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i.
Miorine Rembran is sixteen when she forgets how to be lonely.
Sixteen — almost seventeen — and Suletta’s hands are closed around hers with all the grace of a drowning goose, and Suletta’s body is pressed up against hers from behind, and Suletta’s voice is in soft her ear, and she does not quite remember, here, what it was like before they met.
The haro bike skids to a halt outside her greenhouse. She’s been piloting it all day, hopping back and forth from Earth House to her quarters to the greenhouse, and Suletta, too tall to reasonably stand behind her without clinging on lest they both fall off, has been helping her.
There are, predictably, weeds in her hair. Miorine props the bike up with one foot and turns around, dislodging Suletta as she goes. It feels a little bit like the sun disappearing into shadow. “Final stop. Got everything?”
Suletta grins, patting the side of her backpack. “Yep. Checked, double checked, and checked again.”
Miorine waits for Suletta to make her way towards the greenhouse before getting off the bike. Her fingers flex around the handlebars. Sixteen, and she’s already daydreaming about white dresses and wedding rings.
(She pushes the thought out of her mind before it can take root. It doesn’t matter what she wants; it won’t change anything between the two of them. She’s long since learned not to expect anything good to happen to her.)
Suletta is already pottering around the greenhouse by the time Miorine pulls herself together and joins her. The gold accents on her uniform catch the sunlight as she moves through the path of the windows, sending warm light refracting across the room. Miorine steps up behind her and says, “The compost doesn’t go there.”
“Ah,” Suletta says warmly. “I was thinking that.”
Oh. I’m in love with you.
She stands in the doorway and feels somewhat giddy with it, gripping tightly onto the wall for balance. All the air in her lungs is suddenly helium. That’s what this is, she thinks again, I’m in love.
She knew this already, of course. She just — never had the words to put to the emotion. How could anyone not love Suletta Mercury with every bone in their body?
-
ii.
Miorine Rembran is seventeen, and more afraid than she has ever been in her life.
She doesn’t make it very far before she collapses. Maybe she’s crying, maybe not; it isn’t clear. All she registers is hands fisted in dirt and gravel, cold and hard and violent, and sudden looming emptiness.
A body presses up beside hers, strong gloved hands help her to her feet, and she blinks away the blurriness and frowns at Guel as he props her up. They’re walking somewhere — her body is moving almost without her permission — walking somewhere and he is talking quietly to her, walking somewhere and if she focuses she can still hear Suletta crying her name over and over again, bewildered and alone.
Suletta. It was already over, it was over the second they stepped foot on Quetta, but she thought she could pretend for a little while longer. She thought — well. She doesn’t know what she thought. She wanted to marry Suletta so, so badly.
They stop suddenly, and she isn’t sure where they are, but it’s brighter. Her vision is still clouded, hands still covered in dirt and gravel and blood from where she’d slammed them into the ground over and over again, and Guel is still talking to her. None of it really makes sense.
I had to do it. I had to. I had to. She’d never… I had to.
Guel’s hands close over her own. Stop touching me, she doesn’t say. He’s only trying to be kind, to be helpful. It’s a first for him. She should be impressed.
“... know you had to, Miorine, I understand, I know —”
Suletta won’t move from Aerial for a long time, she suspects. Grief and confusion will have hit her too hard to allow her to go far. The keychain in her hands will seem like a weight tied to her ankle, the blue of the cockpit like the bottom of the ocean floor. She curls her hands into fists, tugging them out of Guel’s grasp, and presses them over her eyes, but the image does not leave her brain.
“Miorine. You’re going to hurt yourself. Sit down.”
Guel’s hands appear again, this time gently around her forearms, pulling her own hands away from her eyes. Miorine realises, then, that she is sobbing — rather hysterically, actually, which feels a little bit insane, considering Suletta is the one whose life she just ruined.
Obediently, she sits. There turns out to be a chair behind her, conveniently enough. Guel releases her forearms when her hands drop into her lap and stay there.
“You’re bleeding,” he says, and she watches his mouth move as he talks and wonders how she’s ever going to marry him. “Let me clean that up.”
And then — blissfully — he vanishes. Miorine tilts her head back until she’s staring up at the ceiling of the hangar, staring and staring and staring and wishing she were anywhere else. The air feels thick in her throat. She goes to press her hands over her eyes again (anything to get that image out of her mind) and thinks the better of it when blood trickles down her forearm inside her suit.
What have I done?
“I had to,” she says aloud, again. She had to. Prospera wouldn’t let her go. Prospera didn’t care.
(Suletta asked her, meekly, if they could do something for her birthday. If they could take a haro bike down to one of the artificial clearings and sit together for a little while. Like they used to before Plant Quetta. Miorine suspects she won’t ever want to see her again. She wouldn’t blame her.)
