick.

“Hey,” said Sasha, tone changing as she decided she was satisfied with her outfit, “listen, Fi, you’re… doing okay, with all of this, right?” She let her hands fall to her sides, watching Fiona’s reflection earnestly. “I mean, do you wanna talk about it?”

Fiona raised an eyebrow. Even for her sister, that was an unusual level of premonition. “Do I wanna talk about… your dress?”

“No.” Sasha folded her arms, sending her a patient-but-exasperated look. “I mean… you know.”

Fiona stared back. “I do?”

The expression turned a little more exasperated and a little less patient.

“Fiona,” Sasha said slowly, “you know what I’m talking about.”

“Sasha,” said Fiona, matching her sister’s tone, “I really don’t.”

“She’s talking about how we’re going to a wedding and you’re in love with the bride,” said Rhys. He walked up between them, stooping to adjust his hair in the mirror as though he hadn’t just said the stupidest thing Fiona had ever heard. Then, catching the turn of their expressions, he froze. “What? That is what we’re talking about, right?”

Fiona opened her mouth to inform him that it was absolutely not, and could he kindly keep his delusions to himself, please, when Sasha whacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“Rhys!” she scolded. “I told you we were going to be delicate.”

“Wait, what?” said Fiona.

Rhys straightened up, rubbing his stomach with a pout. “Delicate didn’t seem to be clicking, so I thought—”

“What?” repeated Fiona. “You think I’m…? That I…?”

It was too stupid a thought to finish out loud. Had they both lost their minds? What had Rhys done to her baby sister?

“Asshole,” Sasha chided, whacking Rhys again. She turned back to Fiona. “Fi, listen—”

“I am not in love with anyone, thanks,” said Fiona. “Are you both crazy?” She turned to Rhys. “Is your idiocy contagious? Is that what’s happening?”

Rhys and Sasha exchanged a look that was entirely too pitying for Fiona’s liking.

“Fi,” Sasha tried again. “We just—”

“Nope,” said Fiona decisively, “that’s enough of that. Both of you: out.” She shooed them with both hands, and when that didn’t work, she shoved. “I need to finish getting ready and do my hair.”

“But your hair always looks the same,” said Rhys, even as Fiona shoved him.

Fiona shut the door in his face.

Fiona had barely stepped into the venue when she got tugged aside.

On the face of it, that was a mercy; she was desperate to get away from Rhys and Sasha, who alternated between sending her sad, pitying looks, and sending each other gooey, disgusting looks, both of which made Fiona want to vomit. So she let herself be led by the elbow, and then—

“Oh. Athena!” Fiona’s voice betrayed her surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be… uh… backstage?”

Athena’s eyebrows knit together, but she didn’t bother to correct Fiona’s understanding of weddings beyond a simple, “No.” And then, “I need a favour.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Fiona took in the sight of her properly. Athena’s regular armour had been swapped for something newer, cream coloured with a purple trim. Polished but not impersonal. It suited her well, Fiona thought.

Very well.

“Fiona,” said Athena, and Fiona blinked.

“Sure, a favour,” she agreed, tearing her eyes away from Athena’s armour. “What is it?”

With deceptive ease, Athena lifted up her Aspis.

“Janey thinks it’d be strange to have at the altar,” she explained, her mouth a pensive line a she studied the chipped paint on its surface. “But I’d… feel weird. Having it far away.”

Athena didn’t verbalize the question, but as she held out her shield, Fiona supposed she didn’t need to.

“What, you afraid someone’s gonna attack the ceremony?” Fiona joked. “You got some angry exes I should know about or something?”

Athena didn’t smile.

“Yeah,” said Fiona, quickly sobering. The shield was heavy in her hands, but Fiona didn’t let it sag. She cleared her throat. “Sure, I’ll hold onto it. ‘Course I will.”

No one changed their mind, no one got shot, and nothing exploded, so by Pandoran standards the ceremony was an unqualified success.

Most of the guests looked as uncertain about how to behave as Fiona felt, which was a small relief. She avoided Rhys and Sasha, lest they throw around any other baseless and wildly inaccurate accusations. Gortys asked Loaderbot questions and got half-accurate, clinical explanations of human behaviour in return. Vaughn, for once, was wearing a shirt.

Janey beamed from ear to ear, start to finish, and Athena’s cheeks glowed pink the entire time. She said her vows so quietly that even Fiona, seated in the front row, could barely hear the words.

Two seats over, Rhys and Sasha watched with identical misty looks in their eyes. Which was disgusting, and definitely the reason Fiona felt a little sick to her stomach.

Vows were sealed with a kiss. The kiss was met with cheers.

It must be weird for Athena, Fiona thought, while others clapped. Not so long ago, Athena’d been so unable to vocalize her feelings that it’d taken a white lie from Fiona to get them to this point. Now Athena was standing in front of everyone, saying mushy, embarrassing things. Kissing in front of a crowd.

It was a big leap. Athena must love Janey very much to make it.

Fiona curled her fingers around the shield in her lap.

The reception at the Purple Skag was more Fiona’s speed.

More Pandora’s speed, really, judging by how readily people flocked to the bar, how quickly all the food got eaten, and how many additional bodies showed up uninvited. By the time dinner was over and the fancy napkin-holders had been put away, Fiona was sure the attendance had doubled.

Janey and Athena were too wrapped up in each other to notice. Fiona guessed they wouldn’t have minded anyway.

Sasha gravitated to the dance floor the second it was cleared, tugging Rhys along in her wake. Vaughn and Yvette traded criticisms of the music selection. Gortys ran circles around Loaderbot’s ankles, waving her arms to the beat.

