Work Text:
As Beverly heads home, all she can think of is how she wishes her quarters had a hot tub. She’s tired in that very specific way that only excessively long, dull meetings can cause, and that hot water, low light and music is so exceptionally good at remedying. It was a good meeting, a needed meeting, the sort of meeting that has to happen to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s when a long project is coming to a close, but it was still a whole day of sitting still and listening and talking and paying attention and barely moving except the short breaks to eat and stretch their legs. Some days nothing tires her as much as being still.
Fatigue pulls her shoulders into a slope, and light headache trails across her forehead—nothing to be concerned about, just tension and perhaps a touch of dehydration, but a headache is such a rare thing that it’s hard not to let it pull your mood down much further than it really warrants. A shower will have to do, she thinks as the door slides open, A shower, and dinner and I’ll be right as rain.
She kicks her shoes off as soon as she’s inside and when the door slides shut behind her, she looks up and her mouth goes dry.
Deanna is standing by the sofa, her dark tresses piled on top of her head as a single tress spills down the long, bare neck. It’s not a dress exactly, what she’s wearing, more a sort of wrap of soft, glossy black fabric that goes from her upper thigh to just below her armpits. In the front, it’s held together by a wide, red ribbon, which threads through a series of eyelets on each side and crisscrosses all the way up, ending in a large bow that kisses her clavicles.
“You’re home,” Deanna says, and her voice is tinged with laughter at the way Beverly has stopped mid-motion and is taking in the sight with wide eyes, fatigue all but forgotten. “Happy birthday, zadi nje.”