Work Text:
It's not easy to know
I'm not anything like I used to be
Although it's true
I was never attention's sweet center
I still remember that girl
Miranda sits watching the sun go down, reflecting on her time on the Island. Despite the drugs and the attempted murder, it did give Miranda an opportunity to just exist with herself, no distractions enabling her to unlock feelings she had buried many years ago.
Memories of her mother flood back, overwhelming Miranda with a sense of happiness, grief and anguish all mixed together, in a powerful wave that she hadn't felt since she was little. She remembers baking in the kitchen with her mam, singing along very badly to the radio and her father joining in and dancing with little Miranda balanced on his feet. The three musketeers, forever unbreakable, or so she thought. Her mind flits to the weekend hikes along the Coastal Path near Aberystwyth, with wellies slightly too big for her but she didn't care because her parents had each of her hands and yanked her out of any mud she got stuck in.
Then the worst memories hit Miranda, the hospital visits, the heart monitor beeping rapidly as her mother deteriorated before her eyes. Her father quietly told a nurse to take Miranda away in tears, while she was screaming for her mother and could not understand why there was no response. Why no one explained that Miranda's mother was never going to speak to her again or open her eyes and smile at her daughter's jokes.
The pain hits Miranda, harder now she realises that she hid herself away from these feelings for too long. The only good thing about the island was that she was able to talk about her mother, albeit under the influence of some powerful drugs but Miranda felt better talking about the person she missed the most.
She's imperfect but she tries
She is good but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won't ask for help
Miranda knows as a teenager she should have sought help from a counsellor or tried to talk about it with her father. However, the moment her mother died a piece of her and her father died as well. They lived in the same house but barely spoke, they existed in the same space but to Miranda she felt like it was a different planet. Her mother's absence left a void in their lives that was slowly eating away at both of them.
Miranda cannot ever forget how hard she pushed herself to excel in school, so her dad would be proud of her. She barely had a social life as her free time was consumed with volunteering at Dyfed Powys Police Cadets. Her father and Miranda still ate meals together, a place always set up for the one person they were missing the most.
The day Miranda was leaving to become a police officer in the MET is a day she will never forget. Her dad pulled her suitcase out the front door and to her little car that she was going to drive all the way to London. He put it in the boot and looked up at the young woman in front of him. They stared at each other before he said the words Miranda had been dying to hear for years.
“I am so proud of you mi cariad. I see how hard you have worked and I know if your mother was here, she would be cheering you on. I'm sorry I haven't always been there for you, but I promise you will always have this house to come back to if you want to. I will be here, with a brew and a welsh cake whenever you need a break from the city life. I love you Miranda.” Her dad blurted this out, tears collecting in his eyes as Miranda reached out and grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug.
“Thank you tad. I love you too, I'll call you when I am all settled and please never apologise, I could’ve talked more to you. I guess I am stubborn just like you.” Miranda sniffles into his jacket, trying to memorise every part of her father before she hopped in the car and her home was a spec in the rearview mirror.
“Miranda, are you okay? You've barely spoken for the last half an hour?” Max asks, gently nudging her with his shoulder. Miranda wipes her eyes, clearing the memories from her mind and nods. She needs to call her father, it's been too long.
She is messy but she's kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up
And baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone but she used to be mine
Miranda doesn't know what possessed her to bake, but when she found her mother’s favourite Cariad cherry pie recipe she knew she had to make it. Her kitchen looked like a flour bomb had hit it, with her sink overflowing with bowls to wash up and two failed attempts at puff pastry screwed up in a pile on the counter.
Her front doorbell rings and she swears under her breath, Miranda forgot that Max was coming over. He had been watching her and being extra sweet since the Island ordeal and she still hasn't told Max about why she was crying. A story for another time, Miranda thinks to herself opening the door.
Max stares, he has never seen Miranda look almost…relaxed? Her hair is wavy, there is a flour handprint across her cheek and her eyes are sparkling at him like the crystal blue sea. He realises she is waiting for him to come in, her signature smirk at his dumbfounded look has not gone unnoticed by him.
Max grins, and casually swipes the flour off Miranda’s face. He walks past her, while Miranda shuts the door. Her heartbeat pounding in her chest, as she touches the spot on her cheek. It is still tingling with the ghost of Max’s touch.
It's not what I asked for
Sometimes life just slips in through a back door
And carves out a person
And makes you believe it's all true
And now I've got you
And you're not what I asked for
If I'm honest I know I would give it all back
For a chance to start over
And rewrite an ending or two
For the girl that I knew
Max enters the kitchen and his mouth opens at the state of it. He reaches for an apron, a green version of Miranda's blue one, and turns to ask Miranda what she is doing. She blushes at the chaos of her kitchen and explains what she is trying to accomplish.
“I found my mum's cherry pie recipe a few weeks ago and I remembered my dad had given me some Cariad cherry jam that she used to put in it. It's coming up to the…anniversary of her death…so…that is why my kitchen looks like this.” Miranda says, gesturing to the flour everywhere, the open jam jars and the pie dish that is filled with pastry. Max nods, his eyes softening with understanding but knowing Miranda well enough to not push her on that topic.
“So, what is left to do?” Max asks, walking around a pile of flour to read the recipe. He smiles as he glances over the neat handwriting, noticing similarities to Miranda's when she throws post it notes at him in the office.
She blinks for a few seconds, realising that Max is not asking 50 million questions about her mother. She appreciates this more than she could ever express, and goes to stand next to Max. They work seamlessly well together, weighing out how much jam needs to be used to fill the pastry and Max shows Miranda how to create a fancy criss cross pattern on the top using the remaining pastry. Miranda ignores the fact that they are essentially holding hands while Max guides her in holding up a piece of pastry while sliding the next piece underneath.
