Chapter Text
Isadora Capri hurried down the halls, balancing a folder of sheet music in one hand and steaming chai latte in the other. The crisp autumn air seemed to have seeped into the warmth of the building, leaving the woman shivering slightly beneath her brown leather jacket. Like any average Tuesday at the start of the semester, she was racing down the hallways towards her orchestra class to make up for the lost time that she had spent waiting in line at the local coffee shop. Letting out an exhale as she prepared to turn the final corner to her classroom, Isadora promptly found herself running headfirst into another person. Her momentum sent her tumbling forward, her belongings scattering messily across the floor.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!” Isadora apologized profusely, struggling to untangle herself from their pile of interlocked limbs.
Brushing her auburn curls back, she took a moment to observe the unfamiliar woman before her. She looked to be about her age, brunette curls framing her face and deep brown eyes. Her fashion style was eclectic, a collared shirt paired with a plaid midi skirt, baby blue tights, ballet flats, and a forest green outer coat that somehow managed to complement each other. The director’s cup of tea lay overturned a few feet away, the majority of her drink staining the front of the other woman’s blouse.
Isadora winced at the sight, reaching for her bag as she pulled out a fistful of paper napkins that she had luckily saved from her breakfast at the cafe. “I’m so clumsy, I should have paid more attention to where I was going.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” the woman replied in a light British accent, an empathetic smile on her face. “It’s hardly even a stain, I’m more ashamed that I spilled your drink.”
Isadora’s cheeks flushed pink, and she shook her head imperceptibly at the serious understatement. After patting down the stain sufficiently enough with the director’s paper towels, the other woman crouched down and began to gather the strewn sheets of music that had separated from Isadora’s music binder.
“Thank you,” Isadora nodded gratefully, pressing the binder tightly against her chest in a habitually nervous manner. “I’m not sure I’ve seen you around before, are you a teacher here at Nevermore?”
“Actually, it’s my first day,” the woman responded affirmatively. “Dr. Rachael Fairburn, head of the Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital. After a visit from Wednesday Addams, I was notified of an open teaching position, and now I’m working part time as a dance instructor here at Nevermore.”
“Isadora Capri, Nevermore orchestra director and head of music,” Isadora introduced herself politely. “Ah, it’s nice to hear we’re getting more teachers involved in the arts. And Wednesday Addams, you say? I have her as a student myself, I see she’s developing a considerable notoriety.”
“She’s quite the character,” Fairburn raised her eyebrows in an animated expression, causing Capri to let out a knowing laugh. “I best be getting to my class, do you happen to know where room 1630 is?”
“Yes, I’d be happy to walk you there,” Isadora tugged at the silver chain of her necklace, waving her manicured nails towards the hallway in front of them.
The two women exchanged small talk as they headed towards Fairburn’s new classroom, and Isadora found herself fondly fixated by the dimples in the other woman’s cheeks when she laughed and the way her eyes lit up every time she made her smile. When they finally stopped in front of a tall mahogany door, the teachers hesitated awkwardly at the threshold.
“I’m so sorry for crashing into you earlier,” Isadora apologized again, her eyebrows furrowed in a v-shape as she fidgeted anxiously with her rings. “Take my jacket to cover up the stain, I insist.”
Before the redhead knew what she was doing, she was shrugging out of her vintage overcoat, holding it outstretched. Fairburn widened her eyes a little, gazing fondly at the woman’s gracious gesture.
“Thank you,” she murmured under her breath softly, a warm smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“It was lovely meeting you, Isadora,” Fairburn told her with sincerity, their hands brushing at the exchange. “I’ll have to take you out for tea sometime, to make up for the chai that I made you spill this morning.”
Isadora’s breath hitched at the informal remark, in awe at how much she admired the sound of her name coming from the doctor’s lips. And more importantly, the implications behind her latter offer. Was she asking her on a date?
“Of course, the chai,” Isadora laughed nervously, clutching at the chain hanging from her neck in an act of comfort. “I’m in room 1465, so you know where to find me.”
“I’ll take note of that,” Rachael replied, giving her a sly wink.
Isadora waggled her fingers goodbye before her mind could completely override, her heartbeat thumping deafeningly loud in her chest as she hurried back towards her own classroom. Fuck. 1st Period Orchestra. She was at least 30 minutes late by now, and her students would no doubt be bombarding her with questions over her tardiness.