Fiona made a beeline for the bar.

“Here,” said August, plunking a drink Fiona hadn’t even ordered yet on the counter in front of her. He nudged it closer to her hand. “On the house.”

“It’s an open bar,” said Fiona, though she grabbed it and took a grateful sip.

“Yeah, well.” Never a man of many words, August shrugged. “Thought you might want it.”

“How insightful.” Fiona couldn’t help the amused quirk of her eyebrow. “Customer stands at bar, wants drink—how long have you been in this business? All that experience is really paying off.”

“Sure,” said August, utterly unbothered by her rudeness.

Fiona narrowed her eyes. There was something strange happening here, if she could just put her finger on it. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” August grabbed an empty glass from under the bar, poured himself a drink, and clinked his cup against hers. “Just, y’know… at least I’m being paid to be here.”

Fiona considered it insufficient, as answers go. But his focus had shifted behind her, and Fiona followed it over her shoulder, out towards the dance floor.

People had cleared a wide berth around Sasha’s enthusiasm and Rhys’ long limbs. Behind them, still rocking side to side and entirely off-rhythm, Janey was whispering something that had Athena turning bright red.

Fiona’s mouth dropped open for a split second before she whipped around to scowl at August.

“That’s—that’s not—you’ve got the wrong—no.” She flapped her free hand like she was swatting away his revolting suggestion. “We are not bonding right now. About—about whatever it is you think we’re bonding about.”

“Okay,” said August.

“I’m serious,” Fiona continued. “There is no common ground here.”

“Uh-huh,” said August.

“You’re just—you’re projecting, is what you’re doing. It’s not healthy.”

“Sure,” said August.

It was difficult to argue with a man who did nothing but agree with you. Fiona glared and scooped up her drink. “Anyway, don’t you have other customers to serve? God.”

August shrugged, but he wiped condensation off the countertop and moved down the bar. “Whatever you say, Fiona.”

Fiona shook her head at his retreating back and chugged her drink.

Another night, Fiona might have used the opportunity to mingle. Networking, Rhys would call it, like an asshole. Vault hunting was a weird gig, half-competition and half-partnership. Having her name out there would be as useful as it was dangerous. The Purple Skag was full of people Fiona recognized from wanted posters.

Yet words—usually Fiona’s bread and butter—had abandoned her. Perhaps it was the alcohol, the bassline reverberating in her ribcage, or the general unfamiliar atmosphere of nuptials. Conversations felt forced, her smile stiff. She hovered on the edge of social circles, laughing and nodding and contributing nothing.

It was tiring. She wondered how other, more boring people did it regularly.

Normally at an event like this she’d be with Sasha. Even if they weren’t together, specifically, they’d be working the room, conning in tandem, catching each other’s eyes or whispering into each other’s ECHO comms. Afterwards, they’d debrief, swapping stories about the worst people they’d met and the riskiest lines they’d used. Without that reliable lifeline, Fiona felt a little adrift.

But feeling abandoned now would be stupid. Sasha was a mere twenty feet away, dancing with her boyfriend.

Extricating herself from a conversation with someone who adamantly wore a mask and talked more about his cats than anything else, Fiona elbowed her way to the quietest corner of the bar, nursing her drink. Weddings, she decided, were a little overwhelming. How was Athena handling it? Fiona rolled to the tip of her toes, trying to catch sight of her through the crowd, but she’d only spotted a blur of purple and blonde when Rhys blundered into her view.

“Oh my god,” he panted, red-faced and sweaty, “your sister is a machine.”

“What, can’t keep up?” Fiona smirked.

Rhys ignored the barbs, instead leaning over the bar and fumbling to serve himself a glass of water. (At the clinking of glasses, August looked over and glared; Rhys carried on, oblivious.)

“I haven’t danced this much since college,” said Rhys, producing a wine glass full of tap water. “I, uh, don’t remember it being this hard.”

“Maybe Sasha’ll trade you in for a younger model. A fitter model.”

Rhys flipped her off as he chugged his water.

“Just saying.” She leaned against the bar, taking pleasure in his misery. “Plenty of young, attractive options here. Bet most of them even know how to fire a gun.”

“I know how to fire a gun,” he protested. “Technically.” Rhys finished his water in one swig. “I guess you’re enjoying yourself, then.” But Fiona shrugged, and Rhys’ mood changed quickly, his face falling into a serious frown. “I mean… you are enjoying yourself, right?”

Fiona stretched across the bar herself, waving to catch August’s attention.

“Listen, Fi, earlier today…” Rhys moved beside her, his elbows on the counter. “What I said about—about—the… thing.” Fiona knew without looking that he was watching her with those stupid mismatched puppy eyes. “I was an ass. I’m sorry.”

“You’re always an ass,” she said lightly. “Hey! August!”

“You know what I mean,” said Rhys. He bumped her elbow with his. “You know you can talk about it, though, right? With any of us. We—”

Fiona ignored him; she’d finally caught August’s eye. “Hey! Shots?” She pushed Rhys’ elbow back into his own territory. “Shots?” she asked again.

Rhys pulled a face. “I dunno, I’m already pretty buzzed—”

She flashed a sickly-sweet smile. “It’ll make me feel better.”

He caved like a house of cards. “Fine.”

Fiona’s smile turned wicked.

“Make ‘em doubles,” she told August, and Rhys groaned.

August poured their shots, slid them over, and then grabbed Rhys’ empty water glass with prejudice and headed back to the sink. Fiona beamed, nudging both shot glasses in Rhys’ direction.

“All yours,” she said.

