Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stay.

One of the world’s most vulnerable words when asked. It sat at the base of her throat, making it feel heavy as she debated being honest. Asking was far heavier than demanding. For years she treated honesty like it was beloved. Something to use as a standard, a shield, an invisible blunt tool, a weapon, or a way to maintain self-compassion. It took her years before she realized having compassion and consideration towards herself was like being an emotional interior designer. She hated liars. Her life had been filled with them.

The thing about Mel was she had come in, as she always did, and created chaos. Whether it was her intention or not it was certainly a side effect, though the Latina woman wasn't really aware of it.

So it became the question: ask her to stay and why try when it hadn’t been real? Truly it had taken years of processing for Abigael to realize it hadn’t been healthy. She couldn't really wrap her mind around a healthy relationship if it genuinely held her hand and said I'm not going to hurt you. Pain was unavoidable. That's what she'd learned in her thirty years of living on this earth.

It was while watching shows that had dialog that hit a little too close for her. Parts that made her raise an eyebrow like saying ‘oh hell’ when a character said “of all the things you could have made me feel I never thought cheap would be one of them”. Too relatable. But it took a backseat when Mel texted an apology out of the damn blue which left her glaring at her phone as though saying how dare you.

Then a few weeks pass and Mel seemed to have materialized in her house. It was fuzzy and Abby wasn’t nervous, though part of her thought she should be. She felt... oddly calm, even detached after she extended an olive branch and said thanks for the apology. Unfortunately, she still held onto the thought of how Mel could be in her life, even on a small scale…it was better than nothing, right?

But she decided to create a mantra and repeated a disconnected, flat inner voice inside her head Don’t have hope. Don’t. Have. Hope.

Now the shorter woman was standing at her door, a slightly nervous smile on her face that made Abby feel more settled, just as she thought oh, I missed her eyes. Bloody Hell.

“Hi, come in.”

Mel looked around, taking in her house, the wall of books, the borderline ocd, yet relaxing vibe the interior created. Dark brown eyes appraised the place, slowly taking in how the modern aesthetic was slightly there but far less minimalist and cold than her loft had been. Mel finally said hi with a cheery delivery. A little too forced Abigael thought with a barely-there head tilt and walked towards the kitchen. She wanted to create physical distance, the little bit of pesky hope a friendship was in the very back of her mind but she wasn’t an idiot.

“Do you want something to drink? Water, wine, gin and tonic?” It was hot out. Mel was in a tank top and shorts. Abby had tried for a relaxed look and went with a loose, grey tank top and ripped jean shorts to remind herself this wasn't a formal meeting.

“Since when did you start liking gin and tonics?” the shorter woman asked curiously as she followed Abby through the open house.

“Every summer, post Seattle. The drink requires sunlight. Pick your poison.” The English woman said easily, adopting a casual tone as if Mel came over for monthly catch ups.

The witch narrowed her eyes and took inventory of the red wines. Only red wines. It was after 5, why not. “I’ll have wine if you will.”

“Sure,” she replied, detached as she robotically took out the opener and worked on the cork, purposefully remaining silent to give Mel the room to say whatever she wanted or needed to express. She felt incongruent in the moment, internally a bit nervous but outwardly nonchalant. Years of cultivating the aloof attitude came back to her like second nature. She had decided days ago, before they agreed time to get together, she was going to have Mel lead the conversation. After all she didn’t have much to say to her besides hoping she was well because she knew being mean to her ex was pointless and equally important, she thought she had moved beyond it. Time and distance did wonders. Four years. Then here they were-with heavy past love and a future of doubt.

So texts had been stilted and short. Abby felt she was often, if not always glaring at her phone like it was an enemy and would sometimes take minutes to reply because her initial, visceral reply was defensive or annoyed. The peak of it came when Mel asked if she was seeing anyone. Her immediate thought was that’s not any of your damned business but she took a minute to reply well I still don’t like people so what do you think? She knew answering a question with a question would annoy Mel, even if she couldn't see her reaction.

More than anything she was hoping they could skip over awkward topics and settle into to a comfortable friendship. Trouble was the daydream wasn’t very realistic.

“How have you been?” Mel tried.

Abby worked the cork out of the opener and grabbed two glasses, the kind with stems since she immensely disliked the trendy goblet style glasses. “Overall good, you?”

“Mm. I see that. You have a house and…a cat” she finished in shock as a small cat slinked over and looked at her, more so glared like ‘you’re in my house’.

“She’s not mine.” The taller woman said as she held out the glass for Mel to take, knowing the woman would let it breathe as she continued to take in her surroundings. “Hecate meet Mel. She lives a few houses down, but her person doesn’t seem to really care about her so she was given a new name." She said as she looked at the cat who looked back at her in regal fashion. A queen acknowledging an Overlord. She thought the name was too fitting.

“Oh. You’re not holding orgies with The Susans?” Mel said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood of the room as the small cat looked up at her with her judgmental eyes. She frowned, wondering why she asked that as she watched Abby raise an eyebrow.

“Pretty mellow here,” she said with a relaxed voice that sounded more like silk and took a sip of wine then glanced at the chair, silently telling the smaller woman she could sit down. Mel caught that it wasn’t a firm answer to her question. “How’re you?”

“Good, working a lot, traveling as much as I can, trying to keep Maggie out of trouble…”

The brit nodded along, showing she was listening then took another sip of wine. Though she wanted to be tipsy and comfortable she made a point to take her time. “And you’re happy?” She asked boldly.

Mel tilted her head again after a sip, accessed the lithe woman and her body language. “You always asked that. I’m content and happiness is a work in progress,” the smaller woman said slowly...remember how behind closed doors when it was only the two of them she'd ask on a weekly basis.

“Ok,” Abby settled on saying instead of the small, unamused huff she refused to express. She remembered telling Waverly after the apology text Mel sent her “it’s more that she’s a work in progress and has been saying it for years and…I wonder if she’s actually going to take the time to do the WORK. Otherwise it’s just a cop out” and her sister nodded and replied sincerely “it’s good you’re not waiting around for her.”

The validation felt good. Foreign but welcomed as her younger sister had a softness to her voice and an undertone of support.

And yes, she knew happiness wasn’t easy, it took work, it took self-awareness to be thankful for what was in your life, it took perspective and years gave her that. Aside from her post Overlord life Abby knew she wasn’t a part of Mel’s life. No one knew about their relationship. To call it a relationship was a stretch at best, which was why Abby offered a friendship even if she had no solid idea how to go about it.

“Actually I’m trying to be good on my own…” Mel lingered off as she looked into her wine as though it were a damn wishing well.

“Good,” Abby nodded, knowing it was hard for many people to be alone and happy with themselves. By default she was accustomed to being alone with the exception of very clear boundaries and agreements in bed. She was used to being alone, though it didn’t mean she was lonely. And she wasn't alone anymore. She had Waverly and Lydia. They allowed her into her life, and she was thankful for it. On weekends she’d have Lydia over because she preferred the one-on-one time over going out.

“Yeah…my last relationship ended…badly. There was cheating and she stalked me and..” she paused as she watched the taller woman’s eyes narrow but didn’t cut her off. The only tell Abby was bothered by the matter-of-fact delivery were her eyes, though internally she was concerned and felt protective, defensive even.

“But I’m fine. Focusing on work and stability,” Mel finished.

“Ok.” The intense woman took another sip. “Good.” Mel didn't think Abby intentionally came across as intense, that it was more of a default mode, but she swallowed thickly.

“Which brings me to what I really wanted to talk about…” the witch faded off.

“Okay?” She asked with uncertainty since she figured Mel was over to catch up. The half demon waited. The human side of her had that silly, little thing which felt similar to hope, be it a far, distant relative, but it made her think they could be civil and evolve into a friendship.

“We were never really…friends…so I was thinking we could…” she paused to make sure Abby wasn’t about to drink, “have a strictly…physical…dynamic?” She ended with what was more a question and watched the foreboding woman completely stop moving. In fact, she seemed like she had stopped breathing. A beautiful statue.

……………what…..what? I think I have a neurological condition.

Finally, the half demon turned slightly and set her glass on the counter she didn’t realize she had slumped against. With deep breaths she resituated and crossed her arms over her mid-section. …..ah….

“Abby?” Mel asked softly as though trying to draw her out.

Strictly physical? Because she couldn’t offer an actual relationship? As if that's even a plausible option. Then it’s the same as before? Hidden…and secret? So how much do I not care about my self-esteem and self-worth again?

She laughed internally at the last thought. Mel had the ability to make her come undone if this was considered.

“Abby?” The seasoned witch said more solidly but watched the younger woman close her eyes.

“No dates?” She finally responded after she opened her eyes, eyes that seemed darker as she made eye contact to watch Mel shake her head, seemingly in shock that was her reply. “No relationship?” She asked and tried to make her voice sound flat and not bitter or self-deprecating as she thought ‘why would you ever think we’d have an actual, healthy relationship-like that’s an option’.

Mel paused. “Right.” She said with a little sadness creeping in.

Right. One word. One more nail in the coffin. Here I lie...six feet under with you.

“Okay,” Abby replied with an almost resigned tone as though she accepted this was how Mel saw her-as someone to have fleeting moments with. Her usual defiant tone lacking and sorely missed Mel realized. “Okay,” she said again with more strength as she sat up straighter, grabbed her wine glass again, raised it and said with some sarcasm “cheers” to another fake relationship.

Mel seemed surprised and slowly raised her glass as well and took a tentative sip, taking in how hard it was to read her former girlfriend. Not knowing where to verbally step she waited for the self-contained woman to expand or express anything.

“So,” she said with her attention at the wall and with a pregnant pause, “what are the…” restrictions “parameters,” she decided on and calmly set her glass on the table, feeling incongruent as her heart was feeling unsteady, her entire chest warming up. Mel took in the shift in tone to one that sounded more business-like.

“Um….well” the smaller brunette said with a frown, still in shock Abby wasn’t screaming at her. Not that she would but her body language usually gave her away and the self-possessed woman was like marble presently. “Um…okay…maybe give twenty-four hour notice via text? I’ll ask if I can come over…”

“I won’t go to your place?” Abby said flatly, already bracing herself for the answer she knew.

“I still live with Maggie.” she stated factually like it was a real excuse.

So do I and Hecate doesn’t like you. Abby thought with a smirk to amuse herself but hid the expression behind the glass. She took a large gulp as though to soften her next thought yup, just like before, I rarely went to her place. Middle of the night phase shifting in. Abby reached out and slowly took another sip of wine, allowing the pause to take over as she raised an eyebrow at her ex as though saying ‘sure, that’s valid’ with an edge of sarcasm. She’d gotten very good at not even having to verbalize it to Mel that the slightly older woman easily picked up on it and tried to backtrack.

“Alright. What do you want in this Abby?” She asked sincerely and openly but heard the small huff come from the brunette.

“If this is really going to happen then we don’t talk about feelings, our daily activities, or anything personal.” She said in a tone that left no room for arguing, her work voice coming through when it came to negotiating contracts.

The Charmed one frowned, not expecting the delivery to be a statement with barely concealed anger. It was there in how Abby’s chest rose up and down as though she had come back from fighting a horde of demons, but her eyes looked hard. She could have sworn in another life if Abby was a lawyer she would have said we need to sign some legal liability forms.

“Okay.”

“No staying overnight-no watching movies or tv together- no meals- no going out and meeting somewhere.” She said coldly, robotically and Mel felt her eyes going wide of their own accord as she wondered why Abby, former Demon Overlord, who could be with anyone she wanted would agree to this if this was her approach-to build her walls back up. The woman could practically see it with every sentence and with every no clause. She paused and took a deep breath. “No little gifts- there’s no need to bring anything over- no surprise drop ins.” She finished with a barely-there nod.

“Why are you agreeing to this?” Mel asked frankly, cutting her off and watched as Abby tilted her head, clearly considering. The answer came almost a minute later, a long, tense minute because somewhere deep in her chest something locks away and refuses to be shared, given, used against her. She knows the ways love can be worse than a weapon. That words can be far harsher than any physical torture. It’s simple self-preservation really, in how she chooses her words carefully and why she decides some emotions won't come to the surface.

“This is better than nothing isn’t it?” Abby finally counters in a nearly robotic tone.

“I guess…I mean…” the witch closed her eyes and thought about how to say what she wanted… “I know you’re not going to hurt me and that’s what I need right now.” They remained silent, taking in how at the end of the day Abby wasn't one to inflict pain on the woman who had every capability of harming her.

“Right.” She said after thinking: What you need. Not that you want to be with me….AND I’m convenient. Playlist to my life: cue Britney Spears’ Toxic, the dark, slow cover.

Mel could see Abby thinking but holding it in behind her monosyllabic replies. She didn’t realize her selfish reasoning served as a literal stopper from adding anything more and watched as the ever-classy woman finished her glass as though signifying the conversation was also essentially over.

“So I’ll text you?” Mel asked with a frown, still in shock and confused by the one eighty in her former girlfriend.

“Sure,” the smaller woman said as she stood up, back stiff and tense as she faced the shorter woman and watched her ex stand and look her over, a frown forming. She thought they’d talk more, that Abby might share more about her life, that the conversation would last more than a half hour…but that wasn't Abigael Jameson Caine's style.

She watched as the stoic woman cracked her knuckles in a seemingly unconscious way while she walked her to the door. It all felt surreal and rushed. The taller woman looked down at her, tried to hold eye contact and saw dark hazel eyes shift all over her face as though trying to memorize her. She didn’t want to be pointlessly redundant by saying ‘I’ll text you’ so she offered a small smile and said goodbye. Abby, of course, gave usual tight smile and nod back then shut the door.

This is going to be interesting…. The Brit thought as she took another deep breath, feeling her chest fight the expansion through the tension that settled in.

A week later Mel texted.

It was a little after 7 pm on a Thursday: can I come over tomorrow?

She wasn’t expecting a yes, but she had taken the week to think and acclimate to what she and Abby agreed to sticking to. She had thought about it at work, as she was out for a jog, when she was driving and realized this arrangement allowed her to work on her own shit, have a release with Abby, feel safe and stay on the surface after being in a bad relationship.

Almost a half hour later she got the reply: yes

It took her nearly twenty minutes to get to Abby’s, closer to 8 when she knocked on the door. She waited about thirty seconds and knocked again. No response. Mel turned the handle and was surprised it was unlocked. Slowly she walked in, surprised by how quiet it was and shut the door. Eyes scanning the room she walked through the open house and into the living room. She didn't consider herself to be a nosy person, but Abby seemed occupied, and this seemed like a chance for her to look around the house that seemed more like a home than the loft ever did. If anything, she knew her previous dwelling was a statement piece, much like her power suits.

She found herself looking at the wall of built-in bookshelves. An entire wall filled. This seemed more genuine to Abby’s personality she considered as her eyes scanned the spines and paused on the framed pieces of artwork used as bookends. Dark wooden frames that held abstract images, two seemed as though they were done by a child.

All of Shakespeare's plays in alphabetical order, the complete works of Emily Dickinson seems well worn...

Her thoughts stilled as she heard Abby clear her throat behind her. Quickly she spun around, feeling caught. Abby had on dark jeans and a white T-shirt. For a second a memory replayed of the first time they met and how casual Abby was then and the Abby before her. She almost expected high end designer clothes but was surprised. Not that she thought Abby should have put in more effort, she didn’t need to, but the present Abby seemed comfortable and more relaxed, as though she couldn’t be bothered with the façade of power, though she didn't doubt she still had it, she noted as she watched Abby lean against her counter confidently.

She very faintly heard music and tried to place it. The voice was familiar. Behind a grey curtain she saw Hecate step out into the main room and glare at her. Again.

She made a point to actively refocus on Abby though the song played on, winding its rich, haunting, deep voice through the house like a caress...

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus
When her body was found
I'd be the choiceless hope in grief
That drove him underground
I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee
That made him turn around
And I'd be the immediate forgiveness
In Eurydice
Imagine being loved by me

A thick glass of what looked like scotch was next to her, darkly painted fingertips barely touching its base as if it were a life preserver.

“Wanting to borrow anything Potion Princess?” She said annoyed, eyes narrowed after she tilted her head slightly. Old habits and nicknames die hard Mel thought and realized it also wasn't really a question.

Mel blinked back after the passing thought even her choice in music is sexy. Jesus Christ...

“I knocked…” she said gently as she watched the taller woman turn to walk behind the counter.

“Lost track of time,” the brunette said flatly. Adopting a plateaued tone again. “Would you like a drink?” She asked politely as she grabbed her glass, holding it firmly.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” she said with a frown and then shock as she watched Abby smoothly drink the remaining third of the glass.

“Okay,” she stated after placing the bottle back on the glass desk. Fluidly she came over and stood inches away from Mel who seemed surprised by the flash of want in guarded, hazel eyes before she was gently pushed against the wall, hands on her hips, Abby's body moving closer to her. She paused for what seemed like three seconds. Before Mel could even appreciate the brunette’s low cut white shirt that barely showed off the lace bra under, she was being kissed. Slow and unexpectedly with care. As if she were delicate, something worth cherishing.

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do
So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you
I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we could do
So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

The song played on. Abby pressed into her more, almost bordering on aggressively, with slight possessiveness but her lips remained patient and relaxed, an intense mix of contrasts. If Mel wasn't overwhelmed and thinking clearly beyond she tastes different she would have thought it edged on being lazy, in taking her time, taking every second in to memorize the moment. But she couldn’t think when Abby was leading her backwards to what she assumed was the bedroom as she moved her hand up to cup her jawline, her arm wrapping around the taller woman’s side to press into her lower back and guide her closer like it was second nature and muscle memory.

Her legs brushed against the mattress. She took a second to pull away and slid her hand to Abby's chest. She didn’t really need proof her heart was beating faster than normal; she could see it in the rise and fall of her pale upper body as she finally held eye contact. Eyes that were still cold, barbed wire edges practically laced in the hazel and seemed darker than before.

Don’t have hope.

“Are you ok?” Mel asked softly, pulling back, but still holding a hand against the brunette’s tense back.

“Of course,” she replied in a don’t argue it tone.

The witch watched like she was having an out of body experience as Abby twisted to a small side table, opened the drawer, grabbed a hair tie and put her dark, soft curls into a messy bun slowly, allowing Mel to take in her collar bones, her arms, and the damn black lace bra. A more mature, slightly older Abby apparently meant more lingerie. Before Mel could rise for another kiss Abby deftly removed the smaller woman's tank top, eyes scanning over her figure appreciatively, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she saw tanned skin in the soft, natural light through the window as the sun was starting to descend.

Thank the gods for summers. Abby thought, trying to keep negative thoughts back. She watched Mel lick her own bottom lip and stepped closer to her again. This time the half demon kissed her harder and let her hand wander down after Mel moaned seconds into the kiss. She popped the button to Mel's jeans and gently pressed her other hand over her chest, fingertips gliding over tan skin she missed, along the small base of her neck to guide the magical woman to lay on the bed.

Slowly Abby moved her hands to Mel's waist and pulled the jeans off like they offended her. It felt in slow motion. All of it.

A languished kiss. A soul come undone. And any semblance of self-respect being stripped away. Mel didn't see it as she closed her eyes tighter as Abby pulled back and created space while pressing her palm into the middle of her chest, fingertips barely grazing over her heart.

Standing over the older woman who sat up to kiss her again she was disappointed it didn’t last longer.

Mel could feel it before her brain recognized it. How Abby seemed like she was holding back, even as she kept touching her gently, fingertips gliding up her sides. She didn’t even realize she was frowning until she heard herself say with concern “Abby…” even as a strong hand came to gently hold her jaw, fingers pressing into the back of her neck to pull her closer.

“Abby…” she said softly and waited.

“I’m asking…very little from you,” she said softly in her beautiful accent that made her seem more refined and older than her years. She stared into very brown eyes and made circles on Mel’s hip, still touching her as the older woman could see barriers building, yet still seeking a physical connection. “Just let me have this one thing,” she finished in a tired tone. Again. The witch frowned, feeling the delivery would have been pleading if the situation were different, if Abby were willing to bring emotions into this. But she couldn't force it, expressing any real feelings was not Abigael's forte.

“Okay,” the older woman relented a few seconds later and continued her unwavering eye contact.

“Okay,” Abby replied in a serious tone then focused on removing the last article Mel had on.

Deftly and with care she wrapped her hand around the shorter woman’s leg and slowly moved her entire body between her thighs. The kiss that followed was firm, almost hard, even as her hand roamed skin, treating the rest of her like she was breakable. But minutes passed and Mel thought her lips might be fuller or slightly bruised. She couldn’t remember the last time she was kissed so thoroughly, all encompassing, with hunger and demand. But her thoughts didn’t go far as Abby started to focus on her neck, lingered around her collar bone, breathing her in until she moved down to her chest, and placed kisses down her stomach. For a second a memory flashed of how the intense woman would take her time and kiss over her heart once upon a time but had avoided the act altogether. Then all thoughts ceased once Abby nipped then kissed the inside of her thigh. A very Abby, half-demon move, sharp then soothing and oddly reassuring in its familiarity. She did it again but a little harsher then softer as if she were leaving words on her skin.

“Abby,” Mel said through her building, internal coiling, trying to work through the fog and heavy sexual tension that fell over them as it always did behind closed doors. Her hands worked on their own as she sat up and ran a finger from the English woman's jaw to her chin. She watched as Abby swallowed, eyes going from unfocused to acutely present in two seconds. Yet still reticent and weary under a fierce gaze. "Abigael..." she tried.

Don't even...Abby thought as her eyes narrowed instinctually. A nerve being hit.

“What?” She finally asked, voice low and in a thinly veiled annoyed tone that really said “why the hell are you stopping me?”

“Are you sure?” Mel asked, searching the woman’s face, her eyes flitting from eyes to mouth, to her nose with the slight freckles across the bridge she always thought were imperfectly beautiful, to her jaw that was clenched to her mouth, back to her irritated eyes.

“Bloody hell,” she caught Abby mumble under her breath then stated at her regular volume, “Can you let me continue?” With the retort Mel finally realized Abby was genuinely annoyed and though she was positioned in a way that seemed like subjugation she still managed to be in control.

“Abby what’re you getting out of this?” She watched the kneeling woman let out a small huff.

“Look” she said firmly…then her voice softened, the vulnerability of honesty working itself in “…it’s not like I haven’t thought of this a dozen times,” she finally admitted while glaring at the bed, purposefully avoiding brown eyes she could feel on her. “You always made me feel safe…physically and” she paused, holding back her constant thought of this is temporary as she swallowed…”so can you let me enjoy this?”

Before responding Mel took a deep breath, one Abby could feel since she slid her hand from the witch's hip to her diaphragm, having always liked the softness there and how she could faintly feel her heartbeat. “Okay,” she responded, slightly above a whisper and the reaction from the former Demon Overlord was immediate. The shift palpable as her hand moved from her chest to her side, nails moving down to almost painfully hold her hip and pull her forward once permission was given. The delicate way she touched Mel was gone, replaced with actions that edged on being harsh then swung to the other end of the spectrum and was gentle again, treating the witch like she was to be savored and worshipped. But Mel couldn’t think any more about the differences and changes in Abby once the complicated woman finally decided to give her full attention to building her up for an overwhelming crash and release. If she were thinking and running on all cylinders, she would have thought to expect simplicity from a complex creature such as Abby was not part of reality.

