Chapter Text
The first time Terezi goes back to her mother's over the Easter break, the three hour round trip doesn't bother you in the slightest. The motorway's clear, you're there by midday, and dinner with her mother goes so well that you don't end up leaving until close to midnight. It's a first for you, actually meeting somebody's parent, and you spend the drive home grinning every time you remember something stupid you didn't say out loud.
Things are really looking up for you. You find Kanaya two months later, she visits on a weekend when the sun's actually shining, and the only thing you and Terezi ever really argue about is what pizza topping to go for. But then Terezi comes to the end of her three-year degree, the lease on her house runs out, and she's back living at her mother's full-time. Or at least until she finds herself a job, and she's looking up in Oxford, anyway. Which really sucks for you, but there's no way in hell you're going to ask her to move in with you. There's just not the room in your flat, and you've only been with her for, what— seven, eight months?
Goddamn, that's got to be a record. You haven't even managed to keep friends for that long in the past. So you deal with things as best you can: you drive up to Terezi's for the weekend, bring her back with you, and she stays for three, four days, under the guise of job hunting in London. There have got to be more people looking here, right? She's graduated with her fancy degree, and she's had all that work experience at her mum's place; anyone would be stupid to turn her down, she'll find herself a placement around here any day now. Never mind those interviews she's already had up in Oxford, she'll be in her own flat soon enough, and you'll be complaining about just how damn close she is.
Sometimes, you'll go for an entire fortnight without seeing her, when work's busy and you can't bear the thought of trudging up there through traffic. Kanaya comes over on the first weekend of every month, doesn't mind the fact that she has to sleep on your sofa, and you make sure that Terezi's always around for her visits. The first time, she busied herself with tidying up your flat, not able to help herself, and you had no choice but to let her impulses get the better of her. Not to say that you didn't grumble and whine as she fussed around the flat, putting everything that didn't need to be moved back into place, but you feel obligated to put up with her meddling.
It's hard to describe how she makes you feel: maybe you're not designed for moirallegiance in this body, with your viscid human organs and warm blood, but you want Kanaya close, acting like Kanaya, and you've never had such a firm grasp on this seemingly intangible thing you just can't put into words. It's sort of like how you want to wrap your arms around Terezi's waist every night and graze your lips against the nape of her neck, but never tell her as much, because you've not gone soft or anything.
There are never any blurred lines between how you feel about Terezi and Kanaya respectively, so there's no need to try categorising these pedantic little nuances.
It's Kanaya's third consecutive visit, early August, and you're sprawled out on the sofa, all the windows in your flat open. You've got a vest and boxers on, fanning yourself with one of the magazines Kanaya always insists on buying, while Terezi's bundled up in the armchair, sucking on strawberry ice cubes. Your head's rested on Kanaya's lap, the hot weather having made you sluggish enough to immediately relent and let her get on with it when she started braiding your hair, and you have to admit, you feel a whole lot cooler this way.
Your brain is grub sauce, threatening to leak out of your ears at any moment, and you can't bring yourself to do a single thing. The kitchen's too far away, cooking makes things even hotter, and you're tired of binging on cereal. You want to shower, but the thought of having to stand upright for more than few seconds knocks any dregs of effort you were willing to make out of your system, and everyone else is just as sweaty as you are.
“This place is a shithole,” you grumble, rubbing your knuckles between your eyes. No air conditioning, no fans, and the windows don't open widely enough.
“We could go somewhere else,” Kanaya suggests, not looking up from her book.
Maybe she wants to take you out for another meal in one of those fancy restaurants, the ones with air conditioning and snooty waiters who look at you like you can't afford anything on the menu. Which is true, because Kanaya always pays, but you get to snap your fingers at the staff and boss them around, and they have to pretend that they don't think you're from the gutters of south-east London. You wouldn't object to going out, but that draws you back to the initial problem of not being able to bring yourself to get in the shower.
Maybe Terezi will drag you in there, if you complain enough. You glance over at her, and she's still busy with her ice cubes, pinching them between a thumb and a finger and slurping loudly.
