Work Text:
She doesn’t stay up late. Ever. She has a bedtime, and she keeps to it most nights, in her small bedroom. Upstairs by 8pm, in bed by 9pm, asleep by 10pm. 10:45 at the latest.
But it’s 12:22 and she’s lying in bed, warm but not comforted, and wide awake as ever. Her bed is where she feels safest. Of course it would be. One can’t sleep without lowering her guard, and she has Mary to keep her company, and it’s nice and quiet and peaceful and safe.
And she’s lying on her side sobbing into her pillow and wishing with every fiber of her being she wasn’t so pathetic.
She ought to think of the future, but she longs for the days of the past. When she didn’t know half as much as she does, when the burden on her shoulders wasn’t half so heavy, when she was one half of a pair and nothing made her feel more whole.
And there’s only so many times she can pray to God about this before she wants to throw herself against the wall and scream with abandon. Because sometimes it feels like God tunes her out when she’s on like a broken record. He probably should. There are others He ought to help, who deserve His help far more. The homeless, the hungry, the hurt—she would rather He help them first.
They have real, tangible problems. She can wait. She doesn’t mind, really. If she can solve her problems without bothering God, all the better for both.
So here she is on Friday night, hugging her stuffed animal like a child and crying like one too, and wanting more than anything for Veronica to run her fingers through her hair and tell her she’s overthinking herself silly, that she’ll be fine, it’ll be okay, things will work out, and she should have a little more faith in her God that He’ll take care of her.
How she misses her. How she longs for her. Kind, gentle, beautiful Veronica, who always knows the right thing to say to lift her spirits and soothe her soul. Who’s always so sure of everything.
But it’s Friday night, and Veronica is probably doing what most their age do at the end of a long work week. Whether it’s a wild party at a random house, clubbing out of town, or even if she’s out having premarital sex with her newest boyfriend in the back of her car at the drive-in, Veronica Sawyer has no time for Betty Finn anymore, and she hasn’t for a long time.
And for what it’s worth, Betty Finn doesn’t mind. Really, she doesn’t. If Veronica is content with where she is, then so is she.
That doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss her though.
That doesn’t mean she can’t.
Because she does, and she does terribly. And it builds by the day. Tonight is perhaps the worst it’s been in a long time, exacerbated by the weight of everything else. What’s another drop in the bucket of despair?
College is on the horizon, but she doesn’t want to leave her home. But it’s no question she has to go—she’ll be the first in the family to go. If she doesn’t, well, she ought to get a job then—a real one. The babies have outgrown her, and she them. But what can she do? All she does is read and study. She’s not pretty enough to be taken seriously by her classmates. She can’t even drive.
When she rolls over, sniffling as she drags her sleeve across her eyes, and calms down just enough to give Mary a weak sniff, she reaches for her bedside table and grabs her phone. 12:26.
It would be so easy to call her. Even if Veronica doesn’t pick up, maybe she personalized her voicemail greeting so she could still hear her voice. There was that one time back in middle school. Charlie never laughed so hard when he heard it.
Maybe she should hide her number. That way she can be sure—well, actually, maybe Veronica would pick up an unknown caller for the fun of it. If she’s bored enough. Or drunk enough. She was always doing wild things like that.
She presses the phone to her ear and closes her eyes, counting the rings. Two, three, four, fi—
“Betty?”
Her cheeks warm, and she presses Mary closer to her.
“...Hi.”
“Hey!” Veronica says, warm as ever. She can hear the smile in her voice. “What’re you doing up so late?”
“Nothing. Just, uh...” She closes her eyes again to keep the tears in, and swallows the sob in her throat. “A lot on my mind.”
“Are you okay?”
“Mm-hm. I just...”
She takes a deep breath and she knows it’s obvious she isn’t.
“I just wanted to hear your voice is all,” she whispers, sniffling a little.
“Want me to come over?”
“It’s late.”
Veronica chuckles. “So? I’m still up, you’re still up.”
“But my parents, a-and my brothers,” she sniffles. “They’ll hear the door.”
“Who said anything about the front door?”
She manages a wet laugh in spite of herself, and sad tears mix with happy ones at the idea of actually getting to see Veronica in person. And not just as a speck down the hall, a glimpse in the cafeteria, always out of reach. And of course, Veronica is doing, or planning on doing, something bold and absolutely frightful.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your evening,” she says softly, as the heavy sadness returns to sit upon her chest. Try as she might, she can’t keep her voice from cracking when she says, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
Veronica doesn’t answer that, and Betty doesn’t have the heart to admit she would’ve gladly settled for the chance of hearing her voice through her voicemail greeting if she still had one. How much more pathetic could she be?
Finally, Veronica says, her tone devoid of any mirth, “I’m coming over.” And then, as if correcting herself, she adds lightly, “Hey, Betty? Don’t fall asleep on me, okay? I’ll be as quick as I can. Give me ten minutes. Think you can hold out for ten minutes?”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl.” There comes a strange sound akin to a kiss, but she can’t be too sure. “See you in a jiffy!”
