Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It takes her…an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure it out, actually. But when it happens, it happens the same way a tsunami happens for a shore.

(Not that Florence would know. She's never been to the beach, which is fine, the sand would get stuck in her wood grains, and that's not how the assistant of Mayor Celia of the House should look.)

Simple, really, is the best way to describe the day before it happens. Florence is, as she usually is, in her office, happily humming one of Miranda's new songs— ever since she and Bathsheba started talking she's had a lot of…well, inspiration— and sifting through papers. General complaints from the other objects, some paperwork, other things that she files away for later.

Florence does this every day. That's normal.

Sometime while the sun is still out, Celia comes into the office and asks her about a number of things; some things about the other objects, reminders to take care of yourself, Florence. She smiles when Florence presents her with her usual cup of tea.

Celia does this every day. That's normal.

What's not normal is the fact that Florence doesn't look away when Celia smiles at her and leaves. And the fact that she seems to be stuck there, cheeks wildly red, heart pounding, staring after her boss. And the fact that she's suddenly thinking about how pretty Celia looks today and how warm that makes her feel.

And— oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Is Florence in love with Celia?

It wasn't like the possibility never crossed her mind. It was hard not to think of it— Celia was simply everything. She was kind, beautiful, hardworking…anyone would have to be blind not to see it. There were just a number of problems that prevented her from feeling such things.

One: Celia was her boss. And as far as Florence knows, there are serious HR violation-related issues with dating your boss. (She would know. She kind of is HR.)

Two: Florence was absolutely not the right person for her. Just look at them: Celia was so perfectly regal, and Florence was…well…nobody. She was just Celia's ditzy little assistant who regularly dropped full cups of tea on her carpets and really did nothing but help out. There was no way Celia would ever look at her as anything other than that.

And Three: Celia was her boss. She could not stress that enough! You cannot date your boss!

Even with these in mind, as Florence attempts to calm her heart and cool her cheeks, thinking wistfully about bright her smile had been today, she realises that she's gone ahead and done just that. Oh, she's screwed.

"—And then I just sat there!" Florence laments despairingly, propping her elbows on the table, face cupped in her hands. "I never just sit there! I have— so much work to do! I can't go around having thoughts about her! She's my boss!"

Florence isn't entirely sure how it happened, but as soon as she got off work today she'd stumbled her way down to Beverly's cart. In recent times, ever since its seventh grand re-opening, the Tipsy Tumbler had become somewhat of a popular meeting spot for all of the objects, and while Florence didn't exactly enjoy drinking she did enjoy the company. Beverly was a good one, always bright and peppy and willing to listen to basically anything. She'd surely be able to help.

It was late enough that nobody else was really around, either unwinding or already asleep, but Florence was surprised to find that Betty was up and telling Beverly a long, animated story about something or another. That was fine. She'd be able to help, too.

…Probably.

Betty, lounging on one of Beverly's bar stools, twirls a lock of pale pink hair around her finger, sighing wistfully. "Oh, of course you can. Don't tell me you don't think about it. How deliciously illicit boss/employee relationships are…the power dynamics…ooh, I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it."

Okay, maybe not.

Beverly, bless her soul, notices Florence flushing bright red at the words and nudges her. "Oh, don't listen to her, Flor. It's not a crime to fall in love with your boss. I think." She pauses in thought, depositing a mug of soda in Florence's hand with a reassuring smile. "I mean, I kind of am my own boss. But I imagine the sentiment still stands!"

Florence sighs, taking a sip of her soda. "No, no. I can't do this— it's not illegal but it's not right. Besides, it's not like she'd ever reciprocate. I should quit…"

"No, don't quit! Listen, Florence," Betty says, spinning in her seat and placing her hands on Florence's knees. There's a spark of something equally mischievous and slightly frightening in her eyes, and Florence feels a sudden surge of fear. "You just need to seduce her. Which is totally easy, trust me, and—"

"—what—!"

"Don't listen to her!" Beverly quickly interjects, again. "What I suspect she means to say, Florence, is that we're going to help you. Please don't quit your job. It would make both of you so sad!"

"Maybe, but it would be better than what she has now," she mumbles. "She deserves an assistant who isn't so ditzy. And clumsy. And prone to accidents."

Beverly taps her fingernails on the countertop. "You're not ditzy," she says, non-convincingly, likely reminiscing on several tea-related mishaps, "you're cute and you're hardworking. Celia not only respects you, but she likes you too. Everyone can see it. Let us help you, Flor! We'll get you together!"

"I don't—" Florence begins to protest, before stopping. Beverly is looking at her with such a pleading look on her face, and against better judgement, it's starting to win her over…

And then she snaps out of it. She really can't do this. If it doesn't work out, it'll jeopardise their professional relationship, which in turn jeopardises her job, which in turn will jeopardise her! Florence loved her job, she really did, and a big part of it was Celia of course, who always was so wonderfully sweet to her despite her many, many shortcomings. She'd never recover if she had to lose it.

She loved helping the house. She loved talking to everyone. She loved…well, she loved Celia. Leaving this job would destroy her, probably, after so long doing it.

"I really, really can't," she settles on, "but…I do admit I do still need help. I want to keep my job, but I can't do it while I still like her. Could you…just help me get over her? Maybe?"

Both of them seem…well, disappointed is probably the word, and Florence feels really sad suddenly. She hates thinking that anyone is upset with her, and she's about to amend her words when Beverly sighs and places a hand on her shoulder.

"Alright," the ginger says, smiling gently at her. "Okay, we can do that too."

"But—"

"Betty. Shush. Flor, come back tomorrow, okay? After your shift? Then we can start on this plan. Operation: Get Over That Ceiling!"

"I…okay. I really hope that's not the actual name."

"It's being workshopped!"

As soon as Florence leaves to return to her office, Betty hums and takes another sip of her drink. "She could certainly pull it off, don't you think? Sexy little secretary?"

"That's— that's not the point, Betty," Beverly sighs, leaning over the countertop. "The point is we're going to help her."

"Help her become the sexy little secretary? I thought you said we're helping her get over Celia—"

"What? No! No, we're going to help her be more confident so they can finally start dating. Listen— they obviously like each other. Have you seen the way Celia looks at her? We just need to make sure that Florence sees it too, and then she—"

"—Oh, I see. And then she can seduce Celia."

"Yes, and th— what? No! Betty, focus! If she can see that Celia loves her too, then she'll forget about this whole 'getting over her' thing and then they can finally be together like they're meant to be!"

"You're no fun," Betty pouts, before downing the rest of her drink. "Alright, alright. I'll help you out. Tomorrow morning, though, because tonight I have a date."

Beverly stops. "A date?"

"Why, are you jealous? Don't be," Betty winks, blowing her a kiss. "It's just for a night, maybe. If you know what I mean."

She did, unfortunately. Betty very often had these kinds of 'dates' and Beverly very often heard about them. "I'm not jealous. I'd rather not hear about it. But, fine. Meet here tomorrow and we're helping them out. The Real, Actual Operation: Date That Ceiling!"

Chapter Text

Betty is late, of course. She's always hated mornings and even the exciting prospect of helping their poor friend find love isn't quite enough to rouse her, so in the wake of her absence Beverly pays a visit to the office to grab some supplies for the official unveiling of the Counter Operation.

That means an encounter with the one and only Penelope.

"Oh! Beverly, hi!" She waves, an inch too enthusiastically, before biting the inside of her cheek and forcing her hand down. "How— how are you today? Good? It seems like a good day. William ShakeSphere: To do or not to do! Hahaha! Um, what can I help you with?"

She was awfully chipper and incredibly jumpy for such an early hour, but most everyone knew that Penelope was generally just like that. Especially with her never-ending arsenal of semi-inaccurate inspirational quotes. "Hi, Penelope. I'm good, excellent even, hope you've been okay. I'm looking for a few posters and pens and things. I'm making a big plan, and you know a big plan needs big visualisation! Got anything?"

"I— I should! Dasha has a few of my big poster papers, there are a few highlighters in here, and Jerry took some of my nice pens, the glittery ones, I'll go fetch them," Penelope nods, immediately setting off towards Jerry's drawer almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

"She is incapable of slow and steady and strong," Dasha remarks, placing a bundle of brightly-coloured poster paper in Beverly's arms. "But she is cute. And competent. And good. It breaks Dasha's heart to know that hers goes through the same every day."

"Mine too," Beverly sighs, gathering the highlighters scattered about. "In any case, one of these dates'll work out for her. Surely somebody would go out with sweet, perpetually-anxious Penelope."

Last week Penelope had given in and risked an outing with Jean Loo, which resulted in a long string of absurd French rhymes that everyone in the house could not only hear, but understand were almost entirely vulgar obscenities. It was obvious to anyone with a working set of ears that her ventures into romance were…less than successful. But Beverly was full of optimism for her and so was Penelope, apparently, considering she somehow still continued after that.

"She will prevail!" Dasha laughs, before clapping Beverly hard on the back. "I must away! But do not be a stranger. Good luck on your plan!"

Several minutes and several rushed apologies later, Beverly obtains the glitter pens, and sets off towards the kitchen, wondering whether Betty's decided to show up yet. Probably not, she reasons, since it's a Monday and still before 10.

She's wrong, obviously.

"Hello, darling," Betty winks, lounging on the floor like she just about belongs in the kitchen. Beside her is Rainey, who has her music playing as she usually does, and she beams and waves as Beverly approaches. The two of them seem to be in the middle of a blackjack game. "I see you've already been to the office. How wonderful. Now we can finally start."

Beverly huffs, setting down her supplies before sitting in front of the two just as Betty loses the last round. "I see you're up a little earlier than usual. Hi, Rainey."

"Hello, darling! Just keeping Betty here occupied while you were out," Rainey replies brightly, pushing the deck of cards towards Betty and standing up. "I'm off now, though."