“Yeah?” you ask after a moment, belatedly remembering to do the words-thing with your mouth. “Like where?”
“New York,” she says, as if it's down the road, and turns another page.
Even Terezi perks up, and stops numbing her tongue so that she can listen. Your brow lifts as you sit up, and all you can do is shoot Kanaya the most incredulous look, now that you're on the same level.
“New York, huh? When do you want to go there?”
“In a fortnight,” she says. God, she already has this all planned out. But of course she does, she's Kanaya Maryam, moirail extraordinaire, and you wouldn't expect anything less from her. Before you can say anything, Terezi flicks an ice cube your way, and hisses out a yeeees when she somehow knows that it thwacks your collarbone and skids down the front of your tank. Accustomed to such distractions, Kanaya continues speaking. “The line up in my latest show was inspired in part, if not entirely, by Complacency of the Learned. It only seems appropriate that I converse with the copyright owner to ensure that there isn't likely to be any bad blood between us. My agent has already set up the meeting.”
You're torn between giving Terezi a mouthful and congratulating Kanaya. After half a second, you realise that ice cube melting down the front of your shirt actually feels fairly nice, and so you reach out, clamping a hand against Kanaya's shoulder. You look at the way you handled this situation, the way you packed half your life up in the back of your car and drove off almost aimlessly, not expecting to achieve anything, and then there's Kanaya, having exploited every last advantage she has. She's got a fucking agent, and a meeting all set up. No wonder her life's going as well as she deserves it to.
*
Once Kanaya gives you something to talk about, the boredom drains away without so much as a glug. Terezi immediately begins to plot, scoots over and makes herself comfortable in you lap, so she can sling her legs across Kanaya's and shake her shoulders to show just how excited she really is, and in spite of your protests, her squirming around doesn't bother you that much. It's way too hot, sure, but you're excited enough that it doesn't really matter. When Terezi says that there's no way Kanaya's going without her, because it's not exactly as if she has a job keeping her tied down, you fall quiet, because there's no way in hell you have the funds for that.
There you are, between your girlfriend and your moirail, somehow managing to feel left out. It doesn't take them long to realise, and Kanaya says something about getting you a ticket as an early birthday present, which leaves you thinking great, now I'm a charity case. Terezi doesn't let you sulk for long, though. She plants a sloppy kiss against your cheek, Kanaya pats your knee, and you reluctantly agree that, yeah, it'd be pretty great to get away. You and Terezi, spending time together, not having to worry about carting her back to her mum's place; not a bad idea at all.
Once the topic's exhausted to the point of random, giddy bouts of excitement, you ease Terezi off your lap, stretch your arms up above your head, and announce that there's a bed just dying for your attention. You're too tired to bother changing into anything resembling pyjamas, and so you strip off your vest top, and flop down against the bed. You could still go for a shower, but you evidently don't care enough about cleanliness to bother doing anything about your sweaty state. Somehow, it's even hotter in your bedroom, but hopefully Terezi isn't going to be wrapping herself around you tonight.
She joins you a few minutes later. You're very busy smushing your face into a pillow and feeling as if you're going to melt into the sheets, and she peels her clothes off, falling down on her side of the mattress. Well, the side that she usually sleeps on. It isn't her bed. You stretch out an arm, reaching for her wrist, and Terezi rolls onto her side with a smile, entwining her fingers with your own.
You shuffle to face her, too tired to say anything, too hot to move, eyes skimming across her face. Fuck it, you think, tugging your hand free from hers. It's already unbearable enough in there, so you might as well make it worse. You throw an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
Terezi laughs softly, buries her face in the crook of your neck, snoozing before you have the chance to scold her.
*
Kanaya takes the Eurostar over a few weeks later, and there the three of you are, suitcases trailing behind you as you make your way into the check-in area of Heathrow airport.