Still, orchestra class was the least she could think about when thoughts of her brief interaction with Dr. Fairburn ran circles through her mind. She sighed wistfully, daydreaming about the sensation of their hands grazing each other, the comforting scent of rosemary and chamomile surrounding her, the way that she had gazed at her so radiantly as if she had offered her the world in the palm of her hands when she had offered her jacket. Her musings had her stifling a giggle under her breath, warmth rising to the back of her neck and across her bare arms to the point that she no longer felt the chill that the absence of her coat left behind.
As Miss Capri opened the door to her classroom, the discordant noises of string instruments and chatter came to a screeching halt. The director kept her eyes trained ahead of her and her head held high, feeling the stares of dozens of students boring directly into the back of her skull. Deliberately avoiding eye contact, she took her time rearranging her music on the stand in front of the conductor’s podium. When she finally raised her gaze to the students around her, Wednesday Addams, the first chair cellist with her straight posture and piercing stare, was the first person to catch Miss Capri’s attention.
“It’s 8:35,” the pigtailed girl stated, her tone devoid of any inflection.
“I’m well aware, Miss Addams,” the director replied, keeping her voice smooth and her posture relaxed. “Do you have any other observations you’d like to share with the class?”
A long beat of silence indicated that the ravenette had decided to hold her tongue, and Miss Capri steadied her clammy palms by rotating the gemstone at her middle finger, promptly surveying the room and raising her conducting baton. “Now, why don’t we dive back into measure 28 of Shostakovich?”
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Later that day, Isadora sat in her office, scanning her eyes across Mozart after Beethoven piece in search of new music choices for next year’s spring concert. A cozy tableside lamp filled the room with a homey yellow-tinted glow, highlighting edges of leather-bound originals and the wooden curves of various string instruments scattered around her work space.
At the sound of a faint knock, the director called, “Come in,” and a cheery young werewolf with pink and blue highlights stepped inside.
“Hello, Miss Capri!” Enid Sinclair greeted her energetically, bouncing on her toes.
After a brief glance away from her laptop, the redhead noticed the shimmery drawstring bag slung over the girl’s shoulder and the pale pink leotard she was dressed in.
“Enid, what brings you here?” Isadora tilted back in her chair, a fond smile reaching her eyes at the sight of her favorite student.
“I just wanted to fill you in on some life updates,” the younger girl plopped down on the armchair across the room, tucking her pointe shoes inside of her drawstring bag. “I got a schedule change today because there’s finally a new dance teacher, can you believe it? Her name’s Miss Fairburn and she’s really sweet! A really good dancer too, you should see how graceful her turns are.”
“Oh?” Isadora said aloud, her heart catching in her throat at the mention of the woman she had encountered earlier that morning. She felt as if a jolt of electricity had just been zapped through her veins, her head buzzing in a way that made her dizzy. “I ran into her this morning, actually, and showed her to her classroom.”
“Is that why you were late to first period?” Enid tilted her head questioningly, quickly adding, “Wends told me about it!” before the director could ask her how she knew about her morning whereabouts.
“Yes,” Isadora sighed, shaking her head. She had come to acknowledge over the past few years of teaching that Enid and Wednesday were an inseparable pair, either attached at the hip or so well versed with the other’s activities that she could accuse them of sharing a hive mind.
“Ugh, don’t even get me started on my first period forensics. I know Dr. Drew is a zombie, but the speed he lectures at is agonizing!…” Enid chattered away, shifting to the next subject seamlessly.
While the younger werewolf ranted over her classes and the latest gossip in her pack, Isadora let her mind wander towards the idea of Rachael in a pair of pointe shoes and a leotard, spinning as gracefully as a professional ballerina. Even the thought momentarily took her breath away, leaving her so entranced that she barely felt the dull cut-off of circulation as she wound her silver necklace lanyard tighter and tighter around her pointer finger.
“Miss Capri, are you even listening to me?”
Isadora blinked out of her daydream to see Enid standing directly in front of her, waving a rainbow clawed hand in front of her face.
“Werewolves, right!” Miss Capri laughed an octave too high, an uneasy lilt as clear as day in her voice. “Sorry, Enid, you know how easily my mind can go wandering off in other directions.”
