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She lives in a town you've never heard of before, four hours outside of the capital.
You expected her to live in Paris, somewhere fancy with the Eiffel Tower serving as a perpetual backdrop, but the town you're approaching seems quiet and low-key. It wasn't easy getting there. It wasn't cheap, either, and once Terezi had made use of her contacts and flexed them to their fullest, it took you months and months to save up. In order to do the mature, adult-like thing and make sure your rent was all taken care of, before you spent the rest of the cash on petrol money. It's a prime example of you being responsible for once, and has absolutely nothing to do with going to great lengths to put this off.
There's still a chance you might lose your nerve and back out. Kanaya has no idea that you're coming, because for all the ways there are to get in contact with her (she even has her own website), you can't think of any way to go through with this but in person. You have no idea how long you're going to be in France for, because you don't know how long it's going to take to get Kanaya back to her senses. That said, you still don't know if you even want her to remember the truth behind who and what you all are, because she's doing well for herself. You don't want to ruin that for her.
And because you still have no idea how to approach this, or how to even greet her, stranger that you must now be, you can't say if you're actually going to talk to her at all. Maybe you'll just observe from a distance, see how she's doing, and that will be enough for you. Terezi offered to come time and time again, sure that she could help, but it's like you've already said: you don't know how long you're going to be here for. While you can afford to take holiday time and miss a few weeks of work, Terezi can't do the same with her studies. Besides, you feel that this is something you have to do on your own. It's as if you owe Kanaya that much.
So there you are on an April morning, driving on the wrong goddamn side of the road, with half of your life packed into the back seat of your car. There are boxes and boxes of food along with stacks of clothing, because before you even drove onto the ferry at Dover, it was as if you'd already resigned yourself to sleeping out in your car, just watching and waiting. Terezi says you're doing the right thing, and she never allows her definition of the right thing to sway, even to appease you. In spite of that, you can't help but feel as if you're on your way to ruin Kanaya's life.
If you ever get there, that is. You've got lost three times since passing Paris, because the map you brought with you was printed in 1992 and half of the road names have changed since then. You did try stopping for directions, but your French is so atrocious that you only ended up heading the wrong way, at which point your car promptly gave up the ghost and choked to a stop along the side of a very busy road. Half of your supply of Euros and two hours later, you were back on your way again, approaching the city that one of Terezi's mum's friends assures you Kanaya Maryam now calls home, because she is just such a fan of her designs.
Now's the part where it gets tricky. Now you actually have to track Kanaya down.
In one of the interviews you managed to find online, Kanaya listed off a few of her favourite restaurants and cafés, and you suppose that's as good a place as any to start. You drive slowly through the town centre, peering out of the window at all of the shops surrounding you, and try to remember what side of the road to stay on in the process. When you circle the shops three times and nothing jumps out at you, you pull up into a car park, deciding to try your luck on foot.
It's a stupid, stupid idea. The mid-afternoon sun is irritably warm, and you feel absolutely gross, having been travelling since three in the morning, trapped behind the wheel of your car. The only advantage in having got out lies in the fact that you can stretch your arms up above your head and kick out your feet, though being out amongst the swarm of people only reminds you of how foolish you were to think this would work. There are thousands of people living here, and you don't know why you expected things to fall into place. You don't know why you expected Kanaya to just be there, and you have absolutely no idea what you're doing in France.
The buzz of chatter you can't decipher only makes you more frustrated, and in your admittance of defeat, you wish that you'd brought Terezi with you. If she couldn't sniff Kanaya out, then she'd have the lack of decency to hop up on the side of the fountain, and bellow out her name over and over until she either appeared, or someone gave her an exact address in a plea for silence.
You give in far too easily. Terezi would only laugh if she knew what you were thinking, because you can't have been wandering around for much longer than twenty minutes. When you return to your car, you do so only to grab a sandwich from the back, and then continue your patrol of the town centre. Just because Kanaya isn't here right now doesn't mean you aren't close. Hell, for all you know, she might live in one of those old, fancy looking apartments above the kitschy little shops. She could be out visiting friends, at home working on designs, travelling as part of a fashion show, or whatever it is designers do in their spare time.
