Work Text:
It all started with the frequent hair-tugging.
She began noticing the way Marcy had tugged on her hair whenever she felt distress, like she was trying to calm herself down with it. Olivia’s always been one to notice the smaller details—she wouldn’t have graduated with an almost-perfect GPA if it weren’t for that. And it proved to come in handy now, because the one thing about little kids is that they don’t tell you anything, not really. Especially not Marcy. She wouldn’t ask for snacks or meals no matter how hungry she gets, doesn’t ask for help until either one of them asks if she needs anything.
And so, the questions come; are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Every time, Marcy would answer them as if they were scripted in her head—I’m okay, I’m fine, I’m good. Olivia had wondered if this was one of the fucked-up things her biological parents had taught her, making her suppress her needs no matter what. And one day, slowly but surely, they’ll undo every horrible thing they taught to this little girl—but for now, well, she’ll just have to stick to paying more attention to Marcy.
The first time Olivia really brought it up to herself, they were shopping for groceries at a market outside their neighborhood. It was around the afternoon rush hours on a Friday so the place was packed, people constantly bumping into them and the crowd buzzing with hundreds of conversations at the same time. And Marcy, well, she wasn’t doing so great herself.
She kept her school sweater drawn over her head like she was trying to hide, small fingers curled on a strand of hair, tugging like she was trying to rip it off. Olivia quickly noticed this and hushed her, bending down to level her height and asked her what’s wrong.
When she pulls the sweater off her head to reveal the girl’s face, all she sees is distress written all over her features, somewhat like she’s in… pain? “Marcy? What’s the matter?”
“‘S too much,” she mumbles, instead of saying I’m okay like the usual — which means that it must really, really be bothering her.
“Oh, sweetie, okay. Um,” she stands up, meeting Yunan’s height halfway, “can you bring her outside? I’ll be done in a bit.”
“Sure thing,” Yunan says, bending down to offer her hand out to the girl. “C’mon, little bit. It’s getting stuffy here, huh?”
Marcy just mutters out a mmhm, reaching up to meet Yunan’s hand and lets her lead them both out of the crowd. She looked so small in comparison to Yunan’s height, it always makes Olivia chuckle. She reminds herself to get Marcy a tub of her favorite mint chip ice cream on the way out.
The sun was just the right shade of golden when they finished packing the last grocery bag into their car, and when Olivia glanced back to help Marcy with the safety belt from the driver’s seat, she found the little girl already passed out, leaning against the belt, her hair a disheveled mess. She looked so… exhausted, face scrunched up in discomfort, her expression only easing slightly when Olivia reached out to stroke her hair.
Yunan chuckled softly. “Have you ever seen a little girl so tired after a ten-minute grocery trip?”
“No,” Olivia answers honestly, frowning to herself - and that was the start of it all.
The second time it happened, it had been the sunniest Saturday morning she had seen since spring, and Marcy was out running around the house and backyard with a smile as bright as the sky itself. Olivia herself was on the way to the dining table with the laundry basket on her arms, plopping down on the seat with a huff.
“Uh-oh, that’s never a good sign,” Yunan teases from her place across the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of orange juice on one hand.
“Ugh, I’ve been breaking my back all morning getting the laundry done,” Olivia groaned with a small smile, throwing one of Yunan’s wet shirts to her face from the laundry basket, “it’s your turn to hang them up.”
“Fiiine,” Yunan smiles back, throwing the wet shirt back to Olivia’s face much to her annoyance, “can I get you anything first?”
“Some juice would be fine, thank you.”
“Juice or juice?” she has the audacity to tease again, and Olivia throws back the wet shirt to her face like they’re playing some kind of game. “Ow! Okay, okay!”
“You should know better than to tease a tired mom on a Saturday morning,” Olivia rolls her eyes, grabbing the newspaper on the table. “Shame on you.”
