Work Text:
Connie loses track of the time she spends sitting at the desk with her arms around Dorothy. Gradually her breathing slows, her body relaxes and she lowers her hands from her forehead to clasp them around Connie’s arm as she stares blankly at the computer screen. Several times Connie goes to open her mouth, but the stricken look on Dorothy’s face forces her to bite her tongue and simply hold the other woman a little closer.
If Dorothy needs it, she’ll be there to listen to offer advice, to send out an emergency text to Portia, Alex and Ariana. Never mind that it’s nearing five am and neither of them have slept. Never mind that she has a class in the morning. It’s becoming more and more difficult to convince herself that she’s simply being kind, nothing more. But that’s all it can be, right? The both of them have made sure of that.
And it’s not entirely inaccurate. After all, she couldn’t help but hear every word of her roommate’s conversation with her (ex) boyfriend.
She was lying in bed, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of every single creaking floorboard as Dorothy hurried around the room. Connie had assumed that she was studying, and decided to leave her to it. As tempting as it would be to get up and make them both tea, and start one of the cosy midnight discussions that both of them are so prone to, she thought maybe it was for the best that they were apart.
And then Miller had walked in, all carefree joviality and confident swagger. Connie turned onto her side. She didn’t want to listen in on them, never mind that neither of them have ever been exactly careful with their privacy. Just as she had reached for her headphones, she heard Dorothy. Her tone was different than Connie had ever heard it before, and she swore to herself that that was why she carried on listening, just to make sure that everything was okay, just out of kindness.
Her gasp was nearly audible at the revelation of all the awful things Miller had done and she was halfway to the door when Dorothy’s voice rose as she told him not to touch her – but soon enough Miller was gone, and she all but leapt out of bed. As Connie approached though, she had slowed down. What if Dorothy wanted to be alone? In a way, that would be a relief in itself, but as Connie lowered herself into the chair beside Dorothy’s, she decided that that kind of relief would be hollow.
“Dee?” She had been tentative, not wanting to break the fragile silence that hung over Dorothy like a shield.
“It’s over. I ruined everything.”
When Connie heard the words, she struggled to resist the urge to tell Dorothy all of the normal things you say after a break-up.
It’s not your fault.
It’s not you, it’s him/her/them.
Don’t let the bastard get you down.
Because this is far from a normal situation, and Miller and Dorothy are far from normal people. And while Connie would never – never – blame Dorothy for being manipulated by Miller (hell, even she thought he was a great guy, and a good match for Dorothy), there’s no avoiding the fact that nobody has been a saint these last few weeks.
So instead Connie pulled Dorothy into a hug, and as she felt the other woman sink into her arms, she knew she’d done the right thing, even if she is fiercely arguing against the part of her mind that’s amazed at how right this feels.
After longer than Connie cares to admit, she slowly disentangles herself from Dorothy, afraid that if she doesn’t move away right there and then, neither of them ever will.
“Tea?” She asks softly.
Dorothy starts to shake her head, then seems to reconsider, and nods pitifully.
“I’ll be right back,” Connie says, rubbing Dorothy’s back a final time before she goes to make tea. The short, simple actions bring her back to a more sensible frame of mind. One where she isn’t thinking about how much she wants to tuck the loose strands of hair around Dorothy’s face back behind her ears, or think of some ridiculous, uncharacteristically evil revenge plot against Miller, or call Portia, Alex and Ariana to take over so that she can run away and hide from her feelings.
No, she thinks as she brings two mugs back to the desk, where Dorothy sits, having barely moved, this isn’t about her own fears and desires. This is about Dorothy.
Of course, if Dorothy were to ask her to do any of those things...well, Connie’s not sure what she wouldn’t do to remove the desolate expression from her roommate’s face.
But she hasn’t. So for now, this – a hot cup of tea and the shadow of a warm embrace that’s still sending alarm bells cascading through Connie’s veins – has to be enough.