You need to stop panicking, looking for any reason to flee. Having faith in the fact that you're there for a reason, and that things will work out is easier said than done, but you decide that you have to give this a chance. You have to trust in your instincts that have brought you this far. You continue to stroll aimlessly, no longer trying to pick her out of the crowd, and allow the streets to become a little less bustling as it begins to get later and later.
Hopping up onto the edge of the fountain, careful not to slip on the smooth, wet surface, you rummage around your pockets, and pull out a few pennies. These are no good to you here. Letting them rattle in a loose fist like dice, you toss them into the water, but don't make a wish. That would be dumb. Besides, you know that Kanaya is here, somewhere, and so wishing on running into her would only be a waste.
The street lights come on as the sky turns a dusty, cobalt blue, and it might be time to call it a day. The only voices you hear now come from far off; the shops are all closed, and the restaurants keep their doors pulled to, so only a muffle of sound reaches your ears. It would be equally unclear to you if it were English, and your eyes are feeling horribly heavy. It's been a long day. What you need to do now is head back to your car, pop the driver's seat back, and give Terezi a quick call, just to let her know you're still one piece, before falling to sleep. Then you can wake up bright and early tomorrow morning, and continue your search.
Heading around the fountain one last time, you watch as a few kids run over to the edge, grasping coins of their own to toss in. Their mother crosses the square, not needing to rush, to push past people, as sparsely spread out as they are. You reach your starting point, turn on your heels to hop off the edge, when someone stops you in your tracks.
“—Vriska?”
You'd been inspecting the scuff marks on the toes of your shoes until that point, and your gaze snaps up. You're suddenly far less aware of your surroundings than you were half a moment ago, and even the sound of the water rushing behind you cuts out completely; you're just looking forward, staring dumbly, mouth not working. Nothing is working. All the gears stop turning and your thoughts crumble into dust, and you've no idea how to do anything but stare at Kanaya.
She looks so different. Different now that she's older, different now that she's human, different now that she's outside of glossy print. And yet she is so wholly and utterly as she's always been, from the way you see her painted lips part and her eyes widen, that you can't do anything but ball your clammy hands into weak fists as you look back.
You've spent so long planing this meeting, this reunion, over and over in your mind, but it never went like this. Kanaya never looked at you like she knew who you were. You imagined yourself approaching her on the street, saying bonjour with a sheepish grin and hoping she'd take the cue to switch to English, and from there, you'd tell her that you were a fan, that you appreciated her designs. Something. Anything, though it's impossible to picture her ever believing that, with your raggedy jeans and plaid shirt.
The sound of the fountain splattering the backs of your shoes finally gets you to move, and taking a step forward, you make the half a foot descent back to solid, dry ground. It feels like you're falling forever. By the time that you're on the same level as Kanaya, she's already right in front of you. You try to smile for her, but her arms wrap tightly around your shoulders, pulling your close, and god is she ever tall. She's mumbling in French, speaking too quickly for anyone to make sense of it, and your face is buried in her shoulder, arms rigid as stair rods at your sides.
It's a clunky embrace, relief evident on Kanaya's part, but you just can't make sense of it. Does she know what happened, what you were all made into? Has she always known? As you twitch your fingers, trying to find some way to wrap your arms back around her in kind, a dull sort of anger makes itself known to you, because you've dragged yourself all the way to the mainland, to a strange town just to find her, and she's been comfortable with all her money and all her resources all the time. You swallow the lump in your throat, but then shake your head, fighting the feeling; you can't jump to any conclusions.
It's all because you're scared. Scared, because it feels as if you yourself are remembering it all for the first time, and you can't allow yourself to get stuck in your own head again.