You told your manager that you needed to take a week off work, sorry about the short notice, and he only sighed, because didn't you just take holiday time off in order to go to France? If they fire you, they fire you. You'll deal with that once you're back in the UK, because there's no point in lingering over it now. You'll survive. You've lost jobs before, and you have a sneaking suspicion Kanaya would revel in the chance to financially support you, if worst came to worst.
She paid for your ticket, and claimed that First Class was the only way to travel for your first flight or any other, honestly, but you have a few hundred dollars shoved into your wallet. You're not about to let her pay for everything, even if that everything only consists of beer and tacky souvenirs.
Being at the airport is remarkably boring. You queue to check in, you queue to go through security, you queue to buy a sandwich and a drink, and then spend an hour and a half slumped in one of the more uncomfortable seats you've ever had the misfortune of sitting in. If you'd been scared of flying at any point, you think you'd be more worried about a seemingly inevitable death at the hands of boredom right around now.
By the time the monitors indicate that your plane is ready for boarding, you're so grateful for the chance to go somewhere that you could run the entire way to America.
And then you reach your gate, and queue to have your passport checked. You spend eight hours, excluding pee and leg-stretching breaks, sat in one of the more generously sized seats you've ever been in, but find that it becomes more and more uncomfortable as the minutes tick by.
Flying isn't any more interesting than sitting in the airport was. It doesn't make you feel sick; doesn't make you feel much of anything. There's a slight buzzing in your ears, and you occasionally have to force a yawn to make them pop, but other than that, it's nothing special. It's not like really having wings. You close your eyes at the thought, try to feel the way the plane's tearing through the clouds, and do your best to hold onto that moment. As if the air is rushing across your skin, not the hard shell of the cabin.
Kanaya fidgets more than you've ever seen her do so, though you know she's well versed in flying. She says she's been to New York no less than a dozen times, but that hadn't been for anything important. Her words, not yours; you're under the impression that fashions shows are kind of important for fashion designers, but you're no expert in the field. She sits and reads Complacency of the Learned, and your chest tightens with a swell of pale feelings over how ridiculous she is.
She's trying to take her mind off of tomorrow's meeting with Rose Lalonde by reading a book Rose Lalonde herself wrote.
Terezi has her chair reclined at a full tilt, and alternates between closing her eyes and nodding along to her music and reading something in Braille that doesn’t look like a textbook, for once. A few hours in, you ask her if she wants to fuck in the toilets, because it seems like the done thing on a plane, but neither of you are really feeling it, and decide to save it for the return journey.
You nap a lot, and it only gives you a headache. Drifting in and our of sleep for ten or fifteen minutes at a time does nothing to make you feel less tired, in spite of not having done anything all day, nor does it kill time as being unconscious should. When the captain finally announces that you're about to begin your descent after what must've been a year spent in the sky, you're coming to terms with the fact that you're never going to leave American soil. There's no way you're putting yourself through this much boredom twice.
Kanaya and Terezi will have to knock you out and drag you on board, if they want you back in London. Which, knowing the both of them, isn't completely out of the question.
Different country, and the process in the airport is pretty much the same: more queueing, interspersed with bouts of waiting, while they take their time deciding which carousel your luggage is being sent to.
You're completely out of touch with what time it is, but to nobody's surprise, Kanaya has everything planned out, and you don't have to do too much thinking. God knows you did enough of that throughout the flight. It's dark outside, but not too dark, and there's a car waiting to take you to the hotel. Your bags are bundled into the boot, and you sit in the back sandwiched between Kanaya and Terezi.
Terezi eagerly asks you to describe what everything looks like, and you grunt, saying that there are a lot of bright lights and that's about it, okay? Though you've done nothing but lounge around for what now feels like the entirety of your life, there's not much on your schedule other than sleeping now.
The hotel's nice, nicer than anything you could afford, but it isn't as over the top as it could be. It might be a billion degrees hotter in New York than it was in London, but there's air conditioning in the room, and maybe being stranded on these foreign shores might not be as bad as you first thought. There are two rooms between the three of you, and Kanaya heads into hers to unpack.