Rhys looked at the drinks, upper lip curling in confusion. “What? No, you specifically said this was to make you feel better—”

“Yeah, watching you get loaded and make a fool of yourself will definitely make me feel better.” Fiona clapped him on the arm. “Bottoms up.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes, lips pursed like he might argue.

“You’re an asshole,” he announced, and then knocked back the shots with the expertise of someone who’d spent plenty of weekends in his early 20s nursing two-day hangovers.

“Mmhmm.” Steering him by the shoulders, Fiona pushed him back towards the dance floor, grinning as he stumbled. “Better get back out there, Footloose.”

“Fiona!” Gortys’ cheer was unmistakable, and Fiona heard her before she saw her. “There you are!”

Propped against the wall, Fiona couldn’t help but grin as Gortys barrelled forward, bashing into people’s calves, her tiny arms extended in greeting, Loader Bot lumbering behind her.

“Hey, Gortys,” said Fiona. “LB. Enjoying the party?”

“It’s so cool!” Gortys agreed. “Everyone is talking and laughing and dancing and drinking and I am super glad to not have a sense of smell because I bet it smells really really awful in here!” She spun in a circle to encompass her surroundings. “Are weddings always like this?”

“Dunno,” admitted Fiona. “This is kinda my first.”

“Oh,” said Gortys, her voice pitched lower, the shades on her lenses tilting down to what Fiona knew to be a frown. “That’s too bad.”

“Huh? Why?”

Loader Bot’s lone red eye trained itself on Fiona’s face. “It is unfortunate because of your…” He paused even longer than normal. “Situation.”

“My situation?” she repeated. “What situation?”

Gortys tugged the hem of Fiona’s jacket, lifting her hand like she was whispering. “You know. With Athena.”

Dumbfounded, Fiona looked from one robot to the next. “Excuse me? There is no… no situation.” She folded her arms. “Did Rhys and Sasha put you up to this?”

Gortys and Loader Bot stared at her, unblinking. The innocence Fiona saw there was imaginary, but it gave her a pang of guilt anyway.

“Put us up to what?” asked Gortys.

“Rhys and Sasha cannot lift me,” said Loader Bot.

Fiona sighed.

“Never mind. Look, I’m gonna go sit down—why don’t you guys go challenge Rhys to a dance-off? It’ll be hilarious.” She slipped by both of them before they could argue. “Have fun.”

Someone grabbed her by the arm before she made it to the empty table she’d been eyeing.

“Where are you going? Not your style of music or what?” The finer points of Janey’s drawl were blunted by alcohol and happiness. “Come dance!”

With her arm linked through Fiona’s, she stepped them both towards the dance floor.

“Oh. I, uh.” Fiona stared in surprise at the hand on her arm. Janey’s manicure matched the accents on Athena’s armour. Athena’s hair. “Music’s great. Not much of a dancer.”

“Nonsense,” said Janey, continuing to march them forward.

Fiona stumbled after her; Janey’s grip was much stronger than she’d anticipated. “No, really, that’s Sasha’s gig, I’m…”

“Nah, I’m the bride, you’ve gotta listen to me.” Janey’s eyes twinkled. “Can’t have wallflowers at my wedding.”

“Janey.” Voice exasperated but warm, Athena moved in front of them, and Janey stopped. “Leave her alone.”

Janey’s face lit up, and her hand fell from Fiona’s arm. “Aw, c’mon, what kind of host are you? Want people to have fun, don’t you?”

“Oh, I am,” said Fiona, hands up as she stepped back. “Having fun, I mean. I’m—having a blast, I just—”

Janey shimmied over to Athena, slinging her arm around her wife’s shoulders. “I got Athena dancing,” she told Fiona, with a self-satisfied, toothy grin. “So you’re a cinch, really.”

“Hon, if Fiona says she’s fine, she’s fine.” Athena turned to look at Fiona, her expression serious as she nodded. “Right?”

Athena slipped a hand around Janey’s waist so naturally that Fiona doubted she even realized she’d done it. Side by side, Fiona could see the matching flush in their cheeks.

“Right.” Grateful she’d had the foresight to sew pockets into her suit, Fiona stuffed her hands into them and grinned. “You two tear it up. I’ve gotta go see a man about a horse.”

Vaughn joined her empty table before long.

“Fair warning: ask if I’m doing all right, and I will throw this beer on you,” said Fiona.

He blinked at her. “Why would I ask that?”

“Yes! Exactly! Thank you!” She pointed the neck of her beer bottle at him in affirmation. “Why would you? I’m fine. Obviously. There’s no reason I wouldn’t be fine. Knew you’d be the sensible one.”

“...Right.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, sipping his beer and watching the crowd.

“Dancing’s not your thing, huh? Kinda thought it might be one of your hidden party tricks. Like crunches.” She considered the fact that he was wearing a shirt for the first time in months. “Though I guess that’s not really hidden anymore.”

Vaughn laughed. “God, no. I'm armpit level with everyone, it’s like my own personal hell.” He gestured with his beer towards the dance floor. “Rhys got me into a club, like, once in our undergrad, and that was enough.” He wrinkled his nose. “Mostly I remember getting a nosebleed from a stray elbow while Rhys made out with a stranger in the bathroom.” He scratched his beard. “It, uh, wasn’t a great night.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me that—” she nodded out to where Rhys kept pace with Sasha with the skill and grace of a newborn giraffe “—was an effective way to pick people up?” She shook her head and drank her beer. “College sounds like a nightmare.”

A note of ruefulness marred Vaughn’s laugh. “I think in that context, the importance of actual dancing skill is a dwarfed by the importance of looks and charm.”

“Certainly doesn’t explain his success.”

