Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i.

The kids are only gone for a night, staying at her mother’s, but the house still feels hollowly empty when Janet comes home and they’re not there to greet her. She goes through the motions of putting her purse away and changing out of her suit, checks the fridge: most of a smoothie from yesterday; a week-old box of leftover Chinese that is emitting a questionable smell; three carrots, a wilting head of lettuce, and an onion. That’ll have to do. Serves her right for forgetting to stop at Coles on the way home from work.

She tosses the dodgy takeaway into the rubbish and makes a salad, drizzles yoghurt and lemon juice half-heartedly over the top of it when she finds she’s out of salad dressing, too. She eats it in front of the TV, watching in morbid fascination as someone squawks their way through a rendition of Grease Lightning whilst juggling oranges on Australia’s Got Talent. ‘No, it really doesn’t,’ she says to the screen, and turns it off.

Sad salad finished, Janet takes a look around her too-large, too-quiet house and decides she can’t stay here, not when her mind is elsewhere, rent down the middle between work and the kids, the kids and work. It’s still light outside, dusk just beginning to hint at its intention to smother the sky, and that has it settled: she’ll go for a run.

It’s been muggy all week, sweat gathered at her palms and her neck and the small of her back, and for the first two-hundred metres she feels like she’s jogging against a wet blanket, but once her muscles warm up it’s not so bad. She turns left at the main road and passes the sweet, strange girl with the dogs who lives a few houses down, but the rest of the people she sees she sees from a distance, watering their lawns – shit, Janet thinks, it’s Wednesday, she should really water her own – or sipping beer on their porches as traffic goes by. She keeps her eyes forward, doesn’t engage, doesn’t draw attention; she’s just a regular woman, running her regular route.

There’s a traffic jam at the lights, cars banked up as far as she can see them, so she makes a detour early and cuts through the park. It’s quieter, here; five or six students have set up camp on the gazebo, laughing and passing bottles between them; a family is still out playing Frisbee, making use of the last of the light; an older couple is walking hand-in-hand along the path where Janet runs, and the woman stares at her as she passes, stark recognition in her eyes, but says nothing. Janet follows the winding curve of the path around the man-made lake at its centre, then turns up to circle around the perimeter from the other direction – she figures that by the time she’s made it home, it will be dark and she’ll have managed about eight kilometres. She is just thinking how much she’s looking forward to getting back, to stripping out of her running gear and climbing into the shower, when she realises she is half a second from crashing into the woman running towards her. She has enough time to exclaim something nonsensical but not enough to steer herself off course, and they collide.

Janet manages to regain her balance before toppling over entirely, but her companion isn’t so lucky. ‘God, I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘I don’t know where my head was when I—Bianca?’

‘Guilty as charged.’ Bianca grins up at her, brushes at the wayward bits of grass and gravel that have stuck to the calves of her gym pants. ‘Are you all right?’

Janet shakes her head on a laugh, extends a hand to help her up and Bianca takes it, her skin warm. ‘Don’t ask me that, I’m the one who just bowled you over on a gravel path. I’m sorry,’ she says again. ‘Are you scraped?’

‘No harm done,’ Bianca says easily. ‘I may have gone down, but at least I landed where I’ve got padding.’

Janet resists the sudden urge to check out said padding and settles for raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. I’m tough.’ Bianca is smiling at her, gently teasing, and Janet feels herself flush; as though she senses it and wants to put Janet at ease, Bianca gestures wordlessly in the direction of the park bench nearby and they head there together. Janet sits, grateful for the break, but Bianca stays standing, stretching out her well-toned calves against the metal back of the bench; Janet looks away before she can find herself staring. She focuses her attention instead on a poodle across the lawn, watches it bounce around like a battery-operated toy as it chases leaves, jumps and falls, jumps and falls.

They’re quiet for several moments, the quiet of two tired people who spend their entire workdays in conversation, and then Bianca looks over at her. ‘Do you usually take this route?’

‘Not usually. I tend rather to go out towards Kingsgrove, just didn’t feel like it today.’

Bianca grins. ‘What, didn’t want to risk running into someone you work with?’

Janet glances up, has to smirk. ‘Something like that. How about you, you come here a lot?’

Bianca shakes out her legs and takes a seat beside Janet on the bench, leans back against it. ‘More and more, lately. I have a gym, as well, but it tends to be overrun by the AFP, the DPP, the ATO, DOCS… it’s a veritable alphabet soup of public servants.’

The wry truth of it surprises a laugh out of Janet, surprise that comes from the image she’s been holding of Bianca as an earnest, competent, impeccable-suit-wearing professional; those things are all still true, of course, but there’s more wit, more humour behind those eyes that she’d given her credit for. It’s a pleasant realisation, one that warms her with the confirmation that her instincts about Bianca have been right: it’s always a good sign when people in their line of work don’t take themselves too seriously.

She only realises she’s been studying Bianca this whole time when Bianca smiles, the quirk of her lips a question. Janet smiles back, flexes her toes. ‘We probably shouldn’t sit here so long that we cool down, should we?’

‘No,’ Bianca agrees. ‘I should go a little further before it gets dark.’

‘How much further?’

‘I’ve done about five so far, but I usually do ten to twelve.’ She is completely casual as she says this, a matter of fact and not pride; Janet likes that about her.

‘Ambitious,’ she says, nodding. ‘I’m impressed. How about we run back to my place together and then you head back from there? That should give you an extra six, and a bit of company.’

She isn’t sure she’s going to suggest it until she’s done it – it just happens, slips out of her mouth before she can think twice – and she registers the slight, well-covered surprise in the twitch of Bianca’s eyebrow before she smiles, almost shy, and says, ‘If you sure? That sounds nice.’

They have cooled down a little since they both stopped, so Janet stretches out her Achilles again, just to be safe, and they set out at a slightly slower pace. It’s almost dark, now, the pink of the city sunset giving way to a deeper blue as the sun disappears behind the skyscrapers surrounding them. There are mosquitos thickening the air, drawn out to play by the humidity of twilight, and the cicadas have already started their evening chorus in the trees lining the side of the road. Janet doesn’t usually exercise with other people present – she gets too competitive; they get offended; she ends up having to be conciliatory the next day and it’s boring – but after the first kilometre they settle into a pace that seems to suit both of them. Bianca doesn’t insist on talking, seems content with the sound of their breathing, the synchronised slap of their shoes against the pavement, and it’s comfortable. Nice. She likes that Bianca lets her breathe.

