Archive of Our Own

Mira lay on her side, tangled in her sheets, low groan escaping her as she tried to move as little as possible.

She felt it coming last night, the start of the ache like a rock in her stomach. She knew it was her fault - every time, it was her own fault - but tried her best to keep it at bay, fend it off, eating the foods she knew she was supposed to and downing water like she’d just escaped a desert. She showered, kissed her girls good night, and settled in for an early night in bed.

It hadn’t worked, just like she knew it wouldn’t.

Now she lay curled up, hot water bottle to her stomach, fingers clutching in her shirt she’d worn like armour to bed. It read “Bad Bitches have Tummy Problems”, a gift from Zoey, becoming a collection of novelty shirts, all with silly sayings. (She had one that said ‘Tummy Ache Survivor’, another that read ‘I have IBS [Incredibly Based Syndrome]’, another with no words, just Shinji from Evangelion in that iconic pose, sitting on a toilet, and a final one that said ‘ow, my tummy :(‘. She loved them all.)

She was in too much pain to move, nausea rolling through her in waves, the pain right there between to make sure she knew how badly she had messed up, unable to reach her phone as it chimed. Messages could wait.

It chimed again, and then the unmistakable sound of Zoey’s ringtone began. She groaned again, not even trying to reach for it, a pang of guilt hitting her as she let it ring out, then again, and once more, still in too much misery to answer. She loved Zoey terribly, but this level of anguish was far too much to bear, and moving would only make it worse.

There was a polite knock on her door, followed by some low whispering, before one more knock. Mira let the silence stretch, not even trying to answer.

Suddenly it slammed open, sending a rush of air at Mira’s back, door smacking hard against the wall, rattling the picture frames.

“MIRA, ARE YOU ALIVE?”

Zoey burst in, frantic, phone in hand, followed by an equally worried Rumi, sword at the ready in case there was an intruder.

Mira groaned in response, still not turning towards them, just clutching her hot water bottle closer.

Zoey’s eyes scanned the room, Rumi carefully stepping in, never lowering her guard, even checking under Mira’s bed.

Finding no threat, Rumi let her sword fade away, brows knitting together in concern as she watched over the crumpled form of her girlfriend. 

Oh, she knew that look. She recognised that shirt.

“Zoey..”, she began softly, waving Zoey over.

As Zoey’s eyes fell on her, she sighed sadly, dropping to her knees in front of the bed, careful not to touch it and accidentally jostle Mira.

“Oh, no, Mir, you’re wearing the shirt.”

Mira gave a short groan in response, eyes barely cracking open to look at the youngest member of the group. 

“Short groan for no, long groan for yes. Is this one of the really bad tummy days?”

One long groan.

“Too much pain to use words?”

Another one, even longer.

“Do we have soup on standby for easy eating?”

One pained, miserable short groan. She didn’t prepare any of her usual helps for this round, so convinced she could prevent it, she thought she wouldn’t need them. A huge mistake. She was a fool. A soupless, aching fool.

Zoey shook her head sadly, then straightened up, leaning down to press a kiss to Mira’s forehead, hovering awkwardly over the bed to make sure she didn’t knock it accidentally. 

“Worry not, Mir. Your totally capable and loving girlfriends will make you some soup to cure your IBS and maybe even cancer. You’re in good hands.”

Zoey glanced at Rumi, grimacing at her, before turning back to Mira triumphantly and confidently.

“Let’s go, co-chef. We’ve got a stomach to save.”

Rumi gently brushed a lock of Mira’s hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, letting her thumb linger on her cheek soothingly.

“We’ve got you, Mira. I promise.”

They swept out of the room after that, gently closing the door behind them, leaving Mira to rest again.

She groaned softly to herself.

She was not in capable hands. She only hoped they would burn down the whole building with her inside of it before her stomach pain got any worse.

Zoey stood, facing the stove, hands on her hips, wavering smile on her face.

“Rumi! My co-chef! How do we do this?”

Zoey had no idea where to start, and when she faced Rumi, she only offered a weak shrug in return, just as lost as the other.

The blind leading the blind, or something like that.

“Right then!”

She turned back toward the stove, inhaling deeply like she could find some form of knowledge if she got enough oxygen in.

“To YouTube we go!”

She got her phone out, typing in ‘soups to fix your girlfriend’s IBS’, not really getting any results that seemed right.

Rumi took the phone from her, instead typing in a simpler ‘soups for stomach aches’, getting much better results.

Zoey nodded approvingly, scrolling down a bit to whoever had the kindest looking face and energy, trusting that over view-counts or how professional the kitchen looked.

She ended up clicking on one by an account named ‘Happy Gut’, the title being ‘Gut Healing Soup (Vegan, IBS Friendly). Sounded perfect already.

“Rums, let’s get prepared. Time to gear up.”

Rumi nodded seriously, having watched Zoey carefully pick out the video, set in her objective.

They got knives out, bowls ready, the chopping board out from the cupboard, and got their aprons ready. They needed to be fully prepared.

Rumi tied hers behind her back, the bold black print in front reading ‘Pretty Good Chef’, and faced Zoey, hers reading ‘Kiss Cook The Ass’s’.

They hummed in unison, determined to make as great a soup as they could. For Mira.

They watched the video carefully several times, getting the ingredients out as well, making sure they knew the proper measurements before they even started. It seemed simple enough, and they happened to have all the ingredients, so what could really go wrong?

“Alright. You dice the onions, and I’ll grate the carrots? It’ll go faster if we divide the work.”

“Sure.” A pause.

“How do you dice an onion?”

A few more observatory watches later, Zoey was now carefully cutting an onion, trying her best to get it in as even cubes as she could, Rumi next to her handling the carrots. 

