Work Text:
The sticky Louisiana dusk settles over Maria’s backyard like warm honey, painting the oak trees in molten gold and deep violet shadows. Five-year-old Monica scrambles through the fallen leaves, her tiny hands clutching a crumpled paper bag already overflowing with crimson maple wings and buttery pecan fronds. Beside her, Carol kneels in the grass, her denim jacket sleeves rolled up, pointing out a perfect, flame-orange sweetgum leaf half-buried near the fence.
"Intel says that’s a priority target, Lieutenant Trouble," Carol murmurs, her voice a conspiratorial whisper that makes Monica giggle and dive for the treasure.
Maria leans against the peeling porch railing, her smile soft as she watches them. Carol’s laughter rings out when Monica proudly displays her find, a smudge of dirt on the child’s cheek. The air hums with cicadas and the dry rustle of leaves underfoot, the scent of damp earth and distant rain clinging to the cooling air.
Later, when twilight deepens to velvet night, Maria spreads an old quilt over the dewy grass. Monica curls against Carol’s side, her eyelids drooping, while Carol traces the glittering belt of Orion with a calloused finger.
"See those three bright stars?" Carol’s voice is low, almost a lullaby. "That’s the hunter’s sword. He’s chasing Taurus across the sky."
Maria’s hand finds Carol’s in the dark, their fingers tangling loosely as Carol spins tales of heroes and beasts written in starlight. Above them, the Milky Way bleeds across the black, indifferent and ancient, but here, in this small backyard, the universe feels tender, held between three sets of upturned eyes.