By the time they turn into her street, the stars are starting to wink out from behind the clouds and they’re using a combination of the streetlights and a sliver of moon to see. Outside the gates, Janet turns to Bianca and jokes, ‘Thanks for the escort.’

Bianca winks. ‘For you, any time.’

She’s hot from the run, Janet thinks; that’s all. Time for a shower. Belatedly, she asks, ‘Do you want to come up for a glass of water or something? Something to eat?’

But Bianca is already shaking her head. ‘I have water, thanks.’ She pats a little bottle clipped onto the band of her running pants. Janet finds herself watching the flex of Bianca’s forearms, the play of muscles as she fiddles with the bottle cap, and forces herself to look away. To think away. ‘You’ll be all right, then?’ she asks. ‘Getting home?’

‘Of course. Thanks. We could—’ Bianca stops, seems suddenly shier than Janet would ever have thought her. ‘We could do it again some time, if you’d like. Intentionally, I mean.’ But before Janet has time to digest the offer, to respond at all, Bianca has already started to jog away. She turns back and gives her a little wave. ‘Goodnight, Janet. See you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Bianca,’ Janet calls back, but she’s already disappeared into the dark.

Chapter Text

ii.

The floor is almost empty, the others farmed off to some mind-numbing briefing that Janet thankfully didn’t have to attend, so she’s surprised when there are three sharp raps on her office door. Her mouth opens on the temptation to ask who it is, but she manages to turn it into, ‘Come in,’ instead – she doesn’t want people to think she’s getting paranoid, does she?

Janet has to physically stop herself from breathing a sigh of relief when it’s Bianca’s head – Bianca’s smile, Bianca’s silky, immaculate hair – that pops around the doorframe. ‘Hi, Janet,’ Bianca says. ‘I hope I’m not – um. Interrupting?’

Janet grins. ‘What makes you say that?’

Bianca, brains as well as beauty, takes that for the invitation it’s intended to be and comes the rest of the way in. She’s left the door standing ajar, just so, and Janet feels a sweeping rush of affection for her for the small courtesy, the lack of presumption so evident in that action.

Janet beckons to her visitor’s chair before Bianca has to ask. ‘Please, have a seat. I’ll be up in a second.’

Bianca does, crosses one leg over the other and peers down at where Janet is sitting on the floor beside her desk, back straight, limbs knotted together. ‘Don’t rush on my account,’ Bianca says mildly, ‘I’ve got time. I’d quite frankly also like to be here to see you get out of this one.’

‘Sadist.’ Janet unwinds her lotus and crosses her left leg over her right, breathes into it deep; no matter how much she practices, she always finds this side more of a challenge. She glances up at Bianca’s amused, interested face, and says, ‘I don’t usually do this with an audience, you know.’

‘My sincerest apologies, Commissioner, but in my own defence, I did actually come over for a reason.’ Bianca’s lip twitches, a smile she can’t quite contain, and she holds up the thick A4 envelope on her lap. ‘Here’s that surveillance info you were after.’

‘Oh, wonderful! That was quick.’ Janet finally unfolds herself, taking a moment to stretch out her hamstrings and her calves before she stands and takes the envelope from Bianca’s outstretched hand. She fingers the seal but doesn’t open it, smiles over at her. ‘Thanks, Bianca.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Bianca says. She is standing now, too, hands in the pockets of her well-tailored suit.

‘I didn’t mean to chase you out, just now,’ Janet says, gesturing vaguely at the door. ‘I just meant I… I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in.’

‘No need to explain, really. I sometimes—’ Bianca opens her mouth, closes it, scratches her head. Janet raises an eyebrow. ‘I may have been accused of playing darts in my office,’ she finally admits. ‘Allegedly. Once or twice.’

Her embarrassment is so out of character with the cool, collected officer Janet has come to know that she’s grinning before she can register that she’s doing it. ‘Darts, you say?’

‘Allegedly,’ Bianca says again, all unconvincing earnestness. ‘No documented proof as of this moment.’

‘Uh huh.’ Janet crosses her arms over her chest, allows herself a moment to picture it – Bianca, in her office, in her crisp white shirt and pinstriped trousers, rolling up her sleeves to throw darts at a board on the wall – and grins. ‘Where’d you get infected, then? Federal Police Academy?’

Bianca looks like she’s going to protest a moment longer and then sighs in defeat. ‘Federal Police Academy.’

‘Ha, I knew it!’

‘You really feel entitled to tease me when I just caught you doing yoga in your office? In a suit?’

‘Sure I do,’ Janet sniffs. ‘Yoga’s completely different. Yoga’s good for inner peace and not raging off at your colleagues and all that.’

‘I see. Why are you here, anyway? Didn’t you get drafted to that health and safety briefing?’

‘Theoretically yes, but I sent my minions. What good would they be to me otherwise?’

Bianca is laughing, shaking her head, and a strip of fringe falls into her eyes that Janet wishes, for a split second, she could brush away. ‘I hope you’ll pardon my saying so, Commissioner, but I get the distinct impression you’re full of crap.’

Janet tries for a glare, but Bianca’s laughter is infectious and she can’t sustain it. ‘Sad but true.’ Silence falls and they smile at each other, comfortable and uncomfortable, straightforward and tension-filled; Janet wonders if she’s the only one projecting her tension, refuses to think about why Bianca’s unassuming closeness would create tension at all – instead, she takes a step back, takes a sip from the bottle of water she keeps on her desk.

The cool liquid fortifies her, settles her head, and when she’s swallowed she’s able to smile at Bianca normally and say, ‘Jokes aside, do you do yoga?’

‘Now and then, when I make it to a class. I’m not brave enough to do it independently, like this. Too worried I’ll do in my knees, y’know how it is.’

Janet watches her a moment, considering, and then says, ‘I could give you a few pointers, if you like.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Sure. I mean, I’m not an expert, and I usually just use a DVD when I do it at home, but I could show you a couple of tricks to help you strengthen your joints. Even if you don’t use them for yoga, you’ll probably find them useful for running.’