"Oh, no, it's okay, you can— you can stay with us," Beverly says quickly, before wincing. "I mean. If you wanted to. No pressure or anything!"

"I'd love to, but I've got something goin' on with Keyes that I simply can't miss! You two have fun though." At what Beverly can only imagine is a poorly disguised crestfallen look on her own face, Rainey takes one of her hands and smiles. "But I'll be back later. We can have a dance?"

"Oh! Yeah. Yes. That sounds good." Shit. Oh, she's fumbling.

"Okay, good. I'll see you then. Bye, Betty, dear!"

"Bye Rainey!" As Rainey leaves, Betty turns to her with a smirk. "So…"

"We're not talking about that," Beverly interrupts, hoping the flush isn't noticeable on her face. Oh, who is she kidding: it's probably the most obvious thing about her right now. Beverly has always blushed 'as red as an apple on the first day of spring', as Rainey liked to put it. Something about bartending.

"Why not? Everyone knows about it, Bev, my dear. You're not subtle. You're so unsubtle that even Penelope knew about it, when I asked her last n—"

"—Wait, wait, wait, pump the brakes— you went out with Penelope?" Beverly says incredulously, turning towards her in surprise. "Like, 'Office Romance Magazine fanatic' Penelope? Like, the most-awkward-object-in-this-entire-house Penelope?"

Betty giggles, drawing little circles on the corner of the paper with pink highlighter. "Mhm, that's the one."

Beverly sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Of all the objects…Betty had gone out with possibly the most neurotic one of all. Beverly quite liked Penelope; she had some really good tastes in romance novels, if not overly cheesy ones. And while her social skills left something to be desired, she was an absolute sweetheart and just about everyone loved her.

She did, also, immensely crave a romantic relationship, hence the dozens of dates she'd been on around the house. Beverly could barely count on both her hands the amount of times she'd shown up to the Tipsy Tumbler for a less than successful date.

That being said, Beverly could not picture Betty doing such a thing. Which let her to conclude…

"Betty," Beverly winces. "Please don't tell me that you…"

"Oh, we absolutely did," she beams nonchalantly, stirring an honestly concerning amount of sugar into her drink. "She mostly approached me for tips on confidence. Or, well, that kind of confidence. I thought only to oblige."

Now that Beverly is thinking about it, she very clearly remembers Penelope looking even more frazzled than usual during her visit, if it was even possible. If Eddie and Volt weren't around she'd almost think Penelope could take the mantle of electricity in the house with how much static lived in that hair. "Oh my god. How did you not kill her? How did…actually, no. I don't want to know. Please don't tell me."

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," Betty winks, even though Beverly is absolutely sure that the lady in question did just about nothing but kissing and telling.

"Well, whatever, as long as you're not…like…torturing the poor girl. Or emotionally doing so. I cannot believe you propositioned her. And she said yes."

The pink-haired women sighs wistfully. "Quite adorably and enthusiastically, too, if not a little nervously—"

"Alright, Betty, I don't need to hear this! Let's just get this plan done!"

Look, the thing is, Betty is amazing at keeping secrets. Simply excellent at it. She did, admittedly, spend a lot of time asleep, and famously people who were asleep were quite unable to 'air out' anyone's 'dirty laundry' (a term she preferred to stay away from, as it generally triggered a long and arduous argument between the lovely Harper and Dirk), but even so, it was still something she was good at.

Then again. This one would be a little hard. Because while Betty loved keeping secrets (the intimacy of trust!), she also loved seeing her friends in love with each other.

"Please don't tell her," Rainey had said, and now Betty desperately wanted to do so.

What she also wanted to say was, Rainey, just tell her yourself, to be brave and spread her wings or whatever those romantics in Penelope's saccharine books always say, but Betty knew how love works in its mysterious and utterly terrifying ways, and thus the request was entirely understandable.

Still. She ruminates on it now, turns the confession in her head like Washford's cycles. Betty wasn't lying, is the thing, when she said that everyone knew about the whole Rainey and Beverly thing. Even they knew about it, or at least they were somewhat aware of their own affections towards the other. It should be so easy.

But, of course, Betty respects her friend and her decision. Even if it's slightly killing her inside.

"The only problem is that we have to hide everything from Maggie," Beverly says, frowning, and Betty snaps out of her reverie. The ginger is brandishing a purple glitter pen like a wand, pointing it at the paper with a flourish. "Which might be a challenge. She hasn't had anything to work on recently, as soon as somebody starts hiding secrets she's going to be all over it. Do you remember DishGate?"

Everyone remembered DishGate. Mostly because Scandalabra was involved, and when Scandalabra was involved everyone heard about it. Chairemi recently adapted it into a stage play, which was both incredibly unfaithful to the source material but also quite fun.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine," Betty says. "We can just bribe Kopi into distracting her. She's very good at that."

"Hmm, true, she really is," the ginger laughs, making a small postscript at the bottom of the poster paper. "Alright. Bring Kopi into this. Ask her to distract Maggie. There, I think that's basically it!"

The paper was just about full of writing, all done in the short space of time that Betty had zoned out in, but admittedly it was impressive. "This is…comprehensive. All for three steps?"

"Lucky number! First, set Florence up on dates. Second, get her to spend less time at work and more time resting— she's almost reaching Holly levels of overwork. Third, we—"

"—Does that say 'we sit here and watch stuff happen'?"

Beverly has the decency to appear bashful, at least. "Well— see— maybe I couldn't come up with a third one, but that's okay! The first two will be more than enough."

Betty hums, reading over the rest of the points. They seemed…well, they seemed like they might just work. Florence, and Betty says this with love, could be ever so slightly oblivious, and would absolutely take this as the perfect getting-over plan.

"My, my, Beverly, I didn't know you could be so naughty," she teases, poking at her shoulder, delighting in the blush that rises to Beverly's cheeks. "They'll never see it coming. I don't see any way that this could go wrong."

The sun is setting a lot later today. Or, it seems to feel like it, as the hours drag on. Florence loves Miranda and Bathsheba, she really does, even with their seemingly endless and admittedly sexually tensioned feud, but she's had to sort through one too many complaints about their bitter arguing that she's starting to feel just a little annoyed with them. Just slightly.

STATEMENT OF BATHSHEBA BATHTUB: IF I HAVE TO SEE HER ONE MORE TIME, I WILL FLOOD THIS HOUSE! I MEAN IT! I'LL ASK RIVER TO FLOOD THIS ENTIRE HOUSE AND ALL YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE—

STATEMENT OF MIRANDA DULCE TOSTADORA: [muffled loud and vicious expletives]

Okay, she was definitely already annoyed.

It's fine, it's fine, only a few more hours, and then—

"—Florence?"

She startles, bracing a hand on her sternum, spinning in her chair to see Celia poking her head into the office. "O-Oh! Mayor Celia, hello! Sorry, I— how can I help you?"

Celia sighs, walking into the room and standing beside her desk. "You've been…out of it, the past few days. I wanted to check on you."

Check…on her.

Oh, no.

That's not good.

"I'm fine!" Florence says, fanning herself with a hand, trying to stave off the inevitable blush. "I'm fine, really. No need to worry about little old me."

As if things couldn't get any worse, Celia leans in closer, resting the back of her hand against Florence's forehead. Thank goodness nobody else is close by, because she knows she'd get teased to oblivion if anyone ever saw the shade of red she was right now. "Are you sure? If you're burdened in any way, or tired, you know—"

Of course, the Bathsheba-Miranda audio file chooses this exact moment to turn on. If I have to listen to that selfish, conceited— Selfish?! Conceited?! Oh, you have another storm COMING— I'D LOVE TO SEE YOU DODGE THIS FIST—

"Oh, goodness! Sorry— sorry, let me just," she hurriedly yanks herself away from Celia's hand, and turns it off lest she has to hear the sounds of what would definitely be a violent and absolutely not-safe-for-work fight, and smiles shakily. "It's really fine, I promise."

She's almost scared that Celia is going to try and press further, but those fears are dashed (and shameful disappointment seeps in instead) when the Mayor sighs and nods.

"If you're sure, Florence," she says, and Florence could almost swoon with how sweetly she says her name. God, this was devastating. "But if you have any other issues— you come to me. No appointment needed. That's an order. Do you understand?"

Oh, Florence was so screwed. How was she going to ever be able to get over someone so effortlessly wonderful and kind? How was she ever going to move on with her life?

"I do," she nods, only letting her smile drop once Celia has left, burying her face in her hands and exhaling. One more hour before she meets Beverly and Betty. Here's to hoping their plan works.

After closing the door, Celia keeps her hand on the doorknob, almost hesitantly. A part of her wants to turn back and just ask her further, ask her anything else, but…Florence had said she was okay. Florence had said she was fine.

Why…wasn't that enough for her?

Celia wasn't blind, of course, she knew Florence's job was difficult. But she was above and beyond qualified, and worked hard for it. There was nobody she would've rathered in the position. Which is why her recent mannerisms had her worried.

She'd been distant, as of late. Slightly more withdrawn, too, which was concerning. Not just because the nature of their occupations required them to interact daily, even hourly, but also because…well. Celia really does care for her. More than one in her power should for a subordinate, that was for sure.

There was really no denying it. And Celia hated abusing her power in any way whatsoever, but if Florence were to quit…

As soon as Florence leaves for the day, Celia makes her way as quietly as possible to the living room, which turns out to be a difficult feat, honestly. She knew it would be; as the Mayor of the HOA it was only natural that she was recognised immediately by everyone, but even then she attempts to remain as under-the-radar as possible, and eventually it leads her to her destination.

"Hello," Celia says, startling when wide eyes turn to her. Maggie, nursing a takeaway cup from Kopi's shop, lowers her magnifying glass questioningly. "I'd like to ask you for a favour."

Chapter Text

"This is…concerningly bright."