“Shame on me,” Yunan repeats, placing an empty glass and a box of juice on her side, hauling the laundry basket into her arms and hesitantly pressing a small kiss on the top of her head on the way to the backyard like she’s still unsure if they were really in love again or not.
The answer, Olivia had decided, is undoubtedly yes every time.
Okay, well — except when she mistakes the milk box for orange juice, again. Olivia sighs, getting up to get it for herself - but either than that, all is well on this fine morning. Maybe they should take Marcy out to the aquarium sometime later, since she’s been so sweet all week. She leans her head against one hand as she watches Marcy try to help Yunan hang up the laundry, her wife and daughter — wife and daughter!
The stupid smile she’s wearing on her face is reserved for them, and only them.
Some time later passes, perhaps minutes or hours — Olivia doesn’t really keep track of it. That happens, whenever she’s too invested in something to pay much attention to her surroundings. This time, it had been a quite interesting article in the newspaper about some recent space discovery, but that quickly got cut off when she heard Marcy’s rushed footsteps running through the house. She had only managed to catch a glimpse of the girl hiding below the dining table as if she’s taking cover from something, and Olivia looked over to Yunan in question, which her wife nudged her head up towards the sky in response, her face as confused as she is.
Loud whirring sound… oh, a plane was passing by. Olivia gets up from her seat and kneels under the table with Marcy, the girl curled up into a ball like she’s terrified, both arms pressed against her ears, face buried on her knees.
It takes a while for her to trust her surroundings again while Olivia stays around to run her fingers through her hair gently, trying to reassure her. When she does look up, there are tears in her eyes, and she rasps out a small apology before sniffing and wiping away her tears like she’s embarrassed.
“There’s nothing to apologize about, sweetheart,” Olivia says softly, hoping she could coax out more information from her. “What’s the matter?”
“There was a plane,” Marcy mumbles, “I didn’t like the sound.”
“Too loud?” she asks sympathetically.
“Mmhm, too loud. Head hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia clicks her tongue, pulling the small girl into her lap. “Do you want to go back and play outside or do you want to lay down for a bit and watch something? We can read the newspaper — I was reading about some really cool space stuff I wanted to show you.”
“Lay down,” Marcy nods, rubbing her face with her palms — she looked so tired, as if the sound had completely drained her energy — this isn’t just some childish fear of loud sounds, that was something Olivia is sure of now. “I wanna know about the space stuff.”
“Okay then, darling,” she ruffles her hair before guiding her to get out from under the table, careful to not let her head hit anything, “you go on to the couch first, I’ll go get you some orange juice.”
“No pulp?”
“No pulp.”
There are other things Olivia had noticed besides Marcy’s sensitivity to sounds, of course. Like the way she moves, the way she’d wring the hems of her skirt whenever she’s nervous, the way she’d rock side to side or jump around, the way she flaps her hands when she’s excited — it was just the cutest thing, really. Of course, there were also some that became quite concerning, like the way she’d bite her lip or fingers in stressful situations, or even try to tug her hair off — Olivia had absolutely no mind on all the others, but Marcy harming herself is where she draws the line.
So, she dives into numerous child behaviors and development books, trying to get a sense of what was happening. Were nine years olds supposed to act like this? Is this normal? She felt a bit ridiculous for not knowing what an nine years old is supposed to act like, but then again, she had been an only child in the entire family. No siblings, nothing. She didn’t even grow up with her cousins, as they lived too far away — she’s not even sure if she actually had cousins! And the age of nine was quite a few decades ago — surely she didn’t remember how she had acted by now. But then again, she wasn’t exactly like everyone else when she was a kid, either.
Needless to say, Olivia was facing a dilemma.
She isn’t and has never been a mother, nor is experienced enough with children to take care of one — why did she think adopting a daughter and getting married was even a good idea? What if she couldn’t help Marcy? What if she’d be worse to Marcy than her own biological parents are? What if —
“Whoa there, looks like you need some time at the park too,” Yunan’s teasing voice cuts her crashing train of thoughts. She looks up, watching Marcy already on the door, sitting on the floor and struggling with her shoelaces as usual. “C’mon, it’s such a sunny evening.”