Fiona hadn’t missed a beat, but Vaughn didn’t laugh. Even his acknowledging smile seemed insincere, and as he watched Rhys out on the dance floor, that faded too. He shrugged.

“Well, he did okay,” said Vaughn. “And he loved it. Why wouldn’t you, I guess, if you—? Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “It kind of sucked, watching him with all these other… activities… but that’s life. Sometimes the people you care about really like dancing when you wish they really liked sudoku. Or, I mean, maybe they like sudoku, too, but not your sudoku book, you know?”

Fiona felt like the conversation train had left her behind at the station. She stared at him. “What’s sudoku?”

“At the end of the day, what matters is it makes them happy, right? If they’re your friend. If you really care about them, you just want them to be happy. Even if what makes them happy… doesn’t always make you happy.”

Finished speaking, he brought his beer to his lips. His eyes were trained on the portion of the dance floor monopolized by Rhys and Sasha attempting a sloppy tango. Sasha stumbled as Rhys twirled her, they both laughed, and Vaughn took another long drink.

Just like that, Fiona found the last missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle she’d given up on years ago. Her heart thudded in her ears.

Oh, fuck, she thought.

Elsewhere in the room, a table erupted in cheers as Janey dipped Athena in a kiss.

Fiona stood so quick that the table wobbled. “I need some air.”

Vaughn’s attention snapped back to her. “Fiona, are you…?”

She pushed her way to the fire exit without a backward glance.

Fiona’s heavy breathing when she reached the alley behind the Purple Skag was disproportionate to the physical exertion it’d taken to get there. Her mind felt like a broken Echo cast, repeating the same scenes on loop: Vaughn, watching Rhys dance with Sasha and talking about happiness. The look on Sasha’s face while the brides said their vows, head nestled under Rhys’ arm. Athena, smiling at Janey across the altar.

Athena, coerced on to the dance floor but loving it.

Athena, handing Fiona her shield for safekeeping.

Athena, Athena, Athena.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, slumping against the brick wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Eyes squeezed shut, she took a breath, inhaled some smoke, and coughed.

“Not a fan of weddings?”

Yvette stood on the other side of the back door, cigarette between her manicured fingers.

Fiona hadn’t even noticed her.

She shrugged, trying to school her expression into one of casual ambivalence, a task she could’ve sworn was usually much easier.

“Me neither,” said Yvette, answering her own question. She took another drag, blowing the smoke away from Fiona. “Want one?” She held up the cigarette.

Fiona shook her head.

“First and last time I smoked I was fifteen,” she said. “Nicked a pack from some bandit while I was trying to get his wallet. There were only three left, and Sasha made me give her one. We coughed the whole way through and Felix yelled at us.”

“Smart.” Yvette tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette. “You know, I quit for six years up on Helios. Health, or whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “But hey, fuck it. Pandora’ll kill me long before cancer gets the chance.”

Fiona managed a short huff of amusement as she stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Yeah, maybe.”

Yvette said nothing else. Fiona, grateful for the quiet, looked at the cobblestone of the alley with mock interest. She wanted to scrub her brain clean of the whole night and try again. She thought of the way Vaughn had said if you really care, and she thought of Athena, mumbling her way through her vows because she loved Janey so much.

Fiona kicked at a rock with the toe of her brand new boots.

“Well,” said Yvette finally, “if you’re not looking to bum a smoke, why are you hanging out by the dumpsters?”

“Wanted the fresh air.”

“Fresh air?” Yvette snorted. “You’ve come to the wrong planet.”

Fiona rolled her eyes and took one hand from her pocket to point an accusatory finger. “Hey, you’re not native enough yet to talk shit about Pandora, all right?”

“Don’t think of it as talking shit,” said Yvette, smooth as silk. “Think of it as stating facts.”

She exhaled another lungful of smoke, this time in a neat, tidy stream between her dark red lips. Day to day, Yvette always looked more coiffed and put-together than anyone else Fiona knew on Pandora, Rhys and his titanium-strength hair gel included. All done up for a wedding, in a tight black dress with a plunging draped neckline, the effect was… something else. She looked out of place next to the dumpsters of the Purple Skag.

She looked out of place, period.

In another time and place, that air of untouchability might have irritated Fiona. Another smug Hyperion jackass, convinced of their own dominion over the lowlives of Pandora. But she’d known Yvette for months now, even if not well, and she suspected Yvette must have stood apart just as much on Helios.

“If you’re going to stare, you could at least give me the gossip,” said Yvette, startling Fiona from her thoughts.

“Sorry. No gossip.” Fiona leaned her head back against the brick, staring up to the cave ceiling and wishing it were stars. “Just a bunch of presumptuous, overbearing friends.”

Yvette raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Sounds like gossip to me.”

“It’s not.” Fiona kicked another rock. “It’s annoying, is what it is. Everyone’s acting like—like I’m some lovesick kid. Like I’m gonna go home tonight and cry to my diary just because…” She grumbled and folded her arms across her chest, scowling in stubborn silence, but the rush of words once started couldn’t be stemmed. “Even if I—even if they were right. So what? What do they want me to say? It’s not like… like…”

She broke off with a frustrated hiss, and braced herself for whatever infuriating platitude Yvette was about to spout.

But Yvette said nothing. She just took another puff of her cigarette, watching Fiona from the corner of her eye.

Fiona took a deep breath.

“Athena’s been with Janey as long as I’ve known her,” Fiona continued, when she found her voice again. “Literally, the entire time. I mean, sure, I didn’t know that, at first, and maybe if I’d—if—” She sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. She loves Janey. She’s always loved Janey. We just sat through a whole… sappy ceremony about it, and it was nice, and she’s happy, everyone’s happy, and it’s great. Everything’s great.”