On the floor lays their creation, the esteemed Operation: Get Over That Ceiling, in all its glittery glory. When Beverly told her it was incredible, Florence was admittedly expecting something just about as headache-inducing as this, but it didn't mean that it wasn't shocking at all.

Beverly winces. "Well, uh…yeah. Penelope only had some glitter pens to spare. Try not to touch it, I'm pretty sure that stuff comes off."

Judging by the traces of sparkles on Beverly's outfit, Florence wisely steps back and chooses not to go anywhere near it. "Noted, thank you. So…what plan have you two come up with?"

"First things first, when she asks us about the plan," says Beverly, "we just show her this one. But say that it's the official getting over plan. It'll totally work."

"…You wrote 'The Official Date That Ceiling Plan' across the top in huge letters."

"Oh. That's…an oversight on my part. Not to worry! Here, she'll barely notice."

Florence lifts the top corner of the poster, gesturing to the very obviously crossed out title. "…What happened here?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Flor," Betty says, as she gives Beverly something of an exasperated look. "Here. The first step is, you go out on dates! It's fun, and—"

"What?"

"Dates, Florence. Don't tell me you've never dated before this!"

She hadn't. "I haven't," Florence admits, huffing and fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves. "I haven't had time, and— and— it's not like anyone would go out with me anyway. Which is fine."

It was fine. Florence was usually too busy, anyway, to be out canoodling with anyone else. And it's not like she was ever looking at anyone who wasn't Celia.

"You just need to get out there," Betty says, standing up and bracing her hands on Florence's shoulders. "That's the phrase, isn't it, get out there and spread your—"

Florence winces. "—Please don't say legs."

A pause. "I was…not going to say that." Then Betty smiles wickedly. "But—"

"Betty, no." Beverly quickly strides across the room and pinches Betty on the arm. "What she means to say, Florence, is that the best way to get your mind off of Celia is to get it on someone else! Even if nothing comes of it, it'll be good to go out a little, talk to someone who isn't Celia. Or Miranda, or Bathsheba. I assume their feud has continued."

It had, and it had only become more physical and more aggressive. Florence was by no means unexperienced with infighting amongst the objects, usually she was the one sent to deal with it before Celia got involved, but this was starting to turn into something she couldn't handle alone. Florence wasn't quite sure whether they were a step away from tearing each other apart or just their clothes, honestly.

Even so: Miranda was actually pleasant to talk to otherwise, and her music was really quite enjoyable. Bathsheba was a bit more of an enigma to Florence, who never understood her…certainly unique perspective of life, but she wasn't quite so grating when she wasn't constantly cussing out Miranda. Florence didn't hate them at all, she was just…continually exasperated.

And probably should be talking to other people. Fine, she'd admit: Florence barely talked to anybody else at all. It really was just Celia, and that was proximity reliant on their jobs, and then whoever was brought into the office, and then the book club, of course. Betty was a regular, Kopi always had new recommendations, and Holly…appeared whenever she was able. Florence had yet to get her out of her obsessive work schedule.

"I don't even know who I'd go out with," Florence eventually settles on.

"Oh, don't worry about it, darling. Me and Bev'll handle all that. You just go along with it, okay?"

Hearing this from Betty is, understandably, not very reassuring. This must show on Florence's face because the pink-haired woman quickly backtracks.

"And— and! If that doesn't work out, then that's fine, too. Penelope's been all over the place without anyone and she's been okay, even now."

Okay is probably not the word Florence would use to describe her favourite office supplies, but she did understand nonetheless. Florence did have a soft spot for poor Penelope— she was utterly adorable and also a somewhat endearing mess. Florence felt nothing but fondness, albeit also some sympathy for her ongoing situation.

"—Wait, wait. I thought you and Penelope were going out?" Beverly frowns, rounding on Betty. "The date and everything? What happened to that?"

"What, that? No. It was just a one-off thing she asked for. Which is fine, of course. I do it all the time."

"Come to think of it, it's really not the kind of thing Penelope does," Florence remarks unsurely. "Are you sure—"

"It's fine. Please don't worry about it. She's off with her other dates and it's fine," Betty bites out, before sighing. "We're not talking about me. Let's just move on."

"…Alright. Anyway. Dates! We'll set you up with some people over the following weeks, you try your luck with them, if nothing comes of it that's okay. So long as we get your mind off of Celia, right?" Beverly grins. "Just trust us, okay?"

Florence sighs. There really was no getting out of this, was there? She supposed there was no harm in trying. On one hand, if it failed, at least she tried. On another, if it works, that'll be pretty good too. Either way it'll get her to stop thinking inappropriately and unprofessionally about her boss. "Okay. I trust you. Just this once! And if any of these go badly, I'm going to blame you."

"Yes ma'am," Betty salutes.

As Florence pads away, Betty turns back to Beverly again. "So…do we actually know who we're setting her up with?"

"Um." Beverly winces. "…No. But! But we can totally come up with those. Listen: we know Florence and Celia are perfect together, so we know that no matter who we set Florence up with, it'll go not-so-greatly and then she'll eventually realise that Celia is the only one for her. It's the perfect plan."

"Oh, I see! Hmm. Won't this get Celia suspicious, though? Or even slightly jealous?"

"Ah, Betty— we're counting on it. If Celia is jealous, then we get actual confirmation that they like each other. We tell Florence, who will have absolutely no reason to deny it, and bam! We get them together! And maybe Celia will be a little more lenient to that house party I suggested a few weeks ago!"

"Ooh, naughty. I do love a good jealousy trope," Betty sighs, before stopping. "Wait. Is this why you're doing this? The house party?"

"No," the ginger says. Then: "Well. Maybe. Look, Rainey's been sad recently. She used to love parties. I just thought it might cheer her up a little, is all."

"Aw, cute. You're just so considerate, aren't you," Betty teases. "Hey, I have an idea. We're going to need more eyes on the ground. If we set up dates around the kitchen, guess who we can ask to watch out for our girl."

"…Maggie?"

"What? Oh, absolutely not. I love her but she'll tell the whole house, and probably even Celia herself. The dear cannot keep a secret. No, I mean one special coffee machine."

Oh, Kopi! That was right— they'd talked about this earlier. As soon as Maggie sniffs out even the slightest inkling of a secret, she'd dedicate her entire self to figuring it out, and unfortunately the combined efforts of one Beverly Beverages and Betty Bed were almost certainly not enough to deceive one certain Maggie M. Glassbury.

But if there was one object who could do it, it would be Kopi.

"Perfect! She'll definitely help us," Beverly says. "She loves gossip like this, even though she pretends not to. Have you seen her and Maggie watching Houseknives together? I sat through one episode and could barely stomach all the drama, even though I was drunk out of my mind." She dusts off her hands and waves. "I'll go find her now! See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Betty nods, and they set off.

To be perfectly and entirely fair to all parties involved, Penelope knew exactly what was going to happen when she agreed to a date with Scandalabra, and regretted even mentioning such a thing as soon as it let slip from her mouth. Not that the date itself was awful, but…okay, never mind. It was completely and entirely awful.

She would very much like to forget all about it now.

Of course, in her attempts to separate herself as far as physically possible from that train wreck, Penelope somehow found herself in…the bedroom.

"Hello," Betty smiles, from where she's lounging luxuriously across the bed. She sits up and scoots to the side upon seeing her, patting the space left behind. "Fancy seeing you here. Come and have a sit?"

Well, how can anyone say no? Penelope gingerly sits on the edge, hesitantly nestling further into the pillows as she relaxes. There was just something about it, something warm and gentle that she couldn't find it in herself to refuse.

Even so, something on her face seems to show. "You look like you have something to say."

"I don't," Penelope says immediately, before cringing. "Well— maybe— yes, I do. I definitely do." Then she sighs. "What am I doing wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just…these dates. They're endless. I've gone out with almost everyone here and I can't seem to find anyone who'll stick around," Penelope idly fidgets with one of the tab endings on her blazer, sighing. "Maybe I'm really not cut out for this whole love thing. Or something. Motivational quotes seem to be getting nowhere."

Betty hums in sympathy. "Oh, Penelope. Don't say that. Maybe you don't need a motivational quote, hm? Maybe you just need yourself."

"I don't think myself is really enough here. Shouldn't I, like, find something to change, or—"

She's very quickly silenced when Betty's hand suddenly comes to gently cup her cheek, tugging her gaze away from space, and instead locking onto Betty's eyes. Which: by the way. Huge mistake. She has beautiful eyes and Penelope finds that she can't really look away. "Hey, no. Listen to me. You do not need to change yourself for someone. You've been holding out so long, I know, you've been so patient. Any day now someone is going to find you and realise you're their dream girl."

Oh.

"Oh," Penelope says dumbly. And then she smiles. "Do you really think so?"

"Someone will love you, Penelope," Betty says wholeheartedly. There is something warm in her gaze, something like a promise. "Maybe someone already does."

"Kopi!" Beverly calls, as she enters the coffee shop, currently dubbed 'Kopi's place to get coffee and other warm drinks'. (She was workshopping the name, apparently, and refused to accept any sort of help on it. Beverly couldn't blame her; finding a name for an establishment was hard, but…it had been months now. Not that she had any space to judge.)

The barista in question is hard at work behind the machine and grins as she walks in, waving with one hand as she slides a drink across the countertop towards Lux, who doesn't so much as acknowledge her before stalking outside. "Oh, Beverly, hi! Welcome back. What can I get you?"

"Oh, nothing today, Kopi. I'm actually here for something more interesting." She leans against the counter, glancing around before beckoning for Kopi to lean closer. "I've got a secret for you to keep. I know you love those."

Kopi leans in. "Ooh, I do. I'm listening."

"Although…you may have to keep it from Maggie."

"I'm…listening a little less."

Alright, fair enough. Kopi and Maggie had started dating a few months ago and basically everyone knew about it. While Kopi was an excellent secret-keeper, the same could absolutely not be said about Maggie, who understood the concept of personal boundaries about as well as anyone understood the French swears that Jean-Loo enjoyed weaving into his raps.

