somerandr

[somerandr]

royalty

Maddie lets out another dramatic sigh, huffing a little when Sophie and Jack both ignore her in favor of oohing and ahhing over the stories Lizzie has begun meticulously typing out and collecting in a leather bound binder. On one hand, Maddie gets their distraction. Her brother-in-law had never quite seen Lizzie the same way Maddie does, always knowing her as the big sister he couldn’t ever really relate to, the big sister he tended to see more as a parental figure than a sibling, creating an insurmountable distance between them. And her best friend just likes to be annoying—a talent of hers since they were in middle school. 

On the other hand, Maddie has something to get off her chest and, dammit, she needs Sophie and Jack to pay attention. 

She sighs again, louder this time, placing her mug of coffee on the table with a little more force than strictly necessary. It has its desired effect: Sophie looks up in concern, clearly thinking Maddie has dropped the mug, and Jack moves as if to act as Maddie’s support beam. 

(The first few weeks of this sort of behavior from her best friend and her brother-in-law had been frustrating and grated on her nerves. But now she appreciates that they’re here, sitting with her, acting as de facto babysitters while Lizzie is out.

To be perfectly honest, Maddie appreciates not being alone.) 

“What’s up, Maddie Bear?” Sophie asks, head tilted to the side as she closes the binder with a satisfying thump. “Annoyed we’re more interested in the stories than you?”

“First of all, as if anything could be more interesting than me,” Maddie says with a faux self-aggrandizing air. “Secondly, don’t call me that. We’re not in high school anymore.”

“It’s always like high school when I’m with you, Mads,” Sophie sings, shoving Jack aside and wrapping her arms around Maddie’s shoulders, giving her an awkward hug from the side. “But seriously, what’s up?” 

Now that Sophie and Jack are looking at her patiently, but expectantly, Maddie feels her mouth go dry. She doesn’t want to admit this to them, doesn’t want to show them that it bothers her—and yet, she needs to tell someone or she thinks she’ll combust. 

“Evie called,” she mumbles after several beats, looking down at her hands. She feels Sophie drop her arms and pull back, and though she doesn’t look, she knows Sophie and Jack are wearing identical expressions of a mixture of disgust and anger. 

“What’s Evil doing calling you?” Sophie hisses, and when Maddie looks up at her, her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. Jack, on the other hand, looks like he’s turned to stone, unable to move at all. 

“Apparently, she heard the news about me. Wanted to make sure she um, expressed her sadness,” Maddie mumbles, using air quotes around the latter part of her comment, still thinking about the sickly-sweet voice of Evie Cummings and how much she wishes she could have reached through the phone and punched Evie in her perfectly made up face. “She told me I didn’t need to worry about Elizabeth.” 

(This is what’s got her so mad, not the fact that Evie called, but that she figured it would be okay to slowly explain to Maddie that Lizzie would be taken care of, ‘in cough cough, the worst kind of situation.’

Maddie’s not jealous. 

At least, she doesn’t think so.) 

“I don’t understand this whole staying friends with the ex thing,” Jack says, running his fingers through his hair and dropping into the chair next to Maddie, his legs stretched out in front of him as he slouches. He looks a lot like his sister, but his hair is darker, and his manner is more airy. Where Jack is quick with a smile, Lizzie is content to merely quirk her lips. 

(Except for if it’s at her.

Lizzie will always smile at her.)

“I agree,” Sophie says darkly, her eyes narrowed as if she’s already planning something nefarious. “Evil needs to go.” 

“She’s Elizabeth’s friend,” Maddie argues weakly, not quite able to believe her own words. Lizzie had met and dated Evie in what she still calls ‘a dark time’ in her life. The fact that Evie helped her through it—that she had been there through long nights and eased Lizzie through panic attacks—meant that Evie had a permanent place in Lizzie’s life, even if Maddie and Evie had made their mutual dislike of one another well-known. 

“Right,” Jack laughs, flicking his head so that his hair would fall perfectly on his forehead, giving Sophie a wink as she rolls his eyes at his antics. “And you stayed friends with that baseball player, huh Mads? What was his name again?” Jack asks in faux confusion, tapping a finger against his chin. “Darren? Derek? Daniel,” he stresses, flicking his hair again, smiling at Maddie as he stretches out Daniel’s name. 

“It’s different,” Maddie says, waving him off, but Sophie sighs dreamily before shaking her head. 

“And everyday I think it’s just tragic that you didn't keep him around for me. Your best friend. How could you, Maddie Bear?” 

Maddie blushes, glaring at Sophie and Jack as they chuckle at her embarrassment.

“Can we get back to the point?” she asks weakly, two seconds away from banging her head against the kitchen table. She’s sure that won’t go over well with Lizzie; Sophie and Jack would get fired from babysitting duty the second Lizzie notices the bruise. 

“Wasn’t the point that Evie is a she-devil? Because Jack and I are in full agreement on that front,” Sophie says, picking up Maddie’s mug and taking a sip before wincing at the cold, bitter coffee. “You’re really letting yourself go, babe,” she mutters, stalking over to the sink and emptying the coffee out. “Drinking bitter coffee and letting yourself become more bitter over the she-devil?” She turns and leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest and Maddie’s mug hanging from the handle on her index finger. “It’s not like you.”

“Well, a lot of things aren’t like me. Like not going to work and spending all day watching daytime dramas. I don’t even like daytime dramas.”

“Don’t knock it, Mads,” Jack says, hand over his heart. “I for one am very invested in the bold and the beautiful—after all, I’m both bold and beautiful, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maddie laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re a regular Prince Charming, Jack.” 

“I’m gone for half a day and I come back to you flirting with my brother?” comes a voice down the hall and the sound of keys being tossed into a bowl, announcing Lizzie’s arrival. “What has the world come to?” she asks as she steps into view, first pressing a quick kiss to Maddie’s lips before hugging Sophie and Jack. 

“I admit it,” Maddie jokes, grinning when Hamlet gets off his bed, stretches, and pads slowly over, sticking his head in Maddie’s lap. “It was a surprise to me too.”

“Surprise?” Jack exclaims, mouth dropping open. “Madeline, you and I were always meant to be.” 

“You’re right, if only you were four years older and less beautiful. It could’ve been a match made in heaven.” 

“Way to aim for a man’s heart, Mads,” Jack sighs, keeping a stoic expression even as Sophie chortles away. Lizzie shrugs off her jacket and tosses it into Jack’s face.

“Stop flirting with my wife, dork,” she says, eyes narrowed. “And Maddie, stop encouraging him.” 

“Oh, but we’re meant to be, Liz,” Maddie laughs, “would you really get in the way of love?” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Pick on me, that’s fine,” Lizzie mutters, unable to help the smile that forms on her lips. 

(It’s a startlingly normal moment. Maddie and Jack are teasing Lizzie like always. Sophie makes sure to throw in her own joke like always. 

It’s almost easy to forget that Sophie’s hands are shaking as she pours Maddie a fresh cup of coffee, that Jack never strays too far when Maddie gets up to grab Hamlet a snack, that Lizzie watches apprehensively—as if waiting for something, a shoe to drop.

It’s a normal moment. And Maddie breathes it in, wants to keep it as long as possible.

It’s likely why she speaks up.) 

“I have a story,” she announces to the others, feeling a little shaky on her feet, not minding when Jack subtly takes her by the elbow and leads her back to the table. “Want to hear it?” 

“I do, but I better be in this one,” Sophie says, raising her eyebrows. 

“I was promised dinner, so I’m in,” Jack adds with a shrug. “I’m not going anywhere till I’ve been fed.” 

Lizzie helps Maddie sit down, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. 

“I want to hear everything you have to say, Madeline,” she says softly, eyes crinkling as she smiles. 

And in that moment, Maddie feels a little bit warmer as she looks at her friends, and swears she falls just a bit more in love with her wife. 

XxX

She’s busy polishing boots when she hears stomping from the stairs and Ser Evie enters the armory with her hair pointing in every direction, sweat beading on her forehead, and her chest heaving. 

“Prince Jack has fallen in love!” she cries excitedly, shoving past Maddie roughly, and grabbing Ser Fredericks by the shoulders and shaking him. “Do you know what this means?” 

“Weeks of celebration with lots and lots of mead?” Fredericks says hopefully, shifting in his chair. Maddie doesn’t think she’s ever actually seen him get off the chair, though she’s heard the stories of his incredible, heroic past—how he was born a peasant but was knighted because he saved the King’s life, how at only eighteen, he’d led the King’s army into glorious battle and emerged victorious. No one mentions that at a certain point war and rank seemed to pale in comparison to a good bottle of mead. 

Though, as an overworked, underappreciated squire, Maddie can see the appeal of a good bottle of mead. 

“Stop fooling around,” Evie snaps at Fredericks, glaring at him as he shifts again in his chair, clearly feeling off-balanced. “This is serious.”

Fredericks doesn’t look very serious—in fact, he seems terribly amused.

