Work Text:
It was a relatively boring and uneventful Tuesday afternoon as Mary came home from work, slamming the front door shut behind her. Marisa heard it all the way from the living room, where she sat perched in an armchair catching up on the morning’s newspaper. She looked toward the kitchen at that, with the golden monkey twitching his ears and leaning forward. They heard Mary throw her bag down and make a great racket as she moved about. Her shoes were still on, Marisa could tell, as the soles scuffled against the hardwood flooring. Normally she took them off right away and walked around in her socks.
This wasn’t good. Mary did not act like this. Something must be wrong.
"I didn't get the award," Mary said as Marisa materialized in the archway between the living room and the kitchen.
Mary’s new book had been nominated for a very old and prestigious award from a major professional organization in the field. Mary’s book was brilliant, of course, and teased together a tale of physics and shadow matter so powerful that it was impossible not to read each and every word with awe and admiration. It wasn’t just Marisa who thought so; the book had been reviewed in seven major journals and even written about in the popular press, with specialists and non-specialists alike praising its contributions to society. It was a remarkable book worthy of every remarkable award, which made this news most devastating.
Comfort her, the monkey thought then as Marisa simply stared, aware that Mary was upset. Her eyes looked puffy, as if she’d been crying, and her face looked worn-down like she hadn’t slept in days. Her posture was slouching, too, and her movements slow and downtrodden. She looked completely demoralized. It reminded Marisa vaguely of the day Lyra escaped from her flat in London, when she’d walked around in a fog and felt like she could never be cheerful again.
“I’m so sorry,” Marisa offered after a few (too many) beats had passed.
The golden monkey stomped on her foot with his hind paws. She looked down to see him glaring at her, his little black eyes narrowed. You have to do better than that!
But how? she asked. Mary had nodded in acknowledgement but continued to look sour and despondent as she rummaged around in the fridge. If Marisa wasn’t mistaken, she thought she even saw her eyes start to pool, like she was getting ready to cry for a second (or however many) times.
Do something! her daemon urged her. As if in a dream, Marisa got up and floated over to the redhead, putting a hand on the small of her back as she turned to the kitchen island. “That is really disappointing.”
“It is,” Mary said, and oh, her voice trembled. Actually trembled, as if she were trying her best to hold it all together.
Marisa wasn’t good at this kind of thing. She’d never been adept with comfort and compassion, consoling and encouraging. It just didn’t come easily to her. Her own mother had never done that and had simply let her cry and thrash around and drown in her own emotions (same as she'd done with Lyra, Marisa realized with a shudder). That was, Marisa realized as looked back on it, not exactly a good approach to such matters. But it was all Marisa knew. It was her precedent.
She got the impression that she was supposed to do something else now so she started rubbing Mary’s back softly, hoping it would feel good and provide at least a little bit of physical comfort to detract from the emotional turmoil. After a few seconds Mary turned around and hugged her. Marisa froze, listening as Mary let out a sob and then started rambling about how stupid she was being and how she knew she was a full-grown adult and these things happened but that she just couldn’t help but feel like she really deserved this award given all of the hard work she'd done and how it advanced human knowledge.
Marisa listened and offered sympathetic sounds, continuing to rub her back while holding her tight. She looked down at the golden monkey for approval and he nodded, although he still thought it was all too forced and contrived. He feared that it wasn’t genuine, and that Mary would be able to tell the difference.
But it was genuine. Marisa really cared that Mary’s feelings were hurt. There was just something special about her. She was magnetic—whatever she was doing, Marisa wanted to do it, too. She wanted to be closer to her, to feel just even a hint of the warmth she could so effortlessly radiate and bring out in all of those around her. And Marisa would kill to protect someone as sweet and precious as Mary (even if Mary herself wouldn’t approve of that). She deserved nothing but happiness and recognition and satisfaction. And the fact that she wasn't getting it here frustrated Marisa beyond articulation.
“Your merit isn’t defined by some award,” Marisa told her after they’d broken apart. She went over to the stove and started heating up the kettle. Tea seemed appropriate at this moment. It was comforting.
“I know,” Mary sighed, sinking down into one of the kitchen chairs. The golden monkey hopped up onto her lap, which made Marisa gasp. She could never quite get used to that sensation of her daemon, her own soul, so willingly and lovingly embracing another human. It was still new to her, and she still had to adjust.
“You’re one of the foremost experts on shadow matter in the world,” Marisa bragged as she brought Mary her tea—vanilla caramel. Her favorite. Just as Marisa remembered, because she was a good girlfriend. She was supportive.
“Doesn’t seem to mean anything though, does it?” Mary asked as she took the mug between her hands. “Feels like no matter what I do I’ll never be good enough for the critics and the big shots. I’m just an insignificant speck of particles.”
“Don’t say that about yourself,” Marisa let out then, her blue eyes suddenly hard. Mary looked over at her, surprised, but Marisa’s eyes only gleamed at her. “You’re more than good enough, Mary. You're extraordinary. I won’t hear you say anything otherwise.”