“Sounds like it,” said Yvette.

“It is.” Fiona narrowed her eyes. “And I’m fine, except for the part where everyone keeps asking me if I’m fine every ten seconds!”

She raised her voice through the last bit, but Yvette stayed cool as ever, cheeks hollowed as she inhaled.

“Must be rough.” She dropped the cigarette to the ground, mashing it into the stone with the heel of her pumps. “All those friends looking out for you.”

The note of bitterness caught Fiona by surprise. She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be like that. You’re here, aren’t you?”

Yvette smirked, cool as ever, but Fiona saw something glinting beneath the surface. “As Vaughn’s pity plus one.”

“Seems like an uncharitable way to read a wedding invitation,” said Fiona.

“I’m not a very charitable person.” But Yvette dusted off her hands and smoothed down her dress. “Don’t get me wrong, I know whose fault it is. I know actions have consequences.”

It took Fiona a second to connect the dots.

“What, Helios?” She scoffed. “The only person still hung up on that is you.”

“Your sister glares daggers at me.”

“Well, that’s just how Sasha looks at people.”

Yvette looked skeptical.

Fiona groaned. “Okay, yes, Sasha’s... protective—”

Yvette snorted.

“But Rhys saved your ass, and Vaughn invited you here, so obviously those bridges you torched got rebuilt pretty damn quick.” She quirked a challenging eyebrow. “I think you can skip the pity party.”

“Pity party?” Yvette turned to face Fiona full on, folding her arms in a way that pulled the low cut of her dress even lower. The smile on her lips was sharp and cutting. “I’m only having a smoke. You’re the one out here sulking because people care enough to ask if you’re okay.”

“That’s not—that’s—that is a mischaracterization of what is happening,” insisted Fiona, taking a step closer to point firmly in Yvette’s face.

“Is it?” Yvette held her ground. “I’m just saying, there are worse things than being surrounded by friends who love you.”

Fiona opened her mouth, but for once, no retort came to mind.

It was nice that people cared. It was nice that people cared in such quantity and volume that she found herself getting annoyed by it. Not so long ago, the idea of anyone other than Sasha giving a second thought to Fiona’s well-being would’ve been downright laughable.

She turned away from Yvette and stuffed her hands in her pockets once more. “Yeah.” A lump lodged in her throat as she nodded. “Yeah, there are.”

Yvette had the decency not to remark on the change in Fiona’s voice. She stepped back, falling quiet for a minute as she adjusted her jewelry.

“You know, an ex invited me to her wedding once,” she said, after a moment had passed. “Total power move.” She gave a tiny huff of annoyance. “Bitch.”

An image flickered to Fiona’s mind of the Hyperion social scene as a trashy reality show starring rich people in scripted drama. She snorted. “What’d you do?”

“Went, obviously. Looked hot as hell. Enjoyed the open bar.” Yvette looked over, an unmistakable note of satisfaction on her face. “Fucked the maid of honour.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

Yvette hummed. “They got divorced in a year. Everyone on Helios did.”

“Aww,” cooed Fiona, “you mean the sexy atmosphere of corporate exploitation didn’t keep the spark alive?”

She grinned to soften the teasing, but from the twinkle of intrigue in Yvette’s eyes, she needn’t have bothered.

“Come on,” said Yvette, reaching for the door. “Let’s dance.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Don’t or won’t?” she asked, and when Fiona paused, Yvette tilted her head. “What are you scared of? Are you worse than Rhys?”

“Please.” Fiona couldn’t help a smirk. “Is anyone?”

“No excuse, then.” Yvette shoved open the door, and the distant thud of the music turned to a distant roar. “All right, Vault Hunter.” She grabbed Fiona’s hand and pulled her inside. “Show me your moves.”

Fiona considered herself a confident person.

Most of the time, she felt like the smartest person in the room, and in most rooms, she was. Nevertheless, when she and Yvette reached the edge of the dance floor, Janey cheered, Sasha raised her eyebrows, and Fiona felt distinctly out of place.

“I’ll be back,” said Yvette, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

Then she disappeared through the throng of people, leaving Fiona feeling distinctly abandoned.

“Fiona!” cried Janey, holding aloft a drink, her cheeks flushed from a mix of alcohol, exertion and joy. “Told you we’d get you out here!”

Next to Janey, Athena watched closely, the corner of her lip pulled into a tiny frown.

“Yeah.” A lifetime of running cons taught Fiona the value of fake it ‘til you make it like little else could. She dug deep into her reserves and pulled out a smile. “You win.”

“Doesn’t count as dancing unless you actually move, sis,” said Sasha.

“All right, all right!” Fiona’s shoulders moved up and down robotically as she smirked. “Happy?”

“Definitely,” Sasha answered. Sweat plastered Sasha’s bangs to her forehead, but that was the only hint betraying Sasha’s dance marathon. Her smile was bright and lively, and she kept one arm stretched behind her, resting her fingertips on Rhys’ chest like they were glued there.

Red-faced but just as delighted, Rhys peered over Sasha’s shoulder.

“Oh, shut up,” said Fiona.

His mouth dropped open in offense. “I didn’t even—!”

“You were gonna. I could tell. That was a pre-emptive shutting up.”

Rhys glared and raised a finger, obviously about ignore her clear instructions. “Okay, you know what—”

“All right, all right, break it up, you two,” Sasha laughed. “This is a wedding.”

Fiona answered with a good-natured roll of her eyes; Rhys pouted, but then Sasha rolled to her toes to kiss him on the cheek, and his expression turned to a dopey smile.