They worked quietly, humming softly, enjoying the peace and rhythm they fell into, cleaning as they went, complimenting the other’s work. 

Veggies were chopped and peeled, seasonings measured, tears wiped after the onion fumes became too strong for either of them.

They wanted to go a bit above the video, deciding to add in some turnips, yams and potatoes to fill out the dish, using some chicken stock as well, instead of only water, thinking about adding in some of the gochugaru Mira loved so much, but ultimately deciding against it as it may have irritated the already hurt hunter’s stomach worse. 

Soon, they were sweating the onion as instructed, slowly adding in ingredients in the same order, their extras added in when the sweet potato was, figuring that to be the appropriate time for it. Then, the water and stock was added, leaving it to simmer.

Zoey and Rumi just held each other, side by side, proudly watching the pot.

“We made that.” Zoey said suddenly, softly. “It’s basically our son.”

Rumi snorted at that, and pulled Zoey closer, hand at her waist, kissing the side of her head.

“You’re so weird… But we did make that. We make a great team.”

Zoey turned into her fully, burying her head against Rumi’s neck as she hugged her tightly.

“I hope Mira likes it. I would hate to have wasted her good ingredients on slop. What if she goes all Gordon Ramsay on us?”

Rumi held her in turn, one hand reassuringly against the back of her head.

“You know Mira would never call us idiot sandwiches. And we followed the instructions. It’ll be great.”

Zoey sighed against her neck, nodding. No, Mira would never be that mean to them, but there was still a little nagging worry that the soup wouldn’t be good, and that they would have let her down. She just wanted to be able to help in whatever way she could. She couldn't stand the idea of failing Mira.

“Let’s go sit while it simmers. Watched pots and all that.”

Rumi guided Zoey toward the couch to relax with her until it was time to blend the soup, but not before she set an alarm to know when it would be done. She would be damned if they let it burn after all that hard work and nicked fingers from chopping. For hunters who constantly worked with sharp weapons, they were miserable at slicing ingredients. And box graters were nails’ and fingertips’ worst nightmare.

After the soup was done, kitchen cleaned up fully, and food plated, they took one last look at everything before going back to Mira’s room. Zoey had even made a tiny placard to rest on the tray being brought with Mira’s food, simply reading ‘For Mir, sorry your stomach exploded’ with a turtle and a heart drawn right under it. Surely, that would also aid in the healing process if the soup and tea couldn’t fix it all the way.

When they re-entered the room, Mira was sat up in bed, hot water bottle still pressed to her stomach, but seemingly past the worst of it, scrolling on her phone as she waited. 

“Are you feeling a little better?”, Rumi asked softly, like if she were too loud she would shatter the calm that had settled over Mira’s raging stomach.

“A little. You two were gone for a while, and the building isn’t on fire. I take it things went well?”

And her characteristic sarcasm was back. Always a good sign. 

Zoey held up her fingers for Mira to see, at least five bandages scattered over her hands.

“I’ll have you know things went almost ideally. I still have all ten fingers, thank you.”

Mira chuckled lightly at that, opening her arms up for her girls to join her on the bed.

Zoey eagerly crawled in next to Mira, giving her a soft kiss, ever gentle not to shake her around, then sitting fully, turning so that she could take the tray while Rumi got in bed too.

They flanked her, Zoey on her left and Rumi on her right, warmth coming off of them and from the soup now balanced over her legs on the tray. Their combined heat was comforting and soothing, a blanket wrapping over her and helping just a little more with her stomach.

She picked up the placard, chuckling, taking Zoey’s hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as she read it. Zoey was full of sweet, dumb gestures and she loved her endlessly for it.

Then she took a sip of her tea. Just how she liked it, and it was the turmeric one that helped best with flare ups. She took Rumi’s hand then, pressing another kiss to patterned knuckles. Rumi knew her so well. Mira adored her.

And then it was time for the soup.

She had been slightly wary about it - knowing her girlfriends, it may have been what took her out if not the stomach pain - but it looked safe. Pretty appealing, even. It smelled good too, a mix of vegetables and a note of ginger to it. 

She took a slow mouthful, blowing on it first not to burn her tongue.

Rumi and Zoey watched anxiously, breaths held for the verdict. They really wanted to get Mira’s approval.

The soup warmed her all the way down, from her throat to her stomach, and faintly soothed the ache there. 

“Mmm.” 

And that was all she said, taking another spoonful, letting the remedy settle in her stomach, and wickedly watching the others sweat in anticipation.

Zoey broke first, after the silence stretched too long, paranoia eating at her.

“What’s ‘mmm’? Is that ‘Mmm-mm! Yummy!’ Or ‘mm. I don’t want to hurt your feelings’?”

Rumi leaned in as well, eyes pleading, hands wringing in her shirt nervously.

“Please say it’s not bad. Mir, don’t keep us waiting.”

She took one more spoonful, satisfied with teasing them, and then nodded.

“You two really cooked.”

Zoey and Rumi’s giggles erupted out of them, subdued celebration of tiny first pumps on either side of Mira to not rock her or the carefully balanced tray.

She laughed at her girlfriends’ antics. She really did love them so much.

“Wow, we really did make some good soup-”, Rumi said, watching Zoey incredulously as they ate their own bowls after letting Mira finish hers. 

Zoey nodded, halfway through hers already, mind blown that they had managed to make something so incredible.

“Still not as good as yours, Mir, but I’m so proud of us.”

“I’m proud of you both too.”

After the dishes were cleaned, four bowls of soup eaten, Zoey and Rumi joined Mira in bed again, taking a nap with her while she continued to recover.

She held them close, soft breaths against both sides of her neck as they all fell into a comfortable sleep.

Tomorrow, when she felt even better, she’d make sure to write down their variation of the recipe they’d found.

It was being added to her remedies list.