Work Text:
Shortly before midnight, there’s a knock on the door to the president’s office.
She had retreated there following her confrontation with Prospera. She wishes it had been a tactical retreat, but in reality, she was just running away to lick her wounds. She had been unnerved by the older woman’s physical strength; she hadn’t expected to lay her own hands on her, but her body had moved even before her mind formed the conscious thought to do so. And then Prospera had started speaking, the eerily fervent tone in her voice when speaking of her dead loved ones reverberating throughout the room, making Miorine’s teeth rattle in her skull.
Her mind has been swirling ever since— thoughts of her father, even worse than she had always thought, and Prospera, even more deranged than she had previously thought, coupled with Suletta saying she would willingly, and gladly, kill somebody if her mother passed down the order.
It’s too much. Her mind is too loud. She can’t sleep.
There’s another knock, this time more insistent.
Miorine’s fully prepared to ignore it again and roll over on her other side, but she can just make out a small voice saying, “Ms. Miorine?”
Of course she’s come to see her.
Miorine trudges out into the main room— conspicuously spotless for perhaps the first time since she’s lived here. She had told Suletta to clean her room, after all.
The blood in her veins turns to ice at the thought.
She unlocks the door, and it immediately springs open, revealing Suletta Mercury in her sleep clothes. Under different circumstances, Miorine might have scolded her, or suppressed a laugh at the ridiculous sight and the mental image of Suletta wandering around campus dressed like that. For now, all she can do is stare dully at her visitor.
Suletta stares at the ground, twirling her fingers between her. “C-can I come in?”
Miorine moves wordlessly aside, relocking the door behind her once Suletta has entered.
The two stand in the foyer, not quite meeting the other’s eyes. Miorine can’t think of anything she can actually say out loud to Suletta, at least not at present. She wishes she could say I hate your mother. I hate it every time I have to speak to her, but she knows if she did, she would instead push her even farther away than she already is. The gulf between them right now is enormous, impassable.
“Are you okay, Ms. Miorine?”
She hates this. She’s already unwittingly become a pawn in Prospera’s game, whether she chooses to run in the presidential race or not. Even now, as she measures her actions against Prospera’s and what’s more likely to win Suletta over, Miorine can feel it happening, their relationship changing in a way she can’t abide by, becoming more calculated and unnatural.
It had all been so easy before, despite their strange beginnings. She had been having fun, with Suletta and the members of Earth House. She had been happy.
Now Nika is missing, her father comatose and the architect of a mass killing decades past, and Suletta far out of reach despite her proximity.
Even now, she weighs her actions carefully. Should she speak? Remain silent?
“Ms. Miorine,” Suletta intones, stepping closer.
She doesn’t step away— she had, after Suletta initially approached her after that disastrous rescue at Plant Quetta. The look that crossed her face then had wounded Miorine to the core, even as she had fought off her own shock.
Suletta doesn’t come too close. She’s still trying to feel out what their boundaries are around each other now. She offers Miorine her hand, palm up.
“I got worried… when you didn’t come back.”
“I needed some time to think.”
“About what?”
How to stop your mother. How to keep you safe. How to keep myself from having to do what it is becoming increasingly obvious I must in order to even do that.
Miorine doesn’t answer, and Suletta’s hand begins to fall, a look of pure dejection crossing her features. Reaching out before it can completely return to her side, Miorine grasps it with her own.
“I missed you,” she says impulsively, recklessly. She doesn’t want to freeze Suletta out. There’s something going on that she’s only just started on the journey to understanding, but she can’t abandon her. She doesn’t want to play her mother’s sick games, manipulating her at every turn. “I wasn’t ignoring your messages— I didn’t tell you earlier. They took my phone away.”
Suletta’s careworn expression brightens, her fingers twining hesitantly with Miorine’s. “It’s okay. I knew you were busy. But I would have liked…” She pauses, her thumb worrying at Miorine’s palm. “To call you. Sometimes.”
Miorine looks away. “Next time I’m gone, we can video chat.” When is the next time going to be? When she goes to headquarters to throw her hat into the ring for president?
When she turns back around, Suletta’s face has dropped again. “Ms. Miorine, are you okay?” she repeats, her tone serious.
“I’m… tired.” She’s exhausted, a deep, bone-aching weariness that she can feel even at rest. She feels like she’s been moving from one emotionally devastating event to another, lately. Absurdly, her feet hurt at each point of contact with the hard floor beneath them, even though she’s been lying in bed most of the evening.
“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Suletta says, a new note of authority entering her tone. Before Miorine can say anything, without so much as a by-your-leave, she grips Miorine’s forearm with one hand and places the other on her lower back, shepherding her into the bedroom.