Bianca smiles at her, all easy warmth, and says, ‘That would be great, Janet. If you have the time.’

Janet waves that away. ‘I’ll make the time.’ She glances down at the envelope of surveillance photos beside her, thinks about the email she’s got to write to Tony, the report she’s got to get to the AG. She should politely shoo Bianca away, she thinks; she should sit back down at her desk and get to work. She opens her mouth to do so, but what comes out instead is, ‘How about right now?’

Bianca laughs, and then notices Janet’s raised eyebrow. ‘Shit, you’re serious?’

Janet shrugs. ‘No time like the present, right? I mean, if you can.’

‘I actually can,’ Bianca says. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, taps a few keys, and then nods. ‘I’m wearing a suit and heels, but apart from that, why the hell not?’

Janet pats her on the forearm. ‘That’s the spirit.’

The suit trousers are definitely not the world’s most logical yoga outfit, but it’s doable once she’s gotten rid of her jacket and belt and heels. She stands in front of Janet, a little expectant, a little shy; it’s that different side of her again, that softer, more open, less-than-certain-of-everything side, and Janet likes it. ‘We’ll start standing,’ Janet says. ‘Plant your feet shoulder-width apart, and allow your muscles to sink into the floor. Keep your spine straight, drop your shoulders… feel the weight spread evenly throughout your body. Spread your toes as far apart as you can… feel your feet connect with the ground…’

Once she’s started, the words come easily, saved somewhere in that distant hard-drive in her brain that is reserved for things she hadn’t thought she’d remember. A few seconds in, Bianca closes her eyes, and Janet finds herself glad; glad for the chance to not have to maintain eye-contact while she speaks, glad for the unobserved chance to study Bianca, study her face, her features, the delicate ridge of her collarbone under her shirt. Janet takes them through the basics in a low voice, grateful for the unexpected peace of the moment, for the quiet trust engendered by Bianca’s presence and the steady evenness of their breathing.

‘Hold your weight steady at your core as you lower yourself down… hold the squat now for ten seconds… nine…’ When Janet gets to number three, Bianca makes a noise, just a hitch of breath with her eyes still closed, and Janet asks, ‘What is it?’

Bianca chuckles. ‘Just imagining Andy’s face if he were to knock on your door right now.’

The image flashes across Janet’s own mind and she grins just as Bianca’s eyes open and meet hers, warm and laughing, and Janet is suddenly acutely aware of all the empty space between them, of the simultaneous enormity and constriction of the room. Bianca’s eyes are gentle, a little probing, a lot teasing, and Janet has to look away before she—

Well. She coughs, lightly, and Bianca seems to understand whatever it is that Janet meant by it, despite the fact that Janet herself doesn’t know; whatever it is, whatever Bianca does to ease the pressure, Janet is able to slow her heartbeat, to regain control of her breathing and go on.

Bianca is good. She’s comfortable in her own body, she can follow instruction, and she’s eager to learn and competent at doing so, and Janet finds herself sliding into more complex poses before she can give too much thought to Bianca’s experience. After Bianca manages a revolved half-moon with a core strength almost steadier than Janet’s own, Janet has no qualms about folding it up and out, sinking from a high lunge back down into reverse warrior, holding it long and straight, and then stretching up into the revolved side angle posture that is such pure, glorious hell on Janet’s quads. Bianca grimaces at the pain and then turns it into a grin when she notices Janet studying her; Bianca startles and they both laugh, right arms extended above their heads, and it is at this moment that Bianca’s imagination proves prophetic and Andy walks in.

To his credit, he does knock; he just doesn’t bother to wait for an answer. ‘Bloody hell, Janet, you are so lucky you got out of that — meeting,’ he finishes. His hand is still locked in a half-fist in the air, comical, and his mouth forms a distinctly fish-like ‘o’ of surprise. ‘Um,’ he says. ‘What?’

Janet smiles at him, pleasant. ‘Hello, Andy.’

‘Hey, Andy,’ Bianca says. Neither of them move. Andy looks from one to the other and back again, theories creasing his forehead quicker than wrinkles.

‘Hey,’ he says. Then, finally, ‘I can come back later, if you want?’

Bianca’s poker face is flawless, and it’s that alone that keeps Janet from giving in to the overwhelming urge to laugh. ‘Sure,’ Janet says. ‘Go get yourself a coffee and come back in five, yeah? Bianca brought over the latest surveillance photos.’

‘Oh, great.’ He looks at Bianca, who smiles serenely at him. ‘Uh, yeah. Great. Okay, I’m gonna ju—’ The end of the sentence is swallowed in his rush to make it out the door, but Janet notes that he at least manages to close it behind him with relative gentleness. 9/10 for self-control, she thinks.

Janet brings them out of the pose and guides Bianca into a couple of cool-down stretches; they are quiet, comfortable, the camaraderie of shared laughter at someone else’s expense serving to further connect them. It’s only when Andy’s footsteps have completely receded that Bianca laughs, a sweet, soft thing, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in an action that touches Janet in its unguarded girlishness. The spike of attraction that follows it is something she can’t deny, not now; maybe it’s the yoga making her calmer, a little less high-strung, but this time, she just accepts it; doesn’t indulge it, doesn’t judge it, just lets it wash over her and then lets it go. She might have to think about it, later, in the darkness of her bedroom, when she’s caught on the edge of dreaming and waking and the ambiguousness of being semi-conscious lends her courage, but not right now.

Right now, Bianca is sliding her leather belt back around her waist, stepping back into her shoes, shrugging on her jacket, and then she is standing in Janet’s doorway, rocking back and forth on her heels, hands in her pockets. They watch each other a long, charged moment, and then Bianca tilts her head and says, ‘That was fun. Thanks, Janet.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Janet says. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

‘I did. I’ll have to try to make it to a class more often.’

‘I recommend it.’ Janet chuckles, self-conscious. ‘Helps me relax, anyway, most of the time.’ Bianca is smiling at her again, and Janet feels compelled to add, ‘But if you ever want to do it again sometime, let me know. I can sure use the distraction, lately.’

‘I might just do that.’ Bianca smirks, leans against the doorframe, her body an elegant line enhanced by her suit. ‘Maybe during the next intra-department diplomacy meeting, what do you say?’