A half hour later she was trying to catch her breath, busy staring at the ceiling when she found the energy to open her eyes. Is this what a stroke feels like? She didn’t even care that she was sprawled across what she now realized were dark blue sheets. I bet they complement her eyes. Mel thought as she rolled onto her stomach and laid her head on the pillow, eyes drifting closed until she felt coldness against her hand.

Slowly she opened her eyes, adjusting to the soft light Abby had turned on now that the sun set. Finally, she looked around the room and found the source of light-a dark, stained-glass lamp, probably Tiffany's by the antique look of it with the lilac, metal stem. But before she could think about the cost of such an item, she felt a bottle of water pressed against the backside of her hand. Tilting her head up she noticed the composed woman was still in her t-shirt and holding a glass that looked like scotch again.

“Thanks,” she said, voice feeling raw and overused once she turned over, sat up in bed and twisted the cap. She was genuinely thankful Abby was considerate in secrecy. It was a side of her people rarely saw and only if they could get past her antisocial tendencies.

“Mhm,” Abby hummed and leaned against the light grey wall. The act made Mel frown, confused why she would avoid being closer to her. After drinking half the bottle Mel set it on the nightstand, finally catching the books on it. She always liked how Abby read a lot, enjoyed her alone time, looked forward to rainy days she reminisced with a tilt to her head until she refocused and caught guarded hazel eyes.

“Are you coming back to bed?” the shorter woman asked curiously, the subtext of a please very clear.

“I’m fine,” the standing woman said with a tired tone as she settled her shoulders further into the wall.

“Okay,” Mel finally voiced with a frown, clearly feeling it wasn’t okay.

“I’m going to take a shower….” she paused to smoothly finish off the remainder of her scotch and set it on the nightstand. For a second Mel thought an invite would be offered, remembering how much she enjoyed showers with her ex. The kind she was being pushed against a wall and…

“You can let yourself out?” She questioned but more stated in a restrained tone.

The Latina frowned again, feeling the disconnected tone from Abby and whiplash from the afterglow to cold. “Yeah…” she finally got out and watched Abby turn and leave the room.

Another week passed and it felt surreal she was back in Abby’s house, watching the often broody woman cup her chin in her palm. Her fingers were gently framing her face, dark nail polish on as she leaned over the table. With slow breaths Abigael looked back at her. Their text conversations were still very short, terse even. The older woman asked her if she could come over Friday night at 8 and the only reply she received was: ok

Nothing else.

When she arrived at her house she knocked with hesitation, not knowing what to expect. Again, Abby didn’t come to the door. This was starting to become concerning, she felt more than thought as she tried the door and found it unlocked. This habit of walking in, now at 8 o’clock made Mel a little nervous as she moved further into the house, scanning each room then finally making her way to the bedroom where she found her asleep. She frowned as she took in the sight. Abby had always slept on her side, her right arm tucked slightly under her and hand practically holding her shoulder. She remembered the little details, but the taller woman was on her back, content, one hand on her stomach, the other across her chest and slow breaths visible.

Gently she knocked on the bedroom doorframe and watched Abby stir, lazily open her eyes and track where the sound came from. Immediately the woman looked intense, eyes guarded and lost in thought. She had no idea the petite woman was repeating in her head a growing mantra.

Don’t have hope. Don’t share.

She pulled herself out of sleep and eventually reached out, grabbed her phone, and checked the time. Past 8. Without realizing it she sighed then softly moaned as she unconsciously cracked her back while she stretched her arms over her head. It didn’t go unnoticed when Mel acutely watched her movements and caught a glance at her exposed lower stomach as the tank top rose. Desire flashed in very dark eyes and though Abby appreciated it, she needed a minute.

“Come here,” she said lazily and pulled the sheet back. She didn’t need to move over in the full bed, she always slept on one side, odd as it was, she never slept in the middle. Closing her eyes again she felt the witch settle onto the bed, a leg laying over her own in an almost possessive way. She remembered Mel did that often when they alone, how it had become habit.

“If you’re too tired,” Mel whispered against her neck, an offer and undertone of ‘this is fine’ as she slid her hand across the exposed stomach and stilled her hand on her hip, delicately holding her. Abby hummed a soft Mmm and slowly turned on her side to face her “friend with benefits”.

“I’m not.” She said looking into close-up eyes that always seemed too deep to be real or rather too easy to be lost in. “I just want…” she looked down at Mel’s lips and slowly leaned in to give the gentlest kiss she’d ever given.

And then everything was soft and slow that followed. Light touches, sweeping, soft grazes that were almost maddening. Mel almost wanted the pace to pick up, to build faster, but Abby kept them at a steady rhythm, not allowing the witch to speed anything up even when the tanned woman rolled on top of her. It didn’t surprise her how even from beneath her Abby refused to give up control. Instead, she held onto the curve of her hips, oscillating between strong holds and lazy circles being drawn over her skin.

It almost felt like torture. Considering it was nearly two hours later she finally reached climax when Abby had allowed it, she felt exhausted. They were both bare, under the sheet and close to sleep but she wanted to keep touching the former Overlord. The entire time her ex held her hands, gently moved them away or rebuffed her attempts to reciprocate, but she was too much on the edge of sleep to question her. She didn’t even realize she had buried her face into the alert woman’s neck, her lips brushing her collar bone until Abby locked her eyes on her.

“You haven’t aged a day…use a spell? A glamour? Become a vampire?” Mel asked curiously, cautiously, and almost with an edge of resentment slipping in as she took in her features through her close-up. Abby was ironically always graced with good genetics and was annoyingly gorgeous.

She watched the English woman narrow her eyes then run her tongue along her flat, pristine teeth and replied with offense, “moisturizer actually.” Then her voice dropped. “Anything else you believe I’ve taken a short cut on?”

Mel couldn’t find words.

“I have work early,” Abby stated coldly, dismissively as she got out of bed, reaching for her silk robe. A tiny part of Mel wanted to ask what work on a Saturday morning but she refrained, knowing it was part of the rules.

A huff escaped her lips in place of her thought, unable to push it down.

“Okay” the undertone clearly not okay as she got dressed, feeling remarkably unselfconscious as Abby was busy tying her robe closed. A minute later she heard the shower turn on and let herself out.

A week went by at an absurdly frustrating pace for Mel. She thought, more so debated texting Abby again. The stress won out. Work got under her skin and she wanted a way to release her pent up annoyances.

It was starting to feel like clockwork as she reached out to Abby on Thursday inquiring about Friday around 7. She didn’t want to push the woman but she hoped giving them an hour more together might leave room for a real conversation.

Again the woman who was composed of contradictions replied back with a short reply. This time it was: fine

She arrived a little early, only 10 minutes but she was surprised to see a little girl standing in the doorway as she felt rooted to the walkway. With the pause she looked at her surroundings and took in the chalk drawings around her. She looked up again to watch whatever was happening in front of her.

“Auntie Abby, I love you.”

“Love you too Darling,” she said without any hesitation, but with pure unabashed sincerity and an unwavering gaze at her niece who stood eye level with her after Abby gracefully knelt down and kissed her cheek.

“Have courage…”

“And be kind,” Lydia ended with a heartfelt smile that matched her aunt’s. Their eyes holding adoration for one another.

“Excuse me,” Mel heard an English accent behind her and turned then stepped out of the way as the younger Jameson sister looked at her appraisingly. Guarded, but not nearly to the extent the older sister consistently was. The brunette saw the immediate shift when her eyes met her daughter’s and sister’s.

Not wanting to invade or insert herself into the moment, Mel waited as Waverly picked up Lydia, positioned her on her hip and strode back to her car, barely glancing at Mel in the process.

For a second she wondered what the hell she’d done to warrant that response but took a guess Abby and Waverly had a talk about Mel at some point given how Abby was leaning against her doorframe with her arms crossed over her midsection.

“Hi,” she voiced after she closed the distance between them and was also standing near the front door. The brunette only raised an eyebrow.

“Is that your typical goodbye? It looked almost like a ritual.” Mel tried.

“It’s ours.” Abby said protectively, as though she didn’t want to share it.

“Is it from something? It sounds vaguely familiar...” Mel said in reaching tone as if it would come to her.

“The live action remake of Cinderella.” Abby stated, putting her out of her misery from the mental search.

“The Drew Barrymore one or Brandy?” Mel replied back easily.

“Neither,” the taller woman said with a frown, pronouncing the word more with an i than e. 

“The British one. Of course,” Mel said, slightly amused and followed Abby into the house.

“Shouldn’t you flip them? Have her say to you have courage? And you saying be kind? Isn’t that what we hope to teach children to do?” She attempted a natural conversation as if she were talking to a friend.

“It’s fine as it is.” Abby said with coldness growing. Mel critiquing her dynamic with her niece was not what she expected today.

“Okay.” Mel held up her hands in mock surrender. “But wouldn’t it make sense she tells you to have courage? Courage is an abstract concept for a child.”

“She’s highly intelligent,” Abby said quickly and defensively. “And I have courage every time you come here Melanie so it would be wise if you would stop being so bull headed about this.” The words every time being stressed in her statement.

She looked at Abby then. How her hand clenched and unclenched, how she seemed at war with herself. A small part of her wished she could read her mind as some creatures could do. She would have heard:

Don’t have hope. Don’t share. Don’t allow room for more.

It took her an entire minute to realize Abby said her name. Her full name. No witty, snippy nick name. A rarity.

“Care for a drink?” Abby offered as she moved behind her counter.

“How’s the scotch? Mel asked lightly and with curiosity, grateful for the shift in conversation.

“Wonderful.” She said in a whimsical airy tone. “It’s earthy, strong yet smooth and leathery in a good way. It’s best in winter.”

Mel’s mind blanked and she swallowed. If Abby was in a commercial for her drink of choice and talking like that she’d have run out to the liquor store in a heartbeat.

“I’ll have to try it in winter, save me some?” Mel said with forced nonchalance, hinting she would still come over two seasons from now. Immediately she saw it was the wrong thing to say as she saw dark eyes narrow, shift to the glass as if it was the culprit to conversations being pushed on her she didn’t want to have.

“It’s a $200 bottle.” She tapped her finger against the rim. “It’ll be gone by then,” she delivered in a monotone.

Mel paused. “Wow,” she said in shock after the half witch’s reply.

Without missing a beat Abby shrugged from her seat on the high bar stool she had slid herself onto and replied in a detached tone “I’m a way for you to occupy your free time and have orgasms.”

Mel raised her eyebrows and sat back in the chair across from her. We're going there. Okay…

“Scotch makes you mean.” She finally stated as an observation, trying to keep her anger in check by having a purely observational tone.

“Scotch makes me honest without a filter,” she replied with a challenge and usually Mel respected Abby’s ability to always be ready for a fight but this wasn’t one she wanted to join in. “Oooh too harsh?” Abby purred. “You know I like it a little rough,” she said, making her voice lower, appealing and threatening.

“You don’t with me,” Mel said knowingly, confident that Abby was different with her than she was with anyone else. It’s what she felt set her apart from others. She saw hazel eyes soften for a fraction of a second until Abby opened her wicked mouth.

“This arrangement,” she paused through her slow, luxurious way of speaking, “you suggested has a few flaws. The most obvious question being,” she stated with an upwards tilt of her chin as she felt the scotch affect her head, “at what point do you become like everyone else.”

“What’re the other flaws?” Mel asked fearlessly after taking a few seconds to collect herself.

“This gets old and predictable as we go in circles. We get trapped and it implodes.” Abby said off handedly.

“I don’t think its going to implode.” She said with focused eyes. “And you aren’t cruel Abby, if I didn’t believe there was more to you than a quest for some sort of power dynamic I wouldn’t be here.” Mel said solidly but had that pesky degree of hope layered beneath.

“Don’t be careless with your emotions.” Abby warned, seeing it all. Knowing she’d be reactive and bend to whatever Mel expressed.

“Don’t tell me what to do Abby,” she said with a scowl, feeling the anger latch around her logic, smothering and blazing away.

“You’re here of your own volition. You can also leave whenever you’d like.” The former Demon Overlord said softly, purposefully not letting her voice drop coldly. But the bait was there. The set up created to see if Mel would leave. 

“Yeah, I got that loud and clear.” She said quickly, with anger, but she didn’t move.

“Good.”

“At what point do I become like everyone else?” Mel circled back, repeating the half-witch’s words.

“The Susans' teleport in occasionally, if you must know,” she admitted in a casual way as if everyone had threesomes with apparently gorgeous women regularly. Maggie had commented before she went to see Parker with Abby what seemed like a lifetime ago. She was surprised that was still happening. It had been years and Mel thought it oddly might be the most committed relationship or dynamic Abby allowed herself to be in.

“Okay,” she said and was shocked to find she felt it was okay. The right to have a say in what Abby did with her time wasn’t hers. And the small prick of jealousy was felt but remarkably faded as she took deep breaths. “Anything else?” Mel asked.

“Oh you’re asking.” Abby said with amusement and self-deprecation Mel couldn’t understand.

“What does that mean?” She asked defensively.

“We don’t need to talk about everything. Dissect it and analyze it to death.” A level of ennui woven into her delivery.

“Abigael, we should talk about this. It’s been…like emotional whiplash,” she found the right words but closed her eyes at what she stepped into.

“I retired the whip and as I recall never used it with you,” she said smoothly and saw a deep blush spread through the older woman, her intended comment eliciting the reaction she wanted.

“Great,” Mel said with a sardonic edge. “Misdirection. Or we could have an honest conversation.” She attempted to take the mature, high road.

“Hard pass as the kids say,” She finished with a Cheshire grin.

“We should talk. This isn’t…sustainable,” Mel tried to piece it together as she felt emotionally worn out but still stressed the word should.

“We certainly do not.” She said defensively. “And you don’t have your trusty truth serum handy…” the former Overlord said with outright bitterness.

“Oh.” She said with realization.

“What?” Abby said sharply.

“This,” Mel said pointing between them, “is about trust,” she said with more confidence, feeling she was on more solid ground. So is her bdsm she thought with a tilt of her head and watched as Abby sat up straighter, locked her eyes onto her and held silent.

Mel took the opportunity to slowly step closer to Abby until she was within a foot of her space. Tentatively she touched her forearm until her hand was wrapped around her thin frame. Abby looked up at her, uncertain and always ready to verbally lash out, to prove she didn’t deserve gentle holds.

Somehow Mel knew it wouldn’t be like a switch-that Abby would require time and a lot of patience as hazel eyes shifted back and forth over her face. The power dynamic would be there still if Abby took her to bed and Mel felt that in the atmosphere as the taller woman slid her arm away, held her hands in hers, fingers intertwining as she stood to her full height.

For a second Mel admitted she liked when Abby was seated so she could look down at her.

But Abby was guiding her to the bedroom, removing her clothes slowly in the process. She knew to let the younger woman take control but was surprised when she was only in her bra and underwear once they reached the bed. The dark red sheets and comforter looking inviting.

Gently she pushed Mel into the bed. “Now hold onto the headboard.” Her voice demanding and steel

She watched as Mel took direction and followed her command. “If you let go we stop.” The clear undertone of you touch me we stop painfully evident.

They both knew Abby wouldn’t force her hands to be bound, wrists wrapped in silk as she had done with the Susans'. Mel always had a choice.

Always a choice. She realized she owed Abby the same as she closed her eyes and abandoned her autonomy for the night.

Come morning Mel was gone, quick to leave and avoid the sting of Abby’s “we’re done here” tone. The half witch, half demon made a conscious effort to not ruminate on it. They were adults, they were sticking to the parameters she had placed and she was enjoying the control, but it took a back seat as she wandered the city streets with her sister as Lydia was on a playdate.

It had become a little habit of theirs to walk and take in the local options, talk, simply spend time with one another, and learning each other. Their elbows bumped as they each had their hands in their pockets. It still made the older sister stand, lost in thought after Waverly and Lydia would leave her house at how they came to genuinely connect.

"Okay-quick word association. Say the word you think of after my word," Waverly starts to explain but Abby cuts her off-

"Yeah yeah, I’ve got it. Go."

Waverly smirks. Her sister is too smart for her own good sometimes. Smoothly she takes out her phone to record the conversation and is surprised her older sister doesn’t bulk at the act.

The blonde Jameson considers the first word and starts with an innocuous, safe choice.

"Fall."

"House of Usher." Abby says easily with a smirk, knowing she’s already not playing the game as intended and catches the glare from her sister. "Okay, start again." She says warmly, nearly carefree, as much as Abigael gets. Her relaxed shoulders stopping Waverly from calling Abigael a nerd in public though it’s on the tip of her tongue.

"Bloody bibliophile," she mumbles and Abby gives a smirk that would make the devil blush.

"Red."

"Wine."

"Books."

"Necessary."

"Beer."

"Peasants." Abby scrunches her nose in disgust and Waverly half smiles, half smirks, easing her sister into the quick, subconscious answers while noting her pretentious attitude.

"Guns."

"Pointless."

"Knives."

"Useful." She said in a utilitarian tone.

"Morality."

"Subjective."

"Mother."

"Draconian."

"Childhood."

"Damaging."

Waverly pauses, unable to continue smoothly, feeling that answer, relating to it all too well.

“Child.”

"Yours." She said with reverence. A softness that no one would believe came from Abigael if they had just met her. The blonde smiled and for the briefest moment was awed how someone who was treated so inhumanly could be so amazingly human. She could work with this and shifted the topics.

"Lydia."

"Everything." Abby said without any hesitancy and purity.

"Soul."

"Deficient."

"Love." Abby pauses half a second.

"Earned." Waverly felt her heart flinch, if that’s what the muscle could do, she swore it had, but she tabled it mentally for later.

"Mel."

"Detrimental."

Waverly stops walking. The sudden halt forcing Abby to spin around gracefully but look at her with confusion as the blonde slipped her phone into her pocket, disregarding its importance. The apprehension and hurt betrayal slides across Abby’s face immediately. She pieces it together quickly and the tension rolls in. Waverly feels the guilt just as suddenly.

"I didn’t have a psych assignment." She says coming clean.

Abby scoffs and glares at the pavement between them.

"Why…"

"To prove a point you masochist,” she said in a tone that didn’t allow any room for arguing, but with hope under her layer of caring for her sister without overtly saying I love you. Subtext under subtext. No one could ever say the Jameson women were simple. They were British after all. And Abby never brought Mel into any conversation, as much as she could see how the witch was affecting her sister.

"You underhanded asshole," the brunette let’s out with a mix of annoyance from being manipulated and ever so slightly proud of her little sister’s ability to manipulate her. "Sowing ambivalence so early in the day." She said giving her credit where it was due with a slight raise of her chin.

"I couldn’t exactly whip out ink blots." She countered with amusement and heard Abby hum a contemplative mmm.

"We can skip this deeply uncomfortable moment and get a coffee. My treat." She said to her sister.

“Overlord of deflection." The blonde said with a teasing smile. "But I’m not above bribery." She finished with a smirk and chose not to push more. It was enough for the day. She hoped she had planted the seed.

"Lead the way Rorschach." Abby needled her, though it sounded light but forced. The older Jameson needed a healthy change.

Chapter Text

It was a rainy summer day. A contradicting, beautiful thing and Abby reveled in it. She sat on her couch with tea and a book. Any minute she expected Waverly and Lydia to show up, as they did on gloomy, overcast days like this. Instead, she received a text from Mel: Tomorrow at 7:30?

She glared at her phone then checked the weather app. It was supposed to be rather dreary most of tomorrow as well and spending time with her niece and sister was something she preferred. Rather than reply to her ex she texted Waverly if they were coming over tomorrow for dinner and what had become their tradition of an old black and white on a rainy day.

The reply came within seconds: just what I was thinking.

The grin was immediate. It was new but reassuring when her sister was on the same page, how with time and difficult conversations they had naturally fallen into supporting one another. And it felt good to be relied on for mundane, everyday things most people took for granted-spending time with family and feeling good about it, fuller after.

They arranged the time and Abby sat back in the couch, content this aspect of her life was balanced and dare she think it…when it came to Lydia it was pure. She had almost drifted to sleep until her phone buzzed.

Is 8 better? 

She gave it another glare, the poor piece of technology. Had it been living it would have taken to fleeing.

Fine she replied and picked up her book again to read: she kissed as if she alone could forge the signature of the sun.

Bloody hell she mumbled to no one and tossed the book on her coffee table-the one she bought with rounded corners so Lydia wouldn’t end up with bruises if she bumped into it. Her little niece was known for bursts of energy.

Though she wasn’t one for naps her body was telling her to settle into the couch. With a whisper of a Latin spell the lights went off. She focused on her breathing, hands resting on her stomach and chest as she felt her heartbeat. It helped to do this occasionally. Hyper focus on her heartbeat and think of nothing. Like Alice she fell down the rabbit hole into sleep.

Abigael you wicked girl. A soft, slithering voice played. She didn’t need to see a face to know who it belonged to. You think you’ve carved yourself a nice, little life here? The voice questioned slowly. You think you deserve it? It asked rhetorically and with acidity in its familiar English accent. After all you’ve done? Waverly will always keep you at a distance. You’ll hurt Lydia.

“No.” Abby said aloud and broke from her sleep. It felt as if she had swam through her subconscious to break through the surface as she noticed she was covered in sweat, chest heaving and only the sound of her labored breathing in the room. She flexed her hands, opening and closing them as she tried to even her intake and thoughts.

Fucking naps.

She resisted the self-imposed limitations that came from the voice of Francesca Jameson.

She refused to repeat anything the woman did. There were reasons she and Waverly never called her mum. It was always mother. Formal and a title that garnered emotional distance with purpose. They never talked about it in detail. Once Waverly held her hand, gave a strong squeeze that made her fingers almost ache as she apologized. The sensation in her heart made the pain in her hand pale in comparison. She wasn’t prepared for it. Even as she tried to pull away Waverly held on.

And she continued to hold on. She showed it in how she trusted her with Lydia. Abby thought of these important, intangible things as she tossed the blanket aside and crossed her legs on the couch to place her elbows on her knees.

Waverly’s real.
Lydia’s real.

She tilted her neck back and forth and heard it crack, like a sick symphony, a xylophone breaking.

Waverly’s real.
Lydia’s real.

She was slow-moving to stand as she went into her bedroom and opened the side table. There she pulled out the textbook on PTSD as the title stated. Waverly had given it to her over tea and with a heaviness that pressed against her chest. She remembered her sister so so softly saying she was there for her when she wanted to talk, that her auto-didactic ways might help her if she wanted to use the book.

The level of respect was there, in her sister’s eyes and hand that held her own and refused to let go in seeking to understand her. There was something so kind and altruistic in how her younger sister noticed her personality traits while claiming in a knowing, observant tone she was self-taught and preferred to learn hands on by herself. And both knew she had been forced to be independent and self-sufficient from a young age given their upbringing and solitary childhoods, how they had been under one roof together for years and worlds apart.

Gently she cradled the book back to her living room, careful to not rip the edges of papers and notes she placed between its pages, grabbed a pen from the drawer and sat at her desk. The bottles of whiskey clinked together faintly, almost calling to her like bells. Come escape they offered. Come come.

But Abby clenched her jaw and opened the book that served also as a sort of diary. She found a blank page and wrote with great pauses, knowing this was her process, that she couldn’t continue to hold it all in, burdens placed in baggage she no longer could carry around.