“Oh, tell me about it!” Enid giggled enthusiastically, raising a hand to her mouth. “Sometimes there’s a million thoughts running though my head and all of a sudden I remember- WAIT!” she exclaimed, her pupils shrinking rapidly as she widened her eyes. “I almost forgot I have an Arts and Crafts Club meeting today! I’ll catch you later, Miss Capri!” the werewolf called, gathering her things and racing out the door.
Isadora shook her head in amusement, gazing after the werewolf with a fierce affection. For once she was grateful that Enid’s distracted mind had kept her from pressing her for further questions about her dazed, unfocused state. For now she allowed herself to sink into the violet haze of her indulgent thoughts, dreamily allowing fantasies to run through her head.
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After that fateful Tuesday that Isadora found herself thinking about more than she wanted to admit, the werewolf promised herself that she would focus on her craft and chase all wishful delusions of Dr. Fairburn out of her mind. She poured herself over scores of Tchaikovsky, conducted countless rehearsals in preparation for the fall concert, and annotated fingerings and bowings of instrument parts past her work hours late into the night. By nearly working herself to death, she was convinced that she would have no time to dwell on foolish thoughts of the new dance teacher.
However, her affinity only grew stronger the more that she tried to avoid it. The director began to hear Rachael’s gentle laugh interweaved in the harmonies of the violas and cellos, swore she saw glances of a certain curly haired brunette every time she saw students passing by in multicolored stockings or sage green cardigans. She was reminded of her when she stirred honey into her chamomile tea at 1 in the morning, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as she imagined she was inhaling the familiar scent of the woman’s perfume. Isadora slammed her romance novel shut ungraciously, collapsing her head against the desk with an audible groan and making a mental note to switch to mystery novels since she couldn’t stop imaging Rachael in place of the love interest. She was utterly, foolishly lovesick.
It was a silly, one time interaction, she told herself, taking a deep breath to prevent herself from hyperventilating. She probably doesn’t even remember it, much less care about it weeks later.
Miss Capri repeated the thoughts in her head like a mantra, her claims being far from reassuring in any way. Standing atop her podium 5 minutes before class was about to start, she hummed the tune of their latest piece softly, idly tapping her hand against the metallic stand. There would be no more longing thoughts of her coworker for her.
No more, she promised, but memories from last night’s dream of Dr. Fairburn that caused her to wake up in a cold sweat with her skin flushed from head to toe lingered in the forefront of her mind like the morning fog that had descended upon Nevermore that autumn day, dewdrops clinging to her window turning the trees into orangey reddish hues.
To distract herself, Isadora made a slow lap around the orchestra room, observing the outcast musicians as they tuned their instruments and warmed up. She shook her head, a grin spreading across her face as she noticed that Wednesday had disregarded their orchestra piece in favor of a Prokofiev cello solo that she was shredding through with enough pressure to snap her C string in half. Passing by the center of the half moon formation, she spotted Yoko and Divina sitting at the edge of the viola and violin 2 sections, their knees brushing against each other in a way that made a warm feeling in her chest bloom. Finally, Isadora gave a curt nod to Bianca, the concert master and star violinist, who directed her attention to her director and lowered her instrument into rest position. All of the other students followed suit, relaxing their instruments and glancing up expectantly.
“All right, let’s get started today,” Miss Capri announced, raising her baton and diving right into their latest piece with a fluid flick of her wrist.
She allowed herself to get lost in the musicality of the echoing harmonies and melodies, signaling to Wednesday for each cello entrance and glancing affirmatively at each section when it was their turn to enter the fugue. As usual, Isadora felt as if she could spend hours waving her arms through the air in triangle patterns, savoring the artistic brilliance of ancient composers as her students figuratively brought the piece to life. She was so absorbed into her conducting that she scarcely noticed the soft click of the door opening and closing, a familiar figure stepping into the orchestra room.
When the orchestra faded into silence at the end of a fermata, the director’s concentration on her next queue was interrupted by a polite cough from behind. Turning around, Isadora found herself face to face with the woman who had been spinning circles through her mind, Dr. Fairburn. The werewolf felt as if her brain was short circuiting, her jaw going slack as her arms froze in midair.
“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” Rachael smiled apologetically, clasping her hands in front of her.
Isadora remained suspended in a spell of immobility, only blinking out of her trance when she realized that she had been staring for mortifyingly far too long of a time.
“No, no, it’s fine,” she reassured the other woman, her words coming out rushed and shaky.