This is enough to pull Miorine out of the mire of her thoughts. “Hey! What—” she protests, her cheeks heating up against her will. Her fair skin has always been a curse; any flushing of her face has always been apparent to everybody in the room, but this is a new experience for her. Typically the heat rushes to her cheeks out of anger. She’s seldom had it happen out of embarrassment.
It takes Suletta a second to catch up to where Miorine is, but then she’s dropping her hold on Miorine like she’s been scalded, hands flying out in front of her. “I-I-I-I’m sorry!” she cries, pressing her hands together and bowing her head in contrition. “I didn’t mean it! I wasn’t thinking!” A deep blush has spread across her own brown skin.
In spite of herself, Miorine laughs. “It’s fine, Suletta. I was just… surprised.” She doesn’t mind being touched by her— quite the contrary. Had the circumstances been different, she likely would have thrown herself into Suletta’s arms again after having been separated for so long following a terrorist attack against her father.
Suletta opens one eye, peeking up at Miorine. Encouraged by the soft smile on her face, her own mouth stretches into a hesitant grin.
Miorine wishes it were this simple again. She could stay like this forever. But Suletta’s gesturing to the mattress, and Miorine, rolling her eyes a little, is sliding underneath the covers.
“You’re always trying to take care of me,” she grumbles as Suletta smooths the comforter over top of her with very real solemnity. I want to be the one to save you, she thinks. I want to help you the way you’ve helped me.
Suletta pauses in her ministrations, hands resting lightly across the blanket. It’s dark in the bedroom— they’d never bothered to turn on the lights— but she can make out the serious set of Suletta’s mouth, so earnest beneath the soft look in her eyes. “It’s because I’m your groom,” she says simply, like that’s really all there is to it.
There are multiple ways she wants to respond to that. That doesn’t mean you have to do everything I say or A partnership should be equal, maybe. She settles on, “You’re more to me than that, you know.” She wiggles her toes beneath the blankets, fighting off the impending shyness. She feels vulnerable, exposed, a fluttering feeling in her stomach.
Suletta drops to the floor, wrapping one arm around her knees. Turning so she can see Miorine, she lifts her other hand to the mattress. Miorine takes it without hesitation, unthinkingly.
“I think I do know.”
More than just a friend. That’s probably what Suletta thinks Miorine means— that she’s Miorine’s most cherished friend, somebody she wants to see every day and spend time with after classes, to send mail to and go on excursions outside of school with. And she does mean that. But she also means that their impending marriage has become more and more appealing to Miorine, but they don’t actually have to follow through with it if she doesn’t want to, if she’s not ready for it. Just as long as they continue doing what they are now. Just as long as she lets Miorine bundle her up and take her somewhere far, far away from Prospera and the machinations of the Benerit Group, from Asticassia and the heirs and heiresses that reside there.
Stay by my side forever, she had said, and meant it.
The marriage is something her father came up with, after all. They don’t have to continue to play by his rules. Just the thought of him, and what Prospera had told her about him, makes her head swim. She needs to do more research. She needs to reach out to her contacts, the few adults in whom she still places trust.
For now, she wearily asks, “What are you doing?”
Suletta does not seem perturbed by her perch on the floor. “I’m going to stay with you tonight. I-if that’s okay.”
This is ridiculous. “Get in the bed, then.”
“Um…”
Without waiting for a response, Miorine pushes her way to the far side of the bed, pressing her back against the wall. Suletta has fully turned around now, allowing her hand to be dragged across the mattress, peering up at her nervously. Miorine lifts up the blanket as further demonstration, coolly quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m fine with sleeping on the couch! Really, I-I don’t want to be a bother—”
“Suletta.” Miorine gives her a flat look. “I’m not going to make you sleep on my couch—”
“I slept there last time—”
That was before they knew each other better. Miorine makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat. “Get in the bed.”
Suletta slips her hand out of Miorine’s, and then she’s hesitantly crawling into bed beside her, all sharp elbows and gangly limbs. At one point she does elbow Miorine in the ribs, which sets off another flurry of apologies.
“Calm down,” Miorine says. “Just lie down.”
“Y-yes!”
It’s a tight fit. Miorine has only ever wanted a single bed, but they’re both teenagers, not little girls. If they were to sleep on their backs, they’d be pressed up against each other, shoulder to shoulder. She remains on her side, and Suletta takes her cue, following suit. As long as she doesn’t start wriggling around again, they should be able to sleep like this.
For a long moment, they lay without speaking, facing one another. Slowly, Suletta stretches her hands straight out, and Miorine understands what she’s silently asking. For what feels like the millionth time this night, she places her hands against Suletta’s, heel to heel. Almost in tandem, their fingers lace together. Suletta looks satisfied, and actually closes her eyes like she’s going to fall asleep now.