Like a prophecy, the image of Sasha in Janey’s dress floated to the surface of Fiona’s mind, and she felt a strange pang in her chest. She shut her eyes to swat it away and rocked to the beat, trying to lose herself in the bassline.

It almost worked.

“Come on, Pandora,” came a voice. Yvette was back, right in front of Fiona, a disposable shot glass in each hand. “Surely you can do better than that.”

She stood so close Fiona could smell the lingering tobacco on her breath. Ignoring the the rush of blood to her cheeks, the stares she could feel and the squawk she heard from Rhys, Fiona plucked one of the shot glasses from Yvette’s fingers.

“Okay, Hyperion, let’s see what you got.”

They did their shots simultaneously. Yvette took Fiona’s empty and crushed it with hers, tossing them both away from the dance floor. Sorry August, thought Fiona for just a split second—and then Yvette stepped even closer, put her hand on the small of Fiona’s back, and started dancing.

Yvette moved like the music was pulsing in her veins, fluid and smooth and instinctive, eyes half-shut. Her hands made cameos all over Fiona’s body—Fiona’s shoulder, Fiona’s back, Fiona’s hip and arm and hand, short-lived but firm touches to guide her into position, pull her along with the music or reel her in closer.

Fiona was mesmerized.

The self-consciousness of earlier, the awkwardness of being stared at, the dumb look on Rhys’ face whenever Fiona caught a glimpse of him: all of it faded away like white noise, superseded by the rhythm of the music and the trance of watching Yvette.

“You’re good at this,” Fiona said.

Yvette leaned close to whisper over the music. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

Then she pulled back, dancing further away, out into the centre of the dance floor.

Like a veil had been lifted, Fiona took stock of her surroundings with a cleared head. Rhys and Sasha were still joined at the hip, giggling like idiots over some private joke. Athena’d finally wrangled Janey into one of the quieter corners of the bar. Inexplicably, Fiona thought of Vaughn in college, nursing his bloody nose alone. She looked around for the present-day version and saw him weaving back to a table with two beers in hand.

And then there was Yvette. Fiona watched a bead of sweat slide down Yvette’s bare neck, past her collarbone, down to the very low cut of her dress.

“Get over here, Vault Hunter,” Yvette called, the ring on her finger catching the light as she beckoned.

Fiona smirked and followed.

It was the wee hours of the morning when the music finally stopped, the bar lights came up and August’s voice boomed from the speakers.

“All right, it’s late, and you’re all drinking way more than I charged for this open bar. Everybody get out or I’m turning on the sprinklers.”

“That’s a bluff,” Sasha said to those around her. “This place doesn’t have any sprinklers.”

Still, with the mood shattered, the crowd began to disperse. Yvette disappeared from Fiona’s side like a phantom, muttering an excuse Fiona didn’t catch. Sasha made a beeline for the ladies’ room. Rhys went to bother August for more water. Janey and Athena were swept up in an endless sea of congratulations, thank-yous and goodbyes.

In the confusion and the bright lights, Fiona slipped outside and waited by the door.

She hadn’t danced that much in… well, come to think of it, Fiona wasn’t sure she’d ever danced that much. All her muscles were sore, lots of her makeup had been lost to sweat, and her feet were killing her.

She felt great. Maybe this was why Sasha liked dancing so much.

Right on cue, Sasha stumbled out the doorway next to her, cheeks flushed and hair mussed.

“I love dancing,” said Sasha, a little breathless.

“Do you? Never woulda guessed.”

“Shut up.” Sasha leaned one hand against the wall and readjusted the top of her dress with the other. “It was nice! Weddings are fun.”

“Who knew, right?”

“Yeah. I was thinking…” But either the thought escaped her or she didn’t want to pursue it, because she shook her head. “You looked like you were having fun.” She wagged her eyebrows. “Never seen you dance like that.” She swayed her hips dramatically and then stumbled, bracing herself against the wall.

“Just being festive,” said Fiona, trying to sound casual despite the sudden heat in her cheeks. She frowned as she watched Sasha struggle with the strap on her shoe. “Sash, how much did you drink?”

Sasha shrugged, smiling like a guilty kid. “I dunno.”

“Good God. I haven’t seen you like this since you got into Felix’s absinthe.”

“That was your fault! You dared me!” said Sasha, but then she pouted in repentance. “That was bad.”

“I remember. You spent your fourteenth birthday throwing up. Felix was so mad he said we were going to eat the cake without you. I made fun of you all day.”

“But you held my hair back.” Sasha looked smug. “And saved me a piece of cake.”

And then she giggled again.

A truly drunk Sasha was a sight usually reserved for a select few—Fiona, mostly. For Sasha to let herself be so vulnerable in a big group was new, too. Another item in the list.

Like the rest of the new things, it was good. It was. Even if something about it hung heavy in Fiona’s heart.

“Yeah, well. Someone had to look out for you.” Fiona jerked her head back towards the Purple Skag. “None of these jerks were around yet.”

“Our friends.” The correction was made in jest, but Sasha suddenly looked very serious, gripping Fiona’s shoulder. “Fiona, we have friends now.” Her eyes widened. “I have a—a—”

“Pet idiot?” suggested Fiona. But she grinned. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself, sis.”

“I am,” said Sasha gravely. “I am. Fi, I’m—I’m really happy.” It sounded like she surprised herself by saying it. She took hold of Fiona’s other shoulder too, a mix of emphasis and balance. “But I want you to be happy too.”

Something twisted in Fiona’s chest. She wrapped her hands around Sasha’s wrists and looked her level in the eye.