For the rest of the evening Marisa tried to be gentle and considerate. They ate Chinese takeout in front of the TV and Marisa was very attentive, making sure Mary had everything close at hand and topping off her drink every twenty minutes or so. She let Mary pick the programming and sat through some Discovery Channel show with her, frowning at the screen as Mary gazed at it with wonder and enchantment about all of the great (yet mundane) wonders of the world that they’d only ever see a tiny fraction of here in their little bubble in Oxford.
Soon enough Mary had too much to drink and had to be taken to bed like a child.
“Sleep well, darling,” Marisa sang, kissing the top of Mary’s head. It felt too maternal and too juvenile, the monkey thought to her, but she was trying. This was nice, was it not? This was supportive and kind-hearted and warming in the ways that Mary needed?
Later that evening, though, as Marisa flicked through the channels and found herself eternally unsatisfied, she decided that she couldn’t help herself. She pulled out her iPad and purchased an ecopy of the man's book that had won the award. It was overpriced, she thought (who would pay one hundred dollars for it?!), but she purchased it anyway. She got out her "apple pen" (a fancy new contraption that allowed her to write as effortlessly as if she were using a real pen) and began her process, legs crossed and eyes narrowed as she sat in the armchair and scanned the screen in front of her. Her daemon growled from somewhere in the corner.
When Mary woke up the next morning, turning over in bed lazily with a groan, Marisa slipped the iPad into her hands.
"Mmm?" Mary let out sleepily, her hands instinctively accepting the device but her eyes blinking slowly at Marisa. It was quite early, and Marisa realized she was probably at least a little hungover, but this was urgent.
"It's my review of his book," Marisa said, shifting to lay on her left side with her head propped up.
“Your what?” Mary asked, lifting her head to look at the iPad more properly.
“My review of his book,” Marisa repeated, practically beaming at her. “The book of the mediocre white man who stole that award out from underneath you.”
"Marisa, what do you—"
"Just look at it," Marisa insisted. She brushed Mary’s arm as she tapped on the device. “I spent all night reading it. I couldn’t just let it sit.”
It was quiet a moment as Mary held the device closer and looked down at the pretty, neat handwriting. Marisa had written out her main critiques in quick bullets, followed by more detailed commentary about the method and the analysis. She even inserted a few direct quotes that made no sense at all, and then compared them to the main points of Mary’s book which were, in all reality, much better than anything this fool had written.
"His book has 131 typos, 11 missing sources, and entire indexes missing,” Marisa let out. She couldn’t wait anymore; she felt her breath hitching in excitement. “His method is flawed and his results are not entirely accurate. I followed some of the equations myself; he's just wrong . He thus leapt to hasty conclusions and I don’t know how that made it past the publisher.”
“What are you doing?” Mary interrupted, setting the iPad down on her stomach and turning to look at Marisa full in the face. She was upset, Marisa noticed. Angry, even. The golden monkey was sitting by her feet and he too felt the tense mood of the room now and shrank back just a little.
“Defending you,” Marisa answered, her blue eyes searching Mary’s. Didn’t she understand? “There’s no way he should have won that award. His book is a glammed up mirage of a scholarly contribution to the field while your work is the real deal.”
“So you went through all this effort to show me that I lost to someone who shouldn’t have won? As if that would actually make me feel better instead of bitter and affronted?”
Oh.
The monkey jumped off the bed the same time as Mary did and followed her as she stormed out of the room. He tossed Marisa a scolding look.
I told you not to do it, he snapped at her. He had, as soon as the thought had materialized in her head the night before. But of course she ignored him as she wasn't able to let go of the idea once it'd occupied space in her brain. She'd been too committed to it.
How was I supposed to know it’d make her feel even worse?
Because you’re supposed to be thinking about how Mary would want to be comforted, not how you would! he chided. Clearly, tearing apart someone’s work is not the appropriate strategy here for Mary.
He was right. Marisa couldn’t even deny that as she laid back down, moving the iPad back over to the nightstand and staring up at the ceiling. She’d tried to help Mary. She spent so many hours reading through that absolutely dreadful excuse of scholarship to try and prove to Mary how great she was. The system was rigged—of course it was! White men always gave fellow white men awards. It was a wonder Mary was even nominated at all. It wasn't her fault; she was better than them in every way, shape, and form and she should know that and celebrate it.
But, perhaps that actually wasn’t a good way to think about things. Marisa bit her lip. Distantly, she felt the monkey agreeing. It also didn't strike Marisa as the go-to way Mary would try and understand and embrace her worth. Maybe to be “soft” and “supportive” didn’t necessarily have to include bringing someone else down. Maybe it was enough just to be kind and leave other people and their failures out of it. Perhaps it was enough to listen and to be there for them.
What a concept, Marisa thought before letting out a heavy sigh and then jumping out of bed, ready to try again.