‘That’s inspired,’ Janet tells her, serious. ‘What better way to prove to our esteemed superiors that we’re getting along than by doing hippie sport together on government time?’

‘Well, when you put it like that, how could we resist?’

‘How indeed. So it’s a date?’

‘It’s a date,’ Bianca says. She gives Janet a mock-salute, sticks out her tongue. ‘Until then.’

Of course Andy has chosen exactly that moment to return bearing two cups of coffee; eyebrows in his hairline, he watches Bianca stride away – as does Janet, if she’s honest – and then spins around and starts to say, ‘Should I ask what that—’

‘No,’ Janet says. ‘Just go with it.’

Andy’s a smart guy. Andy goes with it.

Chapter Text

iii.

She showers hot, too hot, steams the bathroom mirror into a white-hazed cocoon and prunes her fingers when she stays in there too long. She turns up the pressure on the showerhead, wills it to pound out the memory of their argument, of Bianca’s bristling indignation at her coldness, at the resurgence of her own foot-in-mouth disease. The spray cascades down her hair, down her forehead and into her eyes, her mouth; she shakes her head, shakes it out, coughs it away. She’s making herself crazy with this, thinking and worrying and over-analysing – why does she care so much, anyway? She disagrees with colleagues all the time – so she spins around, turns off the water with a creak that echoes all the way through the motel’s dodgy pipes. Time to get out.

Janet dries her hair with the lurid orange motel hairdryer, turns it up to the highest setting so the roar of it drowns out the silence, drowns out the cacophony of her own back-and-forth, up-and-down thoughts. Should she apologise? Knock on the door adjoining their rooms, breach that sacred no man’s land that lies unacknowledged between them, and ask for a truce? God, she thinks, this is why I don’t have any friends; it’s far too much work. It’s far too much stress to keep it all afloat.

She kills another few minutes on moisturising, on applying the anti-aging eye cream (special overnight variety) that was a less-than-subtle Christmas gift from her well-meaning but manipulative mother. Counts backwards from twenty-seven while she brushes her hair. Cuts her jagged fingernails, which are out of control again; Ash used to grin at her and call them talons. She thinks for a longing moment of Skyping the kids but knows it’s too late. Goes hot for a moment with fury, with exhaustion at the injustice of this entire bullshit situation.

She’s just changed into her makeshift pyjamas – a pair of threadbare leggings, an ironic Backstreet Boys t-shirt that belonged to Ash – and begun to contemplate the appeal of a box of cold, lonely takeaway when a suspicious thump, followed by a crash, sounds from next door and she goes still, adrenaline singing through her blood. She strains her ears – was that a groan? – and then definitely hears a low curse; the walls in here are as thin as Gladwrap and she feels instinctively that something is wrong, that something has happened, that—

‘Bianca?’ she calls, knocking loudly on the adjoining door, unspoken rules be damned. ‘Bianca, are you there? What’s going on?’

A moment of tense silence that has her heart ricocheting around her chest like a squash ball, and then—

‘Yeah, Janet, just a – hang on a sec.’

She does, her foot tapping tapping tapping on the ugly retro carpet, and then the lock clicks and the door creaks open, and Bianca’s slightly sheepish face pokes around it. She gives her a small smile and says, ‘Hi. You okay?’

‘Me?’ Janet raises an eyebrow. ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’

‘I’m, ah, I’m fine,’ Bianca says, and shakes her head on a laugh. ‘God, I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t mean to worry you.’

Janet’s first instinct is to bristle at the assumption, but she can’t deny that it’s hit the mark; she somehow still never expects it, the fact that Bianca can already read her so well. She swallows the instinctive urge to be defensive and says instead, ‘What happened? You hoarding elephants in there or something?’ She goes to peer around the door and Bianca chuckles, opens it wider in invitation.

‘Come in,’ she says, easily, as though they weren’t chafing against each other just an hour ago. As though it’s forgotten. She walks over to the bed and perches on the edge of it, rubbing her ankle. ‘I was just running through some katas and – well, let’s just say my spatial awareness decided to fail me. Knocked over the phone and took my handbag with it.’

It’s only then that Janet notices said phone – the clunky black motel one – and handbag lying on the floor beside the desk. She moves to pick them up on autopilot and then feels awkward, strangely intimate handling Bianca’s things. ‘Sorry,’ she says, but Bianca just gives her a look. She ignores it, inclines her head towards the ankle Bianca is still massaging. ‘No serious damage, I hope?’

‘Just to my pride,’ Bianca says, grinning. ‘It was bloody idiotic of me. Spun around with a bit too much enthusiasm and nicked the desk. Lucky I passed all those gruelling AFP fitness and coordination requirements, huh?’

Janet snorts. ‘You feds, you’re all the same, honestly. You think because you do a bit of field work now and then you’re in condition. Try having two kids under five, that’ll show you real fitness.’

‘Well, I’ll just have to give up now, won’t I? You’ve pulled the mum card and that’s a trump.’

They’re smiling at each other across the room, gazes locked and sparking, when Janet remembers, like a chilly draught, what happened earlier; her cold rescindment of the dinner invitation, Bianca’s sharp words. Bianca must see the change in her eyes, must sense it in the air, because she coughs and looks back down at her ankle. Janet looks away. She needs to make the first move here, she knows, she just needs to—

‘Janet,’ Bianca says, gently. She’s looking at her again, head tilted, lock of dark hair falling into her eyes, and Janet feels a pang of something in her chest, something layered and difficult that makes her swallow. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No,’ Janet says, because now that Bianca has been the brave one, has opened the door between them – literally, figuratively – Janet can step through it, too. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry, Bianca.’ She moves to the bed and hovers, uncertain, before the look in Bianca’s eyes assures her she is welcome to sit. She does, but keeps a respectable distance between them, picks at flyaway threads on the bedspread as she talks. ‘I was disappointed and pissed off and I – I could have been more understanding. It… it can’t be easy, what you’re going through.’

‘It’s part of the job,’ Bianca says, shrugging, but the shadows under her eyes tell a different story.

‘That doesn’t make it easier.’

Bianca smiles wryly. ‘No, it doesn’t. I guess I was a bit frayed earlier, too. I…’ she hesitates before she reaches out, tentative, to cover Janet’s hand with her own. ‘I can only imagine what it must mean to you to have lost this lead. I really am sorry it didn’t work out.’