“You’ve become a lot more touchy.”
Suletta’s eyes open again. “I guess I have. Is… is that wrong? Am I annoying you?”
“No. No, it’s not wrong. You’re not bothering me.”
She wishes she could tell her she loves her. That it wouldn’t be a burden, a curse. But deep down she knows it would just confuse Suletta even more than she already is, cause her undue distress. That’s the last thing Miorine wants. It’s enough to be like this, for now. She just hopes she can keep them from being ripped apart, either by Prospera’s devices or Suletta’s own actions.
“Suletta.”
“Hmm?”
She pauses. “Never mind.”
A sudden thought has gripped her; one question it hadn’t occurred to her to ask in the greenhouse. She’s afraid to know the answer.
“What is it, Ms. Miorine?”
Asking her will just make the both of them upset. Miorine draws her hands away from Suletta’s slowly, not missing the look of hurt confusion that crosses her face. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“If your mother told you to, would you cut ties with me?”
The heavy question hangs in the still air, the only sound being their breathing and the hum of the climate control system. Miorine waits patiently for the “yes” that will follow, steeling her resolve against it.
The silence stretches on, interminable. She can feel movement to her left, and when she opens her eyes, Suletta is fidgeting with her fingers again. Miorine’s gaze wanders up, up to Suletta’s face, and she’s rocked by a wave of horror when she discovers she’s crying. Tears are welling up in Suletta’s eyes and spilling down her face, which is starting to crumple under the weight of her emotions.
Miorine curses herself before lurching forward, arms springing around Suletta’s body and holding her tightly. The sudden action in their small shared space might have been enough to push the two of them completely off the mattress, but Suletta’s arms instinctively reach up behind her, palms flat against her back, holding them steady. She feels some small relief when Suletta doesn’t push her off, but the crushing guilt drowns it out.
Cruel. She’s being cruel. “I’m sorry, Suletta,” she gasps, tears starting to sting at the corners of her own eyes. She can’t just come into Suletta’s life and start making demands of her like this, pitting her against her own mother. It doesn’t matter how frustrated she is, how much she loves her. It doesn’t matter that Prospera is using her for nefarious purposes. Prospera will always win against such tactics, playing the role of loving mother against the callous and unyielding bride.
Wait. She has to wait.
“We don’t have to talk about this anymore,” Miorine promises. “We can sleep. Let’s just sleep.” She’s become ineloquent in her panic and shame.
Suletta’s fingers twist into the fabric of her nightgown, anchoring Miorine against her. Miorine can feel her lips moving against the skin of her neck as she opens her mouth, the ghost of a shaky breath foreshadowing her speech.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and her voice is raw and hoarse. She sounds lost, adrift in space. “I don’t know how to answer that, Ms. Miorine.”
“It’s okay,” Miorine reassures her again, fingers going up to stroke Suletta’s hair in a soothing gesture. She tries not to let the blow— that Suletta could conceivably leave her if Prospera asked it of her— sting too much. She’s the one who asked. “Forget about it. Go to sleep.”
Suletta’s fingers grip her nightgown more firmly. “I don’t want you to run away from me again,” she whispers.
Miorine pulls back to look her squarely in the face. Suletta’s fingers prick at her nightgown, but Miorine lifts her own hands to her face to wipe away the tears that are rapidly making tracks down her cheeks. Suletta lets out a choked sob at the contact, and Miorine rubs soothing circles across her cheeks, trying to think of what to say to make it better.
There’s nothing she can say to make it better. Suletta is truly between a rock and a hard place— her mother’s justifications and Miorine’s ideals. No kind words are going to make it better. With that in mind, Miorine stares deep into Suletta’s eyes when they reopen.
“Don’t do things for me, or for anybody else— not even for your mother,” she says in a rushed whisper. Suletta starts to open her mouth, but Miorine shakes her head firmly. She’s trying to instill this in Suletta’s mind— she has to get through to her somehow.
“Do what you feel is best,” she implores, gazing long into her eyes. “Don’t do something because you want somebody’s approval. Don’t think about what others want you to do, or if they tell you it’s right. Do what you think is right.”
She knows this could backfire on her spectacularly. Suletta could very well decide Prospera is right, and that senseless violence really is the best path. She could decide that Miorine has asked too much of her, has pushed her own viewpoint too hard without considering what she really wants.
But there had been a moment there, back in the greenhouse, where it seemed Suletta had wanted to say no to Miorine’s questions, to go against what her mother asked of her. And she hadn’t been able to answer this most recent question at all. Miorine knows she has a strong sense of morality; she had fought Guel Jeturk when he trashed her greenhouse, and had stuck up for Elan Ceres even when he had hurt her feelings so terribly. Prospera obscures her own innate morals, superimposing Suletta’s will with her own.