The monsters follow me into sleep. They are too human. They show me movies and put me in the crate. They whisper and sound so much like mother. But I think they’re storytellers who lead with half lies. They have their half-truths and know how to hurt with them-my memories, my demons.

And she felt better after, for having changed emotions to words. Gently she sat back in her chair and closed her exhausted eyes.

She woke the next day, twelve hours of dreamless sleep was a miracle she wasn’t going to scoff at, but she eyed the clock and it was past 1 pm. Hurriedly she got out of the oversized chair, back cracking as she removed her sweater and moved to the bathroom. She wanted to get to the store, but fresh food, a movie for Lydia and dessert. She couldn’t bring herself to bake anything since the Tomb of Chaos.

Every other action felt rushed. She let her hair air dry, the waves more prominent in the summer as she gently put the book back in her beside table and closed her desk once she was back in the living room. Her mind was scattered but she sent a text to her masseuse for an appointment as soon as possible.

By the time it was a little after 3 she had grocery bags on the counter, the movie set aside and got to work on the elaborate preparation for the meal. Usually she’d go with something slightly simpler but she really wanted the distraction. Even as she enjoyed the overcast sky and quietness she put on music with a few scrolls on her phone. Digital kids by Vicktor Taino played. Somber and melancholic in a way the half-demon could appreciate, if not because it was weighty but because it oddly made her validated as parts of the song sounded like it was in a tunnel, echoing with its primal voice and yearning lyrics.

Clair de lune played next, working its way into her bones-making her feel lighter. When she looked up again it was a little past 5 and knock was at the front door, clearly made by little hands that kept rapping impatiently. The smile couldn’t be stopped as she wiped her hands with the cloth napkin and made her way to the door after tapping her phone to turn the music off.

“Hello Darling,” she said warmly when they locked eyes and in a way that made it seem Darling was her given name. She could feel badly about ignoring her sister but they both knew it was Lydia first.

“Auntie Abby!” She girl yelled and threw herself up into a jump, unrestrained and overwhelmingly trusting as she expected her aunt to catch her mid-leap.

“Well well, we have a little wet frog here.” She sing-songed but a memory passed of “it’s the scorpion and the frog…and I always sting,” said with a warning and dark cynicism at the inevitability of it. And the voice-the voice saying again… You’ll hurt Lydia.

Instinctually Abby loosened her grip on her niece, her hands practically pulsing as if they couldn’t decide to hold her closer, secure on her hip or set her down. She finally looked at Waverly who had a degree of concern in her eyes, as if sensing her sister had a difficult time lately.

Waverly gracefully came into the house as Abigael placed her five-year-old gently on solid ground.

“You alright?” The younger woman asked and stood waiting for the answer.

“I’m fine,” she said without barbs and turned but had to turn back around when she didn’t hear Waverly follow her to the kitchen. Blue eyes looked at her with patience.

“I’ll be fine,” she said with strength, touched they’ve reached this point where they only needed to give each other certain looks. She felt a tug on her hand and looked down to find Lydia comically trying to lead her to the living room.

“What movie? What movie!” She said with a jump and enthusiasm.

“It’s on the table Darling, you can take it home with you,” she supplied and heard Waverly say her name in an admonishing tone.

“We’ve talked about this. You can’t get her presents every time she comes over. Every time she points to something you get it, she’ll grow to expect it,” the blonde stated in such a motherly tone it made Abby smirk.

“Oh please.” She elongated the last word as if saying ‘it sounds like I’m asking but I’m certainly not’.  “Its practically my job to spoil her.”

“I want the moon!” The little girl said happily, bright eyes looking at her aunt like ‘you’ll get it for me, won’t you?’

“And the moon you shall have!” Abby said enthusiastically and caught her sister’s eyes enlarge as she strode to her bookshelf and slid out the classic book Guess How Much I Love You from the top of it’s spine then held it out to Lydia who was following her.

The mini Waverly recognized it immediately and nearly yelled with glee, “I love you to the moon!”

“And back.” Her aunt finished solidly, quoting the cardboard book as though if it were the last thing she said on this earth- it would be the perfect sentiment.

“Clever,” Waverly said amused but with a slight huff.

 “What’re we watching?” Abby redirected.

“Nothing film noir,” she stated firmly, knowing her sister was very comfortable with the genre. “You have enough gray area in your life. A comedy,” she said with a ‘deal with it’ tone.

“What is it?” Abby almost grumbled, too tired to have the conversation with Waverly.

“His Girl Friday,” she smiled.

“Okay,” she said, not fighting it. “Lydia Darling-“

“You know, she thinks that’s her middle name now.” Waverly cut her off.  

There was a sense of pride with that, Abby felt like a better person for having such a good soul in her life and locked eyes with her. She looked a lot like Waverly. Blonde hair, same skin tone, but her eyes were more like her own. Dark rings around the green and golden flecks in middle of her irises.

“This is my movie?” Lydia asked, holding up Mary Poppins.

“Abby.” Waverly tried in vain for what seemed the tenth time to have this conversation with her very stubborn sister.

“It’s a classic,” the older woman turned to her and stated as though the reasoning was infallibly sound.

“Fine, but this is the last one. She has a collection here for pete’s sake,” she countered.

“Fine, then I’ll simply take her to the movie theater,” she replied quickly.

“You’re insufferable,” Waverly grumbled back.

“You too sister,” Abby volleyed back smoothly, the undertone clear ‘love you too’.

“Well, I’m famished,” Waverly said when she walked further into the open kitchen, delighted in the knowledge her sister made a wonderful meal as she consistently did.

The next two hours were spent relaxed and wonderfully domestic as they ate in the living room, coffee table moved closer, wine consumed, and a content Lydia enjoying her movie on the small, portable dvd player and big headphones Abby had gotten her. She thought she looked adorable, enraptured, and moving her feet in the air like she was about to dance.

The Jameson sisters watched the snappy dialog movie and sat satiated on the couch. It was in these still moments Abby knew she’d have acted similarly to her sister if someone threatened Lydia, that she couldn’t fault her for not coming to their mother’s house for the blade of clarity. More so now she would personally burn everything in her path to white embers if Lydia was ever threatened again, though she felt some comfort only a complete fool would do so.

Their movies had ended. She watched pensively as her precocious niece packed away her little entertainment set up and dvd back into its case as they chatted.

“We’re going camping this weekend. Leaving tomorrow.” Waverly stated and looked down at the couch cushions. She wanted to ask her sister to join them but knew better to.

“Wonderful.” She said sincerely for them and was surprised by the knock at the door and glances at her clock. Fifteen minutes early. Her back tense. This was their time. Her family time.

Waverly watched the instant change as Abby walked to the door after she picked up their empty plates and placed them in the sink, the noise seeming loud against their comfortable quiet.

“You’re early,” she said once the door was ajar, blocking the view of who was behind it, though Waverly had an idea given how guarded her older sister’s tone was.

Before Mel could respond Abby felt a tug at on her dark pant leg.

“There’s a spider,” Lydia said with slight fear as she pointed.

“Oh Darling, it won’t hurt you. Its far more scared of you,” she said gently, completely ignoring the Latina, unintentionally, but unavoidably as Lydia looked at her, simply existed near her.

“Let’s put it someplace better-shall we?” She asked, ignoring Mel, rather forgotten as she reached her hand out to take Lydia’s and bring her back to the kitchen. Quickly she took a glass from the cupboard and a piece of paper from her desk as Lydia stood, watching intently then followed her aunt back to the corner of her entryway where the spider cowered and tried to curl into a compact ball, its legs tucked under.

“See my Darling, its scared, but it’ll be okay. We’ll take it outside,” she said with such gentleness it shocked Mel who found it all to be surreal. They all watched as Abby slowly descended the glass, capturing the spider and slid the paper under. “See?” She asked as she held the glass between her outstretched hands, graceful fingers cradling the glass.

Lydia leaned forward and inspected the insect with more awe than fear.

Then Abby’s voice shifted beautifully to something beyond soft.

“May you grow into every hero, defeat every villain, and show kindness to every misunderstood monster.” She paused but said the last sentence with vigilance and empathy as if she had wished the sentiment had been extended to her.

For a second Mel remembered Maggie and Macy saying Abigael was devoid of empathy when they were going through the Perfecti’s asinine trial. How wrong they had been…

“Melanie,” she heard Waverly say contritely, with a dull edge of a protective undertone, the English accent making everything seem less sharp, lulling a person into a false sense of security.

“Waverly,” she said with a deep frown at the younger Jameson who was also beautiful, who held another beautiful Jameson on her hip. The mother narrowed her eyes at Mel who marveled how Abby had a tendency to do the exact same, honed in, intense expression. Blue eyes shifted back to her older sister.

“Waves.” She said solidly, protective of both of them as her eyes flitted between the two women. The blonde released a tiny puff of air and made her way to her car. The smallest Jameson waved goodbye, her other hand holding her new book and movie.

“Bye my Darling,” she called after her and turned to re-enter her house, leaving the door open for the Charmed one.

“Hi,” Mel said with some anxiety. It seemed she was really good at ruining nice moments Abby had in her life.

The brunette only tilted her head as she picked up the wine glasses and set them next to the sink.

“Say that to her often?” She asked curiously as she lifted her arm, hooked her thumb in the general direction of the corner of the entryway.

Long legs strode with purpose to the bookshelf with grace and poise, zero-ed in on the book, eyes not bothering to search and tenderly grabbed a blue novel. She walked towards Mel and opened the cover to turn to the dedication page and held it out for the smaller woman to hold. It amazed her Abby quoted it verbatim and seemed to have a nearly photographic memory in terms of where things were, but she was distracted by the brunette’s one eighty.

Don’t have hope. Don’t share. Don’t allow room for more. Don’t offer.

Gently Mel put the book back in its place. “Do you have a favorite?” She asked a conservative question, something she hoped would be safe.

“Depends on the genre,” Abby replied breezily, pretentiously as she poured herself more wine in a new glass, finishing the bottle she and Waverly had shared.

“Do you think you should maybe…slow down?” Mel asked, looking a little bewildered she even voiced the question.

“Why exactly,” she said bitingly. “Think I’m the English Judy Garland with my uppers and downers? Hardly,” she drawled, voice registering lower on the last word and took a generous sip. “Nice to know you’re still consistent in the judge-y department.” She leaned over her counter, looking painfully appealing as her v neck shirt showed the pink tinted blush of her skin. Wine clearly taking affect.

Mel let out a slight huff, amazed Abby could insult her and entice her at the same time. A small part of her wondered if Abby even knew she was doing it or if it came so seamlessly to her, the sensuality, the ability to influence people, the damn charm.

“No, but I do think you’re well aware,” she said stressing the word well-“you’re gorgeous and use it to your advantage. So you say things that are a couple marks shy of cruel or malicious and its somehow acceptable because you bat your pretty eyes.” She realized it as it was coming out of her mouth. “Its why I never responded when you shamelessly flirted with me,” Mel finished.

“Hmm,” the former Overlord raised an amused eyebrow. “I actually liked that you didn’t flirt back.” She finished her drink with a liberal gulp. “I loath being hit on.”

“Is that why you wear less rings? And one that looks like a wedding band?” Mel asked, in slight shock she had but more so they were having a real conversation. Wine made Abby mentally looser.

“A large part of why,” the taller woman admitted and cracked her knuckles. “A simpler life calls for less statement pieces,” she said, staring at the dark counter, to Mel, to the wall, eyes predominantly showing uncertainty more than ever and looking softer.

“Mmm. So…though I don’t have a right to ask,” Mel said, circling back, “seems like you drink yourself in a stupor before or while I’m here. Could you…perhaps try to be a little more conscious…and not indulge in the future?”

Abby scoffed, actually scoffed in a haughty, British way Mel thought was too fitting and cliché. “You’re right. You don’t have a right….but I’ll see what I can do,” she said in what she hoped was a placating tone.

The witch was shocked it wasn’t a flat-out no.

“Okay,” she replied leaving it unsaid-I’ll take what I can get.

“Enough small talk,” Abby said impatiently and breezily as she walked to Mel, invaded her space, her sense, tasting of merlot, smelling of sandalwood and vanilla. She was slowly taking in the layers of Abby as the woman kissed her harder, teeth biting into her lower lip and tongue soothing the pinch away. Inflicting and removing, just like her clothes, fast paced, clawing and grasping. Only this time Abby didn’t make her hold onto the bed frame.

Chapter Text

She hears a moan and the word harder spoken in a soft, low command. Instantly her cheeks flush but her legs had a mind of their own as she moved into the house. Abby... on her stomach on a padded table getting a massage.

What the…

“You charmed ones and Harold still don’t understand knocking,” she said with annoyance as she held the sheet to her body after she lifted herself to a seated position to glare at her, the shock of seeing her twice in the same week covered by the anger rolling off her.

She should have texted. She had knocked but again the door was unlocked. For a fleeting second, she thought Abby may as well have the door wide open for anyone to wander in and try to kill her. Break-ins were still part of the human world…

“A massage?” Mel asks in disbelief, shocked she hadn’t caught Abby in the middle of a threesome or one night stand.  

“One does require a release of tension now and again…” she replies haughtily in her refined manner.

“You could have asked me.” Mel offered with a mix of offended and thrown when mostly green eyes looked at her more guarded as though saying the thought never crossed my mind to ask anything of you. Anything that didn’t involve you getting something in return.

Again, she was glad she couldn’t read thoughts but didn’t feel she really needed to, considering the way Abby’s frown lines appeared on her forehead, how expressive she was as her eyes narrowed.

Mel blinked and stood in confusion that the man who was previously working on Abby’s shoulders had vanished.

“He can transport.” The annoyed woman stated as she twisted the sheet fully around her body and stood. For a moment the Mel wondered how Abby managed to look like a Greek goddess and debated if she was more like Athena or Artemis given her ex’s appreciation of mythology.

“Why are you here?” She asked, pulling Mel from her thoughts. An undertone of the warning-you should have texted prominent in her tone.

“Today is…it’s the anniversary of Macy…her…” she still couldn’t say passing, even the euphemism clamping her throat. As blunt as she was known for it still felt like yesterday her sister was gone.

Abby didn’t think. Much as she tried to be consistent in holding herself back, she stepped closer and closer to Mel until her arms were wrapped around the smaller woman. Embracing, encircling, holding, comforting.

Mel didn’t register the supportive hold until she heard Abby whisper something in Latin and then smelled lavender as if it was coming from the taller woman who looked at her with empathy. Cold eyes vanished and held warmth in their place.

“Would you like a shower?” Abby asked without any previous hostility or ferocity as she felt the tension in Mel. The side effects of containing grief and loss.

“Will you join?” Mel asked in a way they both knew was about not being alone more than any sort of sexual offer.

“Only if you want me to,” Abby offered softly.

She nodded, not trusting her voice when Abby was being how she was in secrecy years ago. Kind. Caring. Loving in her own reserved way.  The culmination even showing in altruistic moments when no one else in the world would see them. As though she had said once upon a time: you are the only one who will see this part of me.

“Come on, Abby said gently as she led her towards the large bathroom. With every step closer Mel felt more and more drained. She was on autopilot, mind unable to think of anything but the lack of someone good, who should be alive with her vibrant brilliance wasn’t corporeal. Only memories.

She shivered though she felt the steam and blinked through the mental haze realizing Abby had turned on the water to get to the ideal temperature.

Abby, who still stood in front of her, always touching her in some light way, a hand on her hip, calming circles tracing the inside of her wrist, fingertips telling her she was there with her. Attentive and reserved, and willing to take a back seat to Mel’s needs.

She felt herself give a slight nod to the quiet woman in front of her when she felt Abby barely lift her shirt. And it was in a slow blur Abby gently worked on removing her clothes. The act so focused and tender, shoulders relaxed as she looked at Mel’s facial features, eyes only leaving her own to look at her cheeks that caught tears. And she felt the light pressure of Abby’s thumb as the taller woman caught them, brushing them to the side to bring her hand slowly to cup Mel’s jaw, fingers pressing into the base of her neck, holding her. She pulled Abby to her, one arm around her waist, the other over a pale shoulder, hands clenching around the sheet Abby still had wrapped around her.

“It’s…” she started but wasn’t going to lie to Mel. They both knew most people would have given a beautiful lie of it’s okay. It was never going to be okay, not truly, no matter how at peace Macy was her sister was gone.

“I’ve got you,” Abby stated, finally finding words. Mel sank into them, into Abby who subtly reached up and unbound the sheet, allowing the witch to see her fully in the bright mid-day sunlight.

The half-witch opened the glass shower door and slowly walked them in.

They didn’t talk. Mel didn’t try and Abby didn’t pressure. They stood embracing for what felt like an hour. The world outside unimportant and forgotten.

She felt Abby slide her hand into hers and hold it between their bodies. Her other arm was wrapped around her hip, the palm of her hand and barest of fingertips pressing into her lower back. Not once did the woman try to kiss her. Instead, she rested her temple against her own and stood unwavering.

When the water started to trickle in with cold Abby turned off the faucet, opened the door and grabbed a towel. She held it out to the smaller woman who wrapped it around herself as she watched Abby do the same with the other grey towel after she rang out her hair into the material and shook her fingers through what was already becoming wavy curls as it cascaded to rest near her collar bones. For a second Mel realized how effortless it was for Abby to be appealing as the woman stood before her naked and unencumbered.

“Would you like to lie down…” she asked and again didn’t have any flirtatious edge as she wrapped the towel around herself, eyes never leaving hers in the process.

Mel felt herself nod, finding it all dream-like, but more than anything her emotions kept her in a trance. This time of year, she was always distracted, unable to fully operate, but somehow Abby seemed to sense it as she took her hand and lead her to her bedroom.

They stood next to the bed and Abby searched her face, asking if it was okay as she placed her hand on the edge of the towel held together at her chest. Again, with such gentleness she wouldn’t have believed if she wasn’t experiencing it Abby made her bare and didn’t bother to look down and gaze at her figure.

“If you want to get in I’ll be back in a moment,” she supplied softly with a squeeze to her hand she didn’t realize Abby had gone back to holding. But she watched the younger woman who always seemed older than her years leave the room.

Mel got comfortable in the bed, pulling back the covers and bringing them back up to cover herself, shoulders exposed and waited. She took the few minutes to appreciate the softness of the dark red sheets, the smell of them, Abby’s unique scent lingering everywhere, and she realized she was past the point of emotionally exhausted. In another minute she would have been asleep if Abby hadn’t come back carrying two teacups on saucers. Still in her towel, looking beautifully domestic and more human than ever.

She held a cup out to her and sat at the corner of her bed, settling into it, one leg tucked under her.

“Thank you,” Mel said as her voice cracked oddly. Its lack of use for the last hour and her emotions apparent.

“Mm,” Abby replied with lips hidden by the cup, the silver rim of it somehow complimenting her skin nicely, her face looking a little dewy, no doubt with a fine layer of moisturizer on Abby had bitingly mentioned weeks ago.

Don’t have hope. Don’t share. Don’t allow room for more. Don’t offer. Don’t burden.

The pale brunette sat still, small movements and hunched shoulders, unsure where to step as she considered how to be present with Mel without adding more issues to her life.

“Waverly and Lydia are busy?” She asked, having half expecting them to be over.

“They’re away.” Abby said, placing the saucer in her lap. Lean muscles rippling in her arm as she suspended it in mid-air while the dark, metallic nail of her index finger lightly swirled around the rim.

“Oh. Where?” Mel asked with genuine curiosity.

“Camping. Rather-staying in a cabin. Horrible hobby. Painfully pedestrian.” She gave as Mel drank the tea.

“Intentional alliteration?” The witch asked with a smirk and a professorial tone but caught the brunette looking far off, eye contact broken. “You never go with them?”

Apprehension. She saw it in Abby’s frown lines and tired eyes as she peered into her tea, as if it were failing her. For a second, she thought Abby would have much preferred scotch but chose differently since she had asked her…but that seemed presumptuous.

“Mmm. Wooden boxes and I don’t mix.” She held the cup’s delicate handle firmly as though admitting such a truth was an internal battle. Mel looked at her, how Abby stared, unfocused and the witch realized it was.

“If you want to talk about your…” Mel couldn’t find it in her to say the word trauma so cavalier. She watched as Abby continued to look down, avoiding, but staying as she sat rigidly.

“Perhaps another day…” she says, void of emotion, her tone solemn and withdrawn, a state she’d never seen Abby in who had so much fight in her. Since dropping the demon Overlord title she seemed more settled into her humanity.

There was a time Mel thought Abby was the exact opposite of how she presented, incongruent in what she expressed. Like the deep purple nail polish she often wore that looked black at first glance. She thought years ago Abigael Jameson Caine was devastatingly gorgeous and distracting on the outside, but ugly on the inside. And years after she'd acknowledged how untrue it was. Abby with her barbed wire around what she knew to be a delicate, paper-thin heart was beautifully guarded but not shut down from the world when it would have been easy to become subdued by trauma. Thankfully at her core Abigael wasn’t the submissive type. She was selective in all areas, but when a person met those standards…oh what a lucky creature they were. She saw it in how Lydia looked at her, how Waverly now placed trust in her.

“Okay,” she finally says without any urgency or further pushing, knowing doing so would result in another wall or moat.

They sit in oddly comfortable silence as they finish their tea and set the cups on the metal side table. Its with the clink of the cups on the solid surface that makes Mel realize there’s very little wood in Abby’s house. The doors are steel or painted over French doors that are more glass than natural wood and she feels saddened at the methodical lengths Abby has gone to ensure herself comfort and avoidance of reminders.

“Thank you.” Mel finally says and sees Abby’s deep frown lines form-nonverbally saying for what?

Letting me stay, the shower, this…

“Being you,” she decides.

She watches Abby’s chest rise and fall at a faster pace, how the compliment and everything it says wasn’t something she could have ever prepared for.

Then Mel doesn’t think as she grabs the sheet, clutching it to her chest as she shifts on the bed and gently presses her lips against a near granite Abigael.

Mel spends the rest of the night breathing life and reassurances into her.

Abby holds her for hours, giving as much as she can, as many gentle caresses she’s given anyone until they fall sleep.

When they wake Abby is clearly startled and thrown she’s still there. The peacefulness of sleep dissipates from her quickly as her shoulders tense.

Mel doesn’t know where to tread.

“Any good plans this weekend?” she asks…trying as her hand pressed over Abby’s taught stomach to rest on her hip. The light of day is making everything seem more real and acute but she watches Abby’s jaw twitch from clenching and overthinking.

“I thought we weren’t going to do personal questions.” She states with narrowed eyes.

“You’re serious? It’s just conversation Abby.” Her voice rose, back tensing as she sat up, glad she still had her the sheet covering her as she watched the brunette swallow, her long neck rippling…a small purple mark by her collar bone.

“But isn’t it pointless?” She countered in a factual tone.

And my god does Mel stop and wonder how the hell Abby can do such magnificent one eighties.

“This isn’t pointless,” she says with solidity.

“This is temporary,” she stressed the last word. “You don’t…I don’t want you to…blur lines…” do random, nice things that Make me fall in love with you again. She said with frustration, not even bothering to contain it.

“Would it be so bad if we did?”

“Yes,” she said and narrowed her eyes in annoyance Mel would even ask. “A resounding yes.” She stated solidly.

“Oh my god Abby,” Mel said, exasperated. “Why?”

“It is far too early for this.” She says with a sigh. “Because it’s a one way street.” Abby finally said after a long pause, allowing emotions to be front and center. Resignation in her statement. Begrudgingly she carried on.