Soon as they hang up, she hugs Mary and sobs. This didn’t make her feel much better. Ten minutes means Veronica’s at home. On a Friday. There was no way she wouldn’t answer unless she kept especial company in her boyfriend, and even then, that wasn’t a guarantee.
One way or another, she was always going to disrupt her evening.
Pathetic and selfish. What’s the matter with her?
Still, she sits up, takes a few calming breaths, and goes about getting ready to receive her guest, Mary in tow. Turning on her bedroom light, she clears her desk, loudly stacking her books atop one another. Maybe Veronica was having a quiet night in, reading something, and she interrupted. She knows firsthand how annoying it is to be pulled away from a good story. The smaller the reason, the more annoyed she’d be.
She pads to the bathroom, dabbing at her eyes and blowing her nose before washing her face, and avoiding the mirror altogether. It’s precisely because she can’t see clearly without her glasses she often doesn’t mind how she looks. Sometimes she even thinks she looks kind of nice like that, but not now, obviously. She brushes her hair a little, and that’s as much attention she pays to the pitiful girl behind the glass.
She makes her bed, and tries to read, and paces her room anxiously, clutching Mary to her, and repeats their conversation under her breath.
“I’m coming over,” she mumbles to Mary’s head, “it’s late. So? They’ll hear you, the door. Who said anything about the door? I did. It’s late. I know I can’t stop you, and I don’t want to, but God, Ronnie, you shouldn’t. You don’t have to. Really, I’m okay. I’m just a little sad tonight, that’s all. It happens sometimes. No big deal.”
She doesn’t know who she’s trying to convince.
The wait is agonizing. She considers changing out of her nightdress, illogical as that is, purely for want of something to do. To keep her hands busy but not her mind. Her mind can’t keep still, and neither can her bouncing leg. She’s an absolute mess of nerves tonight. She puts on her glasses, and then takes them off again. It’s not like she’ll need them anyway.
She jumps when a pebble hits her window, and she leaves Mary on the bed to unlock it. When she peers out, a figure is climbing up the tree conveniently stationed in front of her side of the backyard. Veronica enters her room with a little effort, her thick brown hair hidden under her long blue scarf, a black backpack in tow, and a triumphant smile on her face once her shoes touch the floor.
“Thanks for not falling asleep on me,” she says, removing her sunglasses and kicking off her shoes after closing the window. As she discards everything else—her scarf, her gloves, her jacket, and even her jeans and socks—stuffing them all into the largest pocket of her backpack, she goes on. “Not gonna lie, I was scared for a sec. It’s been ages since I climbed that tree—or any tree, actually—and I forgot how fragile the branches are. It’s definitely not as stable as I remember it from, like, age six. I think we were pushing it then too. Hell, I probably will use the front door when I leave.”
At the end of her little speech, Veronica is fully dressed for bed, having worn the blue pajama top under her coat and exchanging her jeans for the pants. Her warm smile falters, and she approaches, kind face full of concern, one hand resting on Betty’s arm.
“What do you need, Betty?” Veronica asks softly, offering a gentle squeeze. “I’m right here, and I’m all yours. And I’m glad to be, so don’t you fret.”
Sometimes even the smallest act feels like the grandest of gestures, like she’s experiencing kindness for the very first time in her life, and she knows it. Something like wordlessly offering food to share, or two simple words of “what’s wrong?” to a long face—most days she wouldn’t think twice about it, how small and easy those gestures are to aim at others. But tonight, she’s not the one asking or offering. Tonight, she’s being asked, by the one person she missed more than she ever thought she could, and never hoped would come tend to her without even being asked, and she may as well fall to her knees in overwhelming gratitude and guilt.
She inhales a shaky breath, eyes blinking rapidly to try and ward off the tears.
“I need something God can’t give me,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Not even by a miracle.”
“Good thing I’m not God then,” Veronica quips, a corner of her lips tugging up in a playful smirk. Just as quickly, she softens, stepping forth and pulling her into a warm embrace, her hand now cradling the back of Betty’s head. “Is it the old pain, my dearest?”
It takes her a good second to catch the reference, and she can’t help but smile when she does, weak though it is. “No, it’s new. But I—I can bear it.”
“Tell me all about it, and let me cure it the way I’ve often done the others.”
She takes a moment just to hug Veronica, to check that she really is real, squeezing her wet eyes shut tight as she buries them into her warm shoulder. Veronica’s taller now. Last time, she could’ve sworn they were the same. Would she still have the markings they made on her wall in her room, tracking their heights? When was the last time they even compared? Resting her cheek upon her shoulder, she turns away, gripping at the back fabric of Veronica’s pajama top as Veronica starts to rub her back.