The warm weight of Bianca’s hand on her own is a pleasant solace until it isn’t, and Janet, nerves tingling, pulse quickening, throat dry, has to smile and gently extricate her fingers before she—

‘Thank you,’ she says, and means it; she holds Bianca’s eyes, tries to communicate in doing so that the gesture of comfort wasn’t unwelcome. Bianca smiles a little, a twist of her lip, and Janet thinks she understands. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more sensitive.’ She grimaces. ‘Believe it or not, I’ve been told before that it’s a failing of mine. Do you,’ –she clears her throat— ‘do you want to, ah, talk about it? The shooting?’

‘God no,’ Bianca says, and Janet laughs.

‘Just thought I’d ask.’

‘The offer is appreciated,’ Bianca tells her, ‘but exercising it out is more my style.’

Cue to change the subject comprehended, Janet nods sagely. ‘Indeed. Katas, you said? That’s karate, right?’

Bianca nods. ‘I started doing it in year nine and just kept going. It helped me a lot with focus, discipline, fitness, all that.’

‘If you started in year nine you must be—’

‘I’m pretty good,’ Bianca says, grinning, baring a row of straight white teeth. ‘Don’t cross me.’

Janet laughs. ‘I wouldn’t dream it of it. Would you show me?’

‘Show you?’ Bianca asks. ‘What, here?’

Janet shrugs. ‘If your ankle’s up to it, I mean. I’m interested.’

Bianca gives her a look that’s a little surprised, even a little self-conscious, and then says, ‘Let’s test it and see, huh?’ She stands, rolls her foot a few times and then gently rests her weight on it, moves up and down a little, hops from side to side. ‘Seems intact,’ she says. ‘Go on, stand up then.’

‘Me?’ Janet asks.

‘No, I’m talking to my handbag. Yes, you.’

‘But I thought—’

‘It’s easier if we do it together. More interesting for you, too. I’ll just teach you the first one or two and then we should, ah, probably head to bed.’

Janet feels her cheeks heat at that, isn’t sure she wants to know why. ‘If you want to go to bed now I’m happy to leave you to it, you know; I didn’t mean to—’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Bianca says, waving her off. ‘I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to. Just tell me if you’re too tired and we can—‘

‘No, no, I’m fine. I’m not the one who tried to get in a kung-fu fight with a motel phone.’

‘Janet,’ Bianca says, seriously, ‘I thought we’d talked about the fact that this is karate?’

Janet grins. ‘Come on, then, what are you waiting for?’

‘Cheeky bugger,’ Bianca mutters, and Janet pokes out her tongue at her, has to laugh at her mock-affronted expression.

As the phone-and-handbag incident has already proven, there isn’t a great deal of space in the room, but they shift the desk chair aside, push the TV out of harm’s way, and with the help of some basic geometry make it work. The katas are methodical and similar to some of the motions Janet used to do at Tai Chi, so she picks it up quickly, and finds herself appreciating the flex and pull of Bianca’s taut muscle as she moves, graceful and patient and strong; finds herself relaxing to the sound of Bianca’s steady, even voice as she articulates the movements to come or murmurs quiet corrections to Janet’s stance.

By the time it’s over and Janet’s just about got the second kata committed to memory, she’s a convert: karate is the perfect sport for a control freak, she thinks, all forward-thinking and careful tension and tightly-controlled use of force. She doesn’t articulate it to Bianca at quite that level of detail, but she does tell her she liked it, that it made her feel more relaxed.

‘Think you’ll sleep?’ Bianca asks, and as if to answer for her, Janet’s body decides that that moment would be a good time to yawn. ‘Case closed,’ Bianca says, grinning, and Janet rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling back.

‘Thanks for showing me that,’ she says, as she walks back through the open door to her room, lingers once she’s over the threshold. ‘You’re a good teacher.’

‘You’re a good student,’ Bianca says. ‘If only my year three yellow-belt kids would concentrate as well as you just did.’

‘You teach this to kids? I didn’t know that.’

Bianca smiles – flirtatious, mysterious – and leans in and murmurs, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Janet King.’

Her eyes are warm and dark and sparkling, and Janet feels herself blushing for the second time this evening, is no longer naïve enough not to realise that this woman, this constant delightful surprise of a woman, is at the core of it. It takes her more time than it should to break their gaze, to clear her throat and gesture behind her to the room. ‘Well, I guess I’d better…’

‘Of course,’ Bianca says. ‘Sleep well, Janet.’

‘You too. Try not to knock over any electrical appliances during the night.’

‘Ha ha,’ Bianca says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’ She’s just about to close the adjoining door again when the white container on the table catches her eye. ‘Hey,’ she says.

Bianca, still leaning against the desk, watching her, frowns and says, ‘What is it?’

‘I just realised we never ate the noodles.’

‘Huh,’ Bianca says. ‘True.’

‘Are you… are you hungry? Do you still want some?’

Bianca seems to give it some thought and then shakes her head. ‘I think I’ll just go to sleep, have a big breakfast. What about you?’

‘Same,’ Janet says. She makes a face. ‘Besides, the thought of cold Thai doesn’t exactly appeal, does it?’

Bianca huffs out a laugh. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Sorry I stormed off,’ Janet says again. ‘Caused us both to starve on a point of pride.’

‘I said don’t worry about it,’ Bianca says gently. ‘I meant it, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Janet says. Somehow, she believes her. She always believes her. ‘I’m really going now.’

Bianca laughs. ‘Sweet dreams,’ she says, and the look in her eyes when she says it makes Janet feel warm from the inside out, like she’s curled up with a good book on a rainy day.

‘Sweet dreams,’ she echoes, and Bianca closes the door between them and Janet’s still standing there, smiling. She tosses the noodles, cleans her teeth, and turns out the light, Bianca’s words resonating through her mind: ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Janet King.’

Yet.

She curls up under the covers and sleeps through the night.

Chapter Text

iv.

After it happens, the cops usher Janet into an empty ground floor office and take her statement, ask questions, and then send in a second set of AFP detectives to ask them all over again. Janet talks and talks and talks until her heart is numb and her throat is sore and her skin is itching with barely-repressed panic, and then, when they want her to talk even more, she stands and says, ‘Thank you for your time, but that’s enough. I’m going home to be with my children.’ Her voice is more even than she can fathom, later, and she strides out of there on weak legs, ignoring the disgruntled rumbling of the men she’s left behind. She doesn’t care.