You must remain as still as a statue, because Kanaya clues into the fact that you aren't going to hold her in kind any time soon, and pulls away, hands on your shoulders. She tilts her head to the side, eyes brimming with tears, and she keeps on talking to you, voice light, and though you've no idea what she's saying, it sounds apologetic. As if she's aware of how bizarre it must be to have a stranger throw their arms around you.
Taking a step back, you lift your hands, and try to say something. Your mouth has become horribly dry, and you clear your throat, having to scratch at the back of your head.
“Jesus. Okay,” you murmur, lifting a hand to push your glasses back into place. The late evening air has become stifling, and you rub at the corner of one of your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I don't—”
You trail off, teeth worrying your lower lip. Kanaya only smiles, and then has to screw her eyes shut tightly, before she can carry on in your stead.
“You're English?” she asks, as surprised as she is delighted. But, being well aware that there are more important things to discuss, she doesn't wait for an answer. “I apologise if I came off a little heavy handed there. I can't really do much to explain what came over me, because I don't quite understand it myself, but I sincerely hope I didn't startle you.”
She speaks very, very clearly when she uses English, and each word rattles around your head. Desperate to shut her up, you step forward, grabbing one of her hands between your own, and look her dead in the eyes. You need to know what the hell is going on here. Another moment and you might crumble.
“Whatever. It doesn't matter. Do you know who I am?”
You hold your breath. There's no way that she can't, not after all this, but all you can hear is your heart pounding between your temples.
“I think I do,” she says, turning her hand between yours so that two palms press perfectly together, and then adds slowly but confidently, “Vriska Serket.”
Goddammit. Your legs just about threaten to give out from beneath you. Exhaling shakily, you close the rest of the distance between the two of you, and you throw your arms around her shoulders. You're pushed up on tiptoes to be able to reach her like that, and she doesn't freeze and hesitate as you did. Kanaya presses her hands against your back, and you want to say something more, but you're afraid you'll choke on it.
“It seems we have a great deal to discuss.”
*
When you crossed the Channel, it was your first time being on a boat in this body. Your human form hadn't particularly enjoyed the motion of the sea rocking the ferry, even throughout such a relatively short trip, but you hadn't wanted to assign it to nerves. Now, as you follow Kanaya back to her apartment, the same feeling ripples through you, pushing your stomach up into your throat.
There's not much point in denying it now.
For the most part, you walk in silence. You offer to drive her there, but she says that it's only a few minutes away, and all the fussing required of getting in and out of the car, as well as finding somewhere to park, would only take longer. And so you walk, shoulders hunched, hands shoved into your pockets, moving as briskly as you know how. For all you've wanted to talk about with her ever since you first remembered what a huge part of your life she'd been, your mind is overwhelmingly blank. You try reassuring yourself, saying that you'll think of something, just as soon as you're granted the privacy of her apartment, and just keep on glancing her way.
She's doing the same thing. You exchange nervous smiles when you both look at the same time.
Her apartment is as old and grand as you imagined it to be. She tells you that it used to be a mansion before being split into a dozen homes, once upon a time, and then rambles her thanks to the doorman as she goes in. The doorman. She has a doorman. You step into the lobby in quiet but hardly subdued awe, looking all around you at the high ceilings and shiny marble floors. There are mirrors running the entire height of the walls, and when you catch a glimpse of yourself, you look washed out.
With everything that Kanaya's made of her life, you wonder how much of a disappointment you must seem to her.
The silence continues throughout the lift journey to her floor, the whirl of mechanics and a ping once you reach your destination being the only thing to interrupt it. Inside, her apartment isn't as big as you were imagining, but it's still more than enough for one person. You pause momentarily at that, and wonder if there is anyone else there; but when you glance around, at all the art, all the colour, there's not an inch of the place that screams anything but Kanaya Maryam to you. If she lives with somebody else, then she certainly isn't very accommodating in her living space.