“Take your time, angel,” Veronica murmurs, swaying them gently as she pets her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She sniffles. “I need...” She heaves a shaky breath. “I want to turn back time.”
The gentle petting doesn’t stop. The steady rocking, like a pendulum, doesn’t stop. “How far back do you want to go?”
She acts as though it’s not impossible. But then again, that was Veronica’s way. Nothing is impossible for her, no mountain too high to climb, no cavern too dark to tread. She always finds a way to get what she wants; it’s quite extraordinary.
She closes her eyes again.
“When my biggest worries were Charlie beheading my Barbie dolls,” she whispers, tightening her grip on Veronica’s pajama top and pressing closer to her. “And not being placed in the same class with you.”
Veronica smiles against her shoulder, kissing it softly before pulling away. The rocking stops, and the warm hand which so lovingly cradled her head slips its way to caress her cheek, thumbing under her eyes to wipe away tears.
“I know a way we can do that. And it’s really easy too. If you trust me.”
She nods. “Of course I trust you.” She trusts no one else half so much.
They separate briefly as she goes to turn off the light, and Veronica, after a very loud gasp for that time of night, sits at the edge of her bed with Mary in her lap, cooing her hellos to the old thing like no time has passed since she last saw her.
“Hello, Mary!” Veronica says, stroking between the long gray ears. “Thanks for taking care of Betty for me this whole time. I know you did a good job. You’ll have to tell me all I missed while I was away, won’t you?” Mary nods, and Veronica chuckles before handing Mary over. From her backpack, she pulls out a small blue teddy bear, and it’s Betty’s turn to gasp.
“Cody!”
Cody yawns and rubs his eyes, and Veronica-as-Cody waves at her with a thin blue arm as they settle upon the bed again. “Good evening, Betty! How have you been? You’ve gotten taller! And prettier! And is that Mary you have with you? My Mary?”
She giggles, making Mary nod and wave back.
“Many happy returns, Cody,” Mary says, shyly running her paws over her floppy left ear, a habit. “I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, I’ve missed you too! It’s hard to appreciate the quaintness of Sawyerville without the ambassador of Finnland to show it to, you know.”
They set the animals in their own little corner, nestled against each other to catch up in the way old toys do, before crawling into her bed together and warming up quickly. She lays her head on Veronica’s shoulder, facing inward and yawning a little, and kicks at her blankets until her feet find air. Veronica holds her, waiting patiently until she settles before brushing her bangs from her forehead to plant a kiss on her brow.
“How it works,” Veronica begins, “is you think of all the things we used to do as kids that you want to do again, and we’ll do them. Just you and me. Nothing’s too silly or babyish. It can be as simple as watching Teletubbies and taking a nap, or as complex as the recurring adventures of Cody and Mary where they act as delegates for their respective home. And you let me take care of you, like now.” And she runs her warm hand down Betty’s arm, and Betty yawns a little.
“That’s it?” she asks, eyeing Veronica. It seems too good to be true. She makes it sound far too easy.
“That’s it. Unless you have other plans tomorrow with—”
“Don’t you have plans?”
Veronica chuckles. “No. Left my phone at home on silent, next to a note for my parents I’ll be here til you get sick of me. And not to tell the Heathers if they come round.” She pulls her closer, offering a brief squeeze to her shoulder. “Hell, I’ll even go to church with you on Sunday if you want me to, though I won’t guarantee I’ll sit still the whole time.”
For once, Betty Finn considers skipping church and sleeping in. Any time with Ronnie is time well-spent. Closing her eyes, she pulls her feet back under the blankets and wraps her legs around one of Veronica’s.
“I’m tempted to say you were weepy because you’re not used to staying up so late, and you also shouldn’t trust your feelings about life after 9,” Veronica murmurs, kissing her brow again, “but I’m really glad it led you to call me, Betty.”
“You are?”
“Would I have invited myself over in the middle of the night, risking life and limb by climbing up to your window like a lovestruck prince, if I didn’t want to spend time with you?”
True.
“Tomorrow, we’ll have our usual sleepover breakfast. Do you remember what that was?”
Yawning again, she nods. “Pancakes and juice. And you always made a show of lifting the gallon of milk all by yourself.”
Veronica chuckles. “Shit, you’re right, I did. I’ll be better about it this time. We’ll make the pancakes all by ourselves, and you can make sure I don’t muck up. And I’ll cut up yours for you like I used to.” She pets Betty’s arm in slow strokes. “And we’ll figure it out from there, yeah? And if you tire of it, we’ll stop and do something else. The point is you’re enjoying yourself. You don’t need to worry about me.”
She rests a hand over Veronica’s heart. “Can we do it again after this weekend sometime, if you’re free?”
“All you have to do is ask. You know your company is my favorite.”
If only they could live like that.
Veronica adjusts the blanket again, patting her shoulder under it, and whispers, “I love you, Betty. Sweet dreams.”
She takes a calm breath. “I love you too, Ronnie. Sleep well.”