“And why is that exactly, Ser Evie?” he asks, stroking his beard. Maddie nearly gags when he finds some pheasant still stuck in it from lunch and pops it into his mouth with a giddy expression. “Is it because you think with Jack out of the way you can finally win Princess Elizabeth’s heart?” He laughs heartily at his own joke, clearly finding himself outrageously humorous. “Somehow I doubt Prince Jack will cease being a protective younger brother just because he’s fallen in love.”  

“He’s distracted,” Evie huffs, tossing her cloak in Maddie’s general direction, followed by her boots and arm braces, not looking to see the spectacular balancing act Maddie pulls off in order to catch all the items. Maddie’s so busy congratulating herself on not looking stupid that she doesn’t notice the sword and scabbard coming her way—the hilt of the sword rams hard into Maddie’s hip, the shock of pain causing her to drop the items in her arms, and she curses under her breath as both Evie and Fredericks deign to look over at her, the former with disgust and the latter with poorly concealed mirth. “Can you carry out your duties in a more silent manner?” Evie snaps, giving Maddie a glare for good measure before turning her attention back to Fredericks. “My point is that Elizabeth will have more time to herself—time she could be spending with me, a knight of her father’s court.” 

“Princess Elizabeth,” Maddie mumbles as she gathers Evie’s things once more. She leaves the armory just as Evie launches into the story the other knights and squires have heard hundreds of times before: Evie was there for Elizabeth after the Queen died, Evie soothed Elizabeth’s fears and wiped away her tears, Evie was the one who got her to smile again.

It’s the reason she was knighted—the King had taken one look at the smile on Elizabeth’s lips, a smile that had not graced the kingdom for two winters, and had immediately proclaimed that the one who elicited it was to be rewarded in any which way they chose. Evie chose knighthood, “to better serve the kingdom and the Princess” and of course, it had been the talk of court for months. 

Elizabeth and her knight in shining armor, Evie, are meant to be—everyone knows it, from the cooks to the handmaidens to the measly squire who huffs her hair out of her eyes as she lugs Evie’s things to her quarters. 

Maddie doesn’t know the princess, doesn’t care to know her, but she feels a bit sorry for her. After all, Maddie wouldn’t wish Evie on her worst enemy, let alone the well-loved princess. 

“You look like you’re about to topple over,” Ser Sophie says, falling into step next to Maddie, grinning as she walks, one hand on the pommel of her sword, the other hidden beneath her cloak. 

“You could always help,” Maddie points out, and though Sophie makes a big show of struggling and huffing, she does eventually grab the sword that’s slipping out of Maddie’s hands. 

“You’re in a worse mood than usual,” Sophie says conversationally as they cross the courtyard, Evie’s sword scabbard dragging along the ground between them, Sophie clearly not caring about her fellow knight’s property, “does this mean Ser Evie has already bragged about her plans to woo the good Princess?” 

“In detail, unfortunately,” Maddie says, grinning when that gets a loud laugh from Sophie. 

(She’s always liked Sophie—liked the humor, liked the long, dark hair that’s always braided, liked the fact that she’s always cool under pressure, and the fact that her nose is slightly crooked from the time Fredericks accidentally broke it, liked the fact that even on a day as warm as this one, Sophie seems unaffected and comfortable in her chainmail and leather.  

She especially likes the fact that Sophie has been kind, from the day they met, expecting absolutely nothing in return.) 

“How about I cheer you up and buy you a few drinks at the tavern when you’re done polishing Evie’s boots?” 

“You only want me there because I keep you out of trouble,” Maddie says with a roll of her eyes. “And if I polish Evie’s boots any more than I have, she’ll give Narcissus a run for his money.”

“Don’t be so bitter, Madeline. Look on the bright side, if Evie marries the good Princess, she’ll be out of our hair forever. And you may finally be knighted.” She emphasizes her point with a pat on Maddie’s shoulder, but she underestimates her own strength and the weight of her armor, because the pat nearly sends Maddie sprawling to the ground. 

“That’s a good point,” Maddie muses as she pulls herself up. “Though I don’t need to be knighted, I’ll be happy with just not seeing Evie every single day.” They finally reach Evie’s quarters as she finishes her comment, and she misses Sophie’s contemplative look as she throws the door open and lugs Evie’s things into her room, setting them up for the following morning when Maddie would have to get up at the crack of dawn to help Evie get dressed. 

“Come on,” Sophie says cheerfully as Maddie takes one last look at Evie’s quarters, wanting to make sure nothing is out of place, “I owe you a drink.” 

“You owe me more than one,” Maddie says with a laugh, dodging the lighthearted punch Sophie sends her way. 

“Let’s go, O Brave Squire. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

x

They don’t get their break.

By the time they make their way to the nearest tavern, Sophie is summoned to the palace “on urgent business” along with every other knight and squire within fifty miles of the palace. Left with nothing to do with herself, Maddie pulls her cloak tighter around herself, dons the hood, and sets out for beyond the city walls. 

Before becoming a squire, she rarely spent any time at all outside the city walls, she had no reason to. Everything she wanted, her family, her home, her friends, were within the safety of the city, nestled right outside the sprawling palace grounds. But then the sickness came, everything she loved was lost (gone, along with the Queen), and Maddie became a squire and took to hiding out in the woods beyond the city.

For a moment to breathe. For a break, for a chance to lay on her back and stare up at the sky and dream of leaving and never looking back.

It’s become somewhat of a habit now. Any free moment, any moment that was hers and hers entirely, she drops everything, pulls up the hood of her cloak, and disappears into the trees. Always, it’s very quiet and still, giving her a chance to complain under her breath about Evie, not worrying about being overheard. 

(It’s the solitude, she thinks. She just craves it. 

She’s almost glad of the urgent business that allows her to do this instead of spending the night at the tavern.) 

And for a moment, barely a second or two really, she gets that silence and solitude she so craves, before she’s rudely interrupted by a grunt, a mumbled curse, and then a heavy sigh. Maddie pulls out the dagger she hides at her belt, presses her back against the nearest tree, and peers towards the source of the sound, the ragged breathing, the fairly aggressive footsteps.

“Come on, Hamlet,” says a surprisingly gentle and pretty voice, though its owner is clearly harried and stressed, “we need to go.”

Maddie takes a small step, making sure to still have her back against the tree, and she cranes her head. Several feet away, only partially obscured by the trees, is a girl. Not any girl, but the most beautiful girl Maddie has ever set eyes on: her long blonde hair almost looks white in the moonlight, her lips curved into a tiny smile despite the furrow of her brow every time she’s unable to tug Hamlet—a massive, black horse—any further. 

Maddie doesn’t need the royal insignia on the horse’s saddle or the beautiful, expensive dress the girl is wearing to immediately recognize exactly who has stumbled in on her moment of peace and quiet.

The Princess, Elizabeth herself. 

(Now, Maddie is nothing but a lowly squire, but she’s been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the princess thrice before. First, soon after she became a squire, she’d quite literally run into the princess, both of them tumbling to the ground. She’d gotten quite an earful from Evie that day, and soon after, Evie was knighted. The second time, it was from a distance during the ceremony knighting the newest members of the King’s court. And the last time was merely weeks ago, from across the courtyard, somehow managing to earn a tiny smile and a small wave before Princess Elizabeth was swept away by one of her attendants. 

Every time, seeing the princess in person had been heart stopping. This time is no different.)

Without really thinking about it, Maddie slides her knife back in its sheath then puts her hands up in a non-threatening gesture, and approaches the princess. 

“I’m so sorry—” Maddie tries, immediately cut off by the neighing of the horse, who then pulls back on its hind legs, shocking the princess into letting go of the reins. 

What happens next goes by so quickly that Maddie would later be sure she’d hallucinated the whole thing. One minute, the princess looks up at her horse in horror, clearly sure she’s about to be trampled, and the next, Maddie has tackled the princess to the ground, rolling them a safe distance away, ending up straddling the other girl, arms braced on either side of her head.

“Are you all right?”

“Get off me,” the princess shouts, managing to land a remarkably precise blow onto Maddie’s face as they scramble about. She stumbles off the princess, tasting blood, but ignores the pain radiating from the right side of her face and instead stumbles over to the horse, urging it to calm down.

“I’m so sorry,” Maddie says as Hamlet lets out an aggressive breath, but allows Maddie to rub his neck. “I didn’t mean to frighten either one of you.” She turns to look at the princess, making sure to keep her eyes averted. “I’m so sorry for knocking you down, Princess.” 

She chances a single look at the princess’ face, watching as she casts her eyes up and down, pausing briefly on the insignia on her bag. 

“You’re from the palace,” the princess finally says, a bit tonelessly, as she gets to her feet and shakes off the leaves stuck to her dress and hair. “You’re new. But you found me rather quickly, so you must not be useless. What’s your name, knight?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

This makes the princess blink and even share a look with her horse, shockingly enough letting out whinny and shaking its head—as if it is disappointed with Maddie. “You don’t know what names are?”

“I think you’ve got it wrong, Princess,” Maddie says quickly, finally catching on to the fact that there’s quite a bit going on in the palace she’s clearly not privy to. “I’m not a knight. I’m just a squire. And I, um, wasn’t looking for you. In fact, technically, you found me.” 