Everything looks so expensive and most likely one of a kind that you even remember to kick your shoes off. You step into the front room, and with a huff, Kanaya picks up your shoes from behind you, and tidies them up into the shoe rack. Your mouth quirks at the corner; as if there was ever any doubt.
You sit on the edge of her sofa, drumming your knees, and when she asks you if you'd like a drink, you say water will be fine. You want to dispense with the pleasantries, to find out what the hell's going on here as quickly as is possible, but your throat really is parched. She disappears to what you assume is the kitchen for all of a minute, and returns with a can of beer and two glasses: one filled with wine, the other with water. She places all three down on the coffee table, and pushes the water and beer towards you.
“I thought you might need this,” she says, thinking of everything. Just like always. You grab at the beer, not aware of how silently grateful you are for it until you're digging your nails beneath the ring pull with shaking hands. Before you get the chance to say thank you or take your first mouthful, Kanaya's sitting right next to you, so close that you start to think you're hallucinating the rest of the sofa. “I honestly can't tell you how incredible this is, Vriska. I'm certain I'm going to wake up at any moment now, because this can't be real. I've spent so long being under the apparently wrong impression that I was— well, not of sound mind, I suppose. But simply seeing you here has done a great deal to lift a terrible weight from my mind.”
You don't entirely grasp what she's talking about, but you can appreciate how it feels to be convinced you're losing your mind. With a watery smile, because you barely believe that this is real, either, you put a hand on her shoulder, and gulp down a third of the beer.
“Calm down, Fussyfangs. One thing at a time!” Kanaya tries not to smile when you call her that, and with a slight shake of her head, moves away from you. She picks up her wine, and then settles down on the opposite side of the sofa, knees tucked up behind her. “I'm guessing this means that you know a hell of a lot more than I was expecting you to, which makes my job about eight-hundred times easier. But, you know, just to be clear so there are no hilarious misunderstandings later on: you know all about how we used to be trolls, right?”
Kanaya looks away from you, down into the dark red of her wine.
“We were?” She pauses, and your heart sinks. “That is to say, I was under that impression, though I was not certain that it was necessarily true. You are the only one of the others I've ever met.”
You laugh through your nose, pinging the ring pull with your thumb. You really, really need to stop freaking out.
“Oh man, it's definitely true. You don't have to worry about being a nutjob or anything like that. But I totally get how hard it can be, and if I had to go through it alone, I think I'd still be denying it. So you're way ahead of me.”
Something catches Kanaya's interest when you put forth the suggestion that you didn't piece the puzzle of past lives together on your own, but she refrains from commenting on it. She sips on her wine, deep in thought, and you don't mind the occasional pauses; now that you know you're both on the same wave length, you've all the time in the world to figure this out properly, to catch up. You don't even feel tired any more.
You just do as Kanaya does and attend to your drink, belatedly realising just how good it tastes. She doesn't spare any expense.
“Twelve years of confusion is a lot to deal with,” Kanaya says, wine glass placed back down against the table.
You furrow your brow. “Wait, what? Twelve years? You've known about this for twelve years?”
Kanaya nods, like it was a given, and says, “Of course I have, Vriska. Haven't you?”
“No!” Your voice comes out louder than you intend it to, because you're not managing to wrap your head around this twelve years business very well. You've known what you are for five months, and that burden alone has felt like eight lifetimes. “What the hell, how the fuck did you find out that long ago? And why didn't you do anything?”
“Through dreams. And from the look you are now giving me I can summarise that you did not find out in the same way.”
“No, no. I had dreams! But that's because there was a trigger, uh. And it was a recent thing, you know? Recent as in within the last, I don't know, six months. Not from when the whole goddamn thing happened.”
You can feel yourself getting frustrated. Not with Kanaya, and not even with yourself, for once, but with the situation in its rawest form. It was unbelievable and brain-breaking enough in the first place, and that was before you discovered that it could, supposedly, vary; and that Kanaya, although some form of the troll you once knew, must have gone through something entirely different than you did. You want to understand everything fully, feel powerless for not grasping the entirely of it all, even if you've yet to piece together everything that happened between you and Terezi.
