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Valentina staggers to stand as she uses her palms to push herself off the ground— It's a sharp, stabbing pain. However, the throbbing wound fades to the background in the face of Mel’s flushed cheeks, her parted lips panting from the adrenaline coursing in her blood.
“Good girl, I knew you would be back.” Valentina watches Mel bite her lip, the young girl's eyes darting between the crippled god at their feet and her boss’ self assured smirk.
Valentina’s frazzled hair; her open collar that showcases a jumping, screaming, pulse. It’s all very surprising— to see such an untouchable woman with a glowing red handprint at her throat. That poise, pale, unmarked skin finally affected.
Mel thinks back to the 6 years they’ve worked together, how Valentina was above their dirty work— like a queen looking down. But now, with Valentina’s bleeding palms, and her no doubt, lightheaded, staggered walk— Mel wonders if she’s finally won.
“I want a raise.” She blurts out, turning before she can witness Val’s reaction. She walks with tunnel vision towards the elevator, and distantly hears the older woman hum in acceptance.
The elevator is cold and unnatural, a sterile quiet that leaves only Valentina in focus— her presence is suffocating. The all consuming air of Valentina, it chokes Mel with an all too familiar comfort.
Val leans back, her head hitting the metal as her eyes flutter shut and she wills her breathing to slow. It's an intimate moment, a show of weakness; and while it should be something the Director is embarrassed off, looking at Mel’s concerned face— She isn't.
The furrow in her assistants eyebrows, the faint lines of unease at her forehead, and most importantly those big brown eyes that are currently looking at Valentina like she’s the most important thing in the world. She can almost forget the man that lays dead upstairs.
“You’re my good girl, aren’t you, Mel?” It reeks of desperation, an ugly insecure play for power; comfort. And yet, even with that knowledge, Mel shivers— And Valentina no longer feels as if her world is ending.
No doubt a blur of any normal, professional relationship— But for Valentina and Melissa, this has always been their normal. An oasis they dug out of grit and pain into the other.
From the first time Valentina asked her newly hired assistant to order a man's death, to the first time she called Mel a good girl after bribing an ethics board committee— this has always been their solace.
Of course, they both knew it was wrong— to be so unbelievably involved with the other that the lines between them bent and buckled.
“I am.” Mel heard her breathless voice whisper back. “I am, Valentina.” Her hands shook.
Mel was sure her father would be rolling in his grave. A man who died believing Mel was still ‘the good guy’ — still fighting and pioneering, still being a good little girl for her future husband.
And in a way, wasn’t she— To Valentina?
“Good… If–” A shaky breath. “ If I ever see you with that man with you, I swear Melissa. Winter soldier be damned, I will end him.” Valentina spits out. She’s always been possessive of her things; the type of girl to break her toys when her parents asked her to share in the sandpit.
And somewhere deep and dark in Mel’s heart, she knows she would happily be Valentina’s toy.
Mel raises her hand, her fingers grazing the angry red rings at Valentina’s throat. She ignores the woman’s subtle flinch— instead fixating on the heavy pulse that jumps with excitement at being touched.
“I only did that because I was worried. For OXE, for... for you.”
Her voice is deeper and her hands, in an almost unconscious manner, move to grasp the warm skin. Mel doesn’t think about the fact her fingers lays upon the bruised markings of Sentry’s fingerprints, or how she can feel Val’s breath on her cheek like he would have.
Because unlike Sentry— Mel knows Valentina is the one in control here.
She feels Val’s pulse throb against her palm, and notices the way Valentina’s eyes slide shut. And Mel knows all is forgiven between them.
Valentine Allegra de Fontaine does many things. Many for the greater good, and many others for her own selfish gain— And while Val never truly apologises; Mel has been around her long enough to understand.
Understand that when her breath slows and her eyes soften, Val says she’s sorry by letting Mel hold her heart.
It’s selfish, and horrible, and completely, absolutely toxic— but Valentina’s soul lives between unspoken words and hurried glances.
The elevator opens with a soft ding, the open doors let in the outside world’s stifling air of propriety. Mel rips her hand away, as Valentina straightens her shoulders and pulls up her collar to cover her battered neck. As the heels of her palm drag across the shirt, the light pressure leaves pink stains.
“Val…” The end of Mel’s mouth is downturned, and Val shifts her gaze to the bustle of the street outside. The news outlets haven’t arrived yet, and in their place lay the ignorance and disinterest of the general public— for the first time in her life, Val leaves work for later.
Later, she will call Holt and the clean up crew to scrub away the existence of her failures, and she will claw at the members of her impeachment till their “proof” withers away. But for now, Valentina will allow her broken body to indulge in its inherent hedonism.
Mel doesn’t wait for Val to ask, their minds working in sync, a manner much too intimate for an assistant alone. She wraps her fingers around Valentina’s thin wrist and drags her towards the abandoned receptionist’s table. Mel’s hands encompass the older woman's waist as they push her into the table edge, urging her to sit upon it.
Val watches as the younger women’s looks around and rifles through drawers for a first aid kit, before eventually sighing and removing a red altoid tin from her purse. “Palms.” Her hands open before she realises; Mel’s authoritarian worried tone commands her entirely, both body and soul.
When her eyes focus, and the overwhelming rush of emotion dissipates— Valentina’s gaze returns to see Mel on her knees looking up. The assistant holds thin metal tweezers in one hand, and Val’s warm palm in the other.
The stabbing pain of the seeking tweezers is a background buzz as Val fights to will away the red heat of her cheeks. Mel bites her lip in concentration while Val curls her hidden toes.
Her perfect assistant— as if a clay doll, moulded by the gods just for her.
Mel kneeling below her. Mel’s giant brown eyes looking up at her. Mel’s patient calloused hands holding her. It’s all quite enticing, and while Val knows Mel isn’t perfect, she can’t think of anything she wants more; more than her corrupt, morally-questionable, darling girl.
“Val, this might hurt.” Her big bambi eyes return to Val’s face; her gold jhumkas reflect yellow light, shining as the— “Cazzo!” A sharp bright pain, Val pull’s away.
“Val.” An unimpressed hand lifts the alcohol wipe, while the other tightens its grip on pale skin.
“You could have given me a warning at least, Mel.” Val swears she does not pout, no matter how petulant her voice sounds. Her assistant replies with a huff, faux annoyance undermined by the woman’s brimming amusement.
“Stop flinching.” Mel pulls the hand closer, as the alcohol wipe nears— Her eyes look up, holding a mischievous glint. “Be a good girl.”
“Son of a—!”