The princess eyes her suspiciously. “You’re not a knight?” she questions, as if she doesn’t really want to believe it.

“No, Princess.”

“And you weren’t sent by my brother to look for me?”

“No, Princess. I didn’t know you were even in need of finding.” 

“So if I just...got on Hamlet and left. You’d what? Let me?”

It’s Maddie’s turn to blink. “It’s not really my place to let you do anything, Princess. I wouldn’t try to stop you, if that’s what you’re asking. If anything, I’d just follow you.”

“Follow me?”

“Of course, your highness. There’s no honor in watching the princess venture out into the woods on her own. I’d accompany you at the very least.” 

This response is not what the princess was expecting, because her eyes widen a bit, and she steps forward, close enough that she tugs the horse’s reins out of Maddie’s hands. “And if I told you I want to leave and never come back? Would you still follow me then?” 

Maddie doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, Princess.” 

“Interesting,” the princess mumbles, head slightly tilted to the side as she studies Maddie. There’s a beat, then she bends a bit at the knees, ducking to catch Maddie’s gaze. “I know you,” she says slowly. “You’re the squire Evie hates so much.” Maddie swallows, unable to speak when the princess’ brown eyes—her beautiful brown eyes—are so focused on her. “Madeline, right?” 

“I’m honored that the princess knows who I am,” Maddie mumbles, breaking eye contact. This, for whatever reason, makes the princess chuckle, and she basically takes Maddie’s breath away when she pats her on the shoulder. 

“Don’t be silly.” She looks like she’s about to say more, but at that moment, they both turn their heads at the sound of pounding hooves and shouts of ‘Princess!’ coming from the distance. “Ah, well. I suppose they’ve found me. Thanks to you, really,” she adds, narrowing her eyes at her horse playfully. She lets the horse press its muzzle to her cheek in an apparent apology, letting out a soft laugh, then tugs on the reins, pulling the horse back in the direction of the palace. She pauses after a few feet, and looks back at Maddie. “I have a feeling we’ll see much more of each other, Madeline,” she says. “So please, stop with all the princess nonsense. It’s just Lizzie to you.” 

She doesn’t wait for a response, which is a good thing. It takes nearly a quarter of an hour before Maddie can even move again, unrooting herself with a tiny smile and a whispered Lizzie. 

x

Soon enough, Maddie becomes rather sure she imagined the whole interaction with the princess. 

Days pass by with no indication she even ran into the jewel of the royal family. No one glares at her accusingly for tackling the princess to the hard forest floor, no one comments on the way she goes about her work for Evie without a single complaint (too full of some sort of rush from the princess’ order to call her Lizzie), no one even mentions the awful black eye Maddie is sporting. 

(In fact, it’s the black eye—and the view of it she gets every time she polishes Evie’s armor—that gives her a bit of hope that she isn’t crazy. The pain is a reminder that, yes, she did meet Elizabeth, and yes, the princess knew her name.)

But, enough days pass that Maddie—deflating all at once—finally begins to accept that she’d gotten her hopes up, had thought there was more to Princess Elizabeth’s ‘we’ll see more of each other’ comment than there actually was, and finds herself accepting she isn’t going to be seeing the princess at all.

And, just as soon as the thought enters her head, she runs into the princess, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“I’m starting to think this is just how you say hello,” Elizabeth tells her, letting out a laugh as Maddie struggles between wanting to help balance the princess and not wanting to offend her by touching her without permission (again). 

“I’m so sorry, Princess, I—”

“—thought we agreed it was just Lizzie,” Elizabeth finishes for her, raising an eyebrow when Maddie gathers the courage to look straight at her instead of a point above her head. 

“Well, agreed may be somewhat of a stretch,” Maddie says without thinking, horrified when the words register with her brain, her hand coming up and covering her mouth. “Sorry, I just meant—”

“—look. I want you to pretend I’m one of your friends,” Elizabeth says, reaching out and curling her fingers around Maddie’s wrist, tugging her hand away from her mouth. “Then, soon enough, you won’t be pretending.”

Maddie takes in a deep breath, shaking her head. “Are you sure you want to be friends with me, Pri—Lizzie,” she corrects, a little blinded by the grin Elizabeth shoots her at her correction. 

“I think the real question is if you’d even want to be friends with me,” she says after a moment, tugging on Maddie’s hand gently, pulling her towards the palace. “You see, I told my brother about our run in, and he insists on speaking with you.”

“Am I in trouble?” Maddie asks worriedly, swallowing hard as they walk through the entrance hall and towards the throne room. 

(It’s common knowledge that the King is king only in name, that he has been since his wife died years ago. All official business was up to the King, but the day to day managing of the kingdom?

That’s been left to Jack and Elizabeth for as long as Maddie can remember.)

“Trouble? No, I don’t think so,” Elizabeth says, the answer not inspiring much confidence even as she pushes the doors to the throne room wide open. Maddie pauses, unable to help it, her eyes drawn to the red and gold rugs and banners, the ornate table where the royal family took their meals, the massive throne itself—situated on a dais at the very end of the hall. “Come on, Madeline,” Elizabeth tells her softly, shifting her grip from Maddie’s wrist to her elbow, and gently pulling her forward.

Maddie’s heart pounds quickly and loudly in her chest, giving rise to the sudden, stupid thought that she was quite close to passing out in front of the royal family, but before she can voice her fears to Elizabeth, her brother Jack gets up from where he’s seated at the table, making quick strides towards the two of them.

“Ah! My lovely, adventuring sister and her rescuer arrive!”

“Rescuer?” Maddie mumbles.

Elizabeth elbows her a bit, actually winking when Maddie turns to her. “I may have embellished the story about our meeting. Leave the talking to me, yeah?” she adds in a whisper before turning to her brother with a wide smile. “Jack, we agreed you wouldn’t be too effusive with your praise, you’re going to make the poor girl uncomfortable.” 

“I’m sorry, you’re absolutely right,” Jack says, coming to a stop as he reaches them, grabbing Maddie by the shoulder before she has a chance to bow. “None of that, not for you. The woman who saved my sister’s life doesn’t bow to anyone.” 

“Sorry?” Maddie asked, unable to help it. Elizabeth, from over Jack’s shoulder, made a face at Maddie, even going as far as sticking her tongue out.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Madeline,” Elizabeth said, refocusing her brother’s attention on her. “She’s such a joker, pretending she doesn’t remember saving me after Hamlet got spooked by a snake. The way she raced into the woods after us...it was quite brave.”

Maddie, who was there and knows this is not true, keeps her mouth shut, giving Elizabeth and Jack a tight smile when they both turn to her. 

“My sister has tried to run away four times,” Jack tells Maddie slowly, and Maddie mentally corrects him, thinking five times, actually. “It was a relief, to say the least, that this latest...outing...was not planned.” He lets out a sigh, bracing his hands on either side of his waist, tilting his head back. “After your service to our family, the appropriate thing would be to offer you a reward, not ask more of you. But I am busy preparing for my wedding, and Lizzie seems to have taken a liking to you, so I would be grateful if you allow me to delay your knighthood and instead act as a companion for my sister after her traumatic experience.”

“What my little brother means,” Elizabeth says cheerfully, “is that he wants you to babysit me, because he can’t right now.” 

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head and looking at Maddie seriously, as if needing her to believe him. “My sister doesn’t need a babysitter. She’s to be Queen. What she needs is protection from, well, undesirable presences.” 

“He’s talking about Evie,” Elizabeth explains helpfully, confusing Maddie with the lack of argument on her end. It’s almost as if she wants a babysitter. 

Jack turns to his sister, hands in his hair now. “Lizzie, you know she—”

“—I’m really sorry, but is this something I should be privy to? I’m just, you know, a squire.” 

“No, you’re right,” Jack says, as if coming to himself all at once. “The reasons don’t matter. So? Can I count on you?” he asks, waiting for Maddie’s nod before letting out a little sigh of relief. “Good, good. Excellent,” he says, more to himself than to Maddie. 

And later, long after he’s gone, after one of Elizabeth’s handmaidens has shown Maddie her new quarters (right next to the princess’) and laid out new clothes, Elizabeth confesses why she didn’t put up an argument, why she merely went along with Jack’s request, the real reason she wants Maddie around:

“You’re going to help me run away a sixth time.” 

x

Elizabeth lays under the shade of a tree several days later, head pillowed by Maddie’s leg, a book abandoned on her chest.

“We should talk about it,” Maddie says, breaking the silence. It being Elizabeth’s desire to run away and use Maddie to do it, something she’s been mum about since her confession. Instead, she’d busied their days with fitting Maddie in nicer clothes, dragging her to lessons, even having her teach the little she knew about swinging a sword. 

Elizabeth sighs, but she doesn’t move, and Maddie resists the urge to smooth back the princess’ hair, to trace a finger from her brow to her hairline. “I don’t want to be Queen.”

“Then why don’t you just say so?”

“It’s not something you just don’t accept,” she says, and she turns her head, the tip of her nose pressed against Maddie’s knee. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, I thought you said you’d follow me anywhere.”

“Yes, follow you anywhere. But I won’t help you run away if I don’t even know why.”