“Sash, I’m not unhappy,” she said. “Really, I’m not. I’m okay. I had a good time tonight.”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I did!” Fiona insisted. “Eventually.”

Sasha scrutinized Fiona’s face intently, her grip still tight. She seemed to be thinking very hard. Then she said, “I told Rhys he was my best friend, but I lied. He’s not. You are.”

Fiona couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Wow. Never trust a con, huh?”

“I said it was different, ‘cause you’re my sister, but it’s not.” Sasha frowned a little as she thought it through. “Or maybe it is. But—the point is—”

“Sasha, you really don’t have to—”

“You took care of me for so long. You never stopped.” Sasha’s grip on Fiona’s shoulders was almost painful. “I want—I want to do that for you—”

Fiona fidgeted. “I don’t need help with… with this—”

“You always say that,” Sasha protested.

“Well, I mean it this time.” But she quailed under the intensity of Sasha’s stare and sighed. “Look, there’s just… a lot of… stuff. To get used to. But I am. I will. And I think I’ve gotta do it on my own.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Sasha studied her for another long moment before she nodded. “Good.”

“Man, nothing makes you realize how bad it smelled in there quite like stepping outside and realizing the streets of Hollow Point smell better,” said Rhys, emerging from the bar with a wrinkled nose. He turned to Sasha and Fiona, evidently unbothered by the Sasha’s death grip on her sister. “Ready to go?”

Sasha’s eyes lit up and she let go of Fiona. “Hey, it’s my pet idiot.” She grinned from ear to ear, finally releasing Fiona and walking back on unsteady feet. “Let’s go home. I want a snack.”

“A snack?” Rhys laughed. With several of his top buttons undone and his hair beginning to break free from its thick layer of gel, he looked exhausted but alert. Fiona wondered where all those shots had gone in his stupid giant body. “Sash, it’s the middle of the night. We need to go to bed. I’m about to discover a new level of tired, which is honestly not a discovery I was looking forward to at this stage of my life.”

“I’m hungry!” Sasha called, skipping ahead several steps. “Come on—”

Fiona saw what was about to happen a second before it did: Sasha tripped over her own feet on the cobblestone and fell forward. Fiona moved on instinct, leaping forward—

But Rhys was closer and faster. He grabbed Sasha by the waist before she could faceplant, pulling her upright and holding her steady. Fiona’s outstretched arm returned to her side.

“Jeeze, maybe we do need to get you some food,” said Rhys while Sasha laughed. He kept his arm snug around her hips for balance. “How did you get this drunk?”

Sasha gave an answer that Fiona, several paces behind, couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter anyway; the conversation had moved on without her.

Someone else could hold back Sasha’s hair tomorrow. Maybe that was all right.

She was about to start after them when something touched her shoulder.

“Fiona,” came Athena’s voice. “Good. I thought I’d missed you.”

Fiona looked down at Athena’s hand, and Athena moved it immediately. Fiona swallowed.

“Nah, just heading out now.” She turned to face Athena properly, hands in her pockets. “Congrats, by the way. It was great. Everyone had a great time.”

Athena’s smile was small and shy. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “I meant to say, earlier—the ceremony—my shield, thanks for—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

But Athena pushed on. “It was nice, knowing it was with someone I trusted.”

Fiona’s heart beat feebly. She shook her head. “Seriously, don’t mention it, that was like, the easiest job I’ve ever done. Didn’t have to throw it at anyone or anything.” She considered it. “Which is kind of a shame. Uh, no offense.”

“I’m glad you were here,” Athena blurted, cheeks pink. “All of you, I mean, but I…” She took a breath. “I’m glad I took that job from Felix. Not just because… because of... ”

Athena struggled for words again, looking down at the new ring on her left hand as though it would help. Fiona wanted to help, to put Athena out of her misery, but it was difficult to think over the thud of her own heart in her ears.

“I’m not good with people,” Athena continued. “Or relationships. Any kind of relationship. Atlas…” She shook her head, then collected herself again. “Like you said. I’m bad at conversation.”

Fiona’s laugh was strangled. That damn biodome felt like a lifetime ago. “Athena—”

“No, you were right. I am.” Athena’s gaze was kind unflinching. “Words come easy to you.”

Fiona looked down at her shoes.

“Not always,” she said quietly.

“You knew what to say to Janey, when I was gone. You knew what to say to her before I did.”

I needed her to build the rocket, Fiona thought of saying. It wasn’t about you or her at all. It was about what I wanted. It was selfish.

Manipulation. A means to an end. Sometimes it felt like those were the only reasons Fiona ever spoke.

She forced herself to nod instead.

“I owe you for that,” said Athena, undeterred. She let out a long breath. “We might not be here if you hadn’t.”

Fiona forced herself not to linger on the possibility. Jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached, she shook her head and met Athena’s eyes. “You would be.”

Athena was unconvinced.

“You would,” Fiona insisted. It was an important point, one she had to get across lest her imagination run to ruin. “You’d have gotten there on your own, one day, one way or another.” Hidden in her pockets, her nails bit into the palm of her hand. “You love her.”

“Yes,” Athena admitted. “But…” She smiled, small and apologetic. “It’s hard. Being honest.”

Fiona laughed again, watery and genuine. “Tell me about it.” Throat closing up like a vice, she sniffed and nodded towards the building. “You should probably get back to Janey. Get started on that happily ever after I’ve heard so much about.”

As often happened when Janey’s name was mentioned, Athena smiled. “Yeah.” She stepped back into the Skag but lingered for a second before adding, “You’re a good friend, Fiona. You should know that. I’m glad I got to know you.”

