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The black dress is a touch too tight. She never much liked wearing it, inwardly sighing whenever an undercover op required her to put it on, and most of tonight had been spent standing around uncomfortably while they kept an eye out. As luck would have it, a foot chase had taken place as well.
Agent Zari is well used to running in heels, but the dress was another matter that had left her near fuming as she took deep breaths and fought the urge to tear at the fabric. She’d let her partner handle the operative once they’d been gassed. His questioning look had made it clear that her discomfort was quite evident, and he’d given her just a few more inches of space than usual as they made their way back to the hotel.
She’s not usually this easy to really ruffle, testy glares and huffy sighs aside, and he knows her well.
After they had bid goodnight to him and to Devineaux, their room across the hall, Agent Argent and Agent Zari had trudged into their own room with nothing but silence between them, both worn out by tonight’s events. What should’ve been a relatively simple mission had Zari too off-kilter to even speak. Thankfully they had some time to rest before their next flight, off to some other time zone yet again, although Zari was willing to bet that once their on-flight briefing was over the cabin would soon be occupied by dozing agents. Just two pills of melatonin and she’d be out cold at cruising altitude— if their flight was long enough to allow it.
She can’t even sigh without being reminded of the damn dress.
With an exhausted groan, she curses this mission for what must be the millionth time this night. In the corner of her eye, a sympathetic glance is thrown at her.
And of course. Julia Argent is here too. A grimace pulls at Zari’s lips.
She removes her gloves. Although she was rarely without them, by now she has done this many times around Argent, simply due to how often they worked together; it was by now not a wall to be bypassed, a simple action that by now had no thought put into it.
(Scars went unmentioned. Lightly calloused fingers, untouched.)
No, the first sign of her undoing is the fact that she no longer cares to delineate what would be done, a habit that was more often a statement of her standing than an actual necessity. She merely ungloves in silence, paying no mind to Julia as they both begin the arduous process of peeling off their layers.
“Fuck,” Zari hisses under her breath at the prospect of unzipping her dress. It’s not that it’s impossible for her to reach, but right now the distance feels insurmountable and more trouble than it’s worth. She just wants it off already.
And yet Zari doesn’t even need to ask before Julia is there, gently nudging her hand away and patiently working at the clasp until Zari can feel the dress give, lessening the oppressive tightness of cloth on her upper body. The zipper goes down, quickly and efficiently, and then Julia steps away again and starts taking off her shoes like she’s merely doing things off a checklist, either not noticing that Zari had frozen like a statue through the whole thing or simply choosing not to acknowledge it.
The sudden warmth Zari feels in her chest is difficult to pin down. It must be the blood rushing through her veins now that she isn’t being restricted by the dress, or perhaps it was the meager one glass of wine that she’d taken as a social nicety now slipping past her defenses. And yet as she turns away to afford Julia some privacy, to give herself the same courtesy as she slips out of the dress and into something comfortable, she feels a creeping sense of unease— still warm, but restless, like water beginning to come to a boil.
It’s not as if Julia didn’t have to help her with zipping the dress up earlier in the day, but in the face of their mission there hadn’t been time for Zari to parse through the awkward warmth that had risen to her cheeks when she had to ask. It had only taken a few seconds of glaring at the wall while the dress tightened like a vise, and then they were back to the job at hand.
She’d always had to struggle with this dress alone, before. She’s not entirely sure why she had asked Julia to assist her this time.
(“You look nice in that.” Julia had blinked up at her after hooking the clasp, and Zari had grit her teeth. She hates this dress, and she hates Julia pointing it out, seemingly incapable of shutting her mouth and not caring like everyone else in this job does.)
(She really does hate it.)
Julia has busied herself with unclipping the stars out of her hair, earrings still dangling and catching the light as she sits on the edge of the bed in a too-large shirt and shorts. Zari steps in front of the vanity and reaches for her overnight bag. Cotton balls and makeup remover, freshly bought. She holds the cotton against the bottle’s opening in a practiced movement, letting it soak in, before she puts the bottle down and… sits there, staring at herself in the mirror.
Her lipstick has faded over the course of the night, but still serves to highlight the sullen set of her mouth, the way her baleful eyes stare dourly back beneath sharp eyeliner.
“Agent Zari?”
“What?” Zari responds absently. When no reply comes, she doesn’t even notice the lack of it until Julia speaks again, voice suddenly much closer behind her.
“You really do seem exhausted,” Julia says, and before Zari can wrench her mouth open to say something biting, the piece of cotton is taken from her, just like that.