What is she trying to do with her?
Suletta hiccups. Miorine lets out a startled laugh. It’s cute.
“What?”
“It’s nothing,” Miorine responds. Suletta eyes her dubiously, but she must decide Miorine isn’t keeping a darker secret from her.
“I won’t leave you like that again,” she says instead. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”
“If we have a problem, talk about it, right?”
Miorine worries at her lower lip. Suletta is looking at her so earnestly, so full of trust, it makes her heart break. She always tries to do the right thing.
“Right.”
Miorine reaches out to wipe Suletta’s face with the sleeve of her nightgown. Suletta bears it stoically at first, but then she wrinkles her nose. “That tickles,” she mutters, squirming out of Miorine’s grasp. The skin surrounding her eyes is still red and puffy, but at least she’s no longer crying. Miorine’s heart warms at the sight; then she turns up her nose.
“I guess you’re feeling well enough to complain,” she huffs, rolling over.
Suletta scoots closer to her. “You wouldn’t like it if I tickled you,” she accuses, her arms wrapping around Miorine’s abdomen. Suletta’s fingers tense on her stomach, ruffling the fabric of her nightgown, and Miorine has a sudden flash of intuition.
“Don’t you dare—”
The words are barely out of her mouth before Suletta is tickling her, fingertips dancing across her ribcage. Her movements are clumsy— Miorine has the sense she’s never done this before— but they’re effective. Before Miorine can help it, giggles are bursting from her lips, her elbows digging into her stomach in an attempt to keep it protected. She struggles in Suletta’s grasp, attempting to wriggle free of the onslaught, but between her and the wall, there’s nowhere to go.
“Suletta!” she gasps, breath stolen by the laughter. “Stop!”
Suletta’s hands freeze immediately. The other girl had been laughing, too, but now as Miorine regains control of herself, the occasional giggle sneaking through again, Suletta is deathly silent behind her. She rolls over, frowning slightly. Suletta’s hands are still outstretched, and she takes them easily with her own.
“Ms. Miorine.”
“Yes?”
“Are you… afraid of me? Of my hands? You said—” She stops short. Suletta’s voice is plaintive, a lost expression on her face.
“No… no, I’m not afraid of you. I just like it better when you use your hands for other things. Like this.” She punctuates her sentence by rubbing her thumbs across the backs of Suletta’s hands, and then unclasps their fingers, using her own to encircle Suletta’s wrists. Suletta watches her movements curiously. “Or when you helped Lilique make that bread—” Suletta laughs in sudden recognition at the memory, mimicking the pushing and pulling motions of kneading bread with her, and Miorine’s lips curl up at the corners in response. It had been a mess; the two, and Earth House’s kitchen, had become covered in flour when Chuchu had snuck up behind them to scare them. But the bread had gotten baked, and it had been delicious with the goat cheese Lilique insisted on serving it with. Miorine rearranges their hands again, this time recreating the careful grip Suletta assumes when caring for the plants, particularly the tomatoes. The intense concentration on her face, the precise movements as she mixes fertilizer or clips new growth. She doesn’t want Prospera to take those away. “Or when you take care of the tomatoes. Or… if you become a teacher. The way you’ll guide the children in lessons. Those are your hands I like best.”
She resumes their hands’ previous position, holding Suletta’s hands between their bodies gently. They’re lightly callused on the palms, likely as a result of piloting Aerial for so many years. Miorine doesn’t mind; it gives them some character that she knows most other Asticassia students, who only briefly pilot before going on to work desk jobs in their families’ companies, don’t have.
Suletta gazes at her face for a long moment, and then she’s leaning forward, bringing her head closer to Miorine’s in confession. Miorine bows her own head, placing her ear near Suletta’s mouth.
“I… didn’t like it,” Suletta whispers almost inaudibly. It sounds like a great struggle for her to get the words out, and one of her hands briefly spasms around Miorine’s, but she doesn’t let go. “When I did that, I didn’t like… using my hands… using Aerial’s… I didn’t like it,” she finishes.
Miorine leans away. Suletta’s face is now anguished, a far cry from her hollow smile at Plant Quetta and the more subdued, relieved smile from the greenhouse. Miorine wraps her arms around Suletta, burying her face in her neck.
“I know,” she says quietly, as Suletta’s arms go around her waist, pulling her even closer. She can feel tiny drops of moisture hitting the skin of her scalp, and she knows Suletta’s crying again. She squeezes her slightly, trying to impart some small strength into the other girl’s form. The strength to break free of her mother’s manipulation, to choose the life that she wants to live.
“I know you didn’t.”