“You know what, for once, you’re right,” Olivia sighs, closing her books and getting up from the table. Yunan makes an offended choking sound (“for once?” ) before she shuts her up with a small kiss on the cheek, walking over towards Marcy to help her with her shoes.
“Hey there,” she takes a seat in front of Marcy, taking the shoelaces over from her fumbling hands, “why don’t you use the velcro ones instead if you’re struggling with this one, honey?”
“But I’m a big girl,” Marcy huffs, dissatisfied, “I’m supposed to use real shoes already. Everyone at school already does.”
Olivia makes a note of that. Struggles with tying shoes. Does it count as fine motor skills? Is Marcy experiencing some sort of development setback? But she talks and reads just fine…
“Liv? Are you just gonna sit there or are you coming?”
She shakes her head, trying to get back to the moment. Yeah, she needs to get all of it out of her mind, fast — it’s eating her away with worry. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, hold on a sec — don’t run, Marcy, wait for us!”
The rest of the park trip was uneventful, to sum it up. She’s always sitting on the one rusty bench in the corner of the park, anyway — head against Yunan’s shoulder, arms intertwined with hers, reading a book or scrolling through her work emails to keep herself busy while Yunan keeps her eyes at Marcy. Sometimes, they’d do small talks with the parents who pass them by — but either than that, park trips were always peaceful and quiet.
Yunan’s chuckle breaks the silence as she nudges her shoulder gently, gesturing to Marcy. “Have you ever seen a kid trip over herself so often? It’s been four times in the past five minutes, I’ve counted.”
Olivia looks up from her book to watch Marcy run around with two certain blonde and curly-haired little girls, seemingly happy despite the dust marks on her cheeks. They’re going to have to run her a bath when they get home, alright.
“You know, when I was about her age, I was the complete opposite of her. I wasn’t that great at maths or reading or writing — but I was a damn star in the field,” Yunan continues, and Olivia had expected her to sound cheerful and proud, but instead, she sounded somewhat.... Sad?
“Is this because the gym teacher keeps telling you about how crazy it is that Marcy gets a bad grade in PE while having a literal track runner as her mother?” Olivia asks with an amused smirk — that teacher never let the three of them live it down.
“What? No!” Yunan’s response comes out rather defensive. “Not at all, fuck that — I’m happy for Marcy! She’s smarter than anybody her age, and she’s gonna get into a good school, become a rocket scientist or something…” she sighs. “God, I love that kid so much.”
"Hey," Olivia smiles, pressing a kiss on her wife’s knuckles. “Me too.”
“Who grades gym class for nine years olds, anyway?” Yunan huffs. “Fucking American education system…”
As their small laughters ceased, Olivia watched as Marcy tripped over her own legs yet again, thankfully landing on the soft sand pit. She brushes the dust off her arms, but clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable — her shoes remained on until the blonde-haired girl decided to make her take it off along with the socks, throwing it to the side.
“I like that one girl,” Yunan speaks up, gesturing at the blonde little girl. “But god, we really have to get Marcy more velcro shoes.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit… unusual?” Olivia decides to bring it up with worry, “that Marcy’s… you know, struggling with how she moves so much?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s unusual,” Yunan bit her lip, “but… I guess you’re right, yeah.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon keeping their eyes on Marcy.
They were cleaning up after dinner when Olivia brings it up again, this time a bit more urgently, because they need to find out, they need to help Marcy. She couldn’t stand seeing the little girl being so upset over not understanding her own body, frustrated on how to communicate her needs. They have to do something, and they have to do it quick.
So, as they cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, she dropped the bomb on Yunan with the most casual but certain voice she could come up with; “I think Marcy’s autistic.”