This makes Elizabeth sit up, book falling onto the grass and opening to a random page, twisting to look at Maddie with narrowed eyes. “You can’t talk like that, you know, I am the princess.”

“You told me to pretend you’re my friend. That’s how I’d talk to my friends,” Maddie informs her, wishing she didn’t miss Elizabeth’s warmth already. To her surprise, this response makes Elizabeth smile. 

“I’d have to get married if I wanted to be Queen. And I don’t want to get married.”

“Why? It’s not as if you’ve got any shortage of suitors.” Maddie sighs as she spots one of them in the distance. “Look. Here comes one now.” She starts to get up, to give Elizabeth privacy, but before she can, there’s a hand on hers, holding on tightly.

“Stay,” Elizabeth requests softly, and Maddie settles back down, powerless to say no, and realizing with a start she doesn’t want to say no. 

(She stays, enduring Evie’s glares and dirty looks.

She stays, knowing Evie will get her payback later.

She stays, and it’s worth it, because Elizabeth has tangled their fingers together, and doesn’t seem keen on letting go any time soon.)

x

“If you run away, where will you go?” Maddie asks several days later.

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Do you think you’ll miss your brother? Your home? Your people?”

“I’ve tried not to think about that.”

“What if you fall in love? Will you marry then and take the crown?”

“I’m not worried about me falling in love, Madeline. My issue is how will I ever know if the person I love loves me for me and not for what they can get from me?”  

“Well,” Maddie jokes, “I guess you could always just ask them to run away with you and see what they say.”

x

As the weeks go on, Maddie learns quite a bit about the princess. 

For one, she never eats breakfast, claiming that she’d rather start her day with several cups of tea. For another, Elizabeth hates the long, flowy dresses that she and the other women of court have to wear, and has—with increasing frequency—donned the pants and billowy shirts that Maddie prefers. But most importantly, Maddie learns that Elizabeth loves the library and spends nearly all her time there. 

And it’s unbearably boring. 

She rocks her chair back, feet on the table, staring at the ceiling with her hands folded over her stomach, dangerously close to dozing off when Elizabeth speaks up.

“I’m not interested in Evie, you know,” she says, shocking Maddie enough that she drops her chair back down too quickly, legs falling to the floor with a thud that sounds impossibly loud in the quiet of the library. 

“Oh,” Maddie says stupidly, not quite sure what else to say. The thing is, it’s complicated.

She likes Elizabeth. Perhaps more than she should, definitely more than is appropriate. She knows, without a doubt, her feelings will not be returned (they can’t be, she’s a squire and Elizabeth is a princess). More importantly, Elizabeth’s feelings for Evie are absolutely none of her business. Except...well, except that Maddie doesn’t dislike many people but she absolutely dislikes Evie and there’s no doubt in her mind that Evie is incredibly wrong for Elizabeth. 

(There is the unhelpful part of her that, head-bowed, quietly suggests maybe there is someone else more— 

More right.)

But again, it’s none of her business.

“My brother doesn’t like her either, don’t worry. But Evie...she was there. She was there when I was—”

“—you don’t have to tell me this.”

“I know. I want to,” Elizabeth says, closing her book with a resounding snap, shifting in her chair enough that they’re staring directly at each other. Maddie tries her best not to let her pleasure at those three words show on her expression, but she thinks, judging by Elizabeth’s smile, she’s not quite successful. “Evie saved me,” she continues, letting out a deep breath. “And ever since then, it’s like...she just wants to keep doing the saving. She wants to swoop in, to be my knight in shining armor.”

“That’s romantic,” Maddie says, not believing it, and hating that she’s defending Evie when all she wants to do is agree with Elizabeth and tell her that Evie isn’t worth her time. 

Elizabeth gives Maddie a look that clearly says she knows exactly what Maddie is thinking. “I don’t want a knight in shining armor, Madeline. I don’t want someone who wants to come and save my day. I just….”

“Just?” Maddie prods, literally on the edge of her seat, waiting for Elizabeth to finish her sentence.

“Perhaps this is silly, but I just want someone who just wants to be. To sit with me in the dry, boring moments. Someone who just wants to be with me. Someone like—” She cuts herself off, clears her throat and shakes her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You and I are running away after all.”

“I haven’t agreed to that, actually,” Maddie says absentmindedly, trying to calm her racing heart. For a moment, just a second, she’d thought Elizabeth was about to...well, it doesn’t matter. 

Elizabeth reaches out, fingers circling around one of Maddie’s wrists. “But if I tried to leave?”

“I’d follow you,” Maddie says easily, with no hesitation at all. “If only to keep you out of trouble.”  

Elizabeth smiles, her eyes soft. “Now see. That’s what I mean.” 

x

The wedding is only days away when Maddie bursts into Elizabeth’s rooms, laden with bags. Her dramatic entrance isn’t quite given the reaction she’s looking for, only causing Elizabeth to look up from the letter she’s writing and eye Maddie with amusement. “Lost, Madeline?” she asks, eyes flicking from Maddie’s face to all the bags. 

“I’ve thought about it and thought about it and thought about it, and I realized...why am I thinking about it at all?” Maddie says, dropping the bags and approaching Elizabeth, dropping to her knees in front of her.

“What are we talking about?”

“You wanting to run away.” Maddie holds out a hand, palm up, trying not to smile when Elizabeth takes it almost immediately. “I kept wanting to know why but it doesn’t matter. If you want to go, you should be able to go. So I made a plan.”

Elizabeth blinks. “You made a plan?” she repeats, almost dazedly.

“I gathered supplies,” she gestures towards the bags, “got Sophie’s help with distracting guards at the gates so no one can warn your brother or the knights, even trained Hamlet not to freak out in the woods—”

“—is that where you’ve been going in the afternoons lately?” Elizabeth interrupts, but Maddie is on a roll.

“So just say the word. If you want to go, we go. I’ve sent letters ahead to friends, so we’ll have someplace to go, or we can just travel and explore. Or if you want to stay, get married to Evie,” here she physically has to keep herself from gagging, “I can help with that too. I can talk with her about being less intense maybe or—”

“—you’re such an idiot, Madeline,” Elizabeth breathes out, and that’s all the warning Maddie gets before Elizabeth is leaning forward, hands cupping Maddie’s face, and kisses her. “The only thing I want,” she says softly as she pulls away, and Maddie is quite shocked she’s still able to speak when she’s just taken Maddie’s breath away, “is you. Wasn’t that obvious?”

“It is now,” Maddie manages to say, and this time, she’s the one who closes the distance between them, bags and plans and thoughts of running away all forgotten. 

XxX

“And in the end,” Maddie finishes, gesticulating wildly with her hands, “the princess marries the squire and doesn’t spare the dumb knight a single thought ever again.” 

Silence follows her words, Lizzie’s hand rubbing a gentle pattern into her back while Sophie and Jack merely blink at her for a moment.

“That was fantastic,” Jack finally says, struggling not to smile. “I’m actually a little shocked Evie didn’t find herself stuck in a well or something for all time, cursed forever.”

“That’s the sequel,” Maddie says, allowing Lizzie to burrow her face into her neck, running her fingers through her wife’s hair. “Part two coming soon.”

Sophie lets out a loud snort, getting to her feet and stretching. “Well, I think it’s adorable that the two of you write fanfiction about your own lives,” she says brightly, smiling to ensure there’s no bite to her words. “I for one am just glad to be included, in all fairness. Maybe a bit more next time, though. My part was tragically small.”

“They’re love stories, Soph, you’re not supposed to be involved,” Lizzie mumbles from where her face is still pressed against Maddie’s neck. Both Jack and Sophie protest jokingly at that, carrying the faux outrage even as they gather their things and wave goodbye to leave. 

When they’re alone, Lizzie pulls away and smooths back Maddie’s hair, pressing a light kiss to her forehead and lingering there.

“I’d always choose you, you know,” she whispers, ducking her head so that their foreheads are pressed together. “In this life or any other. No one else comes close.” 

(It’s sweet and nice and Maddie likes to hear the way Lizzie’s mouth curls over the words, the way she lingers on choose and you. Maddie likes the way that Lizzie knows to reassure her without knowing about Evie’s call or Maddie’s annoyance. 

She likes that Lizzie knows her.)

“But it’s nice to know you’ve got a backup, huh?” Maddie jokes, lacing her fingers between Lizzie’s, unable to help her smile when Lizzie uses her free hand to hook a finger through a belt loop and tug Maddie closer. “In case things between us don’t work out?”

“Well, it never hurts to be prepared,” Lizzie says with a laugh, her free hand now at Maddie’s chin, thumb brushing her jawline. Her expression turns serious. “You know I love you, right? Just you.” 

“Gasp! What about Hamlet and Macbeth?” 

“Madeline,” Lizzie stresses, her hand moving to the back of Maddie’s neck, thumb now brushing under her ear. “I’m being serious.” 

Maddie drops her head onto Lizzie’s shoulder, sighing into the feeling of her wife’s hand in her own, the other lightly massaging the back of her neck. 