She’d been short and dismissive to Bianca, earlier, and she’s going to have to correct that sometime soon, but right now she barely has the energy to make it out to her car. Barely knows if she’ll manage to drive it home. She has to detour via the crime scene tape to get back to her office, where she steadfastly avoids the computer screen (the computer screen that she knows will still have the sketch on it, the sketch, oh God), shoves the work she needs for the weekend into her briefcase with quivering fingers and then gets out of there—

—only to run smack bang into Bianca into the corridor.

‘Oh!’ Janet exclaims, a hand to her chest, her heart hammering near-painful against her ribcage. ‘Oh, Bianca, thank God it’s you.’ And then she bursts into tears.

Bianca’s arms are around her before her brain can catch up to her body, Bianca’s voice gentle and soothing as she says, ‘I’ve got you, Janet, I’ve got you, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ and it’s nonsense, it’s nothing, but Janet still finds herself nodding against Bianca’s hair, reassured by the familiar warmth of Bianca’s hands between her shoulder blades, by the quiet steadiness of her voice.

When Janet comes back to herself, her tears have soaked a mascara-tinted patch into Bianca’s shoulder, and she hears herself groan against the fabric. ‘Sorry,’ she says.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bianca chuckles and draws back a little to look at her, her hands still warm on Janet’s shoulders. ‘It really could not be less important.’

‘Where are the kids?’ Janet asks, sniffing. ‘I need to see the kids, I need to—’

‘They’ve been with me the whole time,’ Bianca tells her gently. She pushes a lock of tear-matted hair behind Janet’s ear, brushes her thumb against Janet’s clenched jaw. ‘They’re okay, all things considered, but they want to see you. Tony’s with them now.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Conference room downstairs.’

They go via the stairs – the lift is taped off, and Janet very decidedly doesn’t even acknowledge it in her peripheral vision – and via the bathroom, where Janet splashes cold water onto her face, reapplies her lipstick, runs a brush through her hair. She catches Bianca’s eye in the mirror and manages a smile. ‘Vanity at all times, is that what you’re thinking?’

‘Of course not,’ Bianca says. Then she smirks. ‘I was thinking, totally inappropriately, that you’re a babe. Even with bloodshot eyes.’

Janet laughs aloud at that, shakes her head. She washes her hands, washes them again, washes them a third time; tries to steady them beneath the hot jet of the dryer. She’s got this.

‘No rush,’ Bianca murmurs, as though she’s read her mind. ‘Take your time.’

She reaches out to touch Janet’s shoulder and then seems to think better of it, withdraws her hand; that hesitation is enough to make Janet turn and face her head on, to swallow her pride and say, ‘I’m sorry. About before. I shouldn’t have… I just shut down. I shouldn’t have.’

It’s far from being her best apology, or even a good apology, but Bianca is both better versed in communication and too good for her, and so of course she just smiles and takes a step closer, rubs her hands up and down Janet’s arms. ‘Forgiven,’ Bianca says. ‘Not that you even need to apologise. I’m pretty sure it would make me a terrible person to hold a traumatised woman’s behaviour against her five minutes after the traumatic event.’ Her voice softens as she says, ‘You’re so hard on yourself, Janet. I try not to be hard on you, too.’

Janet can feel herself tearing up again so she just nods, holds her hand out to Bianca and says, ‘Let’s go.’

*

The government-appointed trauma counsellor recommends that she take a week off work, and for the first time in a long time, she agrees to do so without complaint. People with cameras have already started to congregate outside the council building, hankering for quotes, and since Janet has no desire to dodge their questions or the sympathetic gazes of her colleagues until the drama has died down, she calls in. She’d rather be close to the kids right now, anyway.

(They have been to counselling, too, and although they seem to be bouncing back with relative speed, Emma is quieter than usual and not sleeping through the night. Janet has been assured that that’s normal, or as normal as anything about this situation can get.

‘Keep an eye on it,’ the counsellor had said to her. ‘Come back if it doesn’t improve in a couple of weeks.’ As though Janet will ever be able to keep her eye off it, off them, again.)

The two days a week Emma and Liam are at preschool, Janet leaves her work in her briefcase, orders groceries online, and reads Liane Moriarty novels in Bianca’s pyjamas. She only showers and changes into presentable clothes when two o’clock rolls around and it’s time to collect the kids; then, she puts on sunglasses and a hat and goes out the back way, fearing the press, but they’ve either found something juicier to hold their attention or they’re concentrating their efforts on the commission. Let them.

Indulging her desire to do nothing for a couple of days does her good. Walking down to the preschool, alone in the sunshine, does her good. Even being away from Bianca, talking to her every night but not seeing her, does her good; she doesn’t blame Bianca for anything, doesn’t want to push her away, but she needs time to process what’s happened, and she finds herself unimaginably grateful for the fact that Bianca understands that. Gives her that gift of time.

When the week is up, she calls Bianca on Friday and asks her over for dinner, asks her if she wants to stay for part or all of the weekend, it’s up to her, and Bianca just says, ‘I’d love to.’ Janet can hear the smile in her voice as she does.

*

It’s Sunday, now, three weeks later, and Janet piles the chattering twins into the back seat of Bianca’s car, straps herself in, and waits to be surprised.

‘Are we going to see Grandma again?’ Liam asks.

‘Not today,’ Bianca says.

‘Are we going to see Nan?’

‘Not that either.’

‘Are we going shopping?’

‘No, we’re not.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘I’m not telling,’ Bianca says. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Does Mum know?’ Emma asks.

Janet grins across at Bianca, who grins back at her; they both knew that question was coming, and which twin would ask it. ‘No,’ Janet says, twisting around in the passenger seat to reknot Emma’s laces, which she has somehow already managed to loosen. ‘I don’t know where we’re going, either. We’re just going to have to wait and see.’

‘But why—’ Liam starts.

‘Liam,’ Janet says.

Liam sighs. ‘Will it be fun?’

They stop at a red light and Bianca turns around in the driver’s seat to wink at him. ‘I hope so,’ she says.