Turning her head to glare, Zari evidently plays right into Julia’s hands— literally. One hand catches her cheek as the other draws closer wielding the cotton ball. The urge to protest, to ask what the hell Julia thinks she’s doing, dies in Zari’s throat when she registers the softness of Julia’s hand, warm as it cradles the side of her face.
(Proximity does things to a person. It was a dangerous thing, moreso in prolonged exposure, but Zari had only ever known this from a distance, thinking herself above it. ACME agents don’t falter for things like that, and Agent Zari certainly doesn’t.)
(She doesn’t know if it would be better or worse if prolonged proximity alone was at play here.)
“Hold still,” Julia murmurs, and now Zari can’t help but stare, watching the other agent’s expression of careful focus as she draws closer. The cleanser feels cool and yet burns a little on Zari’s skin. As the makeup is worked off, bit by bit, she starts to feel uncomfortably bare— exposed and just a bit tender, shorn of her usual front. And yet Julia stays gentle with her hand, working with and not against Zari’s stiff bearing.
“Eyes closed, please.”
Zari should do that herself. She should set some distance between them and do it herself, scrub the eyeliner off until her skin is raw and red but by her own hand.
She closes her eyes instead.
With firm yet gentle motions, the cotton ball smoothly sweeps across her eyelid. Unable to see, Zari becomes all too aware of Julia’s warm breath on her face, a mere whisper. As if Julia was making a conscious effort to control her breathing. The thought almost angers Zari in how considerate it is. And with how gently Julia’s free hand still cups her cheek—
Julia finally draws back slightly, and when Zari opens her eyes, she finds that Julia is looking at her with a patiently careful air. Those deep dark eyes shouldn’t feel like spotlights burning into her naked face, but they do, and Zari knows she is risking too much allowing this, when she is in such a state.
When Julia’s gaze drifts down to reddened lips, Zari burns.
“Mouth closed,” Julia says.
Zari nearly breaks then, the thought of Julia’s fingers tracing her lips too much for her.
“I’ll do that,” she finally says, a near inaudible tremor to her low tone. “You’ve done enough.”
Evidently, her choice of words makes the other agent retreat, like she’s only now realized she’s stepped across a line that she maybe shouldn’t have. “Of course,” Julia murmurs.
Julia drawing away from her makes Zari’s throat constrict for some reason. The cotton ball is returned to her, makeup caked on one side. Zari tosses yet another layer of herself into the bin, and feels Julia shift as if to move away.
Zari clears her throat, causing Julia to look back at her inquisitively. “Before that,” she mutters, “... can you get my hair?”
Julia doesn’t manage to hide the softening of her eyes very well. “Of course.”
(Linger just a little bit longer, draw a little bit closer, in small enough increments that they shouldn’t count for anything.)
Something possesses Julia to reach for Zari’s bun without even asking Zari to turn around, without even waiting, and so the result is her reaching past Zari’s head and behind it to undo the neat coil of hair. Zari, too stunned by this odd choice, can only lower her head so that Julia can have an easier time, and in doing so inadvertently brings her face closer to Julia’s.
Those deep dark eyes gaze back at her, blinking owlishly, before they rove upwards. Zari’s eyes stay fixed on Julia’s face.
There’s a new scar on her jaw— faint, a pale nick on pale skin. Zari remembers first laying eyes on Julia, noting as if by rote the freckles that dotted her otherwise untouched face. A fresh face at interpol who had just happened to go looking for her partner. She had never thought Julia would end up staying with ACME, after all that had happened, and yet here she was.
A smattering of freckles peek out from where Julia’s shirt hangs loosely on her shoulder, the beginnings of her arm hinting at lean muscle— the result of their training. The necklace Julia never seems to be without is tucked into her shirt, its chain gleaming against dainty collarbones. The pale curve of her throat bobs as she hums thoughtfully, and Zari snaps her eyes back up to Julia’s face.
(Julia had looked so elegant in her dark dress, her pale back bracketed by threads of gold. All reserved smiles and keen, observant looks, and somehow so far away.)
Either unaware of Zari’s attention or uncaring, Julia doesn’t stray from her task. Despite being a little inexperienced with hair ties and long strands, she is efficient enough that with a few more gentle tugs, Zari’s hair is freed. Seemingly automatically, Julia starts carding through it with care, sorting out any tangles with the kind of careful attention that she puts into her work.
Zari fights not to close her eyes again.
(Like a wounded animal, she is still wary. Ready to bolt, to sink bared teeth into outstretched hands, even as she finds herself drawing closer, leaning into that kind touch.)
Julia’s fingers brush against her nape, and eventually, gradually, they slow to a stop.