Max steps back and walks over to the fridge, grabbing some eggs and a pastry brush from Miranda's pot of cooking utensils. He expertly cracks the eggs into a mug and holds the brush out for Miranda.
“You should do it, I always add too much then my pies don't cook properly. It has to be perfect.” Max explains, waiting for Miranda to take the brush.
Miranda's mind flashes back to the last time she baked with her mother, she also gave her the task of putting the egg wash on top.
“My mum used to give me this job too, when we baked together. I always tried to do it so neatly, Mum laughed, explaining that was why she told me to do it: she was messy, but she was kind.” Miranda mumbles, gently taking the brush and beginning to cover the pie.
Max goes silent but watches Miranda, wanting to ask her more questions but also knowing that she will tell him things in her own time.
Miranda can feel Max's questioning gaze on her neck, but her focus remains on the pie. She pops it into the oven and hits the kettle on, picking up two mugs and putting them on the side. She is about to walk around Max when he steps into her path, forcing her to look at him.
“She sounds like a great woman. I think she'd be happy to see you baking her pie and hopefully sharing it with your favourite partner?” Max asks, putting on his puppy dog face that he knows Miranda hates because she can never say no to him when he does that.
She snorts at him, rolls her eyes and hip bumps him out of the way so she can get the German coffee she stores just for him. Miranda can't stand the stuff, but she bought it on a whim when Max screamed like a three year old child at their birthday party that they had his favourite brand in the supermarket where they were doing Miranda's food shop.
“Thanks Max. She would've loved you and to know that I was sharing her recipe with someone who means so much to me. I hate remembering she is gone and that I can't pick up the phone to tell her what I've been up to.” Miranda explains, sorting out Max’s coffee and her tea in quick succession, to distract her from the tears welling up in her eyes.
“Miranda, would it be okay if you tell me more about her? You don't have to if it makes you sad. I just thought I'd ask.” Max says quietly, looking down into his coffee cup, suddenly panicking that he had over stepped.
Miranda puts a hand on his arm, Max freezes and then glances up at her, uncertainty and mild panic reflected in his eyes.
“It's okay Max. Thank you for asking, I barely speak about her at all really. It used to be because it would upset my tad and I couldn't bear that. Now, it's because no one knows. I've got a song that sums up my mum actually, let me play it for you then you can ask me your questions.” Miranda replies, taking her phone out and hitting play.
She Used to Be Mine by Sara Bareilles blasts out into the kitchen, slowly filling up with the glorious smell of the cherry pie. Miranda locks eyes with Max as the song plays, and lets the tears fall. She knows he will never judge her and if she falters, he will pick her up without saying a word. Just as she thought that, Max wraps a supportive arm around her. Miranda didn't realise she was full on sobbing her heart out to this song, the song she found 3 days after her mum passed, that she listened to on repeat for about 5 years whenever she missed her mum. She will be forever grateful for Max, she wouldn't let her guard down about this with anyone else.
They stand side by side, Miranda an emotional wreck while Max is her anchor, listening to the end of the song.
She is messy but she's kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone but she used to be mine
“That is a beautiful song Miranda.” Max comments, holding out a tissue from a packet he had in his jeans. She wipes her eyes and nose, and as Miranda is about to say something else the oven timer goes off.
“Now, shall we try some of this pie mi compañera?” he asks, grinning and trying to lighten the mood.
She chuckles and nods, letting Max get it out of the oven while she puts a plate on the counter. He slides it expertly onto the plate and they finish their drinks, waiting for the pie to cool slightly before removing it from the tin.
“To your Mum.” Max says, holding up a fork in a salute, looking expectantly at Miranda. She chuckles then hooks her fork around his so they are twisted together over the pie.
“To Mam. You would have really liked mi compañero Max.” Miranda declares, untangling her fork and almost winking at Max as she tucks in. He blinks at her, knowing full well what a huge compliment that was and trying to stop his heart from beating so loud.
Max smiles at Miranda, for once he is speechless and Miranda can't stop her face from breaking into the biggest smile he's ever seen. Max looks away, slightly blushing and cuts into his pie. He is glad that Miranda feels comfortable enough to open up to him and hopes this can continue, into work and outside it.
Miranda notes Max's blushing but decides not to comment, she is flattered that her compliment caused such a reaction in him. She also cannot believe how perfect this pie is and how much it reminds her of home.
Miranda makes a mental reminder to call her tad, it has been far too long since she left London and there is so much she wants to tell him about. For one, her best friend sat across the table from her. Miranda knows that he will love to hear all about Max, secretly Miranda hopes one day he would actually come and visit so she could introduce them in person.
One day… Miranda thinks wistfully to herself, smirking at Max who somehow got a blob of cherry jam on his chin. She wipes it off and licks her finger clean, watching Max zone in on the movement with a hunger that causes her to pause for a minute.
“You okay there Max?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him. Max coughs, trying to cover up the effect she has on him and shrugs, immediately going back to eating the pie before saying something he might regret.
Miranda follows suit and they eat the remaining bits of their slices in a comfortable silence, neither one feeling the need to talk. Miranda wonders what her mam would have made of this, her sitting with a friend in complete silence without it being awkward.
She smiles to herself, hoping that her mam would be proud of their attempt to recreate her cherry pie. Deep down, Miranda knows the answer and the mix of emotions she had been feeling all day finally calm, and a sense of happiness and nostalgia washes over Miranda as she watches Max collect their plates and neatly put them away in her dishwasher.
You would have loved this Mam. Max would have loved you too. She thinks smiling before gently placing half the pie into a container for Max and the other half into a tin for herself.