Mel raised her eyebrow in a challenge as though saying how and waits. She’s rewarded for her patience with Abby’s go-to annoyed tone.

“You…you’ve told me numerous times to not push it. So I give. You take.” She finally got out, still holding back from verbally attacking the woman in front of her because it would be easy. So so easy.

“That’s the dynamic.” She said as if it was a concrete fact and refrained from her original thought that’s our dynamic.

“Prove me wrong.” She said tiredly, all the challenge gone, knowing the witch couldn’t and wouldn’t try. “I have this...nostalgic affection for you. I care about you. I want you to be happy, I think you want me to be happy,” she said the last part with trepidation since it was an assumption. “But you aren’t a good person to me, you are to others but I don’t rank...or I’m not a priority.” She said with annoyance and anger, mostly at herself for allowing so much unadulterated, undiluted honesty.

Mel tried to cut her off and defend herself but Abby felt compelled to lay it out-all or nothing and all else be damned.

“You don’t care about my consent. You’ve given me truth serum-multiple times! You’ve used me when it’s benefited you, you’ve come to me when it’s convenient.” She said the last word bitterly.

“I didn’t do that, Maggie did and-”

“You certainly didn’t condone it,” Abby says-cutting her off.

“I haven’t used you,” Mel counters, getting comfortable on her high horse.

“You’re using me now,” Abby says without looking at her and though she can’t see pale hands beneath the sheets she can see an outline of a fist. “You haven’t even honored the agreement you put in place. It’s the same as before Mel.” The brunette expresses with closed eyes, as if trying futilely to ignore the crumbling of boundaries she’s put in place and how her reaction is different than if her internal barriers came down. They know they’re different things-boundaries and barriers.

That effectively knocks her off the horse. How she said it-her voice slightly trembling like it caused pain.

“That wasn’t my intention…” she finally says.

“Road to hell…” Abby counters smoothly and glances at the small, antique clock she has on the table. “I have to go into work.” She says as she gets out from under the sheets, not caring how naked she is as she confidently leaves the bedroom to go towards what Mel assumes is the shower.  It amazes her how Abby can seem so raw and exposed when she’s sitting in a towel at the end of her bed having a conversation more than walking through her house without any clothes. She doesn’t think about it long as she gets dressed and takes her cue to leave.

“Auntie Abby I found you!” Lydia screams as she stands in the doorway of her pantry. The brunette smiles down at her niece and taps her on the nose. “My turn, you hide,” she says with glee. They continue to play. Waverly is sitting on the couch, books in front of her studying as her sister keeps her daughter occupied.

Abby realizes it’s her first time playing the game. How freeing to be in the moment and share a first and a redo of sorts of what should have been an easy part of her childhood. But she loves this moment, lives in, tries to commit Lydia’s laughter and excitement to memory.

“I found Hec!” Lydia squeals then picks up the cat. Waverly lifts her head from her materials and watches with a smile. The cat is cradled in her daughter’s arms looking back at her like she’s saying you’re lucky I like you with her snake-like cat eyes. Very lucky.

The younger Jameson thinks the cat could pass for Abby’s familiar. They’re eerily very similar and maybe, she figured, that’s why the cat chose her sister, essentially abandoning her previous owners. And she thinks the sign Abby had made by a local artist she fastened to her front door is too fitting. Though it was mostly, only for Lydia, the cat, she considered shrewdly...might be able to read and apparently enjoyed Shel Silverstein. 

“If you are a dreamer come in.
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar.
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer.
If you're a pretender come sit by my fire.
For we have some flax golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!”

The scene replayed of her reading the sign to her daughter only hours ago before they had gone in. Lydia's little finger traced the embossed edge of the original image that paired with the poem under it after she read it to her. 

"What's that?" Lydia asked with curiosity. 

"A candle," Waverly replied, knowing she nor Abby didn't keep them since a child was in their lives. Amusing considering Abby could burn down houses if she felt she needed to, not desired, but truly needed. 

“My Darling, you’re suppose to hide,” Abby sing songs to her, not even realizing her voice changes completely when talking to Lydia. And though its never condescending its certainly without any of its usual harshness, the moment in front of her pulling her back to the present. She watches how much they love one another. Unconditionally.

It shows in how Abby has altered her home-toys and games on a shelf in the closet, blankets in a woven basket, the books, the little, very English collection of films Abby keeps for her daughter. The newest Cruella, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Cinderella, and Mary Poppins found its way back now that Lydia had memorized the songs and wanted to sing them with her aunt. “Auntie Abby can sing,” she had told her mother happily while they were camping. “There isn’t much your aunt can’t do,” she replied with sincerity and felt pride how much her sister had grown and how much they’d learned from one another over the years-truly connected. Though she may never admit it but she was a cheerleader for her-in her corner, at the ready to tap in when needed. The moment she had shown up for Abigael at their mother’s country house had been the catalyst for everything.

A shadow lingers over her, blocking the light, the pages obscured as her older sister stands in front of her with a small glass of wine held out for her to take. An even smaller glass is in her other hand.

“Do you ever drink water?” Waverly asks in what she hoped was a snarky, poking tone to mask her worry as she takes the glass. They’d become accustomed to teasing one another to show love.

“With tea,” she says with quick wit.

“Ever consider cutting back on the alcohol,” the younger Jameson asks, not bothering to go in vague circles, too tired for the attempt.

“Mel already asked,” she supplies with a sigh after a very long twenty seconds or so.

Waverly looks where her sister keeps the glass bottles by her desk. The crystal containers are gone.

“I’m going to watch a movie,” Lydia cuts in with her independent tone, obvious to the heavy air and their interaction as she goes to set up her personal player. Hecate follows her a few paces behind. Abby considered her lack of asking if she could watch a movie versus giving more of a command she was going to and thought with pride she'll be a force to reckon with.

“How’s that going?” Waverly asks gently, knowing she needed to coax an update from her sister about the charmed one.

The older Jameson’s jaw sets and she gives a brief shake of her head of ‘we’re not discussing it’. The blonde can see the war in her sister, the emotions brewing and pulling her to uncertainty and impassioned ambivalence.

They sit in the quiet, content and together. Lydia watching a film with her headphones, Waverly studying and Abby reading a book. Her wine, she seemed to have poured out of habit, left on the table the rest of the evening-untouched.

Chapter Text

Mel didn’t text for two weeks.

Abby put it in the very far back of her mind and focused on work and her family life.

Maggie on the other hand noticed Mel’s aura and asked why she was moodier than usual. After a minute’s pause she let it come out. Not all the details but the main points of being in a secret relationship with Abby, having an intense friend’s with benefits dynamic now…

The youngest Vera sat, listening, surprisingly not asking questions and finally said, “well you seemed happier so maybe keep trying,” instead of her usual wow, were you possessed or something?

“Really?” Mel asked in shock.

“I’m not her biggest fan but…she grows on you,” she paused to finish her coffee. “Plus Abigael doesn’t exactly scream the loving type but considering how she was raised…” Maggie said with empathy. She suppressed a shudder thinking about how her life would have been if she had a narcissistic parent who used shock cuffs and operant conditioning to reach their desired results. “She could be far worse.”

“Good point. Thanks.” Mel frowned, downed her coffee, and headed to work. The small, but insightful conversation she had with her psychologist sister put a few things into perspective. That and their last conversation kept playing in her head.

You’re using me now. And Mel knows Abby could have, but probably stopped herself from substituting in the word hurting. She’s picky with her words.  

It plays on repeat. By what feels like the fifth horrendous replay she sends a text a little after 9 AM asking the younger woman if she can come over. Throughout the day she loses track of how often she looks at her phone, hoping for a reply.  With renewed determination she goes to Abby’s house after an unfocused day at work, knocks, grumbles at the unlocked door after she tries the handle and lets herself in.

“Abby?” She calls into the open layout from the foyer. Her eyes search and she takes in how it doesn’t seem lived in. Everything is neat, put away and spartan. “Abby? She tries again, louder.

“Mel?” She hears a groan more than her name and moves towards the sound.

The brunette is turning towards her, wincing in the process as her eyes lock onto her own. But brown eyes do a sweep of Abby and she looks past the point of exhaustion, dark circles under her dull green, hazel eyes. She looks…concaved but she watches Abby swivel on the bed and place her feet on the floor to look at her with narrowed eyes. Ready with her well-made walls to tell her to leave. She can sense it as she looks from her face to her neck that has a fine layer of sweat, to her chest that looks pink and flush.

There’s movement at the end of the bed and the cat lifts her head to glare back at her as though saying-nice of you to show up. I can only do so much transfer of my energy into her…

“I texted,” Mel supplies.

“Mel, I’m allowed to not reply. It’s part of the rules.” She said without energy, willing herself to finish the sentence.

“It’s not in your damn rules.” Voice raised though she tried to respect Abby’s restrictions with the friends with benefits agreement and frankly she didn’t care anymore.

“It’s implied.” She expelled with a sigh.

“You need medical attention apparently. And then we need to talk.” She countered quickly.

“No, I need sleep and Do take into consideration this amendment now,” she stated and stressed as she rolled over slowly, wincing again with the effort.

It was the sharp wince that forced Mel to do a sweep over the back of her body-catching the large gash on her shoulder the deep purple tank top failed to cover.

“What the hell happened?” Mel admonished her as she quickly closed the space between them and tracked ghostly touches as she lifted the strap of her tank top to inspect the injury.

“I’ll be fine and I’ll heal so can’t you simply leave me be to ponder weak and weary?” Abby rolled away from her fussing and looked back at her in a glance like she was pestering her.

“Stop being so dramatic and stealing from Poe. You aren’t impervious Abby! Let me clean this.” Mel said with narrowed eyes, her concern overshadowing Abby’s literary knowledge. “Lay down, on your stomach, I’m going to disinfect this to be safe and you need to take some days off.” She stood but looked down at the thin woman but turned and made her way to the kitchen.

“What the hell do you do that leaves you bloody and bruised?” She asked with annoyance loudly as she moved further away. She was angry, genuinely angered Abby would continue to put herself in situations she could be hurt or worse. The rules be damned-she was going to ask personal questions.

“Bounty hunter. Of the human variety.” She added as an afterthought, as if it made it acceptable, since she wasn’t dealing with supernatural beings of the underworld. Somehow having Mel a safe distance away and not in front of her made it easier to give up the information.

“You can’t be serious.” She said with so much anger she thought she was going to break the glass jar she found in the cupboard to make a tincture.

Abby remained silent.

“Why would you take a job like that? Also, god forbid you get Really hurt and what-Lydia has to process the loss of her aunt?” Mel said to the woman, eyes locked on one another once the witch made her way back to the bedroom to give their conversation her undivided attention.

At the mention of Lydia Abby’s head snaps to her and she thinks if Abby wasn’t staring fire and daggers at her before with contempt she may have winced. The wound can’t handle the movement and she quickly takes notice the cut split open-rupturing with the strain-deep red bubbling up.

“She will not.” Abby growls.

Mel just looks down at her knowing the brunette is fooling herself if she thinks this is the worst that could happen. She takes deep breaths and goes back to the kitchen.

“Can’t you find another job?” She reaches and tries.

“Like what? Demon Overlord? Art dealer? That one involves more tax evasion and money laundering than people realize.” She digressed and came back around. “Bounty hunter is easy. I show my demon form for a second, no one believes the mark when they rant and sound insane. Often goes quickly. This is a rarity,” she finished with a dismissive shrug of her shoulder that wasn’t bleeding.

“Great.” Mel said sarcastically, her voice carrying through the quiet house to Abby who had slowly walked to the couch for the sake of a change of scenery, not to be closer to Mel so they weren’t half-yelling at each other through the rooms. She repositioned on her stomach, thankfully her comfortable couch gave her a clear view of where the charmed one was standing.

The witch let herself get lost in thought. Abby’s circle was considerably smaller since not ruling the demon world. Something that suited her core introverted, intelligent self-had to be an option…

“What about gallery owner?” She suggested pragmatically. “You like art…it’s not exactly a nine to five job so it allows for flexibility for you to be with Lydia when your sister’s busy…”

She was thinking out loud as her hands worked on measuring everything from memory. “I mean..it’s really not far-fetched,” she continued. And I can see it. Even buyers being assholes and coming over to you saying you’re a piece of art, how much for you and you giving them your signature eye roll.”

“Oh please. I don’t have a signature—"

Mel cuts her off with a glare and as if she scripted it Abigael rolls her eyes and concedes.

“Practically patented,” Mel mumbles to the counter as she presses harder into the medicine bowl grinding the herbs to powder.

They’re silent as the witch works and Abby drifts into a half sleep, a small smile on the corner of her lips as she realizes Mel sounded rather jealous in her not so unrealistic daydream scenario.

She feels fingertips along her hairline and is pulled back to consciousness.

“This is gonna sting then the salve will be cooling,” Mel says in a promising voice from her crouched down position in front of her.

Doesn’t it always with you. Abby thinks but nods her okay.

“Bloody hell!” She lowly yells as what she assumes is alcohol going over her wound but feels soft lips press into her temple. An attempt to soothe.

“I’m sorry,” Mel says sincerely and continues to tenderly clean the deep gash. Its clean and it’ll heal but they’ll be a scar. She realizes it’ll nearly match the one below it, faint but there if you looked closely. The scars from Abby’s demon side telling her that part of her couldn’t be tamed.

Her fingertip grazes the slightly raised, healed skin wishing she could take them away. But Abby’s scars are like maps, dark novellas of what she’s survived and she knows this. Carefully she places a kiss on the scars, consciously avoiding the open wound and feels Abby exhale.

“Next is the salve,” Mel gives direction and sees the woman settle into the couch more, a fist unclenching. It takes only two minutes but it feels longer. Seeing Abby in this physical state is far different than seeing her containing her emotional pain. She can do something about this. The latter is daunting and can’t be fixed with an herbal remedy and she knows this, is acutely aware as she kisses her temple again.

“I’ll be back,” she says softly as she moves brown hair away from the sore and lets her fingers linger on the back of her neck. She’s surprised and grateful Abby doesn’t respond with anything salty as she heads out of the house. The stoic brunette looks at her with apprehension and uncertainty as though saying you weren’t supposed to see any of this.

“Got you a tea. Please don’t argue. Drink it and I’ll leave if you want...” Mel lays the choice out there. In the two weeks and going to the coffee shop she’s done a lot of ruminating on giving Abby choices or more so reaffirming the half-witch has options. That it isn’t a one-way street as she said weeks ago. Another phrase which kept replaying in her mind.

“Is it from that horrible Moby Dick place?” She asked through her grogginess. Apparently even minor drug induced fatigue couldn’t stop Abigael Jameson Caine from abandoning her snobbish standards.

Mel considered what the pale woman asked, how she completely dismissed the last part, the most important bit about leaving…

“Starbucks?”

“Yes. It’s named after a shipmate in Moby Dick.” She turned her head and mumbled into the pillow.

“No, it’s from a small, local place….stop showing off your knowledge and drink this,” Mel demanded and saw Abby give her famous eyebrow raise of touché and how dare you. She took the tea and drank without comment or any snarky facial expressions after she sat up, tucked a leg under her and sipped, looking younger than her years and so damn human. “Thank you,” she said softly. They knew it wasn’t said for the tea.

Never in a million turns of the earth around the sun did Mel think she would ever describe Abby as cute. Intimidating, pretentious, insufferable, intelligent, self-sufficient, giving, protective, self-deprecating.

She was staring too long, unabashedly at Abby when she realized as the words came into her head. Her ex was complex in a way the definition of it didn’t really prepare you for.

“That should heal in a few days…” Mel said as she sat beside her gently, not wanting to jostle the cushions resulting in another wince from Abby.

“Mm,” the brunette said as she drank. “You can go home,” she offered an out, “you don’t need to stay here and take care of me,” she said with a frown, resenting being put in the position she was in that warranted someone seeing her weak, needing of assistance.

“Its fine, I texted Maggie. She knows I come here,” she says casually, but the atmosphere in the room shifts when she sees Abby raise an eyebrow as though saying oh really-I’m not a secret anymore?

“She had some things to say about it..” Mel tries.

“Oh joy,” Abby cuts her off. “Commentary from the perky peanut gallery. Wonderful,” she drawled in her ever insistent sarcasm.

Mel didn’t bother trying to hide her smirk. “Well she’s in support,” she stated firmly and watched Abby’s eyes soften.

“Do you want me to come over more this week and put the salve on?” The Latina asks and stops herself from saying she’ll need to make more in a day anyway.

“Mm, no, I can manage,” the tired brunette says with more energy as if her pride and fear of being seen in this state more than she already was made her recoil.

Two steps forward and five back…Abby can’t be typical and had excelled beyond one step forward and two back.

“Okay,” she frowned and considered all the points Abby made two weeks ago. “I can make more of the tincture and drop it off tomorrow so it heals as fast as it can,” she tried to honor boundaries in her offer.

“Alright,” Abby said and drank the last of her tea. Mel took the empty cup and placed it on the table to dissuade the English woman from leaning over, straining her shoulders.

“The…other things that need to heal…” she closed her eyes, feeling clumsy. “You can talk about it with me…if you want.”

It being her damage, her resulting defenses, her avoidances, her memories, her childhood she spent treated like a caged animal more than a human. And Abby chooses silence which reveals just as much, if not more than what she could say in the moment. How it’s too much, how being flippant and minimizing her trauma is far easier than sitting in the pain and letting someone else hold some of it. And the weight of it all halts her-how the malleable soul can only be beaten or grated down before it becomes irreparable.

She knows Abby isn’t the type to air grievances and proclaim wishes of what her life could have been if some aspects were different. She knows the younger woman would rather die than express what she believes to be her shortcomings and flaws. She holds it in, unwilling to share her burdens in a heavy what that matters.

“Can you tell me something I can do to help?”

“Not much to do…it doesn’t exactly go away.” She says and her voice quakes like a volcano that will pour out an ocean. Because Abby’s lava anger has changed over the years-has become more solitary and quieter.

“Time makes things softer.” She continues. “And she never hit me, not once. Silver linings and all that…” she paused as she was consciously trying to minimize what had been done to her. Mel thought she didn’t need to be hit when shock cuffs had been used. They substituted in. “Though I loathe the term because it’s overused…there are triggers. “

“Like what? I’d want to avoid doing anything that could hit them.” Mel said gently and with understanding but sees the apprehension immediately. As though sharing them is one of Abby’s greatest fears. But it’s not just fear the older woman sees…it’s a guarded expectation of being judged, as being looked at as less.

And Abby thinks back to the conversation she’s had with Waverly in the past week while Mel was away.

“Abigael, you can’t keep avoiding this conversation. Mel is back in your life, in some questionable ways but you can’t possibly think its going to just stay physical between the two of you,” Waverly pushed, finally had enough of her sister’s closed mouth responses. Apparently, the firm tone was all it took as she watched her older sister halt and frown in confusion how they reached this topic. The blonde had walked in alone, Lydia at a play date, and once they sat across from one another with their tea the younger Jameson went right in, no preamble, no warning and it worked, the shock of being pushed into the deep end.

“If…I share and give her more…she’s only going to look at me with…pity,” she exclaimed slowly.

“You don’t know that,” Waverly countered softly. Abby hummed and shrugged.

“And if she does- I’ll kill her,” she smiled at her older sister, only half joking.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Abby said with slight amusement through an eye roll.

“If not Mel…know you don’t have to hold it in. I’m here Abby,” Waverly stated in such a raw, open way they rarely had with one another it made Abby’s throat clench.

“I..don’t want to burden you with it…its not like your childhood was a walk in the park…” she said as she clenched and unclenched her fist, a tense, nervous habit born from being on unsteady ground.

“No, but it was a walk in the park on a rainy day compared to…” she trailed off and thought you walking through thunderstorms? Through a tornado and being trapped in a storm shelter?

“No need to compare them.” Abby said softly and sighed. Its not a competition, we're here now. “I appreciate you knowing when to invite me to certain outings and adventures with Lydia, I see that,” she took a long breath, “and one day I’ll tell you why our mother’s house was never my home…but I don’t see what good would come of it Waverly,” Abby shared slowly.

“Okay. As long as you do…someday…” she said with such warmth and compassion that Abby could only nod and change topic to her favorite subject. “When will my niece be over?”

The brunette refocused. Her hand was being held. The gentle hold bringing her back to the present with a concerned, passionate Mel looking at her like she would send anyone or anything back to hell that harmed her, how she would stop it-even if it was herself.

“Abby…I’m not going to store them away in a filing cabinet and use them against you.”

“But you could…” her voice trembling, too tired to mask it with a fighting tone.

“I won’t.” The promise is there. The promise is right there.

Abby takes a deep breath and holds in the air as if her lungs can contain the universe to prepare her for how it’s about to explode.

“Irredeemable. It was 1 of my most hated 5 syllable words. Unremarkable being top of the list. I’ve lost track of how many times my mother has labeled me as such…when she voiced it with disdain when sober and disinterest when the whiskey dulled her,” She said in such a brittle way it made Mel’s body hurt.

“Abysmal. She’d call me her little abysmal. Thought she was clever….not the best pun.” She said with a humorless smirk and barely expressed huff.

Mel bit her tongue. The urge to ask: where does your mother live so I can vanquish her or something worse sat in her mouth. Instead, she took Abby’s other clenched fist and placed it in her lap to hold the pale hand tighter.

And she thought herself lucky to be seeing this version of Abby, the willing to sit and fall apart quietly together Abby.

Breaking wasn’t the right word. It didn’t even graze what was happening. Obliterating. That was it. God, she knew that’s what was happening as they sat, unmoving except her thumb moving circles over the back of Abby’s pale hand.

“I may be a half demon but that part of me…made sure there was a heart left.” She breathed slowly. “If I didn’t have my demon…it probably would have gone unprotected and little pieces of what might be a soul…to chip away. The witch side is…too soft and dare I say hopeful.” She paused her abstract description. She voiced it like it happened to someone else, allowing for emotional distance. Then her voice changed when she used quotes borrowed from others instead of tediously trying to find her own that seemed to fall short.

“If I got rid of my demons-I’d lose my angels.” She gave a small smile. “After all-Lucifer was Jesus’s favorite Angel.”

Mel didn’t think. She moved closer, leaned in and gave a soft kiss to Abby’s cheek. Because words didn’t always work, as much as the half-demon, half-witch clearly appreciated them and let them affect her in harmful and healing ways. Because words held power.

When she pulled back Abby saw pride in dark brown eyes-the beautiful, opposite of pity. She saw how the witch viewed her-though damaged, she was worth protecting. Worthy of her worry, her care, her anger, her passions, her love. Abby was beginning to see it in how Mel stayed. She should have expected what the smaller woman said next but her life hadn’t prepared her for such giving things.

“I wouldn’t want you to give up your demons,” she said with another squeeze to her hand and an unwavering gaze “but you can give me some of them.”

The offer overwhelmingly and everything.

Chapter Text

They sat shoulder to shoulder, side by side, equals mentally, knowing she was admittedly emotionally stunted to some degree. But she recognized the world of difference from Mel having exclaimed you’ll have to deal with your demons all by your lonesome as she left the room years ago. And Abby watched like she wasn't worthy of being cared for.

Don’t fall in love.

She decided to simplify her list to a sort of umbrella term-all encompassing of her Don’ts.