“Oh,” Kanaya says, waiting for you to settle back into your seat. “I've always had dreams of a disconcerting manner. Only, they didn't feel disconcerting while I was dreaming them, because Prospit has always been a warm, welcoming place. I learnt much from the clouds there, but for much of my early life, I believed them to be nothing beyond dreams. No matter how often I found myself in that city, and no matter how right it felt. However, as I grew older, there were certain— circumstances, happenings, that made me reconsider their worth. It wasn't until today, until I saw you in the town square, that I had some real, verifiable proof.”
She dreams of Prospit, and she sees flashes of your past lives in the sky. You're almost jealous; it's been a long time since you last saw the golden city. But it makes sense, in its own way, for things to carry across to Kanaya like this, for retrocognition to be the key to her understanding. You feel terrible for her, you honestly do, because there's a certain weariness that you're sure she's only now letting show, and this must be the root of it all.
“Damn,” you murmur. “That sucks.”
Coming to find Kanaya was absolutely the right thing to do. You're a little ashamed that you put it off for so long. Taking the time with the rest of your beer, you listen as Kanaya tells you about the flashes of things she's seen, how it took literal years for her to remember some of you, and how it's made her feel almost as if she merely drifts through the waking world. When she asks you how you remembered, as perplexed by your lack of dreams as you are by the presence of hers, you ask her if you can have another beer.
She obliges you, finishes off the last of her wine and fetches another drink for herself, and says that you're welcome to anything in her house, absolutely anything. With a second drink in hand, you begin telling her of how you ran into Terezi. Kanaya asks how it happened, and you say no, you actually ran straight into her; and then she laughs, and you do too, feeling a little easier about reciting it all to her because of it. Your details are vague at best and shoddy at worst, but you get across enough of the framework for Kanaya to understand the gist of it. To realise that you set one another off, and had no choice but to fill in the gaps from there on out.
The subject of remembering your past lives is exhausted fairly quickly. Or you think it is, until you realise that it's been two hours since you first arrived at her building. From there, you let the conversation flow on its natural course. You talk about Kanaya, about her life; about how she was supposedly born in Lebanon, and brought to France a decade ago by her adoptive parents. It seems that everyone lucked out on getting adopted but you; Kanaya's parents are wonderful, apparently, and don't live much further than a twenty minute drive away. She sees them twice a week, when she isn't travelling.
Four beers in, and you throw your hands around as you talk excitedly, telling her things she already knows, because they're about her. But she's pleased to hear it nonetheless, pleased that you took the time to actually read the interviews she's given, because she's certain that fashion is far too troublesome for you to deal with. You just shrug, and then tell her how you came across a magazine with her in in the doctor's office, and begin relaying the tale of how you came to be here. Which, all things considered, would've been a lot more exciting, had it taken longer than a day to track her down.
After half a dozen beers, it isn't so difficult to tell her about your own life. You tell her you've been on your own since it was legal for the system to wash its hands of you, and when you tell her about your job, she says that it's nice, and really does look happy for you. And then, for some reason, you tell her all about Terezi, too. Because they were friends, and Kanaya must want to know all about her. It turns out that you have far more to say about Terezi than you do about yourself, what with all her law studies and ridiculous quirks, and Kanaya listens patiently, saying that now that she knows it's all real, she's going to have to come and visit the both of you back in England.
You talk about a lot, making up for lost time, and you can neither believe that Kanaya is really there with you, nor that you've gone for so long without her being there. The table's littered with beer cans and two empty bottles of wine, and at some point, you've wound up sitting right next to Kanaya, head resting on her shoulder. She lets you lean against her, one arm draped loosely around your shoulder, fingertips brushing against your hair.
“I never would've expected you to be blonde,” she says, voice a little hazily, and in a more serious tone adds: “Vriska?”