For a second, Fiona felt lightheaded.

She recovered quickly. She had to. You wouldn’t get far on Pandora without your head in the game.

“Hey, me too,” she said. “And not just because I’d be, like, totally dead six times over if I hadn’t.” She freed one hand from her pocket only to wave it awkwardly. “You, um. You taught me a lot.”

It was impossible to tell if the knowing look in Athena’s eyes was mere fantasy. She gave Fiona one last nod. “Have a good night, Fiona. I’ll see you around.”

Then Athena vanished to go find her wife.

Fiona let out a long breath after Athena left, running a shaky hand through her hair. Vaughn was right, she told herself. Athena was happy, which was the important thing. So was Janey. So were Sasha and Rhys.

Fiona was happy for them—or at least she would be, eventually. Maybe even someday soon.

She dabbed at her stinging eyes delicately with the pad of her thumb, careful not to smear her makeup. Rhys and Sasha had disappeared from sight, but that was fine; they could look after each other. Besides, walking alone might do her good, Fiona reasoned. Clear her head.

Setting her shoulders, she turned away from the Purple Skag and started down the road home.

“Hey, Vault Hunter!”

Yvette caught up to her with surprising speed, given her choice of footwear. For all her dancing, she still looked put together. It was a marvel. Fiona wondered if that’s where she’d been the past twenty minutes.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll start to think you forgot my real name,” said Fiona.

“Thought you’d like it. Sounds important.”

“It sounds like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie. You found a vault. I was there.” She bumped her hip against Fiona’s. “Anyway, I have a job for you.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmm. I can offer you ten dollars and…” Yvette fished the pack of cigarettes out of her bra and peeked inside “...three cigarettes if you escort me to the nearest fast travel station.” Her eyes darted around the street suspiciously. “I don’t care to be alone out here.”

Fiona laughed. “Sorry, Hyperion. Nearest fast travel’s three hours from here. Think you’re gonna need more cigarettes.” Then she frowned. “Wait, where’s Vaughn?”

Yvette jabbed her thumb back towards the bar. “Hit it off with that guy in the weird mask. Wallflowers United, or something.” She lit one of her remaining cigarettes and tucked the rest back into her bra. “Felt rude to interrupt.”

“Oh!” Fiona’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh. Well. Good for him.”

Yvette groaned theatrically. “You’re telling me. I’ve been trying to set Vaughn up with someone for four years.” She took a drag from her cigarette. “I’ll set off a goddamn confetti cannon.” She paused. “Well, assuming I don’t get mugged on the way home. Then I’d be pretty mad.”

“Oh, relax, it’s Hollow Point, and right now it’s crawling with vault hunters. You’re fine. Besides, you’re with me.” Fiona popped her collar. “I’ve got cred here.” She nudged Yvette with her elbow. “I used to have wanted posters.”

“Woooow.” Yvette’s sarcasm stretched the word beyond credulity. “A wanted woman.”

“It’s true. Bounty and everything.”

Yvette snorted dismissively, but her lips twitched into a smile around her cigarette. “A Pandoran brag if I ever heard one.” She arched one eyebrow, giving Fiona an appraising once-over that sent a shiver down her spine. “Maybe I should turn you in. I could use some cash.”

“Please. You couldn’t take me.”

“I could give it a shot.”

Yvette stopped walking. Acting on instinct, Fiona did too. As they stood there, facing each other, Fiona saw two possibilities spread out before her. The first was to keep walking. Play it off with a joke and carry on.

Fiona decided immediately she preferred the second. She stepped closer, reached out and kissed Yvette.

Fiona was out of practice—and out on a limb—so it was a short affair, too brief for even her heartbeat to catch up. But Yvette smiled as Fiona pulled away, and then rolled her eyes.

“God, finally,” she said. “I was starting to think I needed to write it on my forehead.” One of her hands found its way to Fiona’s hip. “Aren’t con artists supposed to be clever?”

“Not a con artist anymore,” said Fiona breezily. She smirked. “And you taste like tobacco, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

Yvette flicked her burning cigarette to the ground and shrugged. “Oops.”

They moved at the same time, and then they were kissing again, deeper this time, more aggressive.

An embarrassing reality of Fiona’s life was that she’d never done much of this. Her short list of experiences had come as part of jobs: brief, unfortunate encounters she remembered mostly as tests of endurance, replete with rough hands and stubble scratching her cheek and pet names she pretended to like.

Kissing Yvette was different. It was nice.

Fleetingly, Fiona wondered if this was what kissing Athena would be like—then Yvette’s nails dug into Fiona’s hips through her shirt, and she let the thought dissipate like smoke. She grabbed the hair at the back of Yvette’s neck and tugged, and finally her heart caught up, pounding against her ribs.

Yvette pulled away first, though she didn’t go far.

“You could come crash at mine for the night,” Fiona said, when they broke apart. “I’ve got…” A sofa. A bed. “Space.”

The corner of Yvette’s lips pulled into a smile. “Do you?”

Trying for casualness, Fiona shrugged. “Well, wouldn’t want you getting mugged.” She kept her hand at the back of Yvette’s neck. “I know you desk jockeys are pretty skittish.”

Yvette smirked.

“Rhys and Sasha will be there too,” Fiona continued, “but I give it forty minutes tops before they’re both unconscious.”

“We’ve given them a head start.” Yvette stepped back, creating enough space for them to walk forward, but left her arm around Fiona, fingers spread across the small of her back. “We’ll just have to go slow.”

“Yeah.” Fiona slid her arm around Yvette’s waist and headed for home. “I can do that.”