If anyone had told Abigael Jameson Caine she would be seeing a charmed one in secrecy again she would have lit them on fire. If anyone had told her she’d be dating the charmed one in again years later she would have thrown them out of a window with a slight flick of her wrist for being lied to and having wasted her time, much less being subjected to listening to nonsense. But here they were. Or rather Abby thought here we are, but without the annoyance and with a bitter memory of saying to Mel “but then there you are” in a barbed tone she had used to cover the hurt after hearing Mel’s shock and bewilderment she, the demon overlord had feelings.

The glaring difference-this wasn’t in secrecy.

It was a lot to wrap her mind around. But she’s tired and can’t bring herself to speak. Instead, she grabs the blanket and drags it across her lap. The action should have been the witch’s cue to leave but she shifts with her, like a satellite tracking her movements.

They’re on the couch, laying face to face, Abby’s gashed shoulder exposed in the air, Mel’s hand on her hip. Big spoon, little spoon positions and its power dynamic abandoned. And she falls asleep with small circles pressed into the small of her back-touching her in gentle ways no one else has.

When she wakes she’s alone and night has come. She could do with more sleep. Out of curiosity she twists her shoulder and sees much of the cut has closed. The salve has dried and is starting to flake but she feels less pain. A shower calls to her and she spends a good half hour thinking about necessary changes as she inspects her bruises.

Finally she gets into bed and Hecate follows as if to keep watch. She sleeps like the dead and doesn’t dream.

The knock at the door goes unheard. She’s listening to her Billie Eilish’s when the party’s over loudly as she researches art curator requirements, gallery owner, community coordinator and anything else she thinks she may genuinely like. The call out of work was short and professional but she put a pin in quitting until she secured another position.

When its time to finally go grocery shopping she opens the door to find a small white paper bag by her door. She takes it tentatively though its clearly not a trojan horse.

A note’s inside, atop a glass jar.

Apply twice a day. See you in a few days. -M

Days. She thinks with a frown. Why days? The idea isn’t appealing but she goes back into the house and applies the cream on her shoulder after she pulls down the already lopsided shirt further off her shoulder.

Smells good. Tea tree oil and chamomile mostly? She doesn’t overthink it as she tightens the lid and leaves it on the sink as a reminder to truly use it.

And she does for the next three days but she has pent up energy from unrest and a feeling of waiting. She’s grown tired of it, impatient, edgy and wanting a release. With a change of clothes she gets into the usual mind frame she needs to for the activity.

“Don’t. You. Ever. Lock…”

She finds Abby holding a warrior pose, looking like a damn commercial for yoga-standing strong and graceful on a navy mat. A dark maroon sports bra on that has complex straps and black, tight pants that didn’t leave any of her figure to the imagination. The bra has one strap down the middle of her upper back and she knows Abby wore it with the purpose of avoiding any abrasion to the gash that’s red and pink but closed and healing.

“your door,” she finishes as an afterthought and watches Abby finally descend her arms like she was in a freaking black swan production with her messy bun held at the base of her neck. The taller woman turns to regard her with a devilish smirk as a slow, hypnotic song played through the house.

Leave it to her to play something oddly intense and somehow…sensual.

The deep base continues, and a screen caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Twisted by Two Feet she reads quickly on the screen.

“We’re practically in bloody suburbia-what’s the point?” She said after she rolled her shoulders then laces her hands together in front of her, fingers interlacing but her index fingers coming to a peak pointing to the floor. Her standing position looks relaxed and Mel stares but hope the feminist in her core isn’t objectifying.

“And you’re doing yoga…” she said in shock-still not believing her eyes or more so the outfit was very distracting. “Should I go get you a green juice smoothie?” The charmed one comfortably mocks her so she didn’t keep looking at her abs as she hooked her thumb back to the door.

“It was either this or krav maga and that didn’t seem safe…for the opponent,” she said with a different smirk, arrogance in her lips. “More importantly,” her tone shifts, “you don’t remember how to use your phone?” She tilted her head, tongue poking the inside of the corner of her mouth, looking perplexed why she redundantly had to insinuate Mel needed to text.

“Literally only came to drop this off,” she says and holds up another paper bag by its handles then sets it on a side table. She feels Abby’s eyes move from her face down her entire body. So she put a little extra effort in her black dress and faux leather jacket. She watches Abby bring her chin closer to her chest, the fine layer of sweat glistening as she smirks and twists around to turn the music off.

“You’re not one to be obtuse.” She pauses and lets her voice drop lower, sinking into a lusty timber as she moves cat-like closer and smoothly. Coming to a stop and staring down at her. “Let’s go to bed.”

For a second Mel thinks she feels toyed with as Abby wound her hair around her index finger, feeling it’s softness before cupping her jaw and tilting her up to kiss her like it would hurt her not to.

Slowly and with self-hatred she pulled away from furthering their ministrations. The younger woman looked perplexed and her eyes flit from her eyes to her lips. Against her primal desires she wasn’t going to have sex with Abby. She made the decision when she came back to her house with tea.

An innocuous, innocent, even mundane moment of bringing her tea made her realize she wanted to grab take out for them, wanted to sit on the couch and kiss her cheek and not have it escalate, wanted to talk about books…

She pulls back but keeps her hand pressed into the younger woman’s lower back. And she looks at her. Really looks at her and doesn’t realize she’s brought her other hand up to graze her fingertip over the bridge of Abby’s nose until she hears herself say, “your freckles are adorable.”

She feel’s Abby’s chest rise and fall quickly against her own. “My mission in life: to be adorable.” The sardonic statement comes with a scrunched-up face as though being viewed as such was repulsive, frown lines showing on one side.

“You’re also really good at frowning. So stern,” she said in a mocking tone. “So so serious.”

She watched green, hazel eyes go wide in shock.

“You’re serious right now? Lesser mortals would have been killed by now.”

“Oh. But I live to tell the tale…so I can do this…” she said with a smirk before she leaned down and kissed the woman who surprisingly allowing Mel to cover half her body with her own as she gently pushed her against the counter.

“Mmm. I could get you reacquainted with la petite mort,” Abby said with a roguish smirk and a French accent that made Mel’s brain fizzle. Sweet Jesus.

Mel takes a step back and creates distance and Abby looks affronted and too serious for someone young.

What the hell is happening? The taller brunette thinks.

“You know I can’t watch Labyrinth anymore because Jennifer Connelly reminds me of you.” She doesn’t really know why she’s sharing this, but she thinks it’s an innocent comment and might tapper her desire to remove what little pieces of clothing Abby has on. “I nearly bit Maggie’s head off for suggesting we watch it last year around Halloween.” She takes more steps back. “I was thinking maybe we could watch a movie?” She half questions and suggests while taking a second to be pleasantly surprised she had the bandwidth to link her thoughts together.

“You want to watch a movie with me…” Abby asks in disbelief.

“Not horror and not a romantic comedy. They’re formulaic,” the witch replies easily but watches the half-witch stand with one hand on her hip, confusion still settled into her expressions.

“Hitchcock then. Ever seen Rear Window?” She says with a forced casual tone, as if this was a typical evening for them.

“No,” Mel replies with a smile and feels her shoulders relax.

“Grace Kelly. You’ll adore her!” Abby said knowingly as she made her way to her bedroom to change.

Minutes later she came out in a loose, thin sweater, one shoulder hanging off and went to her film collection. She felt Mel watching her and tried not to feel self-conscious as she set up the movie and picked a seat on the couch as the credits played. As she placed her hands in her lap, twirled the ring around her finger and rolled her shoulders again as she watched Mel’s hand reach out but pulls back when she feels compelled to get up.

Mel watches her rummage in the kitchen, peering into the freezer and she comes back with two pints of ice cream. One dark chocolate and the other French vanilla. She holds them out the witch, spoons trapped between the containers without lids and her palms.

“Which?” She holds her offering but more demands.

“Are you calling me one?” Mel says with a smirk, enjoying the pun and she notes the spark of amusement in green eyes and a smile that forms though Abby bites the inside of her lip.

“Bloody difficult,” she says and clearly enjoys it. Mel takes the dark chocolate and sits back contently.

Abby settles into the couch, knee touching Mel’s as she crossed her legs into a criss-cross and takes a spoonful. She’s glad to have something to occupy her hands. Sitting together, her hand in Mel’s and feeling domestic made her nervous. This felt safe.

They watched the movie, Abby ate half of the pint and Mel the same. She got back up and put the containers back in the freezer to avoid a mess. When she got back Mel was gone.

What the hell…

“Can you take a seat so I can put more on you,” Mel said softly as she held up the medical salve she made. For the briefest second the witch sees a flash of relief in Abby, how her cynicism assumes the worst. And Abby takes a second as if her mind hasn’t caught up until she sweeps her hair away from her shoulder and sits back down. With intensity she watches Mel’s hands open the lid, strong, tanned, and warm on her skin as she smooths the cream onto the scar. She knows those fingers can produce ice but it’s the furthest thing from her mind as they press into the back of her neck, nails scrapping along her hairline. Its calming and makes her eyelids heavy.

“Can I come over next week?” She keeps scratching and massaging the back of Abby’s neck. “This is me texting,” she says with a smirk.

“Sure. I should be healed fine by then,” Abby says naturally, as if the only reason the charmed one would come over would be to resume their physical agreement. She feels Mel’s lips on her cheek before she really acknowledges it.

“That’s not what this‘s about.” She pulls back a little.

“Okay,” Abby says with the corner of her eyes crinkling, sounding everything but okay and uncertain.

“Next Thursday?” Mel asks as she drops her hands and stands.

“Alright.” Abby states clearly still confused but walks her ex to the door. She leans against the doorway, the credits score playing in the background and she holds herself back, walking on unsteady ground while wearing a blindfold. And her mind isn’t quick, as it usually is when Mel leans up and kisses her other cheek, almost for the sake of balance but mostly because she simply wanted to.

“Have a good week,” she said with a smile and leaves.

But the week is slow, she still hasn’t returned to work but she’s narrowed down some options.

The sound of her door opening and the little feet running through her house breaks her concentration.

“Abby?” Waverly calls into the house as Lydia barrels into her aunt’s legs.

“Ooof. Hello Darling,” she says and scoops her up to place her on the counter, legs kicking with energy.

“Can you watch her for a bit? I have to speak to a professor during her limited office hours,” Waverly says quickly, clearly stressed.

“Ooooh, I don’t know. I have these plans to go to zoo…” she says slowly though in her gut she hates seeing animals in cages.

“The zoo!” Lydia cuts her off and Waverly looks at her sister and mouths the words thank you.

“Take a half day.” She replies and glances at the clock. “We’ll be back in a few hours…say four.” She offers as she holds her niece in her arms, snug on her hip and looking like a little primate. With a pause she looks at both girls, how clearly related they are, how fierce her sister is, how her daughter is soft and unjaded, how they bring out the best in each other. She kisses her daughter’s forehead and tells them to have fun.

They see elephants, tigers, birds of all sizes. They take their time and Abigael reads the signs and information to Lydia. She gives the etymology in Latin as noted in the descriptions and feels resentful eyes on her. Call it an odd sense but most women know when they’re being assessed. Another woman is looking her up and down, annoyance in face, likely assuming Lydia was her’s and she didn’t have any remaining baby weight and her posh accent made her seem pretentious in the states to some. Factor in fluidly reading Latin versus stumbling over the binomial nomenclatures and some people simply hated the notion of someone being plural, multi-layered and even lean, fit, with an adorable child.

Abby narrows her eyes at the woman, her fingers itching to move and bring fire. She could never be too cautious because sometimes demons looked like humans and humans could be demonic. After all children were abducted daily and humans did the cruelest things with their torture, genocide, systematic, cavalier murders, cops killing people simply because they could, trafficking girls…

But she had Lydia in her arms, safe and fighting sleep from all the running around but still amazed by the animals. She held the girl tighter to body, her world tucked into her arms, feeling wonderfully solid and heavy with her realness.

The woman finally drops her gaze, body curling slightly inward as though bending to a position of submission.

Still got it she thought with a pleased smile that didn’t reach her eyes. And with that they leave because Lydia has fallen asleep, and Waverly will be back soon.

When they arrive Abby parks her car in the garage and goes through the process of opening the door for Lydia. The child safety is on and she watches her niece slowly walk to the front door as she closes everything up.

“Auntie Abby,” she feels a squeeze to her leg and the woman tenses on instinct.

Mel comes up her driveway in a flowery dress and Abby visibly relaxes.

“She was here before.” Lydia says, remembering.

“True.” She says as she looks down at the girl.

“She’s pretty.” She says without a filter and more of observation. Abby smiles at her niece then raises her head to meet dark brown eyes.

“Yes Darling, she is.”

Mel feels herself blush. She likes this side of Abby, the brazen flirtation that was mostly for shock value has morphed into something quieter and more sincere.

Abby unlocks the door and Mel notes its nice the woman does indeed have a functioning lock she uses when she’s out. She watches Lydia run in like she owns the place, like its her second home.

“God pity the world when she learns how to flirt. And don’t teach her.” Mel quickly adds.

“I’m sure she’ll do fine on her own.” The brunette says with a smirk as if the Jameson charm is undeniable and clearly oh so humble.

They walk in and Abby asks if she wants a tea or coffee. Lydia already opened the fridge and helped herself to a juice box.

“Tea would be great,” and she sits at the counter, a leg crossed over the other and watches Abby in her comfortable outfit of a tank top and tight black pants. The scar on her shoulder looks better and she appreciates the muscles and definition as the brunette reaches up to get the tin of loose tea because of course, Abigael wouldn’t have bags.

“Ever think about getting a tattoo?” She asks curiously as she looks at pale skin-unmarked except for the faint scars.

“Mm. Words. Different languages. In calligraphy and cursive,” she said without pause, clearly having thought about it as she fills the kettle with water then moves her hands in a way like she’s making a potion as she takes a scoop from the tin into the small, black pot.

“Care to share?” Mel asks with even more interest.

“If they happen,” she pauses and ignites the stove then turns around to give Mel her attention, “I’ll show them to you one day.”

And Mel can picture it-coming over and Abby has a bandage on part of her body, and she reacts quickly in a freak out because Abby got hurt again but instead, she gives one of her many smirks and says it’s a tattoo. Or she can picture they’re in bed and once she removes the woman’s shirt, she sees a tattoo with beautiful script, and she knows it’ll be something poetic and honest and she’ll be one of the few who ever is allowed to see it.

“Okay,” she says gently and swivels around to look at Lydia who’s pulling out paper and crayons and markers. The girl seems content, on her own, able to entertain herself. Mel thinks she’s very much an only child and she looks back at Abby who must have felt like an only child most of her life, but the brunette is looking at Lydia like she can’t believe she exists, a sort of hallowed expression as she waits for the water to boil.

“Do you want paints Darling?” Abby asks across the kitchen and Lydia responds with an enthusiastic of course. Mel thinks she sounds proper and too much like her aunt and mother and she watches Abby grab a small bowl, fill it with water and walk it over to the table her niece is sitting at. She goes into the large pantry and gets out a small smock for Lydia to wear and the paints, conveniently in one of those pallets that holds an array of colors in little squares then makes a big production of holding something rectangular to her chest.

“Can I ask you a very large favor?” She asks with over acted earnestly with her serious tone. Apparently, Lydia is accustomed to it because the girl doesn’t look up at her aunt like she’s stern or intimidating. “Can you make a picture that’ll fit in this?” And she holds out the empty picture frame.

“Another?” Her niece counters with excitement and Mel pieces it together-how all the framed artwork on her bookshelves are Lydia’s creations. “Yes, yes!” She holds out her hand for the paintbrush and Abby gives it to her then presses her index fingers gently into her cheeks. The kettle whistles as if signaling go time for creativity.

Mel is a little lost in thoughts and comes out of it after Abby sets a saucer and cup down in front of her. It’s almost like jump cuts. Abby was just over with Lydia, now she’s in the kitchen and the tea is ready, minutes gone in a blink as she considered how Abby shifted and adapted to this life.

“Have a pile of frames at the ready?” Mel questions but already has a feeling.

“A bin of them,” Abby says nonchalantly, but with a soft smile and a degree of pride in her tone.

Mel thinks she’ll come over and an entire wall of Lydia’s artwork will be framed expertly on a wall.

“Do you paint?” She asks while Abby pours and tilts her head to the side as if considering how much she’ll share.

“No….I…write.”

“Makes sense,” Mel states and it really does.

“How so?” The brunette counters relaxed and breathing steadily, so unlike her intense aura.

“You’re often…poetic,” she decides is the best she can land on while she thinks your vocabulary is impressive, how you speak…how you choose your words very carefully…

“Well…thank you,” she says shyly, her teacup hiding half of her face, but the look is so rare and unexpected on the woman Mel knows Abby isn’t comfortable with it and uses what she can as a cover. The attempt is rather futile, the hazel eyes give her away and Mel thinks Abby must be horrible at poker.

“So… is Lydia staying the night?” The witch asks innocently, not intentionally implying she had unofficial plans with the English woman who raises an eyebrow. She takes a first sip of the tea and rolls her eyes in amusement.

“Not why I was asking,” she says, cutting Abby off, forcing her to close her mouth. “I was thinking we could go to this gallery…they have a new Frida Kahlo installation. If you’re not watching your niece…” she brings it back around.

And Abby seems shocked and more confused than ever but also surprised they were having conversations without hidden meanings and subtext. It was refreshing.

“We can go,” she says with a slight smile, still uncertain. Before she can ask about the logistics of meeting there or going together and trying to continue these easier conversations but the screen of her phone flashes and she quickly reads it. Waverly says she’s on her way. “But first I need to get my niece to wash her Pollock-y hands,” she says knowingly and walks to the girl.

“Your mum is going to be here soon Darling, shall we wash up?” The little girl turns to her and holds up her picture, paint dots and splatters all over her tiny hands.

“Okay. This is for you,” she says with pride and Abby takes it and gently sets it on the table to dry.

“Its beautiful, but not as much as you.” She says slowly and without any bit of self-consciousness that Mel is still there witnessing it.

As the two make their way to the bathroom sink Abby twists her neck to gaze at Mel to give a soft smile, Orpheus looking back at Euridice. Before Mel can really think what it means that Abby can act like she’s not even in the room to then check in with her Waverly is walking through the front door drawing her attention. The younger Jameson didn’t knock and Mel wonders if she should even bother next time she knows Abby will be home.

“Lydia?” She says a little louder than her normal volume. “Mel?” The confusion evident and she sees a brief flash of a wall come up in her eyes, too similar to Abby’s but not as hard.

She looks around and doesn’t find her older sister who’s in the other room with her daughter but the tension from her shoulders drop once there’s laughter and joyous giggling floating through the house. But Waverly stands taller and takes the opportunity.

“I don’t care if it’s impolite or overstepping-I’m going to say this once and by all means consider it a warning.” She pauses, verbally ready to pounce, though she seems relaxed and rooted to the spot. “Do not hurt her.”

She knows exactly who her is and doesn’t need clarifying. She’s not an idiot, nor is Waverly. She decides not to say anything. There’s nothing to say. She gets it. She understands why Waverly’s saying it and part of her even appreciates she’s willing to but she’s thankful for the scream of Mommy and blonde hair whizzing through the room to beeline into her.

Mel gives a nod and sees the nonverbal agreement this stays between them before Waverly bends down and picks up her daughter.

Its in a rush and what feels like more jump cuts as Abby kisses her niece on the nose and whispers “I love you, forevermore.” She sees Waverly squeeze Abby’s hand and thinks their sisterly dynamic is so different from her own but also strong and subtle.  

Abby’s head is still in the clouds, way up in the sky a few minutes after Lydia leaves and Mel has grown to expect it. How the aunt seems to try to commit everything to memory and keep it in a vault. She waits and enjoys their silence. If they make it to the art gallery so be it, but she’s content to sit here and ask any questions that come to mind. She wants to relearn Abby and take her in, drink her like a fine wine. And for a minute a Joni Mitchell song plays in her head.

You're so bitter.
Bitter and so sweet.
Oh, I could drink a case of you.

Chapter Text

Art is hung expertly, curated nicely but Abby can’t help tilt her head and inspect the lay out.

They’ve made it to the art gallery and Mel takes her time looking at the framed pieces. Some are large canvases taking up an entire wall.

“You don’t like it?” She asks curious.

“Its not that,” Abby says with a more pronounced tilt of her head in the other direction. “I would have moved that,” she says pointing “to pair with that,” she twists around. “And that one is upside down,” she finishes slowly with a shake of her head.

“Excuse me, did you say a piece was upside down?” A woman in all black cuts in, she had been hovering. Abby narrows her eyes shrewdly.

“That one,” she points again. “Why?”

“I own this gallery,” the woman replies somewhat haughtily “and if it’s wrong then my curator is fired. I just got back into town and entrusted him to put this all together,” she finishes her wine. “Can’t stand the man, arrogant, unwilling to welcome new ideas-modern styles,” she says mostly to the artwork that’s hung incorrectly.

“Mmm,” Abby hums, not wanting to get in the middle of mortal dealings, though it seems this woman has bad blood with the incompetent employee for a while.

“Abigael has a very good eye, she could curate for you,” Mel supplies, gently and not over eager.

“What would you do differently?” The woman asks openly, inviting the hypothetical.

Abby looks around un-phased. She was the demon Overlord after all. Being put on the spot in a room full or humans wasn’t the most difficult task she’d experienced. She folds her hands under her stomach, arms relaxed and swivels her body around in a one eighty.

“I’d remove that wall.” She slightly lifts her joined hands and points though “it looks like it’s not supporting, merely structural, but it disrupts the flow. Everything should be displayed in odd numbers, the brain finds it more appealing and balanced. The black and white photos should be in more natural lighting-across the walls from the windows. Ideally Kahlo would be in chronological order-not how they’re currently together by style. And I would have shelves across the windows with live, hanging plants as it’s a bit drab in here,” she said unapologetically.

The woman’s eyebrow raised in a slight show of respect and ‘good for you not tiptoeing’. “Do you have a business card?”

Abby shook her head. Ex demon overlord seemed comical on a card and bounty hunters didn’t exactly need to broadcast their positions as it was word of mouth and mixed with the broken court system.  

“Call me Monday,” the woman demanded, though not unkindly as she held out her card she had taken from a small metal container.

Mel stepped closer to Abby, hand pressed to her lower back. “She will,” she stated as Abby took the card.

“Great. I have to go fire someone, excuse me,” the woman said and walked away with a firm pace.

Abby shifted slightly to face Mel who was grinning. She looked down at the witch who seemed pleased.

“Okay, out with it.” She could practically see Mel’s pride and excited energy.

“That was really impressive. Kinda hot with the whole competence vibe,” she said as she moved her hands as she talked.

Abby smirked. “Oh really? Shall we leave then? I can show you how efficient I am in other ways…” she whispered.

Mel’s hand slid into hers and pulled her towards the door. To her surprise Abby pushed her against her driver’s side door and kissed her like not doing so for days was immoral. Finally, she opened the door for the witch and let her get in. As Abby came around the car Mel felt her swollen lips. The brunette gracefully got in and Mel waited.

The half demon rolled her eyes and buckled in. “I’m not even close to being done,” she warned playfully as a pale hand rested on the top of her thigh.

When they came to a red light Mel heard Abby unbuckle and lean over, invading her space, her own safety as she felt fingers cup her jaw and turn her head towards her. Abby kissed her hard. What was the point of holding back. She felt back on track with their physical connecting. She was just about to sink into it after a moan escaped when Abby pulled away.