Maggie had begun talking about Kopi the same way she talked about her cases, which was very often and in great quantities. It was cute, if not a little over-the-top at times. But Beverly was certainly not one to judge.

"Well…it's about Florence and Celia."

That gets her attention. Kopi sits up a little higher, her eyes a little brighter. Her and Florence have been friends for a long time, Beverly knows, and she's probably the first to have known about the strange will-they-won't-they situation both Celia and Florence were caught in. "Definitely listening now. What are we doing?"

"Oh, you're going to love this plan! Listen up…"

"I'm not so sure if I love this plan," Kopi says, much to Beverly's dismay. "You're setting her up on other dates."

"Uh, yeah."

"And then getting her to spend less time at work. Less time with Celia."

"Ya-huh."

"And then you're going to just…see what happens."

"Yup." Beverly nods. "Is that not…a good plan?"

Kopi shakes her head very non-convincingly. "No, no, I mean— I see the vision. I suppose. It could work."

"And it will! Absolutely! Um, but it might not quite work if Maggie finds out," Beverly says, taking another sip of whatever drink Kopi's prepared for her. It's something light, quite foamy. Pretty fun actually. "So, we just need you to…distract her maybe? Just keep her away from the operation for long enough for it to run its course. Pretty please? Pretty please with cherries on top?"

Beverly grins and pumps her fist when Kopi sighs in defeat. "I'll see what I can do. It'll be pretty hard. You know Maggie will be on this case like a bloodhound if she so much as hears a single word about it?"

"I know, and that's why we've hired you to help us out! You're an invaluable part of the mission! Look, we've even highlighted your name on the poster with one of Penelope's ungodly bright highlighters." It was true. Kopi's name was surrounded by little coffee doodles, courtesy of a bored Betty, all run through with a bright pink. "Don't worry about the juicy parts of the mission, leave that to us. You just focus on making sure Maggie doesn't find out about this, lest she rats us out to the entire house. And you can even keep an eye out on Florence's dates for us. Double score!"

"Mm, alright," Kopi grins. "I'm in."

Generally, Maggie was quite able to keep a secret. (For a short amount of time, anyway. Being a detective meant having your secrets laid out on the table in front of you, because secrets were evidence.) Some cases, especially ones not concerning loose articles of clothing but ones concerning the other objects, required her to be especially discreet with client confidentiality, and this one seemed to be the most top-secret of all.

So, naturally, Maggie made sure to keep vigilant about this particular case. She had to make sure that even with her snooping around, nobody was to know about it, especially not Florence. Celia was especially clear about that, and Maggie was more than willing to comply.

(It wasn't that she was afraid of Celia, of course. That would be silly. Maggie was afraid of nothing but open cases.)

Okay, well, amendment: Maggie made sure to keep vigilant about this particular case, except for one single exception. Which she's sure Mayor Celia would just have to deal with, and would be fine with anyway.

"Hello, gorgeous," she beams, walking into Kopi's store, flushing when Kopi greets her with that beautifully bright smile of hers. "You up to hear about a case?"

Generally, Kopi loved hearing about Maggie's cases. There was something just so adorable about the way she would rant about each minor detail, the way she poured her heart into dissecting every morsel of evidence. Even before they were together, she'd spent countless hours listening to every single thing Maggie told her, and it was always a comforting notion.

This one might be a little different.

"—So that's why Mayor Celia hired me, I suppose," Maggie finishes with a flourish, before taking a dramatically long drink from her mug. She taps the end of her pen on the paper, circling the name Florence Floor. "She wants to know whether Florence is doing alright. It doesn't exactly seem like a detective's job, but— Mayor Celia insisted that she couldn't be the one to find it out. I think she's afraid of Florence leaving."

Oh, no. Kopi taps her fingertips on the table, hoping her panic isn't evident in her voice. The perks of dating a detective, probably. "Well— why would she think that? Florence loves her job."

"She does, which is why Celia finds it confounding. Apparently she's been more distant recently. Celia wants to know why, and see if it's anything that can be fixed."

Step one, go on other dates. Step two, spend less time at work.

Shit.

"You won't tell anyone, though, will you?" Maggie asks, eyes wide. She was never one for secret-keeping but she was one for client privacy. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately in this situation, Kopi is the only one privy to this information. "Mayor Celia wants to keep this quiet. She's really worried about Florence."

Kopi bites the inside of her cheek. On one hand: she is excellent at keeping secrets. Two really isn't all that much. On the other hand: both of those secrets are extremely contradictory and could so easily be resolved. On another hand: both sides have asked her, very nicely and pointedly, to keep them as secrets.

At this point, she's running out of hands.

Kopi, with the expression of someone who has suddenly realised they are in the crosshairs of what could possibly be either the most wonderful or terrifying happening that the house has seen in decades, chuckles awkwardly. "Oh, no."

Chapter Text

"To be completely and entirely fair," says Florence's date for the evening, drumming her fingers awkwardly on the tabletop, "Dasha, too, thinks this was…strange idea."

Florence resists the strong urge to sigh and/or run away, but…Dasha is nice. Everyone knew that, her most of all, since she was at least acquainted with basically every object. At first, going on a date with her sounded great, and Florence wondered whether this plan of Beverly's was actually going to work. But she unfortunately knew better than that.

It's not that the date was bad, per se, it just…felt so strange. Florence had technically never been on a date before; she'd always been either too busy, too afraid, or too alone. Most of the time it was some cruel combination of the three. So she really didn't know what to expect.

Dasha is nice. Dasha is kind and funny and most importantly, very well-versed in dating etiquette. Kopi had kindly recommended Koa's restaurant, which— admittedly— was really good, and the night had progressed in the way most would hope their first dates to.

So…why wasn't it enough?

"I'm really sorry about this, Dasha," Florence sighs, releasing the napkin she'd been nervously tugging at the entire night. "It's— well—"

"A Beverly and Betty ploy."

"Yes, a Beverly and Betty ploy. You know how those two are."

Dasha laughs, and nods. "Unfortunately I do. Nevertheless, Dasha has had fun today here with you. I hope you feel the same way, considering the circumstances."

She smiles. Allows Dasha to pull her into a bone-crushing hug. "I did. Thank you."

"So?" Beverly says, as soon as Kopi pushes open the door to the Tipsy Tumbler. Beside her, Betty straightens from where she'd been leaning on the bar counter. "How'd it go? Was she sad? Is it working?"

Kopi laughs. "Woah, now, slow down. It wasn't a bad date from what I saw, but I don't think they're going on any more anytime soon. I, well…I'm hesitant to say that it worked, but—"

"It worked!" she cheers, holding up her hand for a high-five, one that Kopi begrudgingly returns. "See, I told you this plan was foolproof. If we send Flor on a couple more of these, she's going to see that Celia's the only one for her, and we're all finally going to rest easy knowing we're incredible wingmen."

It's only then that Kopi realises their party of 3 has expanded, and a certain grey-haired beauty is lounging on the stool beside Betty's. She glances up and smiles warmly when she sees Kopi there. "Oh, hi, darlin'. These two have just told me about their harebrained scheme."

"It's not harebrained," Beverly protests, the same time that Kopi nods in agreement. "It's perfectly sound and it's working, thank you very much!"

"I think working is a bit of a stretch, honey," Dolly giggles, taking a sip from some fruity concoction of Beverly's. "She's barely gone on the first date. Just be glad this one didn't work out."

"It's just 'cause you want that desk bad," Beverly waggles her eyebrows tauntingly, yelping when Dolly smacks the back of her head. "Ow!"

"Beverly, I'm going to have to agree with Dolly here. It's really too early to tell if it's working, and…I don't know. I feel like something bad might happen."

"Oh, Kopi, don't worry! Just trust me. When have I ever let you down?"

Kopi could name at least a dozen such instances, but wisely chooses to keep silent, instead sliding into the stool beside Dolly and gratefully accepting a mug of lemonade that Betty pushes over to her, taking a sip. Besides, Beverly wasn't…entirely wrong. From what she'd been able to glean of the brief date, Florence seemed…

Well, uncomfortable didn't seem like the right word. It leant more towards unease, or even fretfulness. Kopi almost worried for her— while they'd been trying for years to subtly ease her out of her bad habits, Florence would always remain with at least some of the self-consciousness that had plagued her since installation, and it was this that made this such a difficult problem: she'd never see herself as good enough for any of the other objects, and in turn for Celia.

Oh, no. Celia. Kopi couldn't even begin to fathom what must surely be happening in Celia's mind right now. She agreed with everyone else; it was obvious that if anything Celia had at least a hapless crush on Florence, although Kopi suspected it ran much deeper than that. Although it wasn't like there was any spoken evidence. Nobody was quite brave enough to actually ask.

Even so, Kopi knew that if Celia was at least aware of the 'dates' that Florence was in the process of going on, at least one thing Beverly's said will be true. She's going to be jealous. She's going to be jealous, and even worse than that— Kopi isn't entirely sure anything would even come out of it. Sure, Beverly and Betty seemed solidly confident in this plan, but to be honest…

God, Kopi sighs inwardly, taking a long swig of her lemonade. She could only hope that somehow, somewhere, Maggie was having a bit more of a successful time on her side of the problem.

This should be a form of torture, Maggie thinks sullenly.

Look, Maggie enjoyed being respectful, especially to her employers. Very rarely was Maggie actually hired for a case, instead of having to sniff them out from half-baked rumours trickling down the metaphorical grapevine, and well…finding jobs was hard, as it is. She'd prefer keep this one, thank you very much.

The problem: It's getting very, very hard.