It's almost sobering. You crane your neck to look up at her, answering with a, “Huh?”
“You and Terezi are together, aren't you?”
“Oh,” you say. Oh, because you're just now realising that you never spelled that out. Not clearly, anyway. But Kanaya's smirking, probably having picked up on it hours ago, and you just nuzzle your head back down against her shoulder. “Urgh, I couldn't help it. She roped me into it.”
You feel Kanaya's chest rise as she laughs, patting the top of your head, endeared.
“Are you happy?” she asks, and it's evident enough that she already has her answer.
“I guess...” You blink; Kanaya's coffee table is blurry in front of you. You don't need to guess at anything, because you already know, so you just keep on talking, like you'd trailed off, unable to find the right words for a few moments. “I guess that she makes me feel like it's okay to be me, so whatever. Yeah.”
Kanaya continues patting the top of your head, and you bolt upright without any warning, almost hitting the underside of her jaw.
“... going to text her,” you mumble, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. You note that it's five thirty-seven in the morning, but the fact that she might be sleeping doesn't really occur to you.
Hey Terezi, guess where I am. ::::)
You nestle back against Kanaya, phone between your hands, waiting for her to reply.
UGH DONT T3LL M3 YOU DROV3 4LL TH3 W4Y 1NTO 1T4LY SP1D3RTROLL >:|
*
You sleep straight through the next morning, and wake up in the afternoon, curled up in the bed of Kanaya's guest room. You groan as you blink your eyes open, but don't feel as bad as you'd expected to. Perhaps that's what happens when you drink expensive beer; you don't wake up with a skull-splitting hangover. It was gone seven by the time you and Kanaya decided to call it a night, after you'd allowed her and Terezi to text one another for a while, too happily drunk to care about your phone bill.
The room around you is all warm colours and delicate trimmings, and you pull yourself to your feet, arms stretching above your head. Your stomach grumbles, demanding breakfast, and once you've leant over to scoop your glasses up from the floor, you make a quick dash towards the kitchen.
“Fussyfangs?” you call out. There's no reply, and nor is there any clutter on the coffee table. You grin to yourself, expecting that Kanaya probably tided up before allowing herself to go to bed. “You in, Kanaya?”
You get your answer by means of a note on top of the kitchen worktop, next to a fresh loaf of bread. You're disappointed that it isn't a baguette.
Good Morning Vriska
Which I Suppose Is Really An Afternoon Isnt It
I Hope You Find Yourself Well And Hopefully Hangover Free
Usually I Do Not Indulge In Alcohol So Freely On A Week Night But It Was Certainly A Special Occasion
Anyway I Have Just Had To Step Out To Attend To Some Business Matters And Will Be Back By Five If Not Sooner
Until Then Please Help Yourself To Anything That Catches Your Fancy
Kanaya
“Don't mind if I do,” you mutter to yourself, head already poked into the fridge, and get working on breakfast-slash-lunch, knowing that you've got a good hour and a half until Kanaya gets back. Your stomach growls and you pat it, dumping everything that takes your eye onto the worktop, and once you've created a monster of a sandwich, you don't even bother clearing up the loose crumbs or now-empty containers. You know Kanaya will do that for you.
Opting to use your hands rather than a plate, you wander around Kanaya's apartment, not feeling bad about snooping. Because, honestly, it's all kind of boring. It's all very Kanaya, and you can appreciate some of the art for its vague aesthetic appeal, but none of her belongings are worth rummaging through. There's nothing scandalous in her apartment, and so you simply peer at her bookshelf, licking ketchup from the corner of your mouth as you realise you can't read most of the titles.
God, Terezi has worn off on you terribly.
Your eyes skim over all the French titles, Le This and Deux That, and then past the Arabic ones, too, until you come to a small section reserved for English novels. There are a few that you think you might've heard mention of before, but nothing worth pulling out. Not until you get to the end of the shelf, anyway, and Jesus Christ, you nearly drop the remainder of your sandwich on the floor. Complacency Of The Learned, the spine reads in bold, white letters, by Rose Lalonde.