Something thuds heavily against the bench she’s sitting on, metal on metal cutting through the sound of her own laboured breathing, and she isn’t sure if she’s grateful for the interruption or if she wants to strangle Guel with her own bleeding hands.
“I know you had to,” he repeats — stop talking to me stop talking to me leave me alone — “and I know you’re struggling, and I’m sorry, but we have to get out of here before Suletta does. Okay?”
Miorine nods silently. She’s still sobbing, still shaking, still abysmally distant from it all.
He kneels in front of her, holding out his hands. “Let me clean your wounds. You’ll bleed all over your suit.”
Wounds imply battle. Miorine toppled off a Gundam and slammed her fists into the ground so hard her gloves tore and her skin broke. Miorine was careless, and selfish, and —
She settles her hands into Guel’s and lets him clean them methodically with the first aid kit. She doesn’t know how long they stay there, and she doesn’t care.
-
Earning forgiveness looks like this: holding Suletta all the way through the long walk to Calibarn’s hanger in the headquarters, feeling her shake under her hands, staying silent.
“Is it bad,” she asks, “that I’m afraid?”
The elevator hums to a stop in front of the Calibarn’s cockpit. Miorine takes Suletta’s trembling hands in her own and shakes her head, sure she looks like she’s about to start crying again. “I’m afraid too,” she says, and her voice is shaking. I love you catches on her tongue.
This is it. This might be the last time I ever see her again.
She brings their joined hands to her lips and presses a kiss to Suletta’s knuckles. Even though the thought of it alone makes her heart want to tear itself out of her chest. I love you, she thinks fiercely, I love you I love you I love you and I’ll tell you all about it when you come home.
Suletta lets out a soft gasp. Miorine makes the mistake of looking up and sees her eyes — gentle and infinitely blue — and her heart lodges itself in her throat. “I’m afraid too,” she repeats, and hopes it communicates everything it needs to.
The laugh Suletta lets out is strangled, hoarse. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid in my life. N-not even at Plant Quetta.”
“I believe in you,” Miorine says, as easy as breathing. She doesn’t quite know what to do with all this feeling catching in her chest. “Everything will work out.”
-
(iii.)
Suletta’s eyes float open in a hospital bed and catch on Miorine’s, endless blue against cool white sheets and white walls and white gowns, and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is a sob.
She has cried more than she ever believed possible over these past few weeks. In a way, that’s a good thing, because when she buries her head in the fabric of Suletta’s sheets and sobs her eyes out, she regains her composure in record time.
“Miorine,” Suletta says hoarsely, “you’re here.”
Miorine cups her face and cries and tells her, “I’m not planning on ever leaving again.”
Suletta’s arms are too weak for her to be able to reach her face. She holds Miorine’s wrists instead, running her fingers in minute circles over her pulse point. The nurses said she would have extremely limited motor control for the foreseeable future, if she woke up at all. “That’s good,” she says, “I don’t want you to leave.”
They stay like that for a little while, holding each other. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say. Miorine just — missed her, and missed her, and missed her. And now she’s here. She’s never been able to picture a life for herself after this, not really, but now —
The feeling burning its way through her chest is more comparable to a supernova, she feels. She leans forward and presses her forehead against Suletta’s, hyper-aware of the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, and says, “I love you.”
Suletta squeaks. “You — what?”
Miorine’s heart does something funny against her ribcage. “I love you,” she repeats. “As in, I am in love with you, have been in love with you for quite some time, and would like to marry you as soon as possible. If you’ll have me.”
“Oh my G-d,” Suletta says, and then she kisses her.
(And kisses her, and kisses her, and kisses her.)
Miorine forgets how to breathe, forgets there is a world around her. Suletta is kissing her and stumbling over laughter against her lips and saying, “Wait, wait, I didn’t answer! I love you too, I —”
Someone clears their throat. The door must have opened at some point, because now all of Earth House is standing awkwardly at the other end of the room, pointedly looking anywhere but directly at them.
Miorine sits up very suddenly and tugs at the front of her jacket, like that’ll do anything to help. Suletta is still grinning drowsily up at her.
“She’s awake,” she says by way of a greeting.
Chuchu makes a face. “We can see that.”
“Yes, well.” Miorine tugs at the front of her jacket again, smoothing her fingers over the flaps of her pockets. It’s not like any of this has been a secret, exactly — they always did act like an old married couple, now that she thinks about it — but it’s different to have it be so out in the open now. It’s different to see all of Earth House look between her and Suletta with eyes that say finally one of you did something about it.