She'd spent most of last night stealthily sleuthing around the kitchen, tailing Florence after her shift, in a way that was entirely normal and not creepy at all. (She's a detective! It's part of her job!). Maggie was surprised, at first, to see Florence that was anywhere other than her office; she was aware of the book club that her, Betty, Holly, and Kopi attended weekly— due to her relationship with the latter, of course— but other than that, Maggie really hadn't seen her anywhere else at all."

Even so. Not too abnormal, and didn't explain Florence's erratic behaviour as of recent times.

That is, until she saw Florence. Good. That's her target. With Dasha. What. What?

Since when were Florence and Dasha friends? Well, actually, that was inaccurate to assume they weren't— Florence was on friendly terms with just about everyone in the house, after all, due to the nature of her job.

As Maggie slinked across the room, tiptoeing in a way that she thinks puts Sher'Lock Holmes to shame, she stumbled across a small alcove in the corner of the kitchen, quiet and dark. Perfect for scouting. Dasha and Florence were close enough for her to observe passively, but far enough that it wasn't so obvious that she was, in fact, spying on them.

Strangely enough, it didn't seem like she was alone here.

"…Kopi?"

Kopi, who was sitting with her back against the wall and fidgeting with the drawstring of her apron, brightened considerably upon seeing her, and patted the ground beside her. "Oh! Hi, Maggie. Hello. What are you doing here?"

"Mayor Celia," Maggie sighed, settling into the space beside Kopi. "She's…asked me to do a bit of spying. I am getting paid for it." She paused, reaching for one of Kopi's hands, warm and comfortable in her own. "I'd much rather be here with you."

Kopi smiled widely. "Well, we can be. I doubt Florence'll be doing much. It's just a dinner date, anyway."

It's a date.

Oh, no.

"Oh, no," Maggie winced. "And…you're sure?"

Kopi nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. "…Yup."

This is…not good. Not good at all.

Maggie was the best (and only) detective in the house, which meant that she knew things. For example, she was more than well aware of the entire situation between Florence and Celia— although to be fair, who didn't?— and was also, subsequently, aware of the fact that Celia was just about head over heels for her naive, bubbly, hard-working secretary. That was, after all, the entire reason she was here.

Because Celia was in love with her. And was entirely unwilling to admit such a thing.

This is a mess.

Here are the facts: Florence and Celia love each other. Florence and Celia have not told each other this. Celia is worried that Florence is pulling away from her. Florence is going on dates with other people.

And the verdict: This is bad, and Maggie is going to lose her job over a painful sapphic situationship.

Kopi frowned at her extended silence, turning to face her. "Maggie," she said, "and I ask this with all the love in my heart—"

"—oh, no—"

"—but…are you afraid of Mayor Celia?"

She is. "I am not," Maggie shook her head vehemently. "I am simply respecting her wishes as my client and also the highest authoritative figure in this house. She has all of the jurisdiction and it is in my best interest to ensure that she is happy."

Also, she could be terrifying. Maggie quite enjoyed her job and very much wanted to keep it; if it meant not telling Celia that the secretary she had a large and frankly obvious crush on was going on dates with other people, then so be it. Maggie was capable of keeping a secret.

…Sometimes. Occasionally.

"Mm," Kopi hummed, smiling slightly, and god, she's cute. Maggie is beginning to get very, very distracted. "If you say so. I don't think they'll be done for a while. What do you say?" She offered a nervous hand. "We can…have a little impromptu date, for now? If you want."

Maggie should probably be focusing on— well— her job, but really, with the way Kopi looks in the moonlight, she's already lost. "Yes, please."

Maggie blinks out of her memory-induced reverie when the harsh sound of Celia's heels make a satisfying clack against the ground, as she stalks back and forth in her office.

"I just…don't understand!" Celia hisses, rubbing at her temples. "What's happening? Why is it happening?"

Maggie isn't entirely sure how to break the news that, you know— the secretary she has a crush on is going out with other people— so, wisely, she decides to just deliver the news and brace for impact. "Mayor Celia, have you considered that maybe…well…"

"Well what?" Celia bites out, before sighing apologetically and sitting. "I'm sorry. That's unfair, to take out my frustration on you. Tell me what you know."

Celia is genuinely so nice that it feels almost physically painful to say. "I think…well, no, I know, that…Florence was on a date."

"…"

Well, that's not good at all.

"With Dasha," Maggie offers, wincing when Celia remains silent. Okay, this is scarier than the pacing. In an attempt to soften the blow, "I believe it was their first, though."

Celia is still silent, which was beginning to cross the line from scary to concerning, and Maggie is about to ask whether she's feeling okay when she finally stands, crosses her arms, and nods.

"Okay," she says. "A date, you said?"

"…Yes ma'am."

"Was…was she happy?"

God, Maggie is starting to regret the fact that she physically can't lie. "Yes," she nods, because it's true. From what she'd seen, Florence was genuinely happy. It was wonderful to see, despite the circumstances. "She was."

Again, Celia nods, before gesturing vaguely to the door. "Thank you, Maggie," she says gently, waving her off. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Well, Maggie awkwardly claps her hands together, as soon as she steps out of the office. That…could have gone better.

It's not often that Kopi doesn't have someone to confide in. She was friendly with everyone in the kitchen, Beverly and Miranda especially, and she had the book club members, too. And, as of recently, Maggie had also been added into the roster.

Unfortunately: Beverly, as well as the book club members, were on one side of the problem. And Maggie was on the other. (Kopi isn't quite sure what Miranda was up to, but she imagined it was something big enough that it regularly took her away from the kitchen.)

Which meant that she had basically nobody else to talk to. Nobody but one object.

"Wallace," Kopi says, as she approaches the man, who is currently sitting on the ground and sifting through his picture frames. "Hi. Hello."

Wallace beams as she approaches, immediately making space beside him for Kopi to sit, scooting over his frames as well. There are quite a few of them; no doubt he's organising them for the day. "Wall!" He shouts in greeting, before frowning. "Wall wall?"

"Ah, is it so obvious? I guess you could say I'm having…a day, of sorts. Oh, it's bad. It's really bad."

"Hmm…Wall."

"What? Oh, no! It's not about me and Maggie. That's going fine. It's going great, actually."

At this, Wallace brightens and nods fervently, much to Kopi's delight. He'd always been very supportive of their relationship, even from the early stages. It's really nice, actually. He's a fantastic confidante. "Wall. Wall?"

"Ah…Wallace, you're good friends with Celia and Florence, right?"

He grunts, immediately souring. Oh, he knows. "Wall."

Figures. Wallace, Celia, and Florence, had known each other for much longer than the rest of the objects, anyway: they were the foundations of the house and were extremely close. It was only natural that Wallace had been witness to their will-they-won't-they situation.

"Well— you see— it's very complicated," Kopi sighs, burying her face in her hands. "You see…"

She spends the next twenty-ish minutes explaining, in great detail, the dilemma she'd found herself at the crossroads of. On one side, Beverly and Betty and their scheme. On another, Maggie and her case. Kopi's divided loyalties, and extremely amazing secret-keeping abilities.

"Wall," Wallace says proudly.

"Why thank you, Wallace. I am great at keeping secrets," Kopi grins, "except— these ones don't feel very nice to keep. It's a little stressful, actually. I want this resolved peacefully and nicely, you know, in a way that means Celia and Florence actually get together. But at the same time— they've told me to keep secrets, and I don't want to betray any trust."

Wallace nods contemplatingly. He understands; Wallace was an advocate for steadfastness and trust above all else, after all.

"Wall…wall?" Wallace suggests.

"No, I can't just ask…it wouldn't work." She sighs. "It's alright. I'll figure something out, eventually. You're a good listener."

Wallace beams. "Wall!"

"Haha, sure. I'll come back if anything interesting happens. Thanks for letting me talk, Wallace," Kopi says, smiling as she gets up and waves. "I'll see you around. Come visit, okay? I'll get you the hot chocolate you really like."

"Wall!"

Beverly is closing up shop when she hears it. Music. She smiles, despite herself: some things, over time, would never change. One of those was the way Rainey's songs would always make her feel.

She's dancing, as she usually is, when Beverly finds her, beams when she approaches. "If it isn't the Grand Dame of Giggle Water! Hi, Bevvy."

"Hi, Rainey," she says, laughing softly as Rainey spins. She almost glitters under the lamplight, glowing in her element.

"Would you come and dance with me?"

Here's the thing: Beverly is an awful dancer. Maybe it was because she was intoxicated a lot of the time, but really, she preferred to attribute it to her awful sense of balance.

Here's the other thing: Beverly, despite everything, could never deny Rainey anything.

She takes the hand outstretched towards her, and lets herself be pulled into Rainey's rhythm, clumsily trying to match her steps, much to Rainey's amusement.

It feels…like it did so long ago. Beverly had spent years watching Rainey on the dance floor, watched her shine and glow and captivate everyone around her. There was something magnetic about someone like Rainey. There was something endlessly beautiful.

She sees it now, too, even while they're alone, but…Beverly can't help but notice that she seems distracted, almost. Or sad. There's a glint behind her eyes, something bittersweet.

"Rainey…" she says quietly. "Are you…okay?"

Rainey smiles, but it looks half-hearted. "I'm fine, Bevvy," she says, dipping her gently. "Always fine with you."

She doesn't believe it: Rainey's eyes leave hers, at this, and the corner of her mouth dips. But here's another thing about Beverly: She, despite everything, could never argue with Rainey.

The dance passes by in a blur, and when Rainey leaves, she kisses Beverly on the cheek and bids her goodnight, barely able to smile before turning and walking away.

And Beverly, endlessly caught, can do nothing but watch.

Chapter Text

Usually, Penelope isn't much of an early riser. Well— technically— she could be, occasionally, when the call of her motivational quotes is stronger than her desire to slumber, but most of the time she was the kind of girl to sleep late and wake up even later.