“I know. In this life or any other, I’d choose you too.” She pauses, pressing her free hand to Lizzie’s back, running her fingers up Lizzie’s spine slowly. “Though, my backup is Jack. I think you need to know.” 

Lizzie pulls away with a start as Maddie laughs.

“Come on, Maddie, way to ruin the moment.”

“No! Come back!” Maddie cries between her laughter, watching as Lizzie huffs indignantly and grabs Hamlet’s leash, causing the dog to begin trotting around the kitchen excitedly. “Don’t go! Don’t take the children because of this,” she adds, kneeling down and hugging Hamlet lightly, grimacing and giggling when he manages to lick the entire right side of her face. 

And Lizzie, seemingly unable to help it, laughs along. 

[somerandr]

Fall/Autumn Writing Prompts for your OTP

I promised I’d post this list alone for anyone who wanted to use it for their own writing endeavors.  Here it is!  Have fun with it, y’all!  Reblog and use at will!  :D

Frost

Crisp Air

Falling Leaves

Pumpkin Spice

Corn Maze

Fairs

Whiskey

Hoodies

Scarves

Sweaters

Fireplace

Bonfire

Pies

Toasted Marshmallows

Fog

Blankets

Pumpkin Patch

Hayride

Knitting

Apple-Picking

Touch Football

Tailgating

Leaf Raking/Leaf Piles

Farmer’s Market

Fall Festival

Bed & Breakfast

Renting a Cabin

Stargazing

Maple Syrup

See Your Breath

Flannel

[somerandr]

hot and steamy

It's quiet.

Not the kind of silence brought about by worry or uncertainty. No, this quiet comes with the sun, the barely there light filtering in through their windows. Her soft footsteps the only sound besides the slight creak of the wood as her weight shifts to it.

It's warm and comforting and home.

The quiet of their house before her family is awake.

Lizzie only appreciates it because she knows of the promise of sound later. Vibrant and loud and lively. Of Hamlet’s nails clicking against the tile as he trots after Maddie’s every move in the kitchen and Macbeth skittering across the floor because he can't get traction on the hardwood floor in his haste to his dish.

(She knows the difference of silence without that promise of more, of life.

Lizzie knows of too many days in her family home after her parents were- gone, they were gone- and Jack left rather than face what was next together.

So the chaos of her home now once everyone wakes? Welcomed and loved and cherished.)

Maddie’s breathing is quiet when she slides back into bed, the sheets wrapped tightly around her.

(It had almost been too quiet. Panic spreading as soon as she woke up until she pressed two fingers to Maddie’s wrist, staying rigid as she made sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, that Maddie was taking long, deep breaths.

Just quiet compared to her thoughts, worries, fears then.)

(And oh, it's all so loud.)

Lizzie shifts closer to Maddie and runs through all the ways she could wake her up.

(This is still new.

Maddie sleeping later than her instead of being up and about and flicking all their lights on to draw Lizzie out of bed.)

“I can actually feel you thinking.”

Maddie turns over, raising the blankets that had been trapped under her- Maddie says she doesn't know how she ends up with all the blankets, but Lizzie knows, she steals them- and pats the spot beside her.

Lizzie doesn't need the encouragement, she always wants to be closer to Maddie, and she happily takes offer. She shuffles to press close to Maddie, pushing her cold feet against Maddie’s. Maddie makes a disgusted noise and jerks her feet away, a hand popping at her shoulder. 

“It's too early for your-" Maddie blinks angrily. Is it angrily? Mostly sleepily and the attempt at anger just comes off adorable and leaves Lizzie’s chest feeling warm. “Your antics,” Maddie hisses finally.

“I made you coffee,” she protests loudly. Lizzie’s hand finds Maddie’s waist and settles there, dragging her thumb over warm skin where her shirt had ridden up through the night. “And here I was, about to tell you a story to get you ready for the day instead of letting you sleep through it.”

Maddie tugs the covers up to her chin and then some, leaving just her brilliant eyes shining in the sunlight. “What,” she grumbles and burrows deeper into the sheets, “do I have to endure your teasing in all our lives?”

(A giddiness builds in her chest from Maddie’s acceptance of the stories. How easy it's slipped into their lives.

But then she remembers the why, and oh, that always taints it, doesn't it?)

“Endure? Endure?” Lizzie repeats it as dramatically as she can, inching closer to Maddie as she gasps. Their noses brush, and Maddie’s arms slide around her shoulders, fingers twisting into her shirt to pull her even closer. Lizzie grins, knows what will come even before she says it, but she has to. “You love it.”

Maddie rolls her eyes and groans, shoving her away. Lizzie dramatically falls to her back and stares thoughtfully for a long moment at the ceiling. 

“Was that agreement I heard or?”

“You only hear what you want to.” Maddie moves towards her, resting her head on Lizzie’s shoulder and tugs at blonde strands. “Tell me your story then.”

“Ours,” Lizzie corrects softly, feeling the curve of Maddie’s smile growing wider against her shoulder.

“Ours.”

x

There's one thing more important than anything else. Above all else, it matters the most.

Coffee.

(And yeah, okay. School and work and family and friends- all are important.

But none of that can happen without the sweet, sweet motivation and taste of coffee.)

It's with that thought in mind- and her impending midterms- that she heads down the stairwell to the hole in the wall coffee shop she found years ago.

It's quiet and cozy and never too packed, so even when she's running late- like today- she can stop in and get her coffee in record time.

There's even the nice old woman, June, who takes orders and was nice enough to help her when she didn't know the difference between cappuccino and macchiato and americano and god, she just wants a sweet coffee.

She steps in, inhaling deeply and immediately appreciating the faint music and hushed voices. Raising a hand, she starts to greet June and-

June isn't there.

Instead, there's a girl bobbing her head along to the music and giving the brightest- prettiest, oh she's so pretty- smile to every customer.

“Hey there.”

Lizzie swallows thickly and shifts her weight between her feet. The girl waves her hand, gestures to her in a way that isn't impatient at all. It's nice and gentle and really, it should've been impatient because she's just standing there dumbly.

She forces her feet to move towards the cash register, and her mouth refuses to work properly, slow and clumsy, but she manages a small, “hello.”

“Name?”

Lizzie groans inwardly and grips the counter tightly. She stamps her feet and ignores the encouraging smile from the pretty, pretty, too pretty barista, because she has to focus. “Elizabeth.” It's whispered and rough, but the girl nods while still keeping that same smile plastered on her face.

(She's supposed to be getting better with this.

With smiling and talking and interacting.

But that goal was without knowing she'd be face to face with bright eyes and a brilliant smile all paired with thick frames and a neatly tied apron.)

Lizzie sticks out a hand automatically, ever following her script of things that should be done, and waits as all she gets is a stare. The girl's eyes light up, brighter than they already were- impossible, they're already as bright as the sky, as deep as the sea- and she grasps Lizzie’s hand. 

“Maddie.” She smiles again but oh, this one, Lizzie realizes, is genuine and even better. She laughs and Lizzie finds herself grinning at the sight. “I was asking your name for the order, but it's nice to meet you Eliza.”

It's then she's hit with two things.

One, she's an idiot. Why would she think Maddie would introduce herself to a nervous, stupid girl?

And two-

That's not her name.

“Um.” She racks her head for a second and decides, no, it's not worth it. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Awesome,” Maddie says with a click of her pen and tilts her head. “What would you like?”

“I'm not sure.” Maddie’s lips quirk to the side in confusion and she points behind her to the menu with scribbled item in chalk spread across it. “Oh no, I mean-" Lizzie huffs, because it's ridiculous she never actually knew what she got. “I'm not sure what it is. June, she would just make mine?”

Lizzie winces at how it sounds. Silly and dumb and hard to deal with.

“Oh, I'm taking over some shifts.” Maddie rights her name tag, fingers scrabbling over the smooth metal. “Needed some money y'know? But if you describe it, I bet I could do it.” Maddie smiles playfully, a smile that has her face heating up and her fingers tightening their grip on the counter, “maybe even better.”

“Oh yeah?” Lizzie laughs, nerves coloring the sound but then she looks at Maddie, at the gentle curve of her smile and loosens her hold on the counter. “Cool, thank you.”

“Oh no,” Maddie shifts her glasses, taps her finger against the thick frames that are admittedly a little crooked, “don't thank me yet. I'm still pretty new, so.” She raises her shoulder and shrugs.

“So I'm your guinea pig,” Lizzie finishes.

“I was thinking more that we'd figure it out together,” Maddie says and then holds up a cup, holding a pen at the ready. “So let's go.

(Her thoughts stall at that, at we.

It's full of promise and what ifs and possibilities so vast that her chest tightens pleasantly at the certainty of seeing Maddie even once more.)

“Where?”

Maddie’s face scrunches up. “No, I meant-"

“I know,” Lizzie says as her fingers dance underneath the counter. It's a bad habit because there's always the chance of touching something gross, and yet, she still does it. “Bad joke.”

Maddie’s eyes crinkle and she shakes her head slowly. “No, it was good.”

“It's okay. I know you have to lie to customers,” Lizzie whispers, feeling more comfortable with every passing second under the weight of Maddie’s gaze. Even if it's from narrowed eyes and Maddie raising a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Last time I just asked for sweet.” Lizzie touches her chin thoughtfully. “And cold. And chocolate.”