-
Miorine leaves so the rest of them can have some time with Suletta, and also so she can get some coffee and breathe in slightly less stuffy air and see the stars for the first time in about two weeks.
It’s strange, to be alone again after so long. The world moves around her, parting to allow her passage through only when she brushes up against it, and she walks the whole way to the coffee room at the other end of the hospital wing in weird, dissociated silence.
She doesn’t even register that she isn’t alone until she’s halfway to making herself a drink — Nika has been leaning against the sink on the other side of the room to the coffee machine, clearing her throat at polite regular intervals for the last ten minutes or so by the time Miorine finally notices her.
“Hello,” she says faintly.
Nika smiles. “Hello. How are you?”
“Uh,” Miorine says, “tired.”
“Yeah, it’s been one of those days,” she says graciously. “How is Suletta holding up?”
“You aren’t going in to see her?”
She shakes her head. Her hair falls into her face; she tucks it behind her ear. “I already said my goodbyes to Earth House. Can you imagine what it’ll be like to tell Suletta I’m leaving?”
Miorine smiles to herself. Suletta will almost certainly cry. “Still, though,” she says, “she’ll want to see you before you go.”
“Yeah. …Yeah.”
She pushes off the sink and turns to stand by the window, looking out into open space. Miorine gets the hint and busies herself with digging out milk from one of the cupboards.
And then:
“Miorine Mercury sounds nice, don’t you think?” Nika asks casually. Miorine nearly throws her coffee cup across the room.
“What?”
She glances over and finds Nika smiling — genuinely smiling, bright and enthusiastic. “Promise me you’ll get me an invite to the wedding?”
The wedding, Miorine thinks, the wedding. “Don’t make me think about that now. I haven’t even proposed yet.”
Nika stifles a laugh. “Has Chuchu given you the shovel talk?”
“I have no doubt that she’ll follow through.”
“I did tell her not to scare you off,” she says fondly. “She really cares about you two, you know? I think it’s just her version of a peace offering.”
Miorine closes both hands around her (blissfully intact) coffee cup. The warmth bleeds into her skin. It’s almost strange to think that a year ago, she would never have dreamed of having a family quite like this.
A lot of things are strange, these days. She closes her eyes and says, “Well, it’s accepted,” which makes Nika laugh again.
-
Suletta is awake and watching the door, waiting for her, when she returns to the hospital room. “Hi,” she says, smiling — and then, as though if only to feel the words in her mouth, “I love you.”
Miorine forgets and then remembers how to breathe within the space of a few seconds. Her hands feel suddenly leaden, suddenly far too light. “I love you too,” she echoes quietly, as though saying it out loud might kill her — and it just might, — as though she isn’t still clumsily stitching herself back together after the last soul-baring confession of the day.
Suletta smiles wider, if that’s even possible, and then flinches when the movement tugs at the Permet scars on her face. They look a little bit like whiskers.
Miorine is struck by the sudden urge to kiss her, and so she does, sitting down in the chair by the hospital bed and tugging it close. Her hand ventures up to cup Suletta’s face this time, in a particularly brave move, and Suletta grins brightly against her lips.
She gets to have this forever. For as long as Suletta will let her. She gets to have this.
“I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself,” Suletta says softly. She seems to have been waiting for Miorine to come back to say it. Her fingers, resting on the curve of Miorine’s wrist, twitch against her pulse. “I love you so, so much, Miorine.”
She doesn’t really know what to say to that, so she kisses her again. Suletta’s lips are dry and chapped from the strain of the Permet, but it doesn’t really matter. Doesn’t matter that it’s an incredibly ill-advised thing to do, either; she climbs into Suletta’s hospital bed and curls around her, kissing her gently as she goes.
“Mmf,” Suletta says, “Miorine —”
“Yeah?”
“I missed you.” And, quieter, “I want to hold you.”
Miorine takes the hint and shuffles around until she can guide Suletta’s arms around her, one cradling her waist, the other tucked up against her front. Suletta starts to hum happily, flexing her fingers in and out against the fabric of Miorine’s shirt.
“Good?” Miorine asks.
“Good,” Suletta says. “I’m going to fall asleep now.”
“You stayed awake until I came back?”
“Of course I did,” she says softly. “I missed you.”
She shifts down until Suletta’s head is nestled against her collarbone. It strikes her, then, that she’s holding the whole world in her arms.
Miorine shuts her eyes before she can burst into tears. Suletta hums tiredly, turning as far towards her as she can manage, and whispers, “Night, Miorine.”
“Goodnight,” she breathes. “I love you so much.”
“Love you too,” Suletta mumbles into her shirt. “Love you so, so much. Love you more than anything.”