That's different today, because of course it is. Penelope was never a fan of monotony but she was fond of habit: she was, after all, the embodiment of things that included planners. Far be it for her to not use any of them. And yet today she'd woken with the sun, for a reason she doesn't know, until—

"Ack!" Penelope yelps, stumbling back and promptly falling to the floor. Beverly, from where she'd been leaning over Penelope's sleeping form, doesn't stop grinning. In fact it only seems to be getting wider, which is…concerning, to say the least. "Beverly?!"

"Good morning, Pen!" She says, unnervingly chipper for someone who was almost certainly not a morning person, either. "You look great! You always do. Say, how would you like to become part of something much bigger than yourself?"

"So…you've just been going around recruiting people for this…scheme?"

"First of all, no, you're kind of the only one, and second of all, it's not a scheme. It's a plan, and a brilliant one that will work." Beverly takes a long swig of the coffee in front of her, and immediately pulls a face. Figures. Coffee isn't exactly a swigging kind of drink.

Penelope reaches into her hairpiece for one of her beloved pens, clicking it uncertainly. "Well, um…is it working so far?"

"That's not important." So that's a no, then. "What's important is that it will very, very soon. And you can be part of it!" She pauses, just for a moment, sighing and placing a tentative hand on Penelope's shoulder. "And…well, we're worried about you, you know. You haven't even been out on a date in so long."

It was…well, true. Penelope hadn't gone on any of her disastrous dates after whatever the Scandalabra incident was (which she very much preferred not to think about), and other than that she really hadn't gone out with anyone since…

"Betty, especially," Beverly says, like she knows. Penelope immediately flushes and turns away. "But, you know, all of us are. I think you need something to get your mind off of it. Being single means you can have a little fun! Look at me, I'm always having fun."

To be entirely fair, Penelope did not think Beverly was always having fun, judging by the heart eyes she very often had whenever Rainey was around. With the way things were going, they'd have to pine for longer than Celia and Florence have, and Penelope's almost certain that's been going on for longer than some of them have been alive.

But at least someone likes Beverly back. Penelope sighs, and tries not to feel envious. Maybe she was right, anywho. Being single for a little while didn't seem…too bad. Besides, she'd lived her entire life up until now like this, and it didn't look like that would be changing anytime soon.

No matter how much she wanted it to. But that was something for Penelope to think about another time.

Then she realises. "…Betty is worried about…me?"

"Oh, yeah. She won't be quiet about it," Beverly waves it off. "But— I think you being here will help. With both Betty's worries and the whole Florence plan, I mean. As they say, two birds, one stone! Or— well— two sad people, one Penelope."

"I don't think you know how metaphors work," Penelope says dryly.

"Ah, I'm working on it. The point is that Betty— and everyone else— has been worrying about you. And you need a little distraction. Dating is boring and setting up your friends is the way to go! Trust me!"

She doubts it. Deeply. But, well…Penelope has had worse ideas.

"Oh, alright. I'm in," she sighs.

"Hell yeah! Oh, Betty's gonna be so happy!"

"Beverly, what is wrong with you?"

Beverly laughs nervously. "Okay, so I severely misjudged that one."

"You sure did." Betty pinches the bridge of her nose in a gesture that is so unlike the usually chill and happy and relaxed Betty it makes Beverly do a double-take. "When I said I was worried about Penelope—"

"—which you said multiple times with increasing intensity, might I add—"

"—I didn't mean for you to ask her to join!" She seems to seethe, which is new. "She's got enough on her plate, I'm sure. I don't want to do anything that's going to risk her."

"Risk— Betty, I'm not sending her to war! Besides, it won't be so bad. It'll be fun, even. You like Penelope, don't you?"

Betty seems to deflate even more at this, if it were possible. Enough so that Beverly starts to feel actually bad without knowing why. "No— yes— of course, but…god, Beverly. I don't want to see her right now."

"Oh." Beverly blinks. "Well. That's going to be a problem."

The teapot whistles in discordant harmony with the birds outside, and Florence quickly trots over to pour the water into two mugs, wincing when some of it splashes onto the counter.

Celia, bent over her desk, sighs and delicately scratches out a line from her page. "These speeches," she says, "are so incredibly trite and unneeded."

"I wouldn't say that's true," she replies, finishing up the teas and sliding Celia's across the desk to her. "They are vital to the…household."

"When has one ever been heard? I'm sure it goes in one ear and out the other for most of them. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them were asleep while I delivered them. None of them listen."

"I listen," Florence says quietly.

Celia smiles; though Florence notices it doesn't reach entirely to her eyes like it usually does. "I know you do, dearest. And I appreciate it always."

She seems to pause for a moment, deliberating.

And then—

"I heard," Celia starts, standing up and taking a breath, "that you've…been going out."

Oh.

Florence hadn't prepared for this.

"O-Oh," she stutters, before shaking out her hands. "Well— just once, really, it wasn't anything at all. Don't worry about it."

"Don't think you have to hide anything from me," Celia says gently, her hand reaching up to Florence's face; but she halts the motion and returns her arm to her side. "We're a team, Florence. We're friends. And— well— I am happy for you. It isn't against the law for you to be going on dates, you know. Dasha is a good woman. She's treat you well." She then stops, and glances away. "I— was told about it. By someone."

God, this hurts like nothing else. Florence wonders fleetingly whether placing her trust in Beverly and Betty was a good idea (it rarely was), feeling her heart ache over it. Trying to get over Celia suddenly felt like a monumentally impossible task more than ever.

"Dasha is…nice," Florence says unsurely, before shaking her head. It wasn't false. Dasha was definitely nice, and kind, and she did enjoy her company. "But she's…"

…not you.

"Not my type," she settles on instead.

Celia looks like she wants to say something else, but ultimately— resolutely, almost— decides against it. Instead she smiles, but something about it is stilted, like the smiles she gives to the press. Florence pretends it doesn't hurt as much as it does, like something sharp wedged in her floorboards. "Ah. I see. One day, Florence, you'll find someone who can see how wonderful you are."

Florence doesn't say anything; settles for a small nod before Celia turns back to her paperwork and the conversation ends. She doesn't have the heart to argue, but the feeling lingers nonetheless.

Someone who can see how wonderful you are.

The only person who has ever said anything of the sort, wholeheartedly and earnestly, had been Celia. And Celia didn't want her in that way and never would. Which meant, by all laws and facts of the universe, it was false. There would be nobody to see it because it wasn't there to see.

She goes downstairs, taking the empty mugs with her. Every step away from Celia feels like a bittersweet goodbye.

Penelope is busy chatting to Kopi, who is telling her about Maggie's most recently solved case, when Beverly comes to sit beside her. Betty knows this because she'd been watching, and she was quite awful at pretending she wasn't.

"So…" Beverly hugs her knees to her chest, turning to look at her. "What's up with this, huh?"

"Nothing," Betty mutters. And she isn't wrong. There is nothing 'up with this', and that was her exact problem with it.

"Still haven't talked to her?"

She hadn't. Betty had spent the better part of today in the bedroom cross-stitching with Mateo, trying desperately not to think on the matter further. "No. I've been…busy."

Beverly hums, clearly unconvinced, but for perhaps the first time ever she isn't willing to push it further. "Well, alright. Hey— would you mind briefing her real quick? About tomorrow's plan?"

"Really. After I just told you—"

"I need to go and find Zoey. Please? Pretty please? Plus, Penelope likes you more than she likes me. I think it's because of that time I challenged her to a drink-off and she ended up puking beside Jean Loo."

Betty vaguely remembers the incident and knows that this is entirely justified. "I— oh, fine. Hurry it up."

"Will do," Beverly gives her a two-fingered salute, before rushing off.

Penelope's eyes widen when Betty approaches, and Kopi— knowingly— smiles at her before leaving in the direction of the living room. "Oh! Betty— hi. Hi! Um, how are you?"

"Hi," Betty says. "Beverly sent me to tell you about the plan. Or, the current stage of it. I hope you don't mind."

"No, never." She grins, endearingly lopsided, before clearing her throat and moving to the side so Betty can sit beside her. They're close, not enough that they're touching. Betty learns to live with this. "So. Um. Tell me about it?"

Betty clears her throat and attempts to focus, although it gets harder the longer those gorgeous brown eyes watch her for. "We've, ah…been sending Florence on dates. A couple of days ago was the first one, Dasha. Which clearly didn't work out, so tomorrow we're sending her on another one."

"With who?"

"Not sure yet. But we're hoping to send her on enough that she eventually realises she doesn't want to go out with anyone but Celia, or until Celia gets jealous enough that she confesses. Beverly calls it 'airtight'."

Penelope covers her mouth when she laughs, and it's deliriously adorable. God. "Not sure if Beverly's an entirely trustworthy source."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Betty groans, delighting in the snort Penelope lets out. "But— until then, we're just sending her on as many dates as possible, hope for the best."

"As if that ever works," Penelope says, though there is a bittersweet tone in her voice. Something wistful. Betty can barely appreciate the irony when it is directed at her, but she smiles too.

Curse whoever invented staircases, seriously. As someone lingering on the edge of a hangover at any given moment, they're an absolute burden.

No offence to Stella, who was perfectly lovely, though.

Beverly huffs as she finally finishes her ascent to the Mayor's office, groaning loudly when she doesn't catch a glimpse of a certain spectre anywhere. "Damn it. She said she'd be here."

"Who?"

"WOAH!"

She yelps loudly, stumbling back and very nearly sending herself straight back down the staircase again, straightening quickly when she catches sight of Celia standing before her, arms crossed and her signature look of Absolutely No Emotion on her face. "Ha ha ha, hi, Mayor! What a surprise to see you here!"

Celia frowns. "A surprise to see me…at my office?"

Okay. Well.

"I simply…thought you would be busy at the moment. Or something. Anyway! Good to see you, I'm just gonna—"

"Are you up to something?"

"What? What makes you think that?"

"Everything. Your face especially. You've got the troublemaking expression on right now. If you're planning something, Beverly, know that I have Farya on speed dial almost constantly and I am not afraid to use her."

