Work Text:
“Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there.”
~Bernie Mcgill, The Butterfly Cabinet
Handing her a mug of hot chocolate, Carmilla sank onto the sofa beside her, dropping her head onto the smaller girls’ lap where Laura automatically began weaving her fingers through thick, dark hair.
Humming contentedly beneath the touch, the vampire turned until her face was pressed into Laura’s stomach. “What’re you reading?” she asked, her voice muffled by the material of her oversized tee.
“The Butterfly Cabinet,”
“What’s it about?”
Laura paused for a long moment, as if considering her words. “Death,” she began, “Confession…freedom,” she said finally and, when she made no move to elaborate further, Carmilla turned in her lap, blinking up at her.
She sensed the smaller girls’ mood darkening, had felt it shifting in that direction all evening, and she couldn’t help but wonder why her usually chipper girlfriend would read such a dreary-sounding tale when her mood was already tilted towards melancholy, “Doesn’t exactly sound like a Christmas story, cutie,”
“No,” Laura readily agreed, “But it…it was the last book I got my mom,” she chuckled mirthlessly, the sound as hollow as the suddenly faraway look in her eyes, “She never even got to read it,”
She swallowed, unable to shake the feeling of trespassing on hallowed ground, “You never talk about her,” she risked, her voice uncharacteristically small.
Looking down, Laura gave her a brief, tired smile, “You never talk about yours either,”
Carmilla stiffened briefly, automatically, in her lap before forcing herself to relax, “Evil, ran a hungry light vampire cult,” she shrugged, “What else is there?”
“I don’t mean the Dean,” she said, “I mean your mom,”
The vampire frowned, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest. For some reason, one she dared not read into, it was suddenly impossible to look at Laura, to touch her. It felt like she didn’t deserve to. And the worst part? She knew she didn’t. “Oh,” she said.
It was all she could say.
The pair descended into silence.
“Carm?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,”
She shook her head, a wave of despair washing over her. The last thing she’d wanted to do was give Laura another thing to be upset about. Especially when the thing was her and a ghost long since forgotten. She turned and opened her arms, Laura barely waiting before dropping into them. “Hush, creampuff,” she said into her hair, “You didn’t do anything wrong…and this isn’t about my damage,”
“You’re not damaged,” she protested and, despite herself, Carmilla smiled.
“You wanna talk about her?” she asked, her voice as soft as the fingers she trailed up and down her spine. She wouldn’t push – it wasn’t her place, not while even the mention of her human life all but forced her into the fetal position – but she had to ask.
Laura shook her head no. “Can…can you just hold me for a while?”
“Of course,” she said, tightening her arms around her in response. “As long as you want,”
And so there they sat, curled together on the couch so tightly that it was hard to tell where one girl ended and the other began. Eventually her arms loosened and Laura wiggled around until her back was pressed to Carmilla’s front, her head on her shoulder, and their hands entwined
It felt like hours passed when they spoke again, Carmilla stirring beneath her like the cat she sometimes was. “I have to go,” she said softly into flaxen hair, reluctance coating her words as she disentangled herself from the smaller girl, “Have to stock up if you don’t want me skipping out in the middle of Christmas dinner,”
“Okay,” she said and the way her hands lingered, fingers slipping slowly from in between Carmilla’s own, showed that she too, was equally reluctant to part. “Be careful out there, okay?” The ‘hurry back’ went unsaid but not unheard and she found herself nodding sagely, as if Laura had just imparted the wisdom of the universe.
“I will,” she promised, leaning down to place a lingering kiss on willing lips.
This was usually the point in the evening when she told the tiny human not to wait up, to give up whatever pursuits kept her clinging to wakefulness, to go to sleep. But, instead, before she could talk herself out of it, she was whispering against the corner of her mouth, “Enjoy your book, Laura,”
Thanks to inhuman reflexes, she was halfway to the door before Laura’s voice rang out, pulling her up short. “Thank you,” she said, cheeks flushed beneath her wet eyes, “For the, uh,” she let out a watery laugh as she lifted the now cool mug from its place on the coffee table, “For the hot chocolate,”
Carmilla smiled, “Anytime, cupcake,” she said and, as she disappeared into the night, Laura’s thankfulness – which was based not in sweets but in love – quickened her already unnatural stride.
After all, she had promised to hurry back.