“We don't sell milkshakes.”

Lizzie quirks her lips to the side, and it's just for Maddie’s quiet laugh that she sighs, long and reluctant. “I guess I'll do without.”

Maddie knocks against the counter, once, twice. Again, just to finish off a little rhythm and nods- it's almost more to herself than Lizzie and Lizzie tries not to be endeared by it.

(It's impossible really.

The way Maddie sets to making her coffee, a look of pure concentration on her face. It's far too serious a face for a quaint coffee shop, but it just seems so Maddie. As if she does it every time, a nagging desire to do it well and right.

Even the wonderful flourish of cursive letters as she writes Eliza.

It makes her desperately wish that was her name.)

Lizzie waits quietly, hearing the door chime as people come and go. A few people step up behind her and is it? It is- It's weird to feel lucky that she got Maddie instead of another employee.

(Because then she wouldn't have gotten to explain her coffee order.

That's it.

Not like she’ll cross her fingers to have Maddie every time now, to get that wide smile that makes everything go quiet and slow and-

It's not that.

Not that at all.)

“Eliza.” 

Lizzie jumps at the sound, at the coffee shoved into view and Maddie raises a hand, “Sorry, I had called you a few times.”

“No, I'm sorry.” It's not my name, she almost says. Almost. Almost brushes fingers with Maddie as she takes the cup. Almost says the pride in the way her shoulders sit suit Maddie just as well as the chocolate syrup staining her hands and apron. “Couldn't hear.”

(Sometimes it feels like that's all her life is.

Almosts, one after another, packed so tightly together that she's not quite sure if there ever just is.

But then again, what's anything worth if not for the build up?)

(That's always there too.

Push past, focus on what's there and not what's just not-don't think about what isn't there.

There will always be something better, just wait.

She almost believes herself.

It's nice to have that at least.)

“If you're not happy with it-"

“I'm sure it's great,” Lizzie says and places a few bills on the counter. Maddie frowns at that, eyebrows drawing together and Lizzie can see her thinking of an argument. “Seriously,” she says quickly and presses her hands down, “thank you for humoring my weird order.”

“I was happy to.” Maddie blinks slowly- it’s as if she’s realizing something, something that Lizzie can’t quite put her finger on- and tugs at her apron. “I mean, it's my job.”

Lizzie looks down at her cup, slides her fingers over the cool plastic. It's tough to swallow for a moment, tougher to accept that it's disappointment swirling in her chest. 

(It’s ridiculous, the buildup she felt when it amounts to nothing more than a brief interaction with a girl she barely knows. It’s ridiculous but still, still, she can’t help but think- Almost.) 

“Right.” She glances up. “Careful,” she adds as she backs away from the counter, keeping her voice light, “If it’s good, I might just have to come back.”

Maddie laughs, one that shakes her shoulders as she drops her head, and Lizzie almost starts to apologize for- for what, she’s not sure, but then Maddie looks up and-

Oh. It’s with an infinitely soft gaze, a subtle upward curve of her lips that seems realer than any of the smiles before that Maddie says, “I hope so.”

It’s that smile, those quiet, quiet words that kindle hope, hope, hope in her chest and has her leaving the shop with a lightness in her step.

It doesn’t leave her for the rest of the day, even as she sips at too bitter coffee and remembers that her name is, as of now, Eliza.

X

Lizzie stares up at the coffee cup that swings in the breeze above the door. She imagines it was once a rich, deep brown. Warm, soothing tones that promised of what was within, but now, it rests crookedly in the air, pale hues from being under the sun for far too many years.

It’s nice to take everything in every once and awhile.

(At least, that’s what she tells herself.

Not that she got up early, pacing the length of her small apartment over and over and over again as she tried to decide whether she’d come here again.

It’s midterms, she had reasoned with herself, she deserved a good cup of coffee.)

(And maybe she’d get to say hello to Maddie.

Maybe.

Not that it was the singular reason- no matter what other excuse she scrounged up- for her visit today.)

“You okay?”

Lizzie starts, shoulders drawing up high and whips around to- “Maddie! Hi.”

“Hello,” she greets slowly, apron folded neatly over her arm as she gestures up, “something wrong with the sign?”

She looks tired, a sleepy half smile and slow blinks. Lizzie wonders if she's late to work from the way her jacket looks half way put on. One side slipping off her shoulder and hair ruffled up to one side.

“The sign?”Lizzie tries not to stare, but without the counter blocking her view, it’s just- she’s right there. Maddie meets her confusion by raising her arm again. “Oh,” Lizzie bites her lip and fumbles for an answer as Maddie simply stands there quietly. Expectantly. “It’s a nice sign.”

“I guess?” Lizzie taps her foot as Maddie’s looks searchingly at her, blue eyes wandering as she thinks. “You’re back.” Now, she grins. Nice and wide and proud, and Lizzie’s stomach flips pleasantly at the sight. The whole trip already worth that smile alone. “The coffee was that good, huh?”

“Fantastic, really.” Lizzie tilts her head at Maddie’s happy hum and watches slowly as Maddie reaches towards her, her heartbeat suddenly becoming loud and demanding in her ears and-

Maddie opens the door for her.

“Oh.” She fights down the blush she can feel creeping up her neck, breathing slowly and deeply. But then she thinks about how excited she was just at the thought of Maddie touching her shoulder or arm or oh, maybe her hand and it feels incredibly hot for an early winter morning. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Lizzie walks in quickly, careful to put enough distance between her and Maddie as she does, trying not to think too hard about whether Maddie can tell how red she is. “You’re here earlier than I am and I work here.” Maddie nudges her forward towards the counter when she stalls at that. “What’s got you up so early?”

Lizzie breathes, easier this time. That, she can answer without seeming like a fool. She thinks. 

“Class.” And wanting to come here had her setting her alarm earlier than ever to still have plenty of time to get to class. She bites her tongue, refusing to let anymore slip than her concise explanation.

Maddie sticks out her tongue, a silly little face that makes Lizzie laugh. “This early? That sucks.”

“I like them early. It gets them all out of the way for the rest of the day.”

“That makes sense,” Maddie agrees, stepping behind the counter and it’s only because she’s following the movement of Maddie’s apron as she puts it over her head does Lizzie’s eyes fall on- can people have nice necks? Because Maddie does. “Mine are at night, so I can do this,” she says, waving her hand, “during the day.”

“Can I ask what you’re studying?”

Maddie looks over her shoulder as she- Lizzie assumes she’s making the coffee, but she’s not quite sure what exactly happens to do that. 

“Of course not, Eliza. That’s just incredibly personal and not something every person at school asks.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I am.” Maddie glances behind her, and it’s only then she notices the shuffling behind her as people wait to order. “But I think that’ll have to wait.”

“Oh gosh.” Maddie scrunches up her nose and her face softens, but Lizzie has no idea why, because it should- she should be annoyed. This is her job and-

“Hey,” her coffee is pressed into her hands, Maddie’s blue eyes focused and bright as she continues softly, “I have a break at ten.” She looks down to count her change, and Lizzie leans just a bit closer, not daring to believe but oh, it is. There’s a subtle redness to Maddie’s cheeks as she continues to look away. “If you ever want to swing by then.”

“I can do that.”

(And this time when she walks out, it doesn’t feel like almost.

It feels like more.)

X

It takes planning.

(The first few times, she doesn’t make it.

Her class lets out after Maddie’s break starts and it takes time to get there and she has to go right back and-

Maddie just raises an eyebrow slowly at her every time she bursts in and Lizzie pretends it doesn’t feel a hell of a lot like disappointment that she sees.)

But after days of trying, she makes it.

(She brushes past any classmates attempting small talk and avoids the routes that have more students mingling about and just-

Runs.)

Today, she finds Maddie not behind the counter, but at a table to the side, sipping at her own coffee and looking out the window. She seems unaware of Lizzie’s arrival, and she uses the time to get her breathing under control as she walks slowly up, deciding how she’ll greet Maddie. Her eyes fall on the set of Maddie’s shoulders- hunched over as she swipes repeatedly at her phone- and trails downward, following the slope of her back.

(Is it the best way to get her lungs working properly again?

Maybe not.

But Maddie is, oh, she’s pretty and nice- it’s not just the job, Lizzie thinks, the kindness is something that is rooted deep within Maddie and is on full display with every breath- and Lizzie, well, she finds herself returning again and again.)

“Maddie,” she calls softly, knowing her steps are too soft to be heard over the music and murmuring of customers. It’s adorable really, the way Maddie’s eyes blink up and she jerks her head to the side, mouth falling open.

It takes only a second for it to happen, another for the surprise to disappear and a slow smile to appear in its wake. 

“Hi.” Maddie swipes her hair behind her ear, an almost pointless movement with her hair being short, but Lizzie’s eyes fall on it all the same. Nimble fingers brushing against hair that looks so soft.

Lizzie shakes her head, dizzy with the distraction as Maddie speaks again. “You made it.”