“Green light,” she said with a smirk and a click of the buckle again.

“There better not be any more red lights,” Mel mumbled as the brunette leaned back in the seat, right arm on the door, hand obscuring her mouth that held a soft, slightly evil, soft laugh behind it.

There was one more red light and Mel felt thoroughly kissed and worked up-somehow coiled and floating. Abby had pulled her closer, nails scraping the back of her neck only to gently press her hand in the middle of her chest and move away seconds later.

“Shall I phase-shift out and meet you there?” Abby asked with a teasing look. “I can always get out of these confining clothes…” she purred.

Mel knew better. Abby was look, but don’t touch lately. Years ago, she had been allowed to reciprocate but their current agreement left them one sided.

“Rude. We’re six minutes away,” Mel took in a grounding breath.

“I can do a lot in six minutes…” she whispered into the tan neck then kissed the skin below her. Mel was still driving but Abby couldn’t stop her dangerous tendencies. She bit at Mel’s neck and soothed the skin with her tongue. Another moan filled the car and she felt Abby’s hand slide further up her thigh and press her weight into it, the sensation similar to when Abby would staddle her thighs…sink into her…onto her…

“Oh thank god we’re here.” Mel sighed as she slowly parked in the driveway.

“Impatient much…” Abby observed as she moved her nose along Mel’s neck, breathing her in. The confined space made everything heightened and concentrated. Vanilla and cloves, like a sweet and earthy potion.

“Inside. Now.” She commanded as she pressed the button to Abby’s seatbelt and then her own.

“I do like when you can be demanding.” She pulled away and opened her door.

“Less talking and less clothes,” Mel said as they made their way to the house.

“That can be arranged,” the brunette said with a velvet voice and pushed the front door open.

The second Mel was fully through Abby closed the door and pushed the witch against it, not bothering to be soft as her hands pressed into the smaller woman’s hips. She hadn’t had her for weeks and she wanted to savor her, wanted to consume her, let her know she had been missed. Abby pulls back from the harsh kisses and almost possessive hold that turns softer as Mel feels thumbs moving in circles on her hip bones.

“What?” She looks up and waits for Abby who looks slightly bewildered behind her intense gaze.

“I missed…this…” and Mel smiles at her like she’s saying I know. Then she fists the material of Abby’s designer shirt and pulls her to her lips. She welcomes the crashing.

And she does. Her body pushes and pulls with Abby to the bedroom. Clothes discarded, new pink nail marks over faintly visible scars, moans that sound decadent and free.

Abby thinks she’s never heard a greater sound-her name sighed from Mel’s lips as she’s between the woman’s legs. As she promised, she’s competent in making Mel feel all the pleasure she can in this privacy of their lives. Mel yells her names and a slew of my gods that would make an atheist blush, but she’s not done. She rises and kisses the witch who looks tired and flushed. Lazy kisses that say she’ll stand for hours if it means staying like this, but slowly she brings her hand down, feeling every inch of skin she can until she slowly guides two fingers into her. Mel slumps into her, nearly submitting, giving herself full to the brunette, forehead resting in the curve of her shoulder as her arms encircle pale shoulders to hold herself from sinking. Abby turns her head and kisses the spot below her ear.

“I told you…” she says with hubris as she moves painstakingly slow in and out of Mel, the base of her palm giving just the right amount of constant pressure. It goes on for minutes, feeling pulled apart, reassembled and so close to breaking. The half-demon lifts her head, hand cupping her jaw and she kisses her check then makes intense eye contact as though saying ‘get ready’. She feels Abby’s thumb replace the soft demanding force of her hand around the most sensitive part of her body and she’s led over the edge with a word unable to be voiced, though thought-competent. She scratches into the younger woman’s skin, only to cradle the back of her head and kiss her beautiful, long neck. She doesn’t have the energy to lift her head and kiss her lips, but god, goddesses and all the deities does she want to.

Instead, she feels directed and moved to lay down. She almost expects Abby to leave and take a shower, but the naked woman slides into bed beside her. “Though I don’t to adhere to any religion I think the heavens just had a great show,” she says contently as her fingertips move under the sheet to linger along her bicep, arm across Mel’s chest as the witch comes to her usual mental capacity.

With a complete lack of energy Mel turns on her side and kisses her like she’s thanking her. Not for the orgasms, though they were very nice, but for coming back to bed when she could have leaned against the wall and simply not. She dramatically knocks on Abby’s chest, the space directly below her clavicle and moved down, tilted her ear to pale skin. “Hm. Doesn’t sound hollow.”

“That was very…showy.” Abby admitted through her amusement.

“Just checking.” She says with a smirk. “You’ve tried so hard to show you don’t have a heart…but here we are.” She finished with a press of her hand to the half-witch’s lower back, in some way tried to show her value went beyond sex and passions, that she could contently lay with her, verbally tease her and accepted Abby was always going to have her harsh edges.

They fall asleep. Abby wills her mind to not have nightmares. She’s not ready to have Mel see the aftermath of screaming and quickly snapping from a deep sleep. How she’s immediately in a horrible mood, how tense she gets, how stuck and unable to make it stop. But they sleep through the night and Abby’s thankful her dreams gave her a reprieve.

She wakes first and looks at Mel whose face is peaceful. Abby thinks she looks vulnerable and unburdened. How different they are. Unconsciously Mel’s arm moves out, searching and wraps around her middle. Abby feels pulled closer with more strength than the witch seems to possess.

A gruff sound escapes her lips and Mel stirs. Barely. She presses her lips into Abby’s chest and decides it’s a good resting place.

“Perhaps we should…” Abby tries in her rough, deep, just waking voice, but is cut off.

“Shhhh. It’s the weekend,” Mel says softly, trying to reason.

“It is, but Lydia will be here in about an hour…” she watches Mel’s eyes pop open.

“Okay, spending the day with her?” Mel asks, more awake and pressing her hand to Abby’s lower back.

“She’s staying the night. Which means she’ll bother Hecate but we’ll go to the book store and a little shopping on main street.” Abby says contently.

Mel isn’t surprised the half-demon seems to like the boutiques and little niche shops.

“Would you like to come over tomorrow afternoon?” Abby asks with a frown, realizing it’s the first time she’s asked instead of the witch saying she’ll stop in on a certain day. Her thoughts are occupied and muddled in the early hour.

“Should I bring anything?” Mel asks, more so offers.

“Just your lovely self,” Abby says without thinking and feels Mel shake slightly with light laughter. “What?” She counters with a frown since she can’t read the Latina’s thoughts how natural it is for her to be charming even at an ungodly early hour.

“I think I can do that. If,” she stressed the word, “you promise to call the gallery owner Monday,” Mel reminds her.

“Sure,” Abby says somewhat dismissively because she’s not about to put much stock in a career option that’s fickle and trendy but she’ll at least put her designer shoe foot in the door.

It’s not a firm yes but Mel kisses her cheek and shifts on the bed, her back facing the younger woman as her feet touch the floor. And she doesn’t realize she’s doing it, running her fingers up and down a beautifully tanned back, missing the warmth that had been next to her.

“Can I wear this…while I search for my clothes?” Mel asks as she holds the dark silk robe.

“I’d prefer you to be naked,” she replies with a slight eyebrow raise “but if you must,” Abby finishes and gives a genuine smile, more than her usual smirk when Mel looks better in it than her. Somehow the witch’s curves and skin tone seem more pronounced. The older woman comes around the bed, sits close to the English woman’s hip and leans down to give her a goodbye kiss, but Abby’s hands are framing her face, holding her there gently, thumbs coming up in the middle of her lips to give the slightest pressure as they slowly spread to the corners to rest by her jaw. Mel holds herself up, arm locked and against a pale shoulder, her other hand gently pressing into the firm muscles of Abby’s lower stomach. The half witch looks her over, eyes dilated and dark as Mel’s hand flits an inch lower. And though Abby wants what’s happening, what could happen she stops. Because the physical part is easier than connecting on the intellectual and emotional levels. There’s that edge and unspoken conversation ‘I’m not ready for you to be with all of me’.

Slowly she raises her hands to gently wrap her fingers around pale wrists and brings them away from her face. She tilts one of Abby’s hands and kisses her palm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She says with a pledging tone then turns to find all her articles of clothes in a line from the bedroom to the foyer.

She gets dressed in the bathroom and hangs the robe on the back of the door. Before she leaves, she does a quick check on the brunette and sees she’s asleep. Knowing how prepared Abby is when it comes to her niece, she’s likely set an alarm to go off in twenty minutes.

Abby’s alarm does go off. She showers, waits for her niece and pets Hecate who has come to sit beside her on the couch. The cat hops away and makes herself scarce when Lydia skips into the house.

“Ready Darling?” Abby asks as the girl jumps into her arms and she finds Waverly watching them.

“Don’t let her fill up on sugar,” she says in her mothering voice.

“We’re only going to the ice cream parlor after lots of shopping,” she says easily and catches her sister’s head tilt. “Window shopping,” she amends and adds “god you’re worse than Amnesty International. But we’re going to the bookstore,” she finishes, knowing educational items are on the approval list from her younger sister.

“Books!” Lydia says happily.

“Right my Darling.” Abby says and tickles her side to hear delightful little giggles.

“Lydia-what’s your full name?” Waverly asks out of nowhere and even the little girl tilts her head, just how her mother had at the sudden question.

“Lydia Rose Darling Jameson,” she says factually.

Abby laughs. The rumble starting in her stomach and shakes her niece who is in her usual spot on her hip.

“Look what you’ve done,” Waverly says with amusement.

“When did you discover this?” Abby asks with a pleased tone, as though she had a small hand in forming Lydia’s name.

“She and her friend were having a tea party and they went through formal introductions,” the younger Jameson said.

“I hope it was a real tea party at least.” Abby says offhandedly.

“It was, biscuits and all,” Waverly added, as if there was any other way her daughter would have a tea party.

“To celebrate a very merry unbirthday? To who?” She asks Lydia, her attention focused on her completely, voice fluidly shifting to singing.

“To me!” Lydia says through her laughter.

“Oh you!” Abby sings and adds in her normal voice “Alice would be proud.”

“Your charm will be the death of you or your saving grace,” Waverly says with a smile, kisses the top of her daughter’s head and leaves her overnight bag on the chair. She faces her sister fully and squeezes her bicep as she’s still holding her daughter, thanking her for enriching her daughter’s life.

“Let’s go have our own adventures in Wonderland shall we?” Abby says carefree as Waverly heads out for a relaxed, solitary night. She would do anything for her daughter. Anything and everything, but she’s needs a break like every other mother and she’d never trust her own with Lydia. She trusts her sister and thinks its truly symbiotic and giving how much they love one another.

They spend the day perusing shops, having lunch at a café, staying in the bookstore for hours after Abby has applied sunscreen on her niece and herself. She’s fairly pale for a reason and Lydia’s fair skin is sensitive. She grabs her sunglasses and the little ones for Lydia she keeps in a drawer and heads out with her clutch as she’s found purses cumbersome when she’s holding Lydia.

The day is wonderful. Abby’s making dinner as Lydia looks through her new books on the living room floor, her own purchases on the coffee table to be started tomorrow.

“Wash up Darling,” she calls across the kitchen and Lydia rights herself and goes into the bathroom to wash her hands.

Dinner is simple for Lydia and a something more substantial for Abby. A kid’s pallet isn’t appealing or wide but Lydia enjoys her little chicken tenders Abby baked and sweet potato fries. They practice a little magic. She shows her how to turn on and off lights with certain phrases and when Abby says ‘bath time’ Lydia goes into the bathroom first, says the right words and the light comes on.

 She reads to Lydia as she soaks in a blanket of lavender scented bubbles and foam. A cockney accent comes in, a southern belle, a country bumpkin, and a lithe scouser she thought Jodie Comer would have approved of after binging Killing Eve last year. Four characters come to life in the small tale and Lydia loves it. When its done Abby helps dry her off, the towel claiming her small figure like a blanket as she ruffles her hair and tries to take out as much water as possible. She looks adorable and beautiful with her disheveled mane she brushes it sleepily out of her drooping eyes.

“Okay, clothes, teeth and off to sleep,” she said softly. Lydia maneuvered her night gown on while Abby put toothpaste on the small brush for her. Usually she’d let Lydia do everything by herself to support her independence but the lavender was affecting her quickly. She prepared her own toothbrush and pulled the stool tucked away in front of the sink and ran the faucet, the flow slow and calming. She makes over exaggerated faces at her niece in the mirror who gives silly expressions back.

She lives for these moments.

Minutes later they settle into their beds after saying their good nights. Lydia in the guest room, settled in. Abby says, “Je t'aime jusqu'à la Lune et le retour” as she brings the blanket around her.

“What’s it mean?” Lydia asks.

“Love you to the moon and back in French.” She smiles down at her.

“It's pretty,” she says and yawns. “Will you teach me?”

“I can and we’ll go to Paris,” she counters.

“Really?” She said dreamily, another adventure with her aunt.   

“Someday Darling,” she promises, another on the list she’ll keep. She has a lot of someday lists invisibly floating around. They’re growing and intended for different people. Lydia. Waverly. Mel.

Abby realizes all these details with her pledges and oaths. They aren’t set in stone, but she knows she’s beholden to them because to not and go against them would make her a liar. But she doesn’t want to be weighed down by heavy thoughts. She slides into bed with the book she got earlier, ready to read a few chapters. Its just as heavy but provides the right escape.

“You’ll take care of me when I’m old and can’t remember anything right Darling…” Mel hears Abby’s voice with laughter carrying through the air. “My Darling….what’s your real name?” She jokes but sounds utterly confused and Mel sees Lydia shake through her laughing fit that starts in her belly and bursts out when she yells happily.

“Lydiaaaaa!”

“Oh I know youuuu. You’re my favoriiiiite,” she said with sheer joy as she continues to move her fingers along the girl’s sides like dancing spiders.

Mel doesn’t want to interrupt but her synapses are misfiring and she hears herself whisper as the thought fully forms, “Macy would have liked to see this.”

She doesn’t solidly register she’s said it aloud until Abby looks up at her, eyes serious and Lydia squirming to get off the couch as the brunette hears the front door close behind her.

“Mommy!” The girl runs and collides with her.

“Hello my beautiful,” Waverly says softly as Lydia’s arms wrap around the woman’s neck.

“You missed it! We got ice cream and books!” She says with excitement as Mel watches Abby get up from the couch and come stand by her. Its with effort she doesn’t touch her, hands held together in front of her as Waverly looks between them after kissing her daughter’s cheeks.

“You two have plans for the day?” She inquires and Mel knows she’s checking and being protective. Abby looks to her and Mel feels slightly put on the spot but has known she’s the one to suggest what they do, otherwise they’ll just fall into bed.

“Was thinking going out for dinner…”

The response seems to satisfy the younger Jameson who thinks good, take my sister on dates, as you should have done years ago.

Abby goes back to the living room and grabs the bag Waverly brought for Lydia and helps her place the strap on her shoulder, eyes locking with her sister because she knows fully well what she’s doing.

“Enough of the pissing match,” she said in the lightest whisper and Mel catches some of it and pieces it together.

“Talk later,” she says to her older sister. “Enjoy your dinner,” Waverly says sincerely after she looks at Mel then walks out smoothly with Lydia waving goodbye again.

When she turns Abby had her bottom lip between her teeth, looking at the floor then finally back to her.

“I think so too,” she says softly and pauses. “About Macy…” she says the name with a degree of reverence that warrants it.

She closes the distance and squeezes Abby’s forearm and looks up into serious hazel eyes. She offers a somber smile and wishes her sister were still part of the living world, but she can only think of hypotheticals when it comes to Macy-if she were still here, it’s all she’s left with when memories aren’t enough.

And she knows in her heart her older sister would have supported her with Abigael Jameson Caine. She takes a centering breath as Abby’s arms wrap around her waist.

“Thai or Chinese for dinner?”

“Thai. Always.” Abby responds as if it were even an option. She raises up and kisses her on the cheek.

“I’ll place the order.”

“I can pick it up.” The half witch offers logically and goes back to the living room.

“We can have it delivered. You’re not phase shifting there and giving them a heart attack.” She said sternly but with a lift at the corner of her lips, teasing the former Demon Overlord, not putting it past her.

“I can drive.” She counters with a raised eyebrow. “Got my license last year.” She adds by means of explanation, but it doesn’t as she picks up a book and lays across the couch and opens the book, eyes quickly finding the part she left off from.

“It lapsed?” Mel asks, still standing.

“No, first time getting it.” She says slowly, like she doesn’t want to give the information but it’s a fact, nonetheless.

“What? How? Why?” Mel asks with a frown and Abby feels hovered over as she places the book on her stomach.

Abby takes a long breath, clearly debating what to say and sets the book on the lower part of her chest. “Living in any metropolis will allow for convenience of not needing one but I got it to pick my niece up from school while Waverly is working or in class.” She stated most of it objectively like she was giving the synopsis of a character’s reasoning.

Makes sense the Latina thought. “How about we go for sushi?”

“Twist my arm,” she says with a smile and seems rewarded with a kiss to her cheek for not fighting it as Mel bends down.

“What’re you reading?” She takes a seat in the chair.

A leather bookmark slides over the page to tuck close to the spine and she holds out the book for Mel-backside up, synopsis showing.

The professor reads it and asks “young adult? Seems sophomoric for you,” as she hands it back and Abby reopens it, contently flipping through with purpose, like she knows exactly the section she’s looking for and holds it out to Mel again with a look that loudly says ‘do I really need to tell you don’t judge a book by its cover?’

“You have a photographic memory, don’t you?” She asks before reading, brazen and secure in her questioning.

“Real life Lisbeth Salanger,” she replies with a wink.

In another life. Mel thinks. Just add in a dragon tattoo. She looks down and reads the page.

“Ray Parsons, you have no soul”, she says, her voice gaining volume as she speaks. “You are a bag of skin. You are a pile of bones. Every cell that has ever split inside of you was a waste of energy. Where you walk you leave a vacuum. Your existence should cease.

Because there are others like him still. Tonight they used words they know, words that don’t bother people anymore. They said bitch. They told another girl they would put their dicks in her mouth. No one protested because this is our language now. But then I used my words, strung in phrases that cut deep, and people paid attention; people gasped. People didn’t know what to think. My language is shocking.”

As she reads Abby takes register of the moment. How serene and the word peaceful floats through her mind, not trusting the feeling she’s experiencing and doesn’t have the faintest idea what to do it. Peaceful is not a concept Abby is well acquainted with, they are not good friends, but she’s looking at Mel who seems so at home with her. How sharing bits about herself and things she liked made her other personality traits seem less used, more resigned and she frowned, wondering how it snuck up on-not needing to be so defensive, cunning, three steps ahead…

They were only sharing but Abby was slowly accounting and realizing how much she enjoyed it. A painstaking process until Mel handed the book back to her and asked if she could borrow it after.

Though she knows she won’t tell Mel everything. She can’t-it’s not in her nature. Like how she’s listened to hoax by Taylor Swift and the entire song made her feel too seen and too much when she sang ‘you knew it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart…but what you did was just as dark, darlin’ this was just as hard’ and it made her think about being kept a secret, something to be hidden.

She tries to analyze all her entanglements and knots-not trusting how healthy it feels to have Mel, dare she think it-soften some of her edges.

Her edges make her seem strong. She’s like a blade. She knows she can be cutting and her words exacting, serrating but she just replies with an easy, “sure” as she feels parts of herself unraveling.

She’s so tired of being composed all the time. Mel looks at her like she wants to ask what she’s thinking but knows better than to push that hard. And she gives a delicate, almost shy smile that says I like this, I didn’t expect it and it wasn’t part of the agreement but there could be more of this and I’d support it.

Sometimes a demure smile says a lot.

Chapter Text

They take Mel’s car, somehow an unspoken rule she’ll drive and be in control, a balance they don’t discuss but it settles between them. They ride in silence and Mel take’s Abby’s hand and holds it in her lap. She only releases her hands when she needs two hands on the steering wheel and feels Abby give her thigh a gentle squeeze each time.

Mel isn’t surprised Abby’s graceful and fluid with the chopsticks. She feels people looking at them, trying to guess if they’re friends or more. People are curious but it’s a little annoying, but Abby only looks at her and doesn’t glare at the others. The witch wonders if Abby’s accustomed to being stared at as she sits back in her designer clothes, standing out but clearly comfortable. She’s also practically moaning with each bite of her expensive dish and the witch thinks it borders on indecent but luckily the others can’t hear her. But her mind wanders to how she hasn’t allowed herself to touch Abby in the way she wants to. Not that Abby ever received her affections during their physical agreement, but she knew it was more about trust than simply giving into carnal desires. Abby gave and Mel realized she needed Abby to understand she couldn’t maintain the dynamic.

“Serious conversation,” Mel warns and taps her chopstick against the other nervously.

“Now?” Abby asks as if it’ll alter the quality of her dinner.

“I want…I hope you can forgive me.” Mel fumbles.

“For what?” Abby counters, eyebrow crinkle on full display as she sets her utensils on the corner of the plate.

“For my trespasses,” the witch says with earnest sincerity.

“I’m hardly a Christian Mel,” she replied dismissively. “What’re you going on about?”

“You’re right. Maggie shouldn’t have given you truth serum, I should have stopped it and told her it’s a violation of autonomy and I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a choice.” She said with  such sincerity and without a hidden agenda Abby felt she couldn’t navigate for a minute. Only words and disjointed thoughts wove and overlapped in her mind.

Absolve.
Redemption.
Placate.
Abandon.
Challenge.
Rallying.
Sacrifice.
Regrets.
Solace.
Allegience.
Redemption.

There were many words between them-a sea, an expanse. She considered them. Some were worries she knew hadn’t the power to grow into fears, some were aspirations requiring constant work and effort, and some solid and reassuring.

Mel looked at her ex who seemed like she was playing a chess match with herself. She could practically see destruction and reclaiming. Healing was never painless. She’s learned in the last few years. And she bet, with all her instincts Abby had done more rebuilding than she let on. She watched her hold her breath with tightly closed eyes until she finally took a deep breath. When she opened them her energy and conviction was rallying. Hazel eyes looking empowered, as if she needed to be lead to this moment and whether she would admit to it or not-had been waiting for it after weeks of holding back, refraining from giving past what she believed she could bear, having a deep aversion in her soul to make room for more exposure.

“I truly appreciate that. I need you to know…I…don’t want you to be my world. You can’t be,” she said unapologetically. “Lydia is,” she paused. “You can be…we can be each other’s solace,” she said without her usual eloquence as she clumsily walked on steppingstones to say what she truly wanted.

“Alright,” Mel said a few slight nods, processing. “That’s more than what most relationships offer,” and she waited for Abby to correct her use of terms. She didn’t. Abby sat relaxed, hands in her lap as she looked back at her, content to take her in.

“What’s something you’ll never get Lydia,” Mel asked, trying to stump the aunt, believing she’d get her niece anything.

“Tap shoes,” she replied smoothly, without any contemplation as she picked up the chopsticks again. “I value my sanity,” she smiled.

The witch chucked, the sound bubbling up from her chest. Yeah, she could see Abby losing her mind but still looking at the smallest Jameson with love as she abused her hard wood floors.