*
When Kanaya arrives home, you're sat on the sofa, cross-legged, expression stern. Kanaya's already rambling as she enters the room, saying something about how she hopes being left alone wasn't too boring for you all day, but as soon as she spots you, staring her down, she freezes on the spot.
“Is there something wrong, Vriska?”
You raise an eyebrow, as if to say you tell me, but don't actually answer her. Instead, you point at book placed on the centre of the coffee table, and give her the chance to explain herself. You tried to read it, what with all the free time you had and nothing better to do, but the prose is as heavy as the book itself. You couldn't get through the first page. God, it is awful.
Clearing her throat, Kanaya murmurs out an Ah, looks a little embarrassed, and then picks up the book. She holds it between both arms, as if trying to cover what it is, and then her eyes dart around the room. It's like she's forgotten where her bookcase is. When she finally gets moving, you sigh heavily, and turn, leaning against the back of the sofa. You watch as she nearly drops the damn thing on her toes in an effort to get it back into place, and wonder why this didn't come up last night. It seems important.
“Seriously, Kanaya? Lalonde?” you say, throwing your hands in the air. “How could you forget to tell me that you know Lalonde!”
Kanaya shakes her head, and comes very, very close to snapping at you. To her credit, she does manage to keep her voice level.
“I don't know Rose,” she says, and slowly makes her way back around to you. She sits on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped together, and continues speaking. “If you recall correctly, certain things caused me to question whether my dreams were really just that. Simply dreams. One of those things was discovering this book, three years ago. Naturally, I at first assumed the names were a coincidence, and then, when I discovered more about Rose, that I had somehow been subconsciously influenced by her works. Last night, I was just so happy to see you that it didn't occur to be until now that she was, in fact, real, real in the sense that I remember her being—”
Kanaya's still staring down at her hands, but the corners of her mouth tug into a little smile. God, she's got it bad. It's almost sickening, really, and with a roll of your eyes, you reach out, slapping her between the shoulder blades.
“Jeez, Kanaya! What the hell are you sticking around here for? You've got to go find her, and talk about... sarcasm and stuff together. That's what you two did, right?”
Kanaya gives you a look that says she thinks you're being ridiculous, but at the same time, she wants you to be right. You tell her that you know she must be scared shitless, because that's how it felt for you, before you found Kanaya and everything was fine. Beyond fine, actually; it just feels right, being there with her. You tell her that she can't stress out about it, and that it's better for Lalonde to have people there to support her, because you think that sooner or later, everyone's going to find out the truth one way or another. Because the humans who have always been humans must be ignorant to what happened during the game; otherwise they would have tracked you down. Surely they would've.
In an effort to inspire her with confidence, you tell her that, hell, you and Terezi will travel to the States with her, if it's support she needs. You're not certain where all this money is coming from, but if it's for Kanaya, you're sure you'll find a way.
You spend the next three days with her, and though she does her best to accommodate you and is nothing if not a wonderful, patient host, it becomes painfully clear that you're getting in the way. She's a busy woman, and so you leave before she has the chance to get irritated. Of course, Kanaya tells you time and time again that you're welcome to stay, honestly, because her schedule's about to clear up soon, but you tell her that you've got a job to get back to, anyway. You don't mention Terezi, but that much is implied. Besides, you say, she's rich. She can fly over any time she likes!
And so you head back to your car, and begin making the trip back to Calais, back to the ferry. You manage to get lost only once on the way back, and even that doesn't irritate you as much as it otherwise would've. You're in high spirits, humming as you drive along because your radio's churning out nothing but tinny static, feeling another piece of your life slot back into place.
