Work Text:
Elegance
A "Parental Bonding" Fanfiction
"I'm not going to the dance."
Sam crossed her arms and glared, hoping it would get her message across. Her mother didn't seem to understand. Sam had been complaining and beating on that dumb dance for weeks since it was announced. There was no way she was going to be caught dead at that frivolous party.
Her classmates had been talking about it all week—"The dance is coming up!" "What should I wear!" "Omigosh no one's asked me out yet!" The whole fakeness of the event made her sick. The popular kids used it as a benchmark to tell who was important.
But she didn't want her life to revolve around that kind of pressure. Beauty wasn't everything.
But no, her mother only saw the Dance as a chance to dress her daughter up. "Come on, Sammykins, you'll love it," she insisted, dragging Sam across the hall and over to her closet.
Sam eyed the closet and scowled, eyeing the pastel pinks and floral dresses that comprised her mom's wardrobe. Sam's stomach churned as she imagined wearing one of those things. "For the last time, I said I'm not going to the dance!" she snapped. "It's stupid social hype, and someone will probably try to spike the punch, and no guy will ask me out anyway! I refuse to—"
Sam stopped short as her mother drew a dress from the closet. No flowers. No pastels.
The main portion was a black, lace-up bodice, a little low for her tastes but no doubt perfectly measured to accentuate her curves. Fishnet sleeves, elbow-length gloves, and a long, flowing, pleated purple skirt that sparkled like stars in the night sky.
It was… perfect.
She stared at it for some time, and when she finally looked up, she saw her mom smiling. "Do you like it?" asked her mother—Sam belatedly wondered what kind of goofy, dazed look she must have on her own face.
Before she could answer, Pamela dragged her into the walk-in closet. "Come on, let's see if it fits," she said, and Sam could only nod.
Usually, her mom had to drag her kicking and screaming to try on a dress. For this one, Sam was mostly silent, allowing her mother to slip the dress over her head and do the many straps and zippers. A part of her was just humoring her mother—for once, her mom had taken Sam's tastes into consideration instead of forcing a skimpy yellow dress on her. Part of her wanted to reward her mom for doing something sorta right for a change.
A smaller, traitorous part of Sam's mind truly wanted to try on the dress. Conflicted between loving and hating the dress, Sam chose only to sit quietly and see the end result.
Soon, Sam was standing before a full length mirror, looking at the reflection as if it was a stranger. The dress mad her feel like a different person. It flowed and wrapped and cascaded down her body, elegant and strange.
"A perfect fit," her mother said, sounding pleased. Pamela stepped away, eyeing her baby girl with a smile, and clapped her hands together. "Well, Sammykins, do you like it? Give it a twirl."
Numbly, Sam touched the skirt, lifting up one fold with her fingertips. The reflection mimicked her movements. So that's… really me? That's what I look like? She wondered. The person in the mirror stared back, shining like a dark Queen.
Hesitating slightly, she stepped back from the mirror, and spun.
The dress billowed out from her ankles, twirling through the air. She spun and she spun, feeling the cloth floating around her body. When she stopped, a bit dizzy, she caught a glimpse of the long purple dress arching around her body like a beautiful wave following her every step.
Sam had to blink at her own reflection. I—I look… she smoothed her hands against the front of the dress—I look pretty.
And that was just the dress, she realized. With a hair updo, a bit of nice makeup, mascara—she would be positively glowing. Her mother always told her she was pretty, but Sam never believed it, not until now. This dress made her feel… beautiful.
A black pit of guilt consumed her, and her eyes flickered to the floor.
Sam never thought she'd be one of those girls who liked dressing up or wearing makeup. She never wanted to be someone who only felt beautiful when she wore nice things—she was her own person! She was strong! She didn't need any fancy clothes to know that!
…How could a simple dress make her feel so giddy?
Sam turned her eyes to the mirror again. When she saw her reflection, she didn't see the girl who liked wearing combat boots and playing Doom. When she looked in the mirror, she saw—
She saw Paulina.
Sam turned. Her mother watched, breath held in anticipation, waiting for her daughter to say yes, it's beautiful or I can't wait to wear it to the dance or you're the best mom ever.
Her mom's hopeful expression was the only thing that made her bite back on her acidic sarcasm. Sam mumbled that it was a nice dress but she wasn't going to the dance, thank you anyway.
Her mom looked crestfallen, but only sighed. "Maybe another time," she said as Sam shed the beautiful dress and donned her tank top and combat boots again. Sam shivered, the felling of Paulina following her out of the room. Well, not quite—perhaps Paulina would never be caught wearing something so… gothic.
"Well, dear, if you change your mind, the dress will be in here," Pamela called, hanging the dress in her closet.
Sam looked down. "No one would ask me to the dance, anyway," she mumbled, then felt sadder, angrier, because it was true.
Her mother just shrugged. "Maybe one of those boys you hang out with will ask you out."
Sam lingered, frowning. She wasn't going to the dance. She refused to go to some stupid dance just to dress up and look pretty. She wouldn't go for such a shallow reason.
But…
Sam looked down, and then, making sure her mother wasn't looking, she poised herself, twirling in place.
She imagined the dress's trail flowing behind her as she spun. She felt like she had when she'd worn that dress. Elegant. Beautiful.
Maybe if one of her friends asked, she'd go. She'd have an excuse, someone to accompany, so they wouldn't have to go dateless. And of course, if that happened, she'd need the proper attire.
With that in mind, Sam headed out, half-skipping to her room. A small part of her really hoped Tucker or Danny would ask her to the dance.
After all, she wouldn't mind feeling beautiful again.
.