“I did.” Lizzie puffs up, because that’s the fastest she’s ever run- more because she doesn’t really do the whole running thing but still- and not because Maddie’s looking so happy. At her. “I think I took two people out on the way here.”

Maddie quirks her lips to the side and props her chin against her upturned palm. “I’d almost think you were in a rush to get here.”

“Only a little bit.” Lizzie puts on her best smile, it’s easy enough with Maddie chuckling at her. A quiet but warm sound that sits comfortably over her shoulders. Lizzie waves a hand at the chair beside Maddie. “Can I?”

“Course.”

“Thank you.” That earns her an eye roll, over the top and far too dramatic for her simply being polite. “I’ve done my part. I think you finally owe me the deets.”

Maddie’s eyebrows draw together, and she almost thinks it’s from confusion until- “Deets? Who even says that anymore?”

“I do.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she repeats solemnly. She would take it back, say she wouldn’t dare say that and act like it was all a joke and play it off harmlessly but-

But Maddie is laughing and bringing up her hand to hide the wonderful, brilliant smile that Lizzie’s words cause. It can’t be that bad anyhow, she thinks, to say deets. She’ll say it with pride. (Mostly because what can be so bad that causes that?) 

“That’s,” Maddie dissolves into giggles again. “That’s great.”

Lizzie leans back and tries to feign nonchalance, rocking her chair back until the front legs leave the floor. Another bad habit, one her mother tried to correct at every chance. “Laugh all you want, I can tell avoidance when I see it.” She lowers the chair down at the thought. She tries to discreetly swipe her sweaty palms down her pants leg.

Any other occasion, she’d be sure it was from talking to a practical stranger. Nervousness and twitching are no stranger to her when her thoughts were a constant block of stand like this, don’t do that, smile, smile, smile. But right now? Her thoughts are quiet and her heart isn’t triple timing it out of fear.

The air conditioning feels fantastic after running, and there’s the scent of coffee wafting in the air as a nice girl laughs beside her.

(She’s comfortable.

Even as the clock ticks away, counting down until she has to run back to class. She pays it no mind and finds she doesn’t even care.

It’s nice, really.)

Maddie shifts and hunches over the table. Lizzie swallows loudly, too loud she chastises herself, as Maddie enters her space, and Lizzie finds herself looking into deep blue eyes. “Pray tell, what am I avoiding?”

“I’m pretty sure I was promised an answer to my question.” She pats herself on the back for a solid, comprehensible answer.

(Would someone expect that out of most people when faced with bright eyes and a lovely smile and the best laugh and-

No. No, they wouldn’t.)

“Your question?” Lizzie dutifully nods, and Maddie taps at the table, breathing a small oh. “You mean about school?”

“Duh.”

“Oh, someone’s got sass.” Maddie’s foot kicks out against hers, easy and playful. “Journalism,” she says simply. Her eyes look somewhere over Lizzie’s shoulder, far off and unfocused. “There are too many things wrong or- or going on that people should-” Maddie forces out a harsh breath. “People need to know about.”

“Righting the wrongs of society?”

Maddie grins, sharp and fierce, an edge of something in the corners. “Maybe one day.” It feels more like a promise than the uncertainty of a maybe.

(She wonders if its a guise.

Fool people into thinking Maddie will go along with the flow, lulling them into thinking she’s not a force to worry about.

It’s the fire in her eyes, the sharp jut of her shoulders and tip of her chin as she says it that clues Lizzie in. There’s passion there, a care for what happens.

Like she needs more.)

“That’s good.” Lizzie folds her hands on top of each other, pressing her thumbs together. “Admirable,” she amends and wonders if it’s too much. It’s just them in the back corner of the shop, the words between the two of them. “It suits you,” she says with more certainty this time.

“Thank you.” Eyes soft and smile gentle, Maddie brushes a few fingers over the back of her hand before pulling back. “So do I have to run to get the same information or?”

“No, I’m kinder than that.”

“That was low.”

Lizzie smiles at her wounded look and raises her shoulders. “I’m just being honest.” Another roll of Maddie’s eyes. It’s too well done, she thinks, and she has a feeling Maddie does it this often for everyone. “Architecture. It’s-” What her parents wanted. Stable. Routine. “Nice,” she finishes lamely.

“That’s really cool.” Lizzie rolls her eyes this time and Maddie shakes her head. “It is,” she insists. “You create. How much cooler does it get than that?”

Maddie tilts her head and her voice drops as she says it. It feels so genuine that Lizzie finds her arguments against it’s supposed coolness fall away and she smiles gratefully back at Maddie. 

“I guess it is pretty cool.”

Maddie’s smile when she thinks she’s victorious is another favorite, an image she thinks on over and over as she runs back to class in an effort to remember it.

X

“You’re lying.”

It’s after days and days of meeting up. So many blurring into nonstop classes with only her times of meeting up with Maddie to break them apart. Sometimes managing to make Maddie’s break, sometimes not. There’s always a coffee waiting for her, one so bitter she starts snagging sugar packets on her way out. And of course, Maddie.

(The best part is Maddie.

Laughing with- or at, but it's worth that laugh- her or irritated from a customer or tired from staying up far too late. But always Maddie who seems almost relieved every day Lizzie steps in.

Sometimes, when she’s really confident, Lizzie thinks Maddie enjoys this new routine and friendship just as much as she does.)

Today though, today she asks Maddie for her number.

(In a friendship sort of way.

Just that.

Because she would like to carry on their conversation especially when she’s not sweaty and out of breath. Because her day would be so much better with Maddie’s presence throughout it instead of a brief time between the rushed classes.

Because she’d like to get to know Maddie better. She already knows she’s interesting and funny and pretty and looks at Lizzie sometimes like she’s- she’s special.

So, friendship.)

Maddie agrees instantly and quickly shoves her phone into Lizzie’s hand, and she unthinkingly, stupidly types Elizabeth into Maddie’s phone and that causes confusion and then a confession.

Which brings her to now.

“Eliza isn’t your name?” Maddie looks bewildered and a little breathless- both good looks on her, her friend- eyes narrowed at Lizzie.

“I mean,” Lizzie cocks her head to the side, tilting her hand in the air between them, “sort of?”

“Does anyone call you that?”

“Yes.”

Maddie blinks up at the ceiling. “Besides me?”

“Oh,” she hums slowly, “no.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Maddie jerks a hand through her hair. “So, from now on,” she squints at Lizzie, and she thinks it’s supposed to be with annoyance but Lizzie just finds herself a little more swept up by it, “it’s Elizabeth?”

“Lizzie is fine too.”

Maddie looks thoughtfully at her and nods slowly, quipping, “I can do that.”

X

“Lizzie, your order is ready,” Maddie calls behind the counter the next day and whispers, “if that even is your name.”

And Lizzie laughs and laughs the entire time as she leaves the shop.

X

“So Emily,” Lizzie groans as Maddie looks sternly at her, as if daring Lizzie to stop this new game of Maddie’s. Another nice look. These days she wonders if there's a look that doesn't suit Maddie. 

(This one though, it begs for a challenge. And Lizzie loses track of the ways she'd like to push back against Maddie’s teasing. Ranging from tiptoeing the friendship line to those that leap past it.) 

“What are your plans tonight?”

Lizzie bites down on her straw after steadily making sure not to wince at the bitterness coming up through it. “Nothing? None?”

“Wanna see a movie with me?” Maddie pouts. Lizzie finds herself staring as Maddie continues, thumb aching to trace over the cute, adorable, sweet downward turn of Maddie’s lips. “No one wants to see it.”

And knowing she should say no, knowing she'll waste hours wondering if it's a date just like these- these meetings, Lizzie agrees.

(It's a good night. Great.

Maddie had deigned not to mention the reason no one wanted to see it was because it was a no name documentary in a shabby theater on the far side of town.

It's not bad, and she spends half of the time watching that, munching on the candy she snags from Maddie- her treat- and the other watching Maddie become absolutely absorbed in it.

They even go to dinner afterwards. Talking and laughing and when Maddie gets cold, she slides into the booth beside Lizzie, side pressing warmly into her.

She's not even the least bit angry when Maddie steals all of her fries despite insisting she didn't want any.)

X

There's a guy.

There's a guy beside Maddie, handsome and tall, and oh, she thought they were going to finish the show they had started binging- a combination of skyping and calls and texts and hangouts as they both watched- today during Maddie’s break.

But again.

There's this guy.

(She immediately doesn't like him.

He's tall and good looking, and if those two weren't the kicker enough, he's in her spot.

Right beside Maddie.

Her spot that allows her to show Maddie memes- Maddie just stares with confusion at them- and vines without having to keep passing it over the table. Her spot that's right beside Maddie, close enough that their shoulders brush and elbows knock every time Maddie leans towards her to see.

Her spot that's currently occupied by this jerk.)

(She knows it's not rational. Knows this guy could be nice and maybe important to Maddie but-

She pushes past the confusionworryfear and finds-

Oh. Jealousy.)

Lizzie shuffles her feet, backing away slowly. It feels childish in a way, but oh, she doesn't want to be here.

“Hey, where are you off to?”