She liked Abby’s old-fashioned sentiments, how she believed in fine manners, how she was composed of contradictions, how she was likely to get a tattoo, how marks marred her skin if you looked closely and she wore them with pride, how she did love wholeheartedly but it was to a very small few. She could picture her in another universe as grunge and punkish, dark eye liner and scowls to ward people off that wouldn’t make her any less attractive if Lydia and Waverly weren’t in her life.

And she knew this conversation didn’t mean she was off the hook, that she’d still need to coax the half demon into sharing and being comfortable with her, how it couldn’t be the same, how she had deserved better.

“So I shouldn’t leave behind a tambourine and maracas at your place for her to find?” Mel said with a smirk after she took a sip of water.

“Enjoy being celibate.” Abby slightly rose her glass in a faux toast and watched Mel nearly choke.  

“Oh my god, warn a girl, we’re in public!” She admonished.

“You started it,” the brunette replied with a wicked smirk and finished the last bite of her dinner, content the charmed one didn’t have a reply.

“Check please,” Mel said to the waitress in passing.

Abigael paid, Mel annoyed by the lack of discussion of splitting it, but the former Demon Overlord nonchalantly stated “the gallery job’s secured” after she flippantly noted, “did a little looking into the previous exhibits and I think I can make it more relevant, possibly even subversive. I was thinking of an instillation that involves touching, emphasizing textures over the visual medium. Might even be appealing for children and the owner will likely eat it up,” she shrugged as if the idea was nothing but there was excitement on the fringe of her statements.

“Wow. Who knew your recalcitrant personality would be such an asset,” Mel said with a smirk after she caught up to what Abby was saying. It honestly sounded very interesting, odd, and divergent as they made their way out of the restaurant.

“I contain multitudes,” Abby said in a low voice as she opened the car door for the witch.

Isn’t that the truth. Mel thought as she got into her car. Again she waited for the taller woman to get in and was surprised she only placed her warm hand on her thigh. She imagined Abby was still ruminating on their conversation as something shifted between them.

When they reached Abby’s house Mel left her car running in the driveway as she got out and walked with the half demon to the front door.

“I’ll see you next week?”

“Okay,” Abby replied with a slight smile.

“You’ll text me how the gallery goes?” Mel asked, interested.

“Sure,” the younger woman downplayed it but enjoyed Mel cared to open the dialogue to include updates on her life.

“I have no doubt you’ll impress her and make it more lucrative,” she countered with a smile and a knowing tone because Abby was driven and smarter than she seemed.

“Well thank you,” she said as she twisted her ring around her finger. Cooled hands wrapped around her warm ones and Mel stepped closer. The witch always had cooler hands than her own and she thought it worked for them, as if there was a sense of balance.

“You’ve got this,” Mel replied then kissed her cheek. She was nearly turned around when the half witch gently pulled her back by the waist, other hand moving into her hair and kissed her like she felt she was making up for the rip off of not being properly kissed. When she finally pulled back from the smaller woman she whispered, “have a good night.”

She smirked as Mel looked a little dazed and watched her get in her car. With closer to her front door she wondered what she was going to do the rest of the weekend besides research more themes and instillation options, bordering on overkill with preparing for the call with the gallery owner. She thought about film, music, live dance, art that had psychological elements, pieces that inspired immediate visceral reactions down to the minute details of what scents could be included in the gallery.

It was a nice mental break from emotionally digesting the night with Mel. Hyper focusing on something conceptual and ambiguous was engaging because she wasn’t simply reacting to the chaos in the demon underworld, she’d actively be creating.

She made bulleted notes of talking points to the owner.

Didn’t want work that was simply created for the sake of art-it was often flat.
Wanted political, honesty, unapologetically stated pieces.
Instillations created by people on the spectrum.
And a damn ramp to the gallery with a design or graffiti on the walkway, it was minor but had bothered her if someone in a wheelchair wanted to go in they couldn’t. She saw potential and expanding past limitations.

Exhaustion sank into her. She showered quickly and got into bed feeling fuller and more centered with purpose.

But the nightmares came anyway. Snuck in and without warning. She woke with tense muscles and a weight on her chest and the smell of shellack and linseed lingering. The smell, she imagined on her fingers, under her nails from clawing at the crate her mother would have the groundskeeper recover with the oil after she was let out.

She took another shower. Scalding and grounding to dissuade herself from falling into the chasm of memories and its terrors. It was best to have them all forgotten.

A drink and they won’t return. She thought as she stood in a towel, fists clenched and willing shadowed monsters to stop leaving bruising indentations on her psyche.

A drink, it can’t hurt. She busied herself by getting into her silk robe. She put on music and went through her routine, but the memories were like a chisel, inflicting and smokey in its oppressive haunting.

Is it too much to ask to be relaxed? She thinks as she breaths in the night air as she stands on her back porch. And she gives in. She takes the bottle down from the top shelf in the cupboard and grabs a tumbler tenderly, as if holding onto a dear friend.

The liquid is as biting as she remembers and then smooth, lulling and familiar. She goes back to the porch with the bottle tucked into her elbow, her glass and the song Lovely playing through her phone.

What a perfect starry night. She thinks as the alcohol makes her feel warmer after her second intake.

“Hey. I forgot my phone…” Mel says behind her and she sees the judgement and worry pass through Mel’s brown eyes.

“Find it?” Abby counters and guesses its close to midnight.

“Yeah…” she said hesitantly. “Are you okay?” She asks as her head tilts and notices the music.

“I’m not day drinking. This seems an upgrade.” She says flatly.

Seems like regressing… the witch thinks but chooses to not voice the exact phrase.

“Debatable. Back to functional alcoholic?” Mel counters and with her comment they can feel the tension brewing.

Though she often enjoys matching the charmed one in their game of who can outwit the other she’s wrought and close to wrecked.

“I’d like to avoid nightmares. They come in waves. This helps ride them out.” She says then takes a drink. “Thank you very much,” she adds unnecessarily, sardonically.

“Drown them out too?” Mel asks critically and wishes her judge mental tone hadn’t reared its ugly head.

“Thankfully. The past doesn’t matter after a couple of these,” Abby finally supplies darkly after she stands up fully, looking domineering and narrows her eyes.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“And I wish I didn’t go down memory lane in my sleep to watch vile men come at me when I was seventeen,” she pauses and Mel feels the word vile said with such disdain and immense animosity, “but we can’t exactly pick out our nightmares like a damn movie selection,” she says in one remarkable breath.

“….what?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” She warns with an overpowering voice.

“You were alone at seventeen?”

“Sixteen.” Abby says bitterly and takes another, indelicate gulp.

“Abby…” she hopes her voice doesn’t have any pity as her mind is spinning.  Reprehensible. Mel can barely think but she decides that doesn’t even begin to cover what Abby has gone through.

“God in hell. Enough.” She’s beyond her fire element. A hurricane is inside her. Her voice sounds like an entire forest is falling, an earthquake, a rattling to their foundation.

“You’re doing a great impression of Jessica Jones,” She matches her annoyance, fire fueling off fire but knows it’ll end in mutual destruction. God-she knows this could be the breaking point. “Abby,” she tries again, voice softer.

“Leave it alone Mel. I haven’t had a drink in months! So let me have this.” She says, talking over her, voice raw and grating but the room was there-the emotional olive branch expressing the witch could influence her-had for weeks.

“Oh I get a say?” She says with a bite.

“More than you realize,” she said in such a bittersweet voice with subtext though she told herself don’t be so honest, it’ll ruin you…

But Mel has held her hand in ways no one has ever tried…

And the violin in the song, what Abby considered to be the saddest instrument in the world plays on and somehow softens them.

“Okay…can you talk to me?”

“What would you like me to say? How it would be nothing short of idyllic to have certain memories completely taken away, wiped clean magically? And who would I be then? Someone nicer, someone who believes in world peace like a god damned optimist? It’s never going to be me. What little amounts of world peace this world has had is a lie. A war is occurring every time a girl is raped, every time a child is taken, every time someone says no and it’s willfully ignored. Micro wars that go unnoticed. And I’ve been a part of them. So, the wars play out in dreams because the generals are too stubborn to give up the fight. But the drink lulls them.” She says tipping her glass, the small amount of amber liquid tilts as if saying ‘so I dare you to take it from me.’

She ends her soliloquy coldly, so close to contemptuously. And they’re at a stand-off. But Mel stands still and looks at her like no one ever has.

Don’t fall in love.

“You can say whatever you want. I may not like it.” She nods her head. “But I’m still going to love you.”

The formidable woman looked as if her life was escaping her and her walls reformed, fortress armed.

Mel saw the flash of fear, of words left unsaid, of feelings ripping apart her logic, tearing her semblance of control into unrecognizable barriers.

You can’t unfire a gun.

The witch could only continue to look at the woman, her green eyes looking pained and distrusting.

There was the entire problem. How love can be a sharp stab or a soothing wave.

The hybrid woman felt her body vibrate as though her internal walls…and her ribs containing her heart were infusing with steel to encase her vital organ or…dissolving to allow room for Mel, to accept she inspired the emotion of love in someone, and they brought it back to her versus using it to manipulate or harm. She set her drink on the wide railing, the sound of glass touching metal jarring.

“Do not phase shift out of here! You live here!” Mel said with the same tone as her ‘don’t push it Abby’ a calmly exclaimed challenge. Because they both knew Abigael was able to get away with a lot of nefarious bullshit she threw at people simply because she was pretty and intelligent, a combination most of the world couldn’t fathom existed together in tandem.

She expects a demanding, mean, cold tone to be shot back at her because Mel knew you don’t know how to hurt others unless you’ve been taught and hurt yourself. And you become better at it the more its done to you.

Instead, Abby replies with closed eyes and her eyebrow crinkle in place. “You’re right. I need you to leave” with stilted breath, voice sounding frail and so out of character it made the charmed one pause.

“Abby…”

“Mel.” She grimaces, lips thinning as she turned her head to the side, willing her eyes to not allow for tears. They were too honest, they said what she couldn’t. She swallowed. It was best to bury them. Tears never changed anything.

Not when she pleaded to not be put in the crate.
Not when she sincerely apologized and screamed her truth, she didn’t mean to hurt Waverly, accidents happen and she had been five.
Not when she was sixteen and her mother forced her out simply because she could and she said please before her mother transported her to the states, an ocean of distance.
Not when she was seventeen, alone and mortal men came for her, threatening with their bodies, firmly believing they could do anything they wanted simply because they had penises and with a flashing thought she wished she cut them off for thinking she would be easy prey-a girl to be trafficked. She learned how the smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air and on her hands that night after she had no other choice but end them-to kill them.
Not when her mother called her a stray dog when she made it back to the manor in Sussex. She would never call it her home.

“You’re not supposed to love me.”

“Why the hell not?” Mel asks with a raised voice, offended for both of them.

“Please…” she said softly with closed eyes, shielding her from the care in brown ones. She couldn’t accept love was obtainable.

I’ve done horrible things she thinks.

“Abby…” Mel matches her softness.

“I haven’t earned it.” She said, her voice rough and filled with gravel.

“You don’t have to earn it! That’s not how it works!”

Abby gives her a mirthless smile as if she’s looked at every angle and Mel’s belief is very contrary to her experience. How Mel is hopeful and was allotted more kindness in life that reenforced her heartfelt, earnest views that love wasn’t earned, wasn’t painful, wasn’t something to be feared.

“Love is a wild thing.” She pauses and gently takes Abby’s hand. “Like your demon, like our magic.”

“It’s much easier to love than be loved…” Abby states slowly letting the words hang there-how she says I love you without saying them. She’s not there yet but Mel knows, practically feels their inevitable presence someday.

Mel gently unravels the pale fist and interlaces their fingers. “It is. But I’m still going to show you.”

The witch gently pulls her back into the house. Abby feels chilled, hands not as warm as usual and Mel feels protective and unsure but she’s not going to leave until the younger woman tells her to.

She leads her to the bathroom and tells her in a soft command to brush her teeth then she goes into the kitchen as she hears Abby turn on the faucet. She takes deep breaths as she stares at the distorted reflection of herself in the stainless steel. Blindly she had taken a cup and filled it with ice and water from the fridge door. From her periphery she see’s Abby lean slightly against the counter, a few feet away from her.

“Here,” she says softly and sets the cup between them. She watches Abby clench her jaw.

“Are you…” Abby starts and closes her mouth.

Mel guesses she’s going to say giving any ultimatum comes next.

“Are you going to stay?” Abby asks in the smallest voice she’s ever heard from the woman.

“Of course,” Mel says without hesitation and watches as the taller woman reaches out and takes the cup.

She looks like she wants to say more but is waiting for the light of day and when she’s fully cognizant but her shoulders sink and she looks more relaxed after she’s drank the water.

Mel takes her hand again and walks with her to the bedroom, she makes Abby get in first and then takes off her own clothes, tossing them on the chair in the corner. She slides in and faces the pale woman whose frown lines are prominent and her reasons for them concerning. Without thought she does what she feels in her bones she should do-she presses her lips to each eyebrow and holds her hand against Abby’s lower back. When she pulls back the half witch’s tenacity seems gone and its in place something in the same vein as peace.

Abby knows Mel holds her in ways no one else has.

She closes her eyes with that as her last thought.

When they wake Mel is wrapped over her. Around her, against her. Arm across her stomach, lips against the back of her neck and she’s shocked she doesn’t mind it. She lightly squeezes the other woman’s wrist and feels her stirring and moans softly through a small stretch.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” She asks.

“Fine,” Abby replies, feeling raw and too out in the open. She feels Mel sigh behind her and shift her body so she’s facing her. The half demon lays on her back, looks at the ceiling and bites the corner of her lip.

“Want to try that again?” Mel says softly without any demand, but merely asking because she truly wants to know and clearly isn’t leaving. Abby feels Mel’s thumb moving in circles against her side, brushing her ribs.

“I feel…” she closes her eyes and hates how the phrase, one she’s not accustomed to saying sounds like its from a scene with a therapist. She sighs and reapproaches. It feels easier to say what she wants as Mel is looking at her profile. “I would love nothing more than a boring life. I want you to stay overnight.” She swallows. “Watch films with me, have meals together, go out and meet at cafes on our lunches. I want to give you gifts simply for the hell of it…because I saw something and it made me think of you. I want you to just drop in because you want to see me.” She swallows again because honesty is heavy and hard. “And all that is…love is insane. And happiness is fucking terrifying.” She whispers the last sentence with cynicism in her core, unable to put faith in contentment, always believing something would destroy it, take it away.

But wondrously she feels Mel pull her closer to her and kiss her shoulder. “Yeah, I want all that too.” Her hand moves from her side to rest over her heart for a few beats before she brings her hand to rest against the side of Abby’s neck. “And newsflash,” she said lightly and with an edge of sarcasm, as it wasn’t front page news in the least, “we’re in a relationship. We just went about it in the most round about way.” She says it factually but watches Abby’s eyes enlarge as though she’s just landed on the same page.

“Oh,” she says adorably in her oblivion and Mel can’t hold it back. She laughs.

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” she says at narrowed eyes and kisses her cheek.

“Glad we cleared that up,” Abby says with a slight eye roll, the early hour softening its usual intensity.

“Listen,” Mel says as she brings her hand down and squeezes the half demon’s hip. “I have to go to an event with Maggie but you’ll hydrate and recover? Get out…”

“Like I’m a bloody plant,” she says with a sigh. “Waverly and I have a walk planned,” she supplies.

“Good.” Mel leans down and kisses her lips. Its quick and Abby feels ripped off again. “We’ll talk..” she pauses and considers, “when you want to.”

“Okay,” Abby says as she lifts herself up and leans back on her elbows as she watches Mel get dressed.

“On your own time. It can be tomorrow, next week, next month…” she pauses and stresses, “next year,” she finishes solidly.

“Okay,” Abby replies delicately, knowing what Mel offered and the change in her tone makes Mel stop her movements to close the space between them to give her a promising kiss. One she feels would come with vows and assurances but knows she and Abby likely won’t have such traditional ceremonies. They have this and its them.

“Headache coming?” Maggie asks-knowing Mel was prone to them. Stressed induced days and no outlet.

“A migraine. I can feel it..” Mel says with a frown as she rubs her temple. Work has been killer, Abby hasn’t said how the meeting with the gallery owner went and everything having to do with them feels heightened.

Maggie sets a small, pebbled orb in front of her. “Go have Abby screw your brains out.”

She smiles cheekily, the you’re welcome not needed as the orb would save her the drive and only add to her convenience.

“Margarita!” Shocked at her crassness, though she should have expected it. After seeing patients all day, she was very blunt and without any patience herself when she got home.

“Endorphins. Go,” she commands and is also remarkably dismissive with a shooing motion of her hand.

She orbs onto the front porch of the hybrid’s house and has learned to not bother with the knocking.

Abby is doing yoga again and Mel marvels at how sinful her thoughts become immediately. She thanks whatever god that was listening the younger woman wasn’t in a suggestive pose but somehow was in a different warrior stance. Limbs showing lean muscles and so much pale skin in the black tank top and dark red pants. She clears her throat and hopes it can be heard over the soft music.

“Back so soon?” Abby asks with some surprise after she shifts to her regular standing position.

“Doctors orders,” she tries to joke with a smile but Abby’s large windows behind her hurt her eyes and she gives an unintentional half grimace.

“Doctor?” Abby asks as she moves closer to her and turns her away from the windows, arm holding her forearm.

“Maggie,” she gives a slight shake of her head.

“And what did perky little head shrinker have to say?” She questions.

“Long story short-I have a migraine on its way, and she said,” she feels herself blush and pauses.

“I’m on the edge of my seat Mel,” Abby cut in lightly, teasing.

“Go have Abby screw your brains out.” Mel finishes.

“Ha! Didn’t know she had it in her. Well…” she turns around, whispers some enchantment and they watch the curtains close. “I’d be glad to help…but I rather like your brain,” she says slowly and with such damn appeal Mel feels her mind go blank, almost missing the compliment. “Did you take anything?” Abby asks with concern.

“Not yet,” she states.

“Alright. Take a shower and I’ll be back.” She kisses her temple and goes into her bedroom.

“You’re changing and phase shifting somewhere?” Mel asks through her confusion.

“Of course. I can’t go out like this, I’m practically naked,” she smirks, apparently well-aware she’d get a lot of unwanted attention.

“Don’t feel like stopping traffic?” Mel jokes back as she makes her way to the shower. Abby isn’t showy or really that desperate for validation and if she were it would be validation for her character and abilities, not her surface physicality.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she counters with a serious smile, coming out in an outfit like what she’d wear as Demon Overlord. Her armor. Abby on a mission.

Mel showers. It feels nice but not what she wants. She takes her time and smells the shampoo, so distinctly Abby and she can tell she had it made specifically. The glass jar is artisan and looks pricey.

When she’s finished she goes into the bedroom, walks bare through the house after seeing how Abby closed the dark curtains and lays in bed. She’s nearly asleep, though the headache is persistent and feels the bed dip in front of her. Abby is holding pills in her hand and a glass of water. With effort she sits up after she holds the sheet to her chest. She feels cold and close to exhausted.

“You never had meds here?” Mel asks curiously. She sees a metal lantern from the corner of her eye that’s placed on the dresser. It’s soft light encompasses the room.

“Half demon constitution. Don’t need them,” Abby supplies and places the glass on the side table when the witch is done. “A lantern? You got a lantern.” She says in a way that reminds Abby too much of ‘baby photos. You want me to send you baby photos?’ She pauses and distantly considers when that bridge comes they might cross it. “Evidently.” She states and doesn’t want to give up her thoughts. “May I?” She asks, redirects, pointing to the bed, though its hers.

“Of course,” Mel says with a slight huff and is surprised when the brunette smoothly removes her own shirt. She doesn’t get to see the rest of the clothes be discarded as Abby moves around the bed and comes to lay behind her. Immediately she starts to feel warmer. Abby makes for a great heater she realizes as her arm comes to rest over her stomach, her thumb pressing between her breasts.

“You seem tired,” she whispers, content to give her body heat as she takes in how Mel feels.

The witch slightly turns, her neck craning and whispers against her lips. “Not that tired,” and before Abby can completely ask if she’s sure her hand has moved up to stroke a tan neck. Mel sighs into the kiss, embracing the feeling as Abby kisses her with care, like she still doesn’t deserve her, like she wants to stop the encroaching storm in her head.

She feels Abby’s leg move between her own, a lean thigh slides in and rests, holding her apart. Its different and so soft. Abby breaths into her for minutes like she’s trying to give her strength, some of her demon abilities to ward off headaches but Mel feels her impatience growing. She reaches up and squeezes the wrist and hand that’s cradling her head. Abby doesn’t need to be directed. She feels the hand retreat and snake from her shoulder, down her arm to her side to her hip that she gives a gentle squeeze to her butt cheek with a firmer squeeze and slowly between her legs. Her fingers feel how ready she is but Abby waits and applies the barest pressure as Mel moves her head onto the pillow, the back of her neck in line with Abby’s lips and she feels them linger, never leaving as she guides her finger in. The position is something else entirely, grazing over her g spot and Mel feels herself give in, allowing Abby to encompass her with her soft, purposeful movements. Its delicate and what she needs. The steady build up and pressure Abby gives as she moves closer after she adds another finger and how slow, giving and restrained she is as she presses into the spot more and more. She kisses her shoulders and goes back to her neck and whispers “god, you’re beautiful” and “so damn gorgeous” and “could you be anymore lovely?” between minutes because Abby is awestruck how Mel lets her touch her, allows herself to be so open in ways she knows she can’t herself, not yet and maybe not ever, but she’ll be in awe and honored to be with Mel like this. And Mel comes undone from words and gentle, elegant touches. They lay together, Abby gracefully and carefully moving out of her to hold her and kiss her temple again.

“Headache?” Abby asks with slight worry minutes later.

Mel shakes her head as much as she can into the pillow. “Averted.”

They sleep in, Abby feels she could get used to it but always has an edge of disbelief that its all too good to be consistent. Mel sees it and knows she can only show her to reform her opinions and worst fears. She holds her hand, fingers grazing over fingers, gliding over pale knuckles and veins that have half demon, half witch blood sliding through them.

“Its Sunday. Is Lydia coming over?”

“Mhm, she’ll be here in about two hours.” Abby states as Mel tries to pull the taller woman half on top of her. She likes her weight, her presence.

“Good. Any plans?” She asks curiously because Abby puts a lot of thought into how she spends time with her niece.

“The park. Fly a kite. She really enjoyed Mary Poppins,” she says with a smile that reaches her eyes, a rarity, but a constant when Lydia was the topic.

“Perfect,” The Latina says and feels Abby give into her pulling. She’s half on top of her, thigh across her hip and Mel gives a gentle squeeze to the pale limb to feel her solidness. Abby hasn’t allowed her to touch her this much in months, not since it all restarted and her nails rank over her skin like muscle memory when Abby would move on top of her and let her make love to her.

“Sorry,” she says and stops her hand from moving. She goes as far as retracting it and places it across her own stomach. First, she feels Abby sigh then hears it and she looks into very green eyes, the specks of brown all but gone in the daylight.

 “Mel,” Abby starts and makes certain their eyes meet and hold.

Don’t be scared.

“My philosophy was be the lioness in the shadows…” she says with some voracity because it was her belief for most of her life, but she was giving a very hidden part of herself and it came out rather softly, “you’ve taught me how to accept love, as best I can.” She pauses to move over the smaller woman, straddling her hips, “and you’ve shown me how to seek light…rather than simply exist in the dark.”