Yunan turns around almost immediately from the kitchen sink, careful not to drop the plate she’s holding, turning off the tap. “Come again?”
“I think,” Olivia repeats, hoping her voice doesn’t waver, “Marcy’s autistic.”
“Oh,” Yunan nods, seemingly trying to digest those four simple words for herself.
“I—I’ve done some research,” she starts her ramble, only now realizing that Yunan might not believe her - what if she denies it? God, what if she wouldn’t want Marcy after? Olivia tries to shake those thoughts away. “A lot of them, actually. I mean, I haven’t had an idea on how nine years olds are supposed to normally act, but—I don’t think they should still be struggling on their motor skills, and Marcy’s really struggling at it, and I hate watching her struggle alone, and—“
“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Yunan says, drying off her hands with her shirt and reaching out to hold her arms gently, “I get it, you’re worried about her. I’m worried too. It’s okay.”
“But—do you believe me?” Olivia half-whispers as Yunan guides her down to sit.
“Of course, Liv, I just…” Yunan shrugs, rubbing at her neck, “it’s a lot to take in. Give me a minute?”
Olivia nods, wiping a strand of hair away from her face as Yunan takes a seat across her, taking a breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve been keeping it to myself for a while and… I guess it kind of stressed me out a little.”
“A little?” Yunan tries to tease, but it falls flat quickly. They both sigh, instinctively searching for each other’s hand to hold, intertwining their fingers. “So... what now?”
“We need to get her diagnosed,” Olivia answers almost immediately. “You know we both can’t do this alone. We need someone who knows what they’re doing, tell us how to do things right.”
“But—are you sure?” Yunan bites her lip nervously, averting her gaze, “I—I mean, I wouldn’t have a problem with it—but Marcy might not get ready, with getting alienated and stuff, and, and what if she gets bullied? What if—“
“Whoa, okay there,” it’s her turn to cut off Yunan’s panicked ramble, now. She had to admit, it’s a habit they both have—and if they’re not careful, they might pass it on to Marcy, too. “Hey, hey—okay, look at me,” she says softly, placing a hand on her cheek, “hey. Where’s all this coming from, hm?”
Yunan takes in a shaky breath, still averting her gaze, “I…: she lets out a harsh breath as she surrenders, "fuck, okay. I have something to tell you, but—you have to promise me you won’t make fun of me for it. Or use it against me. Or think of me differently, or less, or—“
“Hey,” Olivia cuts her off again, tilting her chin so her eyes would meet hers, “I won’t. I promise on both my mothers I won’t. You can trust me.”
“Okay,” Yunan breathes again, and she looked like she was about to confess to a horrible crime, but what came out of her mouth instead was, “...I’m dyselexic.”
Oh. Well, she wasn’t expecting that, either.
“I mean—I can still read,” Yunan quickly added, “but—it doesn’t come to me as easy. I need a lot of concentration, and most of the time it’s exhausting, which makes me mistake sugar with salt or the orange juice box with milk, and I know that’s super annoying to you—“
“Oh, darling, no,” Olivia squeezes her hands softly, “hey, that’s not your fault! Oh, Yunan, if only I’d known…”
“But that’s not your fault, either,” Yunan mutters, bending down to rest her head against Olivia’s shoulder. “I guess it’s nobody’s then, huh?”
Olivia hums. “Is that why you’re scared for Marcy so much?”
She feels Yunan shrug. “I guess, yeah. Was bullied around a lot when I was a kid. By teachers, too. I just… I don’t want the same thing happening to Marcy. I don’t want people to stamp her as different and push her away.”
“But she’ll be different either way, hm?” Olivia reaches up to run her fingers through her wife’s short hair, feeling the jagged edges against her skin. “I know not everyone’s going to accept Marcy as she is—hell, her own biological parents wouldn’t even do that. But she finds you anyway. And me. And her two little friends. Someone who will accept her the way she is.”
Yunan nuzzles against her shoulder, and Olivia kisses the top of her head. “I know.”