Ah. Fair. Beverly had, multiple times, required an intervention from the one and only medic of the household.

"I promise it isn't that dire," Beverly waves her off unconvincingly, turning back towards the stairs. "Okay, gotta go, bye Mom— I mean— Miss Mayor!"

"Beverly," Celia calls in exasperation, but by then Beverly had expertly (read: accidentally) vaulted down the stairs and landed in a not-so-elegant pile of limbs on the floor below.

Phew, she wipes her brow. Close one.

"Hey!"

"WOAH!"

This time she really does fall to the floor, and Beverly winces as she lands hard on her butt, rubbing her head, which had started to pound. Figures. This job of hers was a taxing one.

Then she looks up and catches a sight of the one and only Zoey Bennett.

"Hi, hi, hi!" Zoey squeals, swooping down to swat an incorporeal hand at Beverly's shoulder in a valiant attempt at helping her up. "Beverly! Hi! Someone said you were looking for me. Well, actually, that's a lie, I totally remembered that we were supposed to meet upstairs, and I was about to find you. And then I found you here instead. Isn't it so cool how fate works?"

Beverly manages a smile. "Oh, a hundred percent. Listen, Zoey: you up to have a little fun?"

"Ooh! I love fun. Sign me up!"

Chapter Text

God, Florence needed to stop listening to Beverly. She never learns.

"Um," she says, because she isn't quite sure what else to say. Her date sits across from her, gesturing wildly, talking at a rate far too fast for Florence to catch up.

"—And, you know, he isn't bad looking necessarily, I just think she could do so much better. All he does is pick average looking sticks and piles them on, no geometrical shapes, no nothing! No structure in that nest, I tell you, it'll be a mess on the ground by tomorrow. You'd think after his last nest— this is their second I think, third if you count his last wife, but that's a whole other dumpster fire— he'd have learnt something, but no!"

Florence isn't quite sure how she's gotten here, but here she is, talking about the structural integrity of bird nests. Or, well. Listening to someone else talking about the structural integrity of bird nests.

Wyndolyn's next gesture is something grand that very narrowly avoids hitting her square in the face with her hand, but she barely notices, entirely focused outside. "And get this! They're expecting! If they don't have a stable nest, goodness knows what'll happen to those poor eggs."

She's trying so hard to nod along, really she is, but…it's admittedly a little difficult. Florence was fond of Wyndolyn, they'd known each other for quite some time now, but they were…well, wildly different. Wyndolyn was outspoken, brave, and completely unafraid of basically anything. Meanwhile Florence still stuttered when she ordered at Roofbucks, and the barista was quite literally one of her best friends of a decade.

She also wasn't huge into dating, which was understandable, though it did leave a few questions unanswered. The biggest one being why, pray tell, she had decided to agree to this date with Florence.

Her answer is given soon enough. Figures. Wyndolyn was not one to beat around the bush.

"Look, Florence. I'm not one to beat about the bush," Wyndolyn says, startling her. "You know how I value transparency."

Well. Wyndolyn did, in fact, happen to be a window. "Um. Yes—"

"So, here's the real question. What are you doing here?"

Uh oh.

"I— I don't quite get what you mean?" Florence falters, already anticipating Wyndolyn's prying. "I'm simply…ah…broadening my horizons."

Wyndolyn blinks in the lovingly condescending way she tends to, before sighing and taking one of Florence's hand in her own. "Broadening your horizons? From, what? The same person you've been in love with for the last century?"

"It's not been a century—"

"What would Celia think?"

Florence stops, then. "Don't bring her into this."

"But—"

"I said don't, Wyndolyn." She stands up. "Today was…nice. Thank you. I'm going to go now."

And then she leaves, and doesn't turn back. Wyndolyn doesn't call for her.

"You're a cheater," Beverly mutters, leaning against the counter. "No wonder Parker hates playing with you."

Betty giggles and tosses the rest of her cards down, pulling the chips towards her with a smug look on her face that Beverly so very much wants to smack off of her, before taking a dainty sip from her glass. "Just lucky, Bev. Just lucky."

"I don't buy it for a single second."

"Well you don't have to, since this game is over anyway."

Beverly is about to protest for a second round— which she fears she might've lost (…again) had it continued— when the door to the Tipsy Tumbler swings open and Florence steps through. "If it isn't Miss Florence! How was it?"

Though, to be fair, she didn't exactly need to ask. Florence had never really been good at hiding anything, which is why she was seldom trusted with any secrets that were at all important, unless they had anything to do with Celia and/or the office, which she was only marginally better at keeping. Her face was always expressive and today was no exception.

"It was…okay," she sighs, her entire face betraying the exact opposite, as she sits on Betty's other side and gratefully accepts the drink Beverly pushes towards her. (Florence could drink anything. She had an impressive tolerance for basically any drink that Beverly put in front of her— something about being grounded, she supposed.) "Not the one. I mean…unsurprisingly."

True. Wyndolyn was admittedly a very last resort, but to be fair, nobody else wanted to go out with Florence. Not because she isn't lovely— because she is, and Beverly is pretty sure at least half of the objects in the house would bend over backwards for her— but frankly because they were deeply afraid of what Celia would do to them otherwise. Even with Wyndolyn, who actually agreed, Beverly suspected she only did so 'for the plot'.

Wyndolyn seldom did anything without the intent of drama. Beverly probably should have known.

"Oh, Flor," Betty says sympathetically, patting her shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll find somebody else."

"I don't— think I want to go on any more. I mean. The two I went on were good." Florence's face falls into a wince. "Well…good may be a bit of a stretch."

Beverly pointedly ignores Betty raising her eyebrow at her. "Look, I'm not gonna disagree with you—"

"—Which you shouldn't, because she's right—"

"—but…are you sure? Not about the dates, like, it's pretty understandable if you want to stop those. But the whole spending less time at work?"

Florence frowns. "Weren't you the one trying to convince me about this plan? I'm sure, dear. I've got…a lot of sick days."

Holly had to have gotten her penchant for overwork from somewhere, and Florence could be a bit of a hypocrite when it came down to admitting it.

Betty casts Beverly yet another look, before turning back to her and nodding. "Sounds good then. Step two: work less. No overtime, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"And no staying back 'because I want Celia to work less'?"

"…Yes."

"And no lingering 'cause you want to see Celia more?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Florence groans, "I work too much. You do not need to rub it in. I'm going to go home."

Beverly smiles and waves as Florence pads out, looking significantly more unwell than she had when she walked in, which is quite the feat, considering she'd just returned from a date with none other than the infamous Wyndolyn.

This…does not bode well.

"Still feeling good about the plan?" Betty raises an eyebrow.

Beverly sighs. "Well. Maybe. Sort of. It might not look like it's working right now, but…I have faith that it will. Sure the dates thing wasn't working, but surely spending time away from Celia is gonna make her realise that she misses her. Maybe if she takes a couple days off work."

Betty only hums, and taps her fingernails against the counter. "Hmm. Let's hope you're right."

Wyndolyn frowns momentarily at the space most recently left unoccupied by the harried secretary, before shaking her head. There was something going on here, she could feel it in her panes. And when something was 'going on', Wyndolyn Windowpane would know about it.

Or, well. She would try very hard to know about it.

Because here was the thing: Wyndolyn was a master of assumption. She could make up stories until the cows came home, could weave intricate plots from the children running around outside, but it was a little harder with the residents of the household. She knew all of them personally, and while one would assume that'd make it easier to assume exactly what was going on with them, but unfortunately, objects were much less simple than humans.

Now, Wyndolyn wasn't a meddler. (…Most of the time, anyway; she had scheduled a meeting tomorrow morning with Birdiah next door to discuss her incompetent husband, after all.) She was an observer and she was damn good at her job.

She was also very conveniently warned against any sort of meddling or nosiness by the Mayor, though that was entirely unrelated, thank you very much.

There was, however, someone who had no such restrictions in place, due to the nature of her actual occupation, and it happened to be none other than the resident detective of the house, who Wyndolyn was very much fond of. Maggie is cute, in the same way a cat that wanted nothing to do with you was cute.

She's sitting at a corner table in Kopi's cafe as she usually is, a half-empty mug of tea folding the corner of a page in what appears to be a journal, one that is quickly flipped shut as Wyndolyn approaches.

"Wyndolyn," she greets, in the stiff, robotic-esque way Maggie tended to say things. Wyndolyn had only ever witnessed her speak in a relaxed manner when she was mildly drunk, which happened just about every time someone held a party or anything adjacent to one. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Listen, is something going on with Florence? She's been acting…well, strange," Wyndolyn says. "Not that she isn't usually strange. No offence to her, bless her heart, but Florence is kind of a little weird. But she seems to be acting a little more weird than usual."

There's a strange sort of look on Maggie's face, something vaguely resembling deja vu. "You know, if I had a nickel—"

"This is a bad idea," says Kopi, ever the voice of reason.

Betty, whose eyes are shifty— strange, Kopi thinks— nods absently. "Well, yes, it is. But we don't exactly have many other ideas, and I think almost everyone else in this house has heard of and disapproves of the plan. Except Celia. And, evidently, Maggie."

This was unfortunately quite true. As much as Kopi loves Maggie, she could be ironically quite oblivious when it came to situations she wasn't laser focused on. Either that or everyone was incredibly good at keeping this one singular secret from her.

"True. But— why do we even need to…" she says the next part delicately, "recruit more people?"

"I don't know. Nobody knows. I imagine Beverly doesn't know either, but knowing her she'll come up with something stupid, or half-baked, or if we're especially lucky, both."

Hmm. Kopi isn't feeling all too optimistic about this. Opening her mouth to protest, she's suddenly interrupted as soon as they enter the clinic.