You do no such thing, drop your suitcase on the floor, and fall back onto the king-sized bed in the centre of the room. Terezi feels around for a wardrobe, and you roll your eyes, telling her not to waste her time. Nothing wrong with living out of a suitcase for a while.
You conclude your point with a yawn so long and so wide that you can't even close your mouth when Terezi tries to jab her fingers in, only to shove two fingers against your nose. Admitting that she's lost the battle, but not the war, she grabs your arm, and pulls you to your feet.
“You had all the time in the world to sleep on the plane, Vriska. We're meeting Kanaya in fifteen minutes for dinner, so do whatever you need to to stop feeling gross!”
“Who said I feel gross?” you grumble, but sit up regardless. If anything could motivate you right now, it's the thought of food. Real, piping hot food. Not that crap they tried to force on you at various points throughout the flight.
Terezi slides onto your lap, which isn't the most conductive thing for getting ready to go out, and you don't know why the hell you were foolish enough to think that she was going to sweetly kiss you against the cheek for so much as half a second. You really must be knackered. True to form, Terezi settles for leaning in and licking the length of your cheek, before falling off your lap in a fit of giggles.
“My bad! You only taste gross.”
“I could be so black for you,” you grumble, getting to your feet. She is right, in a sense. Maybe splashing some cold water against your face and changing will make you feel better.
“You said that was too exhausting!” Terezi announces, and reaches out, managing to slap your butt before you escape into the bathroom. “You're as red as your sticky human blood is for me.”
*
Kanaya seems distracted at dinner that night. Terezi marvels at how big all of the meals are, and you do your moirail duties in not letting her drink more than two glasses of wine. If you were in Kanaya's position, you'd probably drink yourself into a fit of detachment from the reality of your situation and hope you didn't sober up until everything went by quickly enough for you not to remember any of it, but you know that Kanaya doesn't want to embarrass herself. Doesn't want to have a hangover, either.
The meeting's at half ten tomorrow morning, and now that Kanaya's sitting a few blocks away from the restaurant they're meeting at for brunch, she's wholly distracted by the conversations she could have with Rose playing through her mind. She must be going over every possible scenario, because she barely even touches her dinner. Terezi tries to cheer her up by pointing out that Rose is a fellow Seer, and coupled with the fact that she's always been human, there's no way she won't remember exactly what happened to them.
Back at the hotel, you shower after dinner. You use the complimentary soap and shampoo, because you're not about to rummage through your bags this late at night, and when you step out of the bathroom and see Terezi sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her shirt off, and feel the cool air of the room on your skin, you're not as tired as you'd previously claimed to be.
She pins your hands by the sides of your head and lets you kiss her like you haven't felt the back of her teeth with your tongue in months, and you may as well not have, with the stifling summer heat of your apartment, and all the driving back and forth. But she's here with you now, and as long as she keeps pressing herself up against you and arching under your touch, you won't have to think of how things will be once you get back to England.
The alarm clock says it's eleven fifteen when you wake, though it barely feels as if you've been sleeping for more than an hour or two. It takes you a moment to realise that it was knocking that woke you, and with a groan, you untangle yourself from Terezi, and scramble to wrap one of the bed covers around yourself. Usually, you'd ignore unexpected knocking, but if it's the cleaners coming around, then they have a key to the room.
“Who is it?” you grumble, leaning so that your forehead rests against the door frame.
There's a pause, you don't think you're getting your answer, and then Kanaya says, through a sigh, “It's me.”
“Kanaya?” You open the door, because she deserves to see the puzzled expression painted across your face. She was supposed to be at her meeting forty-five minutes ago and, shit, you meant to get up earlier to wish her good luck. “Don't tell me you overslept.”
She doesn't look like she overslept. For as well put together as Kanaya usually is, today she's really gone that extra mile. You wouldn't doubt that she's spent long weeks, if not months, planning this outfit out in advance. But from the expression she wears, eyes a little glassy, face pale, you don't think she wants to hear that she looks good.