“Look, whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out and face it together,” Olivia pulls away to face her, “and we sure as hell won’t let anything happen to that sweet girl. You know we will.”
“I know,” Yunan repeats, a smile tugging on her face. “I know.”
“So, we’re going to get Marcy diagnosed," she says, this time more firmly. "I’m thinking about next week. I’ll get an appointment, and we’ll see how it goes. Does that... sound okay to you?”
“Of course,” Yunan gives her a small smile, “although, we’ll have to give her the biggest treat ever after, y’know, before we tell her what’s going on and all,” she smirks. “I’m thinking, maybe ice cream and a trip to the observatory?”
“Oh, that’s what you want,” Olivia nudges her playfully, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “but — did you really think I was going to think of you differently, if I had known about your dyslexia?”
“Well, we weren’t exactly the best of friends back then, y’know?” Yunan shrugs, “I mean, even after we found Marcy and all. And you’re so smart, you work for one of the richest man in the country, and me — I’m just some runner. Some runner who needs three minutes to figure out which one’s orange juice and which one’s milk.”
“I’m so sorry,” Olivia sighs softly, circling her thumb against Yunan’s palm, “I’m sorry I made you think I’d treat you less because of something you can’t control.”
“You didn’t. It was all me.”
She pulls away to look her wife in the eyes. “You know I’d love you no matter what, right?”
Yunan smiles and presses her nose against her forehead. “Yeah? Even if I’m the biggest snorer ever?”
Olivia rolls her eyes. “Yes, even if you’re the biggest, loudest snorer ever.”
“Even if it’s on weekdays?”
“Right, I think you’re pushing me too far there, love.”
So, it was official: they got Marcy diagnosed. It took them about two hours to find out exactly what was going on with Marcy — it’s Autism Spectrum Disorder, written in big, bold letters. Marcy seemed happy enough when she walked out of the room, a bright smile on her face and rambling away to Yunan about a fun fact she had learned inside. It’s the therapist that’s wearing a subtle worried face that only Olivia would recognize.
The young woman rambled about how it’s not all bad news — it’s not the end of the world that your kid’s autistic and so on. Olivia took Yunan’s hand in hers and wondered how many parents before them had taken the news badly — and she decides that she will never, ever, be one of them.
“We just want what’s best for her,” it’s Yunan who spoke up when given the chance, squeezing her hand gently. “We didn’t want to do things wrong with Marcy. We love that kid too much for that.”
“I’m glad,” the therapist offers them a genuine smile. “You know, not so many parents take the news well, especially at first. Marcy’s lucky to have you both. She’s such a bright little girl — you two raised her well.”
“We’re lucky to have her,” Olivia added, squeezing Yunan’s hand tighter — we did a good job. We raised her well.
They ended the appointment briefly after, and they took Marcy for ice cream and a trip to the observatory just as promised — Yunan was as thrilled as her about it, and sometimes Olivia amusedly questions herself if she really does have two nine years olds on her hands. And as fast as Marcy forgot about the “conversation with the nice lady”, they had to have the talk with her, sooner or later.
“You’re worried,” Yunan points out on the drive home with Marcy passed out on the backseat, the sun setting on the horizon.
“Yeah,” Olivia sighs softly, “I guess I am, a little.” The soft hum of the car fills the silence between them for a while, the long, winding highway stretched far in front of them. Olivia tries to focus on the road instead, and inevitably fails. “We’ll have to tell her sooner or later, you know. She’d hate us if we kept it a secret from her.”
Her wife places her hand above hers on the gear, rubbing her thumb in circles across the back of her hand, “hey, it’s no rush. We’ll tell her when we’re all ready. It’s not like she’s dying from a terrible illness, right?”
Olivia chuckles. “No, I guess not.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Yunan squeezes her hand, reaching out to kiss her forehead.
“Yeah,” she smiles softly. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Together?”
“Together.”