Fifteen minutes later, they pull up in the gravel carpark of a public football ground. It’s empty apart from a few dog-walkers dotted along the fence, and the main goals aren’t dressed, but there is a smaller training goal off to one side that is. Janet helps the kids out of their car seats, makes sure they’ve got their hats on the right way around, and then turns to see Bianca slamming the boot shut, a bag with two soccer balls and a handful of witches’ hats slung over her shoulder. She looks down at the kids. The kids look up at her. And then she says, ‘We’re going to play soccer,’ and Emma and Liam let out twin cries of joy and then, in a movement more in sync than anything Janet has seen in a long time, do a running tackle of Bianca’s middle that nearly knocks her over. Janet watches it happen, laughing helplessly at the perfect insanity that is her family, and follows them over to the goal.

Bianca’s secret life as a kids’ soccer coach is another thing Janet has no idea about until she does, but she seems to be gifted: within a couple of minutes, she has them warming up and racing around; within twenty, she has them managing their first clumsy passes; and in thirty, she’s managed to rope Janet into joining them, jogging out to fetch any balls gone wide.

By the time they’ve worn themselves out, Emma’s shorts covered in dirt and Liam’s hair everywhere – somehow he’s already in dire need of another haircut – the sky has started to cloud over, and Bianca catches Janet’s eye, a silent question.

‘Time to go, kids,’ Janet says, to a predictable chorus of whining. ‘Dinner time, bath time, bed time, in that order.’

‘Is Bianca staying for dinner?’ Liam asks. He picks up one of the balls and hugs it to his chest, smearing dirt across his t-shirt.

Bianca turns from where she’s putting the stack of witches’ hats back in her bag and looks at Janet. Her jacket is slipping off one shoulder, one of her pant legs has rucked up into her sock, and there is a streak of dirt across her cheek. Janet takes it in, takes her in, this overworked woman who voluntarily spent her Sunday afternoon teaching someone else’s kids to play soccer, and knows that she loves her, simple and complex and true. Her heart pulses with it, an unfamiliar kind of full.

‘Janet?’

She blinks, realises it might not be the first time Bianca has said it. ‘Please stay,’ Janet says. ‘If you want to. I… we’d love to have you, as you can see. Stay.’

Bianca smiles at her, the kids and too much distance between them, and says, ‘I’d love to.’

‘Good,’ Janet says, and decides right then that she’ll close that distance, later. With a vengeance.

And then, for the second time in one afternoon, Janet watches her children hurtle themselves at Bianca and has to laugh.

Chapter Text

v.

‘And to think you were worried about drawing attention to yourself.’

‘God!’ Janet says, startling as Bianca reappears at her side with a Styrofoam cup of what is presumably terrible coffee. ‘Give a girl a warning.’

Bianca gives her a slow once-over, smirking. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, should I have—’

‘Uh-uh,’ Janet says, raising a finger to Bianca’s lips. ‘Keep that sentence to yourself. I don’t know what you were going to say, but I do know it wasn’t fit for polite company.’

‘I’m wounded,’ Bianca says, pressing her free hand to her chest.

Janet snorts. ‘You are not. Now behave yourself and drink your coffee.’

‘Please,’ Bianca says, scoffing, ‘I wrangled some peppermint tea out of the canteen lady. I’m not as dependent on that sludge as you are.’

Janet ignores this – Bianca has been trying for seven years to convert her to herbal tea, to no avail – in favour of asking, ‘What were you saying before? About me not drawing attention?’

Bianca shifts closer to her, instinctively protective, as four eleven-year-olds in party clothes tear in front of them to the soundtrack of at least three raised adult voices. ‘I was hitting on you,’ Bianca says, once the hurricane has passed and the room has returned to expected levels of madness. ‘I couldn’t stop staring at you while I was in the queue. You look gorgeous in that suit.’

‘I don’t, do I?’ Janet glances down at herself, dismayed. ‘I was trying to blend in!’

‘You’ll never blend in,’ Bianca teases, ‘but you might be lucky today – most people are too absorbed by their own kids to pay attention to… speaking of. Look.’

She gestures in the direction of the stage, where Emma is standing at the foot of the stairs with her school co-captain and the principal. She is wearing a blue dress with a flared skirt and cap sleeves, simple but pretty, her hair wound up and studded with the silver butterfly clips Bianca gave her for her last birthday. She stands tall as she talks to Mrs Chang, nodding with a drawn mouth and knitted eyebrows Janet can see from over here. She turns her face into Bianca’s shoulder to stifle a laugh. ‘Oh, God,’ she moans, ‘what have I done to her? She’s barely eleven and she’s already picked up my stress face.’

‘I’d call it your concentrating face,’ Bianca says diplomatically, and Janet snorts, presses more firmly against her. Bianca’s arm winds around her waist in immediate response, and Janet sighs her contentment. ‘Where’s Liam?’ Bianca asks.

Janet points to the corner of the school hall, near the entrance. ‘Sitting with Ruwani, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Bianca says, grinning. ‘Do you think she’ll give him a dance?’

‘If he plays his charm cards right.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Bianca says. ‘He’s learned from the best.’

Janet rolls her eyes but snuggles in closer, enjoying the brush of Bianca’s rare, lovely dress against her wrist. ‘We were right not to force him to run for captain,’ she murmurs, then amends it to, ‘well, you were right. It would have been too much for him. I still believe he has leadership qualities, but…’ she shrugs, feels Bianca nod.

‘He seemed happy when Emma won, too.’

‘Yeah.’ Janet smiles at her and then looks back over at Emma, wistful. ‘I hope they stay close in high school. I hope…’ But she stops when Emma strides over to them, her game face on, her nerves only visible in the way she keeps fiddling with her bracelets.

‘Mrs Chang wants me to do the speech in a minute,’ she says.

‘You’ll be great,’ Janet tells her. ‘You’ve practiced. You’re ready.’

‘Yeah.’ Emma chews on her lower lip.

Bianca straightens one of her butterflies. ‘If you get nervous, just look for us. We’re right in the front.’

‘And we’re proud of you,’ Janet says. ‘Good luck, sweetheart.’

‘Ugh, embarrassing,’ Emma huffs, but she still moves in and hugs them both, an arm around each of their waists. Then she says, ‘Gotta go,’ and dashes off before she can witness Janet tearing up, for which Janet is grateful.