“I went to my meeting. I was there ten minutes before it was scheduled to start, Rose turned up five minutes late, and—” She pauses, wringing her hands together. You don't miss the way her voice hitches on Rose's name, and right, that's how she looks. As if she's seen a ghost. “She walked up to our table, took one look at me, and turned to leave. That's all. She didn't even say a word.”
“Shit. Just—”
Just what? You don't know what to say or do, and you still wouldn't, even if you knew what was going through Rose's head. You want to help Kanaya, because what sort of moirail would you be if you didn't, but you've no clue where to even start with this. Should you invite her in? Offer her a hug? No, you're mostly naked, that might be a little weird.
And so you opt to close the door in her face.
“Give me a second to get dressed!” you call through the door, and begin digging through your suitcase with enough enthusiasm to disturb Terezi.
“What's going on?” Terezi mumbles, and it all comes out as one word. She probably heard you and Kanaya talking but assumed it was a dream, and when you shrug it off as a moirail emergency, she isn't having any of it.
Having not heeded your fantastic advice of living out of a suitcase for the week, Terezi manages to dress far quicker than you do. She opens the door to Kanaya while you're still pulling your jeans up, and by the time you've managed to find your glasses, the two of them are already in the process of ordering breakfast.
They both know what you like, and order up a double helping of everything. Something tells you that you aren't going to see very many tourist attractions today.
While you shovel pancakes that aren't quite as good as the ones Kanaya makes into your mouth, she does her best to elaborate on what happened, though there honestly isn't much more to it. Rose turned up, stared her dead in the eyes, and turned to leave. She takes small bites of the watermelon she's had room service bring up, and says that she supposes this is it. Things can't always turn out as you want them to in a situation like this.
You almost choke on a mouthful of pancake in an effort to swallow it down, so that you can snap at Kanaya for giving up so easily. She asks what you'd do, if you were in her position, if she'd turned her back on you in France, clearly having no interest in having anything to do with you, ever.
You don't even have to think about it.
“I'd be pissed!” you say. “I drove all the way to Nowheresville, France, to track you down, Maryam, and if you couldn't even be bothered to say hello, I wouldn't let you get away with it. You know what Rose is? She's rude. Goddamn rude. If you'd done that to me, you know I'd be banging on your front door all night, as drunk as fuck.”
Kanaya doesn't seem all that inspired by your revelation, and glances over at the mini-bar.
“I suppose I don't have your luck, Vriska.”
*
Kanaya has plenty of business contacts and a few friends in New York, so it isn't a wasted journey, and you let her drag you around the shops, hoping it'll make her feel better. It's one of the more selfless things you've ever done in your life, because as soon as you step into a clothing store your back immediately aches, and you can't think of anything other than finding somewhere to sit down.
You let Kanaya buy you things which, again, is a selfless act in its purest form, because it makes her feel better, and then hit all the generic tourist traps. Most of them looked cooler on TV, and admittedly, you've never been desperate to visit New York. You'd rather go somewhere with crumbling ruins and abandoned castles, just because, but if you're here, you're going to enjoy yourself.
Hopefully, it'll wear off on Kanaya.
She looks utterly dejected, and it's hard to put in words exactly why it is she feels quite so bad. After all, she hasn't seen Rose in over twelve years, and a hell of a lot has happened between now and then; but Rose was an important part of her old life, a link between Alternia and Earth, and Kanaya spent so long dreaming without realising it was all a reality that she deserves for things to be straight forward for her for once.
Terezi always finds something to keep the conversation flowing, even when Kanaya doesn't seem to want to say anything in return, and you hope for her sake that she makes her mind up about what to do soon. She does know where Rose lives, she admits, but she isn't sure whether she wants to intrude upon her or not.
You tell her that it's the right thing to do, and not just because you're hoping that Rose will magically get her act together; it isn't fair to leave Rose in limbo like this. Now that she's seen Kanaya, and recognised her on some level, the gaps are going to begin filling themselves in and tearing open even wider, whether she wants them to or not.