"I'm fiiiine," an all-too-familiar voice drags on from somewhere behind a curtain, slurred in the midst of what sounds to be a mild cold. "Just— just— stuffed nose. Like a turkey. Oh…turkey, turkey, for Thanksgiving…"

"She sounds lucid," mutters Betty, somewhat disapprovingly. Kopi smiles fondly; many times had she been witness to the decade-long argument between the two, and this was no exception.

Holly's mumblings are interrupted by what sounds like a very stern Farya. "How many days this week have you worked?"

"S…Seven…

"And how many days did I say you could work?"

"…"

"Holly."

"Zero…"

"Uh huh. At this rate you're going to work yourself into bringing about the plague again. Ooh, can you imagine—"

Kopi imagines this would be a good time to interject. "Uh. Hi, Farya."

Farya whirls around from where she's standing over one of the clinic's rickety hospital beds, in which a figure who has hastily pulled a sheet over her head currently sits. "Oh! Hello! How wonderful it is to see you two! Are you sick, by any chance? Flu? Fever? Migraines?"

"None of the above," Kopi cheerfully says, "we've come to pick Holly up."

"Pick me up?!" The sheet is very quickly discarded to reveal a very displeased Holly, who has half a tissue stuck up her nose and a plethora of them gathered around her. "I'm not a kid! You're not my mom!"

"No, Florence is, and she's currently at work, so next best thing," Betty says, pinching her ear. "What were you thinking? Eleven hours a day, seven days a week? Are you trying to get sick?"

Kopi and Betty had begun to theorise that the reasoning behind Holly's tendency to work herself to sickness was, in part, because she enjoyed spending time in the clinic with a certain medic. It happened often enough that Holly had her own designated bed and everything. Farya wasn't going to complain about it; they were beginning to think she also enjoyed having Holly in the clinic with her.

"Nnnnoooo," Holly winces, "but— uhhh— I actually have a shift in two hours—"

"No, Holly," the three of them say in unison. Farya taps her pen to her clipboard. "You're not cleared to work for another week. Your shift today and all the other days have been cancelled. Just go along with the others, please?"

"But— but— Farya," Holly whines, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, "can't I just stay here with you?"

"As much as I love having a study buddy, I do have to work some time," Farya says brightly. "And I'm sure she'll be much more use to you."

"I doubt it," mutters Betty, yelping when Kopi elbows her. "Ow! Okay, okay. Thank you, Farya. We'll return her soon enough."

Holly continues to protest all the way until they exit the clinic, tugged along by Betty's iron grip on her arm, before she mumbles something under her breath and sniffles piteously. "Why'd you take me away?"

"We've got a job for you," Kopi says, before amending, "well. Less a job and more of a…task? Beverly wants help with, uh, a…project."

"And you need to stop flirting with your doctor," Betty adds.

"Hmm…what do I get out of it?"

"A chance to help Florence out, who you love very much." Kopi taps her chin. "And free lunch."

"Free lunch? Hell yeah. I'm in."

Rainey taps the end of her cigarette to the wall, watching the ash float to the ground. It doesn't feel like anything, it hasn't for a while now, and she carefully flicks the rest away before stepping back to observe the sign above the door for what seems to be the fifth time.

The Tipsy Tumbler

She can hear the music from out here. God, the music, it wasn't hers but it was beautiful. Beverly always had a strange taste in music, something Rainey was never able to understand, but it was wonderful anyway. Something bubbly, something groovy, a little of everything, like Beverly herself was.

But most of all, Rainey could hear the people.

Rainey was happy for her. Of course she was. Both of them had found their happy ending, Beverly had her customers and her livelihood, and Rainey had her screws. Rainey was fixed. Beverly was happy. The Tipsy Tumbler was busier than it had ever been, and life was…

Good. It was good.

But, if everything was good, then why—

"Oh. Hi!" says a voice behind her, and Rainey jumps as Penelope appears, a bundle of supplies tucked under her arm. "Oh, shoot, sorry! Hi. Sorry."

Rainey clutches a hand to her chest. "Goodness, Penelope, you gave me a straight fright! Hi there."

Penelope gestures towards the door, which sports a neon OPEN! sign, courtesy of the Breaker Box boys. "You going in?"

"Ah…" Yes. Yes. I want to. "Well. Maybe not tonight."

Maybe she isn't as brave as she thought.

Penelope hums inquisitively, tilting her head. The girl was as clumsy and awkward as any, but Rainey did have to admit there was something charming about her. It was no wonder she was well liked. Even so, she could be a tad oblivious. "Are you…okay? Well. I mean. I don't mean it like that, not that you— not that— you just seem, um. A little tired, maybe."

Oh. Rainey chuckles humourlessly. "That obvious? I guess I haven't been sleeping so well."

It wasn't a lie, entirely. Rainey had suffered from night terrors ever since she was young, even before her screws went loose. They seemed to continue even after they'd been tightened. There were some things that just couldn't be fixed, it seems.

There were few things that could keep them at bay, mostly just— mostly—

Just rest. I'm here. I've always been here. And I always will be.

"—Rainey?"

She blinks. Penelope is still watching her. "Oh. Sorry, hon. Just…lost in my thoughts, I guess. I haven't been sleeping well at all. But it's nothing for you to concern yourself with, okay?"

Penelope, bless her heart, shows concern— she was famously quite terrible at masking any sort of emotion on her face— but doesn't push any further. "…Okay, then. If you're sure." Rainey nods absently, and Penelope is about to go inside when she stops suddenly. "Well, um. I thought I might let you know. Beverly's been asking about you."

A pause. "She has?"

"Yeah. She's been worried. She said that if any of us see you, to tell you to come visit sometime. I think she misses you."

God. Rainey's heart aches despite herself. She has been avoiding her, hasn't she?

"Okay," Rainey whispers, nodding. "Alright. I— thank you. I'll see you around."

Penelope smiles and waves with her free hand before nudging the door open with a shoulder and disappearing through. The music and the noise intensifies as the door opens, and disappears just as quickly when it swings shut.

I think she misses you.

God, Rainey is an idiot.

It isn't that hard. Beverly is right there. Her Bevvy. Her best friend. She's right there, beyond the door. All she has to do is step through.

All she has to do…

Again, she is interrupted: Rainey's hand jerks back from the door when she hears footsteps behind her, and she whirls around to be greeted with the sight of Betty. "Hi. What are you doing?"

"I'm, uh," her hand falls, "I'm…passing by."

"Passing by."

"Yes."

Betty sighs, crossing her arms, in a feeble attempt at appearing intimidating. A difficult look to pull off when you're covered in comfortable bedding, but Rainey appreciated the effort nonetheless. "Look, Rainey. I like you."

"…Thank you?"

"But you really need to stop playing around with Beverly. She likes you. Maybe even loves you. Even worse, I think she has since before the incident. And in spite of it she still continues to."

"It's not that easy," Rainey huffs, turning away from her and crossing her arms. "Nothing ever is. None of this ever is."

"But it could be. It should be. She loves you, Rainey. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does," she hisses, "but I can't hurt her. God, it hurts, but I can't do that to her. Beverly deserves better than that."

"You're already hurting her. You are already hurting her. It's only going to be worse if you don't do anything." Betty finally shakes her head, rests a gentle yet firm hand on Rainey's shoulder. "Just…talk to her, would you? Tonight, tomorrow, sometime soon. Just talk to her."

Rainey doesn't have time to respond before Betty releases her with one last look, and disappears through the door.

And— well— she considers it. She really does. Rainey's always been the courageous one. But…

You are already hurting her.

Maybe she was still afraid.

Rainey sighs, and leaves.

Celia's office was about as sparsely decorated as an empty one would be. She was a woman of sentiment, but that was more in the form of intangible memory than it was in physical memorabilia; unlike Florence, who kept every little thing that meant anything to her, and kept it on display.

(Not that there was anything wrong with that at all, on the contrary, Celia found it rather endearing, as she found many of Florence's attributes. There was no wrong Florence could do, after all.)

It wasn't entirely devoid of decorations, though. On the far wall, across from her desk, two pictures were affixed to it, courtesy of Wallace. One, from several decades ago, her first year in office. The other, from the beginning of this year. The differences are striking, both in appearance and in stance. Celia's posture is much more relaxed in the recent portrait, and Florence…

They really were inseparable. The others enjoy teasing Celia about it, most of them are comfortable enough to do so now; saying things about how Celia could barely function without her. And she tolerated it, mostly because even if she was the figure of authority she was capable of taking a joke, but also because it wasn't entirely false. Over the years, Celia had developed a sort of…well, maybe a dependency on her. She was the most dedicated secretary she'd ever had (and…the only one, but that was irrelevant) and they worked well together, and always had. Even in the photos, there was a certain synergy. They were perfect together.

And they were always together. Celia had gotten so used to seeing her, Florence had somehow seamlessly blended into her life and made a home there. She almost couldn't remember a time without her. Which is why, thumbing the document in her hand…

A week off. Celia used to pray for these days. Florence, as dedicated as she was, had always been insistent on working as much as physically possible. She'd always said it was her duty to work to her limits, and Celia had always worried about her. Florence was a wonderful worker but also a constant one; very rarely did she take any breaks, and she'd likely banked enough sick days to stay home for the next month.

Even then. There was something strange about this. Celia held, in her hands, a physical request. A week off. As of recent, Florence had been…not avoiding her, it was almost impossible to, they worked together, but…a little more distant. More than she had been before. And Celia was not stupid— she missed her. God, she missed her.

And so Celia is torn. On one hand, Florence is taking a break. This is good. Florence deserved nothing but to feel the best she could be, and she deserved to rest, and she deserved everything good in the world.

On the other hand: Celia would not be seeing her. This is worse, and this is selfish. Celia wanted to see her always.

But above all else, Celia is still a figure of authority. She had her job to do. And if that job was away from Florence…so be it. She folds the document up— a thumb brushing against Florence's blocky signature at the bottom, overlapped with her looping handwriting— and stores it away.