The other kids are starting to make their way to their side of the stage, and Bianca’s hand finds Janet’s and squeezes, tugs her out of her stupor. ‘Come on, Mama,’ she murmurs. ‘Let’s grab our seats.’

Even though Janet has heard this speech about twenty-five times in the last few weeks, every word hits her with renewed pride and emotion. Emma is a confident speaker despite her tendency to rush, and the way she tilts her chin, the way she eyes down everyone in the room, makes Janet’s throat close up. She wishes Ash could be here to see this, to see how far their kids have come. She wishes Ash were here, but she is also so, so glad Bianca is, Bianca who interlinks her fingers with Janet’s, grounding her, just as Janet is about to start crying for real; Bianca who laughs with genuine feeling at the funny parts, even though she’s probably heard them rehearsed even more times than Janet has. And then comes the end, and Emma pauses, looks right at them and says, ‘I would now like to thank my parents, Janet King and Bianca Grieve, who helped me prepare for this speech, and who loved and supported me and my brother Liam every day, even when we didn’t make it so easy.’

This bit wasn’t in the speech, at least not the version Janet heard twenty-five times. Is her eleven-year-old daughter ad-libbing? She grips Bianca’s thigh so tightly she must be hurting her, but Bianca just covers Janet’s hand with her own, a warm reassurance; one glance at her and Janet can see that Bianca is holding it together about as well as she is, and she has to stop herself from laughing hysterically. Emma finishes by thanking their teacher and their principal and wishing everyone good luck in high school, and as she makes her way off the stage to whooping applause, Janet leans over to Bianca and says, ‘Did you know about that?’ But even before Bianca can shake her head no, her glistening cheeks provide all the answer Janet needs.

They listen to a speech by Emma’s co-captain, and then a speech by the teacher, and then a skit that is better than Janet fears when she first sees the hats the kids are wearing. Mrs Chang hands out graduation certificates and they all sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, accompanied by a serious-faced Ruwani and her ukulele. When they’ve finished, an enthusiastic child in a tuxedo announces that the program is over. Pop music starts up over the speakers, people move out onto the dancefloor, and Janet is just about to ask Bianca if she needs a refill of hippie tea when two blurs of blond hair appear before her and grab her arms.

‘Come on, Mum!’ Emma cries, grinning and high on success and adrenaline and probably three cups of Fanta. ‘I love this song!’

‘Go on, Janet,’ Bianca says seriously, eyes sparkling. ‘You can’t say no on graduation night.’

Janet makes an I’ll-get-you-later face at Bianca and says, ‘Of course I’m not going to say no to dancing with my babies on their last day of year six!’

Her babies roll their eyes at her in inconvenient unison but don’t let go. Then Liam looks at Bianca and says, ‘And anyway, you have to come too,’ the “duh” going unspoken, and before Bianca can object – not that Janet has any inkling she would – they are both being dragged onto a basketball court to dance to Taylor Swift in a mess of too many arms and legs.

*

Much later, when the kids have finally wound down from their sugar highs and crashed into bed, Janet half-fills two glasses of Merlot and hands one to Bianca, folds herself into the sofa beside her. ‘Cheers,’ she murmurs. Most of the lights are out, and the lines and curves of Bianca’s face are lit up by the splash of streetlight coming in through the living room window.

‘Cheers,’ Bianca echoes. ‘Here’s to the kids for surviving graduation.’

Janet turns to her, swings her legs across her lap and grins. ‘Here’s to us for surviving graduation.’

Bianca laughs. ‘That too. God, I can’t believe they’re about to finish year six.’

‘It doesn’t feel real, does it? It feels like yesterday they were starting year two.’

‘We’ve come a long way,’ Bianca murmurs, nudging her. ‘You and me. Me and the kids.’

Janet kisses her shoulder. ‘I knew you would. They’re good judges of character, really, and you were always so good with them. Mind you, that might all go to hell again in a year or two. They might start hating both of us.’

‘Well, if they do, we’ll deal with it together.’ Bianca sets her glass down on the table beside her and lays a hand on Janet’s thigh, massaging. Voice lighter, she says, ‘You were great today, you know. I never thought I’d see Janet King do a line dance to “Cotton Eye Joe”, but I was wrong. And in a suit, no less.’

‘Oh, God,’ Janet says, laughing into Bianca’s hair. ‘I’m never going to live that down, am I? I hope it doesn’t end up on YouTube.’

‘You might have to quit your job if it does.’

‘Become a professional line dancer.’

‘I can see it,’ Bianca says thoughtfully. ‘I can see you in fringed pants and cowboy boots and a hat. Maybe a pink one.’

Janet laughs again, laughs at the image and the smirk on Bianca’s face, and abandons her own glass of wine so she can push Bianca down into the cushions and straddle her. ‘You like that, do you?’ she asks, as Bianca wriggles beneath her, as Bianca’s hands come up to her waist, slip beneath the hem of her shirt and start stroking.

‘You know I do.’

Janet kisses her, sinks into it as Bianca’s lips part and welcome her in, as Bianca’s tongue slides hot and urgent against her own. Bianca is already rucking her shirt up her torso and Janet shivers as the air hits her skin, warm though it is. She raises her arms and Bianca draws the shirt up and up and off, tosses it aside and returns to kissing her. Janet shifts so they are lying closer, her thigh between the increasing warmth at Bianca’s legs, and gets to work on removing Bianca’s dress. ‘This is gorgeous,’ she mutters between kisses, between gasps as Bianca suckles at her neck – gently, careful not to leave visible marks – ‘and you’re gorgeous in it, but I want it off and I want it off now.’

Bianca laughs and helps her out, helps get Janet’s suit off and across an armchair somewhere (better than the floor, she thinks; she might regret it, later, but right now she doesn’t care). Then, when her fingers are poised at Janet’s waistband, Bianca says, her whole voice a tease, ‘Didn’t you get enough of a workout already tonight?’

Janet kisses her again, kisses her long and wet and messy, a kiss to articulate exactly what she’s been thinking this night, watching Bianca laugh and cry and cheer and dance with her kids – their kids – in that dress. ‘Sure I did,’ she says, when she pulls back, ‘but this is better.’

Bianca would seem to agree.