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It was painful to watch Pearl when Greg was around. It was a cycle that made Amethyst ache. She couldn’t stop her from doing it every time. It was clear that Pearl wanted to be able to share good experiences with Steven and Greg; she wanted to be supportive of him in every part of his life. These times go well enough… up until Pearl and Greg have to interact directly.
Their best results always come from the most impersonal conversations. When Pearl would list all the repairs she’d conducted on the van or when Greg would make a joke. They were always haphazard and rushed, never comfortable for more than a few sentences—let alone the spaces between them.
The worst was when the topic turned to Rose. In these, Greg was often the sole participant of the conversation while Pearl fell apart. She seemed to struggle with outright coherency at times, her sentences mutilated with painful silence.
These conversations left Pearl in a wretched aftermath, rendered to eggshells after spending minutes or hours or weeks picking herself apart. Pearl’s relationship with Greg was a treacherous minefield into which Amethyst dared not to go digging.
The end of the cycle came only when she was in pieces. She had only ever seemed fragile in mourning Rose Quartz. Whenever pushed too far, she would try to hide her burden and ultimately return to Amethyst for comfort. Not before she also took a great deal of time to brood over household chores, however. This left plenty of time for Steven to pull her into his trip to Empire City with Greg. Of course Pearl went for Steven, but Amethyst could only imagine the emotional strain she and Greg were undergoing for this innocent request.
And so the Temple was quiet, just Amethyst and Garnet taking the absence of half the team as a good excuse to relax. There was no point worrying over what was happening in Empire City so Amethyst was able to have a perfectly relaxing time. She couldn’t heal Pearl’s emotional wounds but she was always ready to help her recover.
The dark curtain of the sky had begun to lift at its edges, pinks and purples making the moon dull and pale by comparison. Amethyst sat outside on the porch, enjoying the chilled breeze, when headlights deviated from the boardwalk and onto the sand. They were back early.
That was a bad sign. In spite of prickling curiosity, she quietly slinked back inside the house, giving the trio privacy to collect themselves amidst what could only be ruin. She could hear the vague murmur of familiar voices from her seat at the counter, words made indistinguishable by the sound of the waves.
Amethyst expected painful, strained silence to walk in through the screen door accompanied by Steven trying to ease everyone’s frayed edges. Instead when they walked in the atmosphere was shockingly comfortable. There was Steven who was friendly if not very, very sleepy and clearly ready to go back to sleep. Pearl and Greg were not only getting along but relaxed, amiable. Somehow, the fact that they were all wearing tuxedos was the least shocking detail. She watched in awe as the trio split with friendly goodnights, Greg going to tuck Steven in to bed for the night.
The only thing that did go according to her expectations was that Pearl did indeed come to her. And despite the evident happiness, Amethyst could pick out the signs of emotional fatigue. This was routine by now and Amethyst knew she wouldn’t have to pull and tease answers out of Pearl, that she would let them slip as she unwound. What she was seeing wasn’t just the aftermath of catharsis, this was something lighter—more resolute. Amethyst grinned up at her and they were greeting each other in comfortable silence, with a smile from one and a gentle touch from the other.
Routine was beginning to weave its way into the otherwise alien experience, Amethyst dropping off of the stool and leading Pearl to the Temple door. A glowing gem was the price of privacy, alone together in the controlled chaos of Amethyst’s room. She was brimming with curiosity, full of questions but not wanting to break routine. Pearl would speak when she was ready; it was her choice to instigate any conversation. Sometimes these sessions were entirely silent, Pearl never reaching a point where she could voice her emotions. It was a game of patience and affection, one that Pearl was allowed to passively lead.
A pile, much smaller than others, comprised of a few mattresses and a plethora of blankets and pillows had been established for this ritual. In spite of her overall positivity, Pearl carried on her the fragility that Amethyst had come to expect. Her shoulders, while not slack, sloped unnaturally low. There’s fatigue writ on her features, advertised by weary eyes. For a creature that required no sleep, Pearl looked exhausted. They settled themselves onto the cushioned pile and Pearl practically wove herself around Amethyst. Wrapped in long, slender arms and in spite of the strength Pearl held her with, she somehow felt paper thin. Despite how the trip had ended, it seemed the price had been a painful, emotional toll.
Silence carried for several minutes longer before Pearl’s voice resonated with surprising steadiness, “Aren’t you going to ask me about the suit?”
There’s amusement in her words as they untangle themselves from each other, Amethyst leaning back to get a better look at Pearl’s new outfit. Unlike Steven and Greg’s which had been rumpled with sleep, Pearl’s was no doubt as immaculate as it had been when she’d first put it on. Now that she’d been given time for an appraisal, she couldn’t deny the unfamiliar clothing held a certain appeal.
Amethyst chuckled, beginning to relax as Pearl retained her light mood. “What else could come out of a trip to Empire City with Steven and Gregory the Bazillionaire?”
Without the pain of having to watch Pearl emotionally unravel, the both of them were nearly giddy. They laughed easily and Pearl solicited affection with simpered kisses; though she was fragile now, Pearl was beginning to mend. Slender fingers carded through Amethyst’s mane, occasionally snagging and apologetically teasing loose a knot. They joked and murmured quietly to each other, held tightly to each other at times, sprawled completely away at others—save for their tangled fingers.
Slowly details of the trip and its events begin to weave together in Pearl’s hushed voice, starting with the acquisition of the tuxedos, then a brief mention of what had been her breaking point. At first she mentioned it fleetingly, bookending it with explanation of how Steven had managed to guide her and Greg through what they’d been avoiding for so long. Even a surprising reveal that Steven had not only anticipated the tension between Pearl and his father, but that it had been his intention from the beginning to help them confront it.
For the two of them, this had become a ritual. It was methodical, oftentimes painful, something akin to a requiem. The two of them would come in and Pearl would unravel or detonate, sometimes aloud. In minutes or hours she would build herself back up, sometimes aloud. Amethyst would always watch and listen, led by the patience wrought by immortality and infatuation.
Though they’re alone, Pearl spoke softly as if to prevent anyone overhearing and Amethyst does her best to do the same though occasionally her raucous laugh would fill the room.
“So what you’re tellin’ me, P, is that Steven is a mastermind,” already her laugh is building, trying to push past her words. “Maybe he never lost his healing powers, maybe he just has healing road trips instead of spit.”
Amethyst laughs unabashedly at her own comment while Pearl gives her a bemused smile. They’re pressed close, side-by-side and their legs casually tangled together. It’s comfortable and as laughter fades, Amethyst is abruptly aware of Pearl’s cyan gaze focused intently on her. She has little time to wonder before Pearl is speaking again, her voice quiet for only them to hear.
“Thank you, Amethyst. For being here and for doing this for me.”
Predictably, Amethyst’s cheeks were darkened with a blush; she’d never been particularly good at handling such direct, heartfelt gratitude. When she averts her gaze, Pearl smiles and waits patiently. It’s the reaction she’d anticipated but she also knew she wasn’t being ignored. Amethyst had heard her and took to heart her thanks, even if it was unwarranted. In reality, she wished she could have done more.
“I mean, it’s no fun when you’re moping around,” it’s spoken without conviction, as if it’s habit to play it off even if she doesn’t mean to. It’s the remnants of tension, of a shattered plain and a desolate canyon; of when their words were full of vitriol and their skin made of daggers. When they would hiss and spit like raving beasts, made something greater only from the formality of words.
There was no call for needling and tearing with contempt at each other and so Pearl replied with little more than an amused, “Of course.”