And Mel is at a loss for words as Abby settles on her. The sheet falls to wrap near her very lower back and she’s so bare in front of her, but it’s the words she said that matter more than this gorgeous, gone through hell woman who is naked on her. God! She doesn’t have the right words! But she must be looking at her in a way that inspires Abby to do what she hasn’t in months. The taller woman leans down, wraps her hand around the back of her neck, kisses her like she’s saying please, please don’t break me, don’t fucking hurt me. A plea and a threat.

She rises up to meet Abby and hold her closer, hand pressing against her lower back, always having loved the spot and how her fingertips fit into the dimples. Abby kisses her harder and moans come through searing touches and firm holds.

“You’re sure?” Mel asks. Needing the answer, wanting an absolute.

“Yes,” Abby says through an exhale against her lips, and she feels Abby pull back, a contradicting movement to her voice’s conviction. But Mel feels their stomach touch and chest meet for a second before she feels her hand being taken from the bed she had been using for support to be raised between them. She watches as Abby gently bends her ring and pinky finger to her palm and takes her index and middle fingertips into her mouth to slowly work her lips down to the knuckle and back up.

Mel thinks she could come from that alone but its like an out of body experience. She tries to take in how the brunette repositions on her, opens herself up more as she guides her hand to rest on the lowest part of her stomach. Abby removes her hand and presses her palm against the metal bar near Mel’s shoulder. She wraps her fingers around the bed frame.

“Okay,” Abby breaths out, eyes never leaving the woman’s slightly below her and Mel moves her hand lower. She watches Abby’s chest heave, how she looks tense and ready, but she stops and chooses to kiss her because that’s what she wants to do more than anything. So she does and she feels Abby relax on top of her, all the more, chests pressing together and moans become louder. And finally Abby can’t seem to tolerate her hesitancy and overt consideration anymore. She takes her hand and guides Mel’s fingers where she wants them, how she needs her to be. And Mel holds her breath as she takes in how Abby slowly slides on her, digits slowly vanishing as she settles completely against her. She moans first at the shock of it, how perfect Abby feels, how she becomes light-headed and the brunette moans deeply as a louder echo. She feels her head being turned upward and she kisses her, consumes the next moan from the woman who’s slowly riding her and moving against her like she’s wanted to for months…years.

Abby bites the witch’s lower lip as the witch moves her hand from her lower back to her breast, massaging the powerful woman like she could fall apart at any minute if she stopped loving her. The muscles around her fingers clench and Mel pulls back, mind and body hating her, but she wants to look into hazel eyes she’s memorized through their many changes, emotions and expressions. She feels a slight pull to the hair on the back of her neck from Abby’s fingers, reacting on their own to the pleasure about to overtake her.

“I’m gonna love you,” she whispers in a promise and a challenge.

And Abby falls apart. Muscles pulsate, shoulders slack as she moans into Mel’s mouth before she sees everything go bright. Mel holds her, arm securely around her waist until Abby lifts her head from her tan shoulder. As the brunette moves Mel rests her hand against the side of her ribs, still supporting her and slowly removes her fingers after the half witch nods. She expects Abby to gracefully maneuver off her but watches as the woman blindly finds the top of the sheet and wraps it around her waist as much as she can, leaving her torso exposed as she sinks against the charmed one, lips finding hers even with eyes that had fallen closed through the descension. Forearms frame her head but she keeps moving her hands over Abby’s back as if she has no intention of letting the opportunity go. And she knows she doesn’t. She won’t. They will hold each other and argue, they’ll crash and care for one another. Waverly won’t need to have a brief talk with her again containing a thinly laced threat. She’ll see the many flawed, stubborn, gloriously private, and stunning, unexpected traits of the woman in her arms and Abby will share more when she can.

Mel will be ready. And they will love as they know how-magically.

The End.

Chapter Text

“Do we know any British, blonde teenagers?”

“What?”

“Female.” Maggie says, adding in a detail. She’s distracted, head in the fridge searching for what she’s craving.

“No…” Mel looks in her direction in confusion, though her younger sister’s back is to her. “Why?”

“I had a premonition a blonde-haired teenager called Abigael Cerberus.” She turns around. “She was talking to someone else…that part was fuzzy, literally blurry, like the blonde teen was the only important part...and she was debating telling Abby someone threatened her…”

It was farfetched but Mel didn’t think it was a jump. “You had a dream about Lydia?”

“Ooooh. That tracks,” Maggie said while nodding, giving her assessment off handedly as if being utterly ruthless would come easy to Abigael when given the chance to avenge Lydia or stop anything that could cause damage.

Mel gives an amused huff. “Yeah, it does. Seems she picked up her aunt's interest in Greek mythology. Norse too. She named her cat Fenris.” She notes with what Maggie registers as pride.

“The giant wolf that swallowed the sun?” She’s just checking as the name seems a better fit for a dog and she took a mythology class what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Yeah, but Abby is...very protective of Lydia. I can see her…easily,” she says with a frown “wondering if she should release the hound of hell on whoever threatened her because that person would be…”

“Dragged there?” Maggie asks, trying to be helpful. She doesn't need to note who would do the dragging.

“Pretty much.” The older woman gives a small smile to cover the fear Abby wouldn’t hesitate and wouldn’t have any remorse. The aunt had said it was her job to protect Lydia once and it was said with such credence Mel knew it would be a constant in her girlfriend's life. And she wonders if Maggie's powers can see so far into the future because The Jameson's will still be part of their lives.

There's nothing more to say and there's a painful inevitability Lydia will be hurt at some point in her life, it’s just a matter to what extent and in what ways. She hopes they're in the typical, human ways-heartaches, minor betrayal, realizing who to keep close and who aren't worth it. And a song makes its way into her head, the lyrics upbeat, slightly punk and said more than sung 'broken hearts hurt but they make you strong'. She knows she won't tell Abby this premonition, it'll only put her on edge, but mostly she knows it’s another bridge they'll cross when they come to it and hopefully Abby won't set it ablaze in her rage.

When she eventually goes to her girlfriend's house she walks in, having completely abandoned knocking months ago. They're coming up to their year anniversary and she's not going to make a big deal out of how its right around the bend. She wants it to be like any other day but with some of her favorite things she muses and the song catches in her head because Lydia loves all things Julie Andrews lately.

Like Abby in one of her t-shirts, one shoulder exposed in her signature look and yoga pants getting lost in a book. She knew her typical Demon Overlord attire was worn more due to her work, but she’d change into more casual, but still classy selections when home. And there was something less guarded and beautiful about Abby in comfortable clothes, no shoes, lounging, eating desserts or her first pick-crème brulé.

Months ago, she had watched the English woman make it. She found Abby in a tank top and jeans caramelizing the top layer with a small blowtorch and it was oddly sexy. She hadn't seen that coming.

Abby mocked her once, how her brain stops fully functioning as the half demon licks the spoon. “It’s like you're watching porn,” she elongated the last word and laughed. She bit the end of the utensil, the metal against her white teeth making a clinking sound she never realized she liked before, but she rolls her eyes and thinks it can't be helped and who the hell would blame her as Abby looked back like she could find something much better to eat.

But Abby is in a black towel, leaning over her kitchen counter as she drinks tea and listens to an audiobook. Mel's discovered she likes them when she's too tired to read after work but still needs something slightly cerebral to occupy her mind. She oscillates between dark young adult and the classics. If she's feeling particularly stressed, she chooses science fiction.

'How many times have you listened to Slaughterhouse Five,' she asked once and Abby shrugged and replied, 'probably eight' and added 'so it goes' just to be cheeky, both knowing it’s a repeated phrase throughout the novel.

“You dirty liar!” Mel says with a smile and watches Abby focus on her completely after her graceful fingers turn off the narration coming from her phone.

“Really Mel? I just showered,” Abby replies smoothly with the mix of a smirk and an exasperated small huff she manages to pull off.

“You cut your hair.” Mel states the obvious with amusement.

“Mhmm,” she hums. “I didn't exactly lie about it. I said I might do it right before the next installation.” She raises an eyebrow, seeing if the Latina is about to challenge her but she just keeps looking at her. “Got tired of it getting in the way,” she says with a shrug of a shoulder, not wanting to explain she had to inspect a lot of pieces and various forms of mediums to work out how they should be displayed which meant leaning over tables or the floor and moving index cards around as they stood in for varying objects.

Mel moved to stand a foot away from her and brought her hands into her hair to the tips an inch above her shoulders. “You look,” her voice softened as she really looked her over...

beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, great... “very bisexual” she says with a barely contained smirk and is rewarded for her snark with one of Abby's rare, unconstrained laughs. It goes up to her eyes. The brunette tilts her head and smiles as if she's glad Mel hadn't given her a simple, blanket compliment on her aesthetics.

“Can't have people thinking I'm straight, can I? Bi erasure and all that diminishing nonsense,” Abby replied, and Mel thinks back to when she ranted the half witch was faux woke. Something else she misjudged.

“How's work?” Mel asks as the brunette turns around and grabs a teacup. The witch had taken to stealing hers lately and it’s become a little game between them, but her hazelnut tea is one she knows Mel hates so she makes her Earl Grey in another pot. She's wondered if Mel likes smokey, lingering things and how she knows she can be a little of both with her fire and touches that say words she can't bring herself to express yet.

“Rather great,” she says with a smile. She genuinely enjoys her job, loves the projects, how it’s not the same monotonous, daily tasks and she's practically been given carte blanche to do anything she'd like after the last three exhibits were well received. She had work created by individuals with disabilities using an array of elements that garnered wonderful symbolism, massive pop-up books adhered to the walls with unique watercolor illustrations presented as 3d art and wonderfully larger than life as pages slowly flipped through with the help of telekinetic witches who sat in the corner conversing as the humans were oblivious and Abby realized she was starting to make friends through work and her connections.

The third display was focused on work by people who were in AA. It seemed out of nowhere and Mel pressed her for her reasons why or what was the inspiration behind it. She had slightly balked at sharing but conceded it had been their conversation weeks ago. The witch had innocently asked her over dinner 'Why scotch. Why not rum and Coke?'

'Disgusting. I’d like to keep my teeth.' Her frown lines showing and eyes squinting as she tried to read the menu.

She needs glasses. Mel thinks but doesn't press it. One thing at a time and they're focused on something heavier right now. 'But why scotch?' Mel asked seriously, pushing past her amusement.

'Accustomed to it.' She had shrugged. 'It was that or heroine and I knew I would enjoy that... too much.'

She couldn't have known Mel was grateful for the conversation. How it made her feel more settled as she thought good to know Abby has some survival skills in place with her poor history of self-preservation because god it had been bleak.

'And I knew drugs would have been escapist and a knee jerk reaction. I'm tired of reacting.' She had finished.

“The next project might be focused on texture. A lot of natural pieces, but some manufactured. I may not attend,” she adds with uncertainty after a sip of her tea. Mel waits because there's something in Abby's tone that's different and paramount. She watches the brunette pour her perfectly brewed tea she internally timed just right into a cup and slides it over on a saucer. The tea allows for more pausing. She's become rather proficient in knowing when Abby needs an unpressured minute.

“One particular artist uses a lot of wood...and there are certain scents that come with the pieces,” she supplies and sips her tea to stop more words from coming.

Mel loves listening to Abby talk about work and thinks it’s very giving of her to work with someone who creates such pieces whether they realize it or not just how difficult and trying it is for her to even promote it, be around it.

She squeezes her wrist and slides her hand into hers, fingers entwining, loving, tethering.

They know, though charmed, she can't stop the reminders and triggers from rearing and overtaking, but their interlaced hands always encourage Abby to defy the phantoms, though they can be endless. Resist. A squeeze says. You are defiant their hold whispers. And if you are too tired, I will fight them, alongside you-with you.

“What was it like in the tomb of chaos?” She asks gently. Maggie recently shared she and Jordan had talked about it last week.

Abby is quiet for so long she thinks she maybe hadn’t heard her, but she watches Abby open her mouth numerous times only to close it and turn her head as if she’s dismissing what she’s constructing in her mind.

“Can we discuss it later?” She asks but doesn’t shut down the topic. Her tone is gentle and daunting, as it always is when Abby shows her she’s been severely influenced by what was done to her but is still trying to not let it have so much power over her.

Mel feels herself nod and watches the taller woman go in her bedroom to finally change. She comes out minutes later with the towel clenched in her fist, veins showing in her arm and to her knuckles as her hands practically pulsate around the fabric, clenching and unclenching.

It’s the halting, abrupt stop in her pace and bite to the inside of her cheek Mel sees Abby’s construction of words, her selective syntax to explain something that will never have a valid reason for occurring. The brunette goes into the bathroom to hang her towel and comes back to the kitchen to grab her tea. She tilts her head towards the couch, a silent invite.

They settle, tea on the coffee table that rarely has coffee placed on it, Abby with her legs crossed under her and twisting the one ring on her third finger. Her elbows are pressed into her knees and Mel can tell she’s consciously taking long breaths.

The brunette keeps turning the ring and can’t help the mental iteration how it came into her possession.

‘I got you this.’ Waverly set the round, silver piece of metal between them. It’s simple in design but so complicated in what it truly represents.

‘Why would you think I want it?’ Abby asked slowly, like her sister presented her with a riddle.

‘I don’t think you want it.’ Waverly replied softly, knowingly. A puzzle piece sliding into place.

‘You’re right. I don’t want anything of hers.’ She practically glared at the ring but her eyes…they soften when Waverly looked at her like she’s trying to make their past better, trying to lead her to rewrite and reframe so she can alleviate her baggage, leave some memories behind-rid certain grievances to mend.

‘I thought something corporeal might help.’ She said instead of what she feels and knows, how physical tools can be helpful: I think you need it.

‘With what purpose?’ Abby asked with a tilt of her head because she’s still not seeing the link Waverly clearly already has.

‘As a reminder you survived Abby.’

Their mother’s ring rests on the counter. Elegant, expensive, unadorned and she knows Waverly somehow stole it. For her. Abby knows it solidly. Feels it-how acutely her sister wants to embolden her, inspire her to unburden her soul. Their mother’s surprising unpretentious ring, the only piece of jewelry she liked of hers being given as an offering.

Abby slowly slides it on her finger. It’s weight light but so heavy-this moment. It feels like reclaiming.

She’s brought back to the present as Mel holds her hand, stopping the nervous fiddling and small tell she’s close to shipwrecked and needs to be pulled out of the ocean.

“It was…a ruse. Nothing more.” She lands on, dismissively.

“What happened?” Mel tries because she wants to understand it so she can decipher the layers of Abby.

“If I talk about this…” if you make me, she thinks it could lead me closer to self-destruction…

She pulls and pinches the tendon in her neck with the free hand Mel isn’t occupying but she knows the witch isn’t demanding she talk, its without any sense of coercion and it gives Abby the chance to think.

“The truth is…” she starts, and Mel waits patiently but considers what could come next...

Subjective
Harming
Empowering
Complex
Powerful
Heartbreaking
Everything

“It was like watching a play… you get drawn in and you forget the outside world. I forgot how much I don’t like her,” she pauses, her voice somber, longing, containing a wish she’d never bothered to voice to stars it could have been different and Mel thinks hate is such a strong word, but it’s warranted. “And I forgot…so I was pulled in, but…everything came back, her act wasn’t exactly seamless…and so.. I remembered this is the woman…who can’t be a mother.”

And hell, the yearning is barely there, slipped in how she wanted her mother to care for her even as she’s come to accept it wasn’t her fault for the lack of love from the woman.

“You know you have every right to hate her.”

“Mmm. Indeed. But it requires too much energy,” she said introspectively and gave a thin smile as though hatred has become blunt and less acute “but despite what’s occurred...its only a small piece of my life…a few years…in the grand scheme,” she finishes and manages to minimize and be hopeful in the same instant. There’s an embrace and they don’t know who initiated the first squeeze as Abby thinks for the first time ever, she wants a long life and Mel thinks Abby will always downplay her past, but more than anything she won’t grant the torture and pain to overshadow the rest of her years. She sees proof of Abby’s beliefs a week later with Lydia, her reason to hope, her embodiment of aspirations.

“There are marvelous things in this world. Beautiful chaos. So many adventures..mistakes..feelings..learning to do my Darling. You can do what you want as long as you don’t hurt yourself or others. You will experience incredible things because you have all the potential to do so because you are good.” Their eyes are locked-Lydia only sees her aunt. “And my world is all the better because you are in it,” she whispers but her tone is so fiercely stated as she kneels in front of her, knees on her cement porch, hands holding onto tiny ones.

Mel is speechless as she watches how she imagines if a child were to meet their superhero. To Lydia Abby is hers and as she grows older she knows Abby would kill for her, make crime bosses seem like puppies compared to what she would do if she ever found out someone hurt her. Lydia may never know she was once the Demon Overlord, but Abby has untapped power always ready in her stance, in her eyes that say all I need is a reason to destroy you and Lydia will have no choice but to love her all the more for it. She’s seen the testaments to how their love in unconditional when Abby has yelled ‘let the wild rumpus start!’ They had jumped into the pile of leaves that absorbed some of their joyful screams and gleeful roars as they pretended to be vicious beasts from Where the Wild Things Are.

She’s seen Abby make shadow puppets on the bedroom wall, helping Lydia form her small digits into silhouetted animals and create unique creatures with new names as her girlfriend’s soothing, whispering voice composed fantastical stories. ‘May you dream of gentle things and tender hearted lunacy,’ she kissed her niece’s cheek whose eyes were drifting closed.

The taller woman came towards her and immediately looked annoyed. She’d overstepped again. Abby hated being looked in on, but more so not having her privacy as she stated hours ago.

“Impeccable time,” she said sarcastically as she gently shut the door.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Mel replied at a lower volume than her normal, but her frown was loud.

Abby looked up at the ceiling as though willing patience to seep into her being. “I enjoy my time alone with my niece, can you simply give me that?” The culmination of the recent events coming to a peak.

“I know, I know Abby. I didn’t mean to read your letter,” she said honestly. It was out on her desk days ago, the number sixteen on the envelope. She didn’t realize there were more letters with increasing numbers tucked into the corner of the desk until Abby begrudgingly told her she wanted to write birthday cards she hopes her niece would deem important and worth keeping.

She’s sorry she read it but also without remorse she gets to see this amazing side of Abby. The very hidden, very wholehearted, and pure side that moves her to write letters to a future version of the little girl she loves. Letters part of her she wish she had gotten. It was so clear in her words.

My Darling,

I hope you woke up with songs and playlists in your head. I hope you know you’re my favorite weirdo. I hope you feel whole and at the same time know you’re growing-that you may have insecurities but you are enough. I hope you never feel stuck. And if you do know it will not be your forever.

Everyone, myself included, is a work in progress, whether they’re conscious of it or not. It doesn’t make them any less of a person. Happiness, inspiration to live and feel alive takes effort. And though it will happen I hope you are never lonely. I wish you to never feel it. But I implore when you look at the stars you feel small and humbled-that they persuade you to explore and go seek-that you be an adventurer. I hope you have come to adore words, fall in love with music, art, knowledge, the unknown…

And I hope you will have someone to tell your stories to who will listen with sincere interest wanting to know every minute detail you can express.

May you be lighthearted but full of an impassioned fury for life and its infinite choices. You have potential to be better because you’ll experience something incredibly true and rare that the unmanageable in life will seem less so. I hope you'll be next to someone who seems otherworld and magical, who will leave you wondering and questioning if a person can be a catalyst to feeling more alive. May you be considerate because their first time at anything may not have been soft, reassuring, enjoyable or groundbreaking. Accept that you will be bewildered and confused but it does not make you unintelligent or unrefined.

You are more than you realize.

Love you forever.

‘It was beautiful though. She’ll love it when she gets to read it,’ she said with absolute honesty and it softens the aunt who is so protective of their bond, her loyalty unbreakable, the love unmeasurable.

‘Ideally she will. But you won’t read anymore unless she wants to share them with you,’ she countered and its so delicately implied she has every intention of being with her for a decade, years…

“Can we just…dial down the drama? We’ve hit the quota for the week.” They’re in the present and she can tell Abby is exhausted and her eyes look dulled and unfocused. 

She goes to the drawer the brunette has stubbornly put her glasses in, rather purposefully discarded and holds them out to the curator who sighs and puts them on. Mel loves the whole thing and didn’t know an accessory could make her immediately want to take her girlfriend to bed but it would be too easy and they aren’t finished. She feels it in her bones even as their words go from soft to harsh and back.

“Yes, I know. I’m…” she’s about to say sorry again, its on the tip of het tongue but she stops mid thought and frowns because there has to be a better way than repeating and feeling like she’s encroaching.

“What?” Abby says with her own frown, the glasses covering them, but they don’t stop her from looking so damn pensive and severe.

“I was going to apologize but semantic satiation and all that…” she flits her hand in the air and acts like she’s moving an invisible insect out of the way. “Can I…I don’t know…babysit and watch her with you sometime? That way its not a surprise?” She asks and its apparent she wants to be more in her orbit, part of her family dynamic. Abby’s eyes look more focused, from the glasses or the inquiry she’s uncertain but she’s willing to risk the aftermath of the question.

They’ve had small dinner parties and get togethers, Maggie and Jordan have been over, Abby’s come to her house for dinner and occasionally to stay the night.  When scheduling permits Waverly and Lydia have had a meal with them and she swears she's heard Abby call her sister a klepto with an endearing degree of warmth as they cleaned up. She's learned a lot of little habits and the idiosyncrasies in her girlfriend, how her personality shifts when its only her and Lydia and how Abby and Lydia with her included in their little world would be different.

“Okay. I’ll check with Waverly and Lydia,” she says after a long pause and Mel feels warmth in her chest spread over her body how considerate Abby can be in noting she won’t only ask her sister and is willing to expand their aunt and niece bubble.

“Okay,” Mel replies and feels lighter. “Can we go to bed?” She asks and takes a step closer, feeling they metaphorically had and truthfully, she just wanted to touch her. So she does. And they do. Abby kisses her, sears words and meaning over her body as they let go of the tension, the apology and patience from Mel important and appreciated in the awareness of the compromises. They make solidifying promises to one another that make Abby believe her feelings are all the more affirming.

It’s alarming how easily she’s fallen into the comfort of not waking up alone. She’s been solitary and singular for years. It’s reassuring to rely on herself, and it makes her pause with startling realization she’s part of a unit now. And she as to allow the resentment to fade. How Mel affected her, how she was adamant being alone was better than being in a lie, but how their agreed dynamic was better than nothing. It’s all a matter of priorities, weighing what will do the least damage and how the heavy result came with a quiet resignation Abby had no desire to fall in love again, choosing not to believe in it. She made herself promise. In a way it’s a relief to say why bother, I’m not going to be emotionally invested because Mel only heightened her cynicism, made it limitless. And she thinks her love will always be slightly anemic and not strong enough-inadequate, so she holds it in until it feels like she has enough-that it’s worth something…but it’s built over the year and if she believed in fate, she thinks it had a hand in it.

She whispers it as Mel wakes, still half asleep, coming to, consciousness cresting in waves.

She says it fearfully and with an edge of submission to the uncertainty of what it means. Though she belongs to no one and has spent years being forced into things against her will that ripped apart her sense of authority she chooses to love this woman regardless of its instability. Because love is fickle and can be fleeting but the reason for everything.

The End.