Noticing the prying eyes of curious students surrounding her, she gestured at the musicians with a brief, “continue playing as an ensemble!”, leaping off of the podium to follow Dr. Fairburn out of the room where it was quieter.
Isadora was acutely aware of Wednesday’s sharp inhale, her piercing gaze following her like daggers pricking along her spine as she watched the director and the dance teacher leave the entire way out. The woman chose to ignore it, wiping the sweat against her brow and blowing a displaced strand of hair out of her face that had likely occurred due to focusing so intently on her conducting. When the two women finally made it out to the silence of the deserted hallway, Dr. Fairburn turned to Miss Capri intentionally.
“I just wanted to return your jacket and tell you that I appreciated your kindness,” Rachael told her gratefully, handing the director’s folded vintage jacket out to her.
Isadora bit the corner of her lip, feeling a tangible zap of electricity as their fingertips touched once again at the exchange.
“It’s no problem,” she looked down at her beige boots while fidgeting with her necklace chain, convinced that she would lose all of her ability to function normally if she met the other woman’s eyes.
“You were one of the first people I encountered at Nevermore, and I’m eternally grateful for the hospitality you’ve given me,” Dr. Fairburn replied earnestly, placing her palms gently over the other woman’s knuckles. “I won’t forget it, truly.”
Isadora glanced up involuntarily, her words catching in her throat as she found herself captivated by Rachael’s tender, loving gaze. She was unable to look away from the brunette’s honey colored eyes, a deep and genuine mirror into her soul that made her lower stomach flutter.
“It’s- it’s the least I could do,” Miss Capri stuttered, placing a shuddery hand against her rib cage in an attempt to calm the blood racing through her veins. “Nevermore spirit- and all.” She took a steadying breath that failed to release from her lungs, fidgeting with the sharp-edged band pressed against her ring finger.
“I have a feeling it’s more than that,” Fairburn’s eyes flashed knowingly, and Isadora’s heart nearly lurched forward straight out of her chest. “I can tell that you have a compassionate soul.”
Right, she wasn’t implying anything else, breathe, Isa, the werewolf told herself, convinced that the dance teacher across from her could feel her hammering pulse beating like thunder through her skin. The places where Fairburn's copper hands met hers burned like fire, contrasting to the metallic chill of her rings adorned across each finger.
“Oh, and,” Rachael continued, seemingly unaware of the director’s internal battle occurring inside of mind. “You’re quite beautiful when you’re up there conducting. Assertive, with an energy that’s immediately compelling to everyone in the room. I can see in the way your students look up at you that they deeply respect you.”
Isadora’s lungs could’ve popped right then and there, her brain replaying those initial words over and over again in her mind like a broken record. You’re quite beautiful. Oh god. The words dripped like honey through the places between her ribs, pooling into a fuzzy, saccharine sweet feeling in her lower belly. All she was able to give in return was a weak nod, her brain on the verge of shutting down at the woman’s mere remark.
“Oh, look at me rambling. I’ve been keeping you for too long,” Dr. Fairburn seemed to notice something in her expression, dropping her hands responsively. “May you get back to your conducting, it was a pleasure talking to you again, Isadora.”
In a sudden act of instinct, the director replied, “The same to you, Rachael.” Dr. Fairburn’s expression shifted slightly, the corners of her lips dimpling into a smile.
As the brunette departed across the hallway, Isadora felt like she had physically taken a piece of her heart with her. She wanted to reach out and beg the woman to stay, the sudden lack of proximity leaving her cold and hollow inside. Absentmindedly running her fingers over the metallic zipper of her borrowed leather jacket, she unintentionally inhaled the scent of chamomile and something unnameably earthy that could only be associated with Rachael.
The director clutched a hand to her chest, realizing that she couldn’t return to her students in the state she was in. Racing off towards the nearest restroom in a daze, she locked the door behind her and leaned against the wall, her head still spinning. Her vision swam, and if she had been looking in a mirror she would have noticed how dilated her pupils were. Fuck. She could barely think straight and her thoughts were an emotional wasteland, certainly not fit to teach her class. The director just allowed herself to sink against the cool tiled floor, taking deep breaths that she had been trained to do as a werewolf when she got overwhelmed. All the while, she lingered on the accented voice of the dance teacher, the searing feeling of her hands across her knuckles, their mingling breaths in a sentimental moment only they had shared.