Neither of them move, Julia’s warm hands resting against the back of Zari’s neck, faces almost too close, and for a moment it feels as if there is nothing outside this small hotel room, no mission to carry out. No wall between the two agents, constantly looming and overshadowing them both with its unconquerable, undeniable nature. Everything suddenly laid bare in this one moment.
Julia’s eyes are searching, and her breath is warm from her parted lips, and Zari feels like moving even an inch will cause something terrible to happen. Something out of her control.
(Would it be so terrible?)
(No one has ever looked at her like this. Like they see right past all of her layers and still want what’s underneath.)
(Julia smells faintly of lavenders and sweet wine.)
The moment is broken when Julia slowly retreats, hands brushing over Zari’s shoulders as they withdraw. Her eyes narrow and lips twist in a pensive smile as she goes.
(The lines had blurred long ago, Zari thinks, and yet she still never steps over them.)
She’s been called many things before. Cold, insensitive, heartless.
How could Julia Argent, whose heart has always been loud and persistent, be crueler than her?
How dare she look… nearly heartbroken. Because surely that was what that strange expression was, the lingering ghost of her fingers before she steps back. And after she’d all but torn away Zari’s defenses.
Julia Argent would never fail to confuse Zari.
(Agent Zari has never liked it when things aren’t clear-cut. It was, perhaps, a fault of hers, but it had worked out well enough— there were plenty of other people who could see in shades of gray much better. Perhaps her apprehension for ambiguity would keep her gaze averted for a long time still. And if it left something lingering in the air between her and Agent Argent, laid bare by her fatigue tonight but still unaddressed, then that was neither here nor there.)
“I’m going to shower,” Zari mutters, taking a step back, and then she locks herself in the bathroom and tries to rebuild any semblance of her self.
After they’ve both showered (and separately, of course; Zari still has some degree of control over her life, thank god, and she wasn’t about to keel over and die or anything) and done the necessary pack-up for a smooth departure the next day, the clean hotel beds and their comforters are so tempting in their soft warmth that Zari is just about ready to crawl between the sheets and pass out. She doesn’t even care how undignified she looks shuffling underneath the blanket, skin still reddened from her near-scalding shower. It’s not often she bothers to turn on the heating, and it had felt good on her muscles even as her skin stung. Like the too-hot water was burning away the traces of today. It had faded by now to a gentle and lingering warmth nearly enough to lull her into a state of sopor.
(She’d scrubbed at her mouth furiously under the water, having forgotten the makeup cleanser outside.)
(Julia had showered after her, and Zari found herself zoning out to the muted sound of water on tiles instead of passing out.)
When Julia gets into her own bed, silent, Zari doesn’t look. And yet before she can let sleep finally claim her, she stares up at the ceiling and speaks quietly to it.
“... Thanks for having my back, Argent.”
(The realization comes quick: somehow, Julia is the only one who could hurt her. No one’s had that leverage in the past twenty years. No one should have that leverage.)
A soft shuffling of sheets, somewhere to her right. “You’re welcome.”
(And yet here Zari was, giving Julia a clean shot at her heart.)
Silence, for a moment. Zari wants to leave it at that, but she’s dug herself deep enough tonight, either way.
“… Really. You… didn’t need to do all that.”
“Really. It was not a problem at all.” A muffled yawn. “We’ve all been there.”
Oh, Zari hates that. She hates how sympathetic that is, how patronizing it feels, how impersonal. “Still. I thought you’d started minding your own business lately.” She curses her own mouth as the words come out barbed and defensive, like they so often do.
“I thought you were tired, you aren’t usually so chatty. Must I go there and sing you to sleep, Agent Zari?”
She hates that, too. How it seems like water off a duck’s back to Julia by now, and how she jokes. The worst part is that Zari, with her mind now nearly incoherent and her guard long-gone, thinks that she actually wouldn’t mind so much if Julia were to lie down next to her. Her eyes are starting to feel too heavy to keep open, more cogent words now failing to come. “Just shut up.”
A satisfied huff. “There you are. Goodnight, Agent Zari.”
“… Goodnight, Julia.”
Somewhere, distantly, Zari registers the sound of Julia’s name from her lips, how it just comes out like she’s always wanted to say it— softly, quietly, a whole world away from what Zari is. I think I’m really in trouble, Zari considers, before she gives in to her exhaustion and drifts off.
She happens to miss Julia’s words, no less true in her own encroaching sleepiness.
“You always were too proud.”
ACME agents hardly ever got restful sleep. The closest thing tended to require them getting knocked out, or sometimes two pills of melatonin to do the trick. Tonight, the exhaustion was melatonin, and Julia was the blunt force trauma.