She’s so warm. Miorine curls her arms around Suletta’s shoulders and breathes in and out unevenly, trying not to sink into the feeling of her — there’s still so much to say; there’s so much she wants to do; she doesn’t want to waste any time — but she’s so warm. It’s so difficult not to fall asleep.
I’m going to marry this girl, she thinks, and then she’s out.
-
iv.
Miorine Rembran-Mercury turns twenty-two in almost exactly a month, and she has never been more stressed about it in her life.
Well, maybe that’s an over-exaggeration. But still.
She stares at the tablet in her lap and squeezes her eyes shut, willing the horrible sense of dread in her stomach to go away. Five months of arguing back and forth with her asshole father, five months of politics and finances and G-d knows what else, and it’s done. The final dissolution of the Benerit Group is done. And she can’t shake the feeling that it’s all about to go terribly wrong.
It took three years longer than it should have, which is already a warning sign. Still, Suletta’s recovery took priority over overseeing the liquidation of their funds, and then they had to get married and GUND-Arm sort of exploded all over intergalactic news when the first few products started proving themselves and she had, admittedly, been a little bit slower than was strictly necessary, but still.
Now it’s done. It’s over with. What was both a premeditated and incredibly rushed decision has finally run its course. And she will be dealing with the consequences, both positive and negative, for the rest of her life.
So there’s ample chance for everything to go wrong, and Miorine would not be surprised if it chose her birthday to do just that.
She turns her tablet off with shaky hands. Not a notebook — a tablet; apparently notebooks are juvenile and frivolous, or something. Her father’s rants have long disappeared into background noise.
It’s not like she’s ever particularly cared about her birthday. Turning seventeen had been an axe over her neck for so long that she lost the will to celebrate after a while. Besides, there were other, more important things — the wedding, the proposal, Suletta’s first day out of hospital, and so on. It’s not the sanctity of No Bad Things Happening On A Birthday that she’s worried about, it’s the politics of it all.
(And, if she’s being honest, Suletta has been concocting increasingly wild things for them to do together on her birthdays, and she really doesn’t want to be thinking about politics while she’s trying to enjoy a nice day with her wife. It feels selfish to admit, but still.)
Packing things away is simple: the tablet goes in its space on the desktop, her pens and pencils and erasers are swept into a drawer, the paperwork is stacked and slid into a folder. It’s over. It’s over.
Miorine stands up. Her hands are still shaking. She covers her mouth reflexively, sucking in a deep breath. It still has the chance to go horribly wrong, but for now — for now, it’s done.
She slides her chair back under her desk, narrowly avoids slamming her hand clumsily into the light switch, and practically trips down the stairs. Her body feels as if it’s moving on autopilot, worn through like an old fuse. Suletta glances up from the couch as she nearly lands on her face at the bottom of the stairs and rises to greet her, and Miorine registers it through a hazy fog.
“I did it,” she gets out, “I finished with the fucking Benerit stuff, Suletta, I —”
“Oh,” Suletta says, then, “oh. Oh! Wow, Miomio, you did that all by yourself?”
Miorine trips again halfway across the living room, skipping over their half-assed attempt at a coffee table. “Yes, I — fuck — well, mostly, I had to argue with my dad over, like, half of it, but —”
Suletta is, of course, the one to catch her. She always catches her. “You did it! It’s over now. No more sleepless nights —”
“Less sleepless nights.”
“ — less sleepless nights, less business trips…” She pauses, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Of course her mind immediately jumped to this; of course she’s already thinking about all the time they’ll have. “I’m so proud of you, Mio.”
Miorine flushes and ducks her head, staring pointedly at Suletta’s socks instead of her face. They’re still working on the ‘accepting love and affection’ part. “You don’t — I — okay.”
Suletta, who smiles so often that surely it must hurt her face, slips an arm around her waist and tugs her gently closer. “We should do something to celebrate,” she suggests.
“It’s already my birthday soon; you don’t have to do anything else,” Miorine rolls her eyes. “Cram it all into one day or something.”
“I love you, but there’s no way I’m doing that,” Suletta says easily. It’s still a shock to her, all these years later, just how much she cares. “I want you to feel celebrated, Mio. You deserve it.”
There’s a quiet tenderness to her voice that sends warmth shooting all through Miorine’s body. She tips her head onto Suletta’s shoulder and shuts her eyes, letting herself breathe it all in — Suletta’s arms around her, Suletta’s soft voice in her ear. She doesn’t know how she ever let herself live without this.
“Okay,” she concedes. “Okay, fine. But don’t go overboard.”
“I would never,” Suletta hums.
She believes her, is the thing. Suletta knows her better than anyone else in the universe.
“You’re going to make my heart give out one of these days,” Miorine informs her. Suletta hums and kisses the top of her head by way of an answer.