*
When you get back to London, just under a week after first leaving, it feels as if you've been gone for a lifetime. You don't call Terezi before you show up at her house, wanting to surprise her, and she practically attacks you in the hallway. At first she wants to hear all about what happened, all about Kanaya, but then she's got her mouth plastered against the side of your neck as she pushes you to the wall. You do this thing where you laugh and whine at the same time, and then press both hands to the sides of her face, easing her back, creating space between you.
Taking advantage of this, you tug her upstairs, waving to Tim on the way. Once you've got her in her bedroom, things become a whirlwind of a blur, and you're kissing her like there's no air left in your own lungs and you need her to live. Terezi matches your enthusiasm, and you don't even have the chance to feel gross about having been cooped up in a car for so long.
“Missed you,” Terezi says with a happy sigh, nose nuzzling against your collarbone. You do her the favour of not pointing out that you gathered that much when she was moaning it out ten minutes ago.
“I wasn't even gone for a week!” you reply, as charming as ever, but wrap both arms tightly around her. “I kind of wish you'd come, though.”
If only for the journey itself. You still stand by the fact that seeing Kanaya was something you needed to do alone, but that isn't to say that it wasn't strange, not having Terezi there each and every day. You're starting to think that you might be seeing her too often, and you're comforted by the realisation that you don't give a shit if you are. When she looks up at you, all smiles, you brush your thumb across her lower lip, and begin telling her all about the trip.
She lies with her head against your chest as you tell her about Kanaya's dreams, warm breath brushing across your bare skin. With one hand splayed against your stomach, she brushes her fingertips in subconscious half-circles, hooked on your every word as you let her know all about Kanaya's upbringing in this world, about what she's been up to, and where she's found herself. And then you delight in letting her know all about the Rose situation, and Terezi grins that wicked grin of hers, agreeing that you should definitely do something about that.
“Hey,” you say, rounding your story off, “Missed you too.”
Much to your relief, Terezi accepts your words for what they are, and doesn't do anything to try embarrassing you further. For a while, the two of you lie there quietly, and you reflect on just how glad you are to be there with her, and how you could never do a very good job of describing how, exactly, it makes you feel. You entwine your fingers with hers, squeeze on her hand, and she plants a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek, tongue-first.
You cringe, laughing, not quite able to believe how far you've come in the last few months. You haven't exactly sped through, rushing into anything, but things have moved at their own pace, little by little. Christ, you've even met her mother. You expected her to hate you, but she laughed at a joke you made, and that was enough for you.
Rolling onto your front, you brush Terezi's hair back, kiss her on the nose, and tell her that the two of you should probably think about dinner some time soon. She wraps her arms around your shoulders in response, tells you that you can think about it all you like, and thirty-four minutes later, you're finally getting dressed in a bit of a haze, hair matted to your forehead.
Having long since stopped caring about looking presentable around Terezi's flatmates, you follow her downstairs, remembering that you were vaguely aware that your phone went off some hours ago.
Salvaging it from your back pocket, you smile, happily telling Terezi that Kanaya's texted you.
Hello Vriska I Hope That This Is Your Correct Number And That You Are Home Safely With Any Luck I Will Be Visiting You And Terezi Shortly
Deciding that it counts as a reason to celebrate, you tell Terezi not to turn the oven on. Tonight, you're treating her to the finest takeaway pizza.
Yeah! I'm 8ack at Pyrope's right now. It was gr8 to see you, you have no idea!
You keep on texting as Terezi orders the pizza on your behalf, telling her not to forget to get double bacon on yours.
I Believe I Do Have Some Idea Vriska Really Youve Given Me A Lot To Think About
And then, a few seconds later, when you're in the middle of a reply:
Ive Decided To Take A Trip To America At The Next Possible Opportunity
You grin, genuinely happy for her. You can tell that she hadn't fully decided on it until the very moment she hit send on the text, and there's no way you're going to let her worm her way out of this one. It's cemented, and you're going to be the one fussing and meddling and bugging her until she goes through with it. And then, because saying that you think it's awesome doesn't quite sum up what you're feeling, without thinking about it, you text her back with something simple.
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