She freezes, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor. She doesn't have to force a smile, it comes far too willingly at the mere sound of Maddie 's voice. Lizzie shrugs, making sure to avoid Maddie’s eyes- eyes that make her want to confess everything on her mind right then and there- and looks down at her feet. 

“You looked busy.” Lizzie scuffs her foot against the floor as Maddie sighs. A hand comes to her shoulder, and Lizzie knows better, but she glances up. 

“Don't be dumb.” Maddie’s hand is slow to fall from her shoulder, fingers curling into her palm as she draws away. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh okay.”

Lizzie stays in spot.

Until Maddie huffs and slips her hand into Lizzie’s to pull her along and oh, it feels so nice.

“This,” Maddie gestures to the man with, well, eyes that are suspiciously similar to Maddie’s, and it dawns on her how much she’s almost messed up, “is my cousin. My family is visiting, and he thought he’d stop by.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yep.”

And the smug, smug smile Maddie gives her is one of victory and silliness and knowing.

X

“This is a cappuccino,” Maddie states firmly as she holds up someone's order, making a point to Lizzie how it looks before putting on the lid.

“Thank you for imparting your wisdom.”

A flash of teeth. A wink that tugs a smile on to her face and causes her ears to burn.

“Sure thing, Evelyn.”

“Stop.”

X

“Sometimes I wish there was something happening,” Maddie starts as soon as she sits down, her bookbag thudding against the floor from one too many books.

“What's that mean?”

(Sometimes Maddie gets vague and cryptic and stares more at the window than her.

Those days their words are quiet and short but oh-

It feels so meaningful.)

“I don't know.” Maddie’s face twists into a mixture of confusion and annoyance, and Lizzie makes sure to push her muffin closer to Maddie. Bumps a fork against her fingers. “I just want to do something. Anything. That means something,” Maddie says wistfully.

(Lizzie understands.

Getting trapped in doing something that's trivial and wanting more, more, more.

When reading for class or making coffee is so tiring and the desire for something different is so, so tempting.)

“I think everyone does.” That earns her a huff, one that she shoos away with a flap of her hand and gets Maddie’s attention on her. “But,” she says, voice thin and hushed, “I don't think everyone can.”

Maddie’s shoulders fall, head dipping, and Lizzie scoots closer and hunches over until she can get Maddie to look at her again. 

“But you're not everyone Maddie,” she adds quickly. Lizzie smiles warmly at the way Maddie blinks fast, mouth dropping open just so in surprise. “And I don't think there's anything you can't do.”

Lizzie jumps when Maddie’s chair screeches as she slides it that much closer. Her head drops on Lizzie’s shoulder, soft hair tickling her neck. “Thanks.”

And her dumb, slow, clumsy mouth just has to say, “Always.”

(But oh, it's true.)

X

She's so used to their schedule, meeting during breaks, meet ups at night at least once a week, that when Maddie sends her a text saying she has to close the shop that day- but that Lizzie is still welcome to come of course which is something that puts a big, goofy smile on her face- it throws her.

But it's easier at this time, after classes when she doesn't have to think about everything she has to do after she leaves that bubble, that safe place she's created at a small, small coffee shop.

Lizzie hesitates at the door, warily eyeing the closed sign until movement inside draws her attention. Maddie waves heartily behind the counter, beckoning her closer, and as Lizzie squints, she's fairly sure she rolled her eyes too.

The bell chimes as she walks in. It's quiet, the music turned low and Maddie’s humming almost the loudest noise in the shop.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Lizzie breathes deeply and places her hands on the counter, tracing her fingers through the grooves made over years of service. “How was your day?”

“Better now,” Maddie says mischievously. Her eyes crinkle. “I'm almost done cleaning up here.”

“Happy to be done with work?”

Another eye roll with too much flair. “That's not why I'm happy.” Maddie stops, throwing the towel over her shoulder and shifts her hip to the side. “You're dense sometimes.”

“That's offensive.”

Maddie studies her, eyes trailing over her, and Lizzie sucks in a breath, forcing herself to stay still and not fidget under Maddie’s gaze. “Hey,” Maddie starts in a way that sounds like she’s trying terribly hard to be nonchalant, “you know the other day when I stole your coffee?”

“You didn't really steal it.” Lizzie had given it freely after Maddie had glared meanly at it, snatching it for a sip and declaring she had to know how good the competition is. Afterwards, Maddie had looked surprised, shocked even. At her.

“Yeah, yeah.” Maddie shuts off the lights in the back, leaving only the dim ones in the front as the afternoon sun blazes in through the windows. She steps around the counter and slides a cup over to her, elbow brushing against hers. “Tell me how that is.”

“Okay weirdo.” Lizzie stirs around the straw, looking down. “You don't actually have to be better than the competition, you get that right?” Maddie grimaces as if the thought is too wrong to even entertain. 

Lizzie sips at it, feeling a little ridiculous as Maddie watches her. Quiet and waiting. “It's great.”

“You know what I realized the other day?”

“What's that?”

“You,” Maddie steps closer, the tips of her shoes bumping against Lizzie’s, “like your coffee insanely sweet.”

“I told you that.”

Maddie pokes a finger at her shoulder. “You said sweet. Not incredibly, disgustingly, completely unhealthy sweet.”

“Um, I don't think-"

Maddie shifts just so, switching from poking her to an easy grip at her shoulder, thumb swiping at her collar. “You always make the weirdest face when you drink coffee here.”

“I do not.” She twists her head to the side and tries, she tries so hard, not to think about how her skin is buzzing being so close to Maddie. 

(This is Maddie, Maddie who thinks it's cool to like black coffee even though she looks relieved when Lizzie puts creamer in it. Maddie who likes weird documentaries that make her cry and drags her to every one. Maddie who makes her laugh and listens to every dumb thought she has. This is Maddie.)

“And you,” Maddie says slowly, enunciating each word, “You were jealous of my cousin. That's just weird.”

“No, no. That's not-”

“Hey Elizabeth?”

It's the use of her name that startles her. Low and smooth and absolutely perfect coming from Maddie.

It's the hand curling at the back of her neck and resting there lightly that has her breathing turning shallow. She fights the urge to drop her eyes to Maddie’s lips, focusing on her eyes that are striking in the sunlight cutting across the room.

Maddie’s other hand comes up, fingers skimming across her cheek until it moves to clasp with the other around her shoulders.

“Oh,” Lizzie breathes.

And then Maddie rocks forward on her toes- Lizzie is taller, she knew it despite Maddie’s insistence they were the same height- and then all her thoughts ground to a halt because- because Maddie is kissing her.

It's brief, and Maddie is pulling away far too soon for Lizzie’s liking as she follows after her. “Is that okay?” Maddie laughs, hushed and caught between them. It's lovely and beautiful, and oh, she wants more.

So she hooks a finger into the pocket on Maddie’s apron and tugs her closer, until Maddie’s flush against her, and she's flushed. 

“Do it again.”

And she does. And does and does.

(And all she can think is-

At last.)

X

“That’s so cheesy.” Maddie snorts against her shoulder. Her leg hooks over Lizzie’s, disturbing Macbeth from his place at their feet.

“It was,” she pauses for effect, “sweet.”

“Gross,” Maddie mutters against her skin, nose brushing against her neck. “Do you feel better?”

(Lizzie could act like she doesn't know what that means.

But her wife is far too smart to fall for her playing dumb.)

“I do.”

(It's then she realizes.

These stories are for her just as much as they are for Maddie. They're all her wishes and hopes and dreams, and god, she just needs so much more time.

And Maddie knows it too, knows she's scrambling, and encourages her. In the way Maddie does everything.

Gently and kindly and all Maddie.)

“Good,” Maddie says as Lizzie takes her hand and kisses her palm, tangling their fingers together afterwards.

“You know,” she starts hoarsely, hating the way her emotions are already coloring her tone, “these stories are supposed to make you feel better.”

“Yeah but you being happy makes me happy,” Maddie says simply.

(She thinks back to Maddie’s words and you'll be okay.

But they're no different in that she needs Maddie to be happy too.

And the awful thing is: she doesn't know how she can be happy without Maddie. Every part of her says she can't, can't, can't.

This was her more, her at last.)

“Hey,” Maddie murmurs, and Lizzie feels her eyes start to burn and blinks determinedly at the ceiling as Maddie smooths a hand steadily across her collarbone, “I love these stories.” And then her voice goes quiet, paper thin in the way it always does when Maddie prepares to say something she knows Lizzie won’t like. “But people don’t meet like that-”

“They do,” Lizzie insists sharply.

“-And,” Maddie continues, and oh, Lizzie doesn’t want to hear it. Any of it. “Happy endings don’t always happen.”

“Just,” she pauses, trying to fight the shake to her voice, “Just let it be. This one is, okay?”

(Maddie hums, not quite agreeing but an effort on her part to not continue on that topic, Lizzie’s sure.

Because she needs that. Maddie knows it, and she knows it. A happy ending. 

Needs it. Will plead and fight and claw for even a bit of it. Volatile in a way that should never be associated with happiness.

Lizzie would do anything for that. For a happy ending with Maddie.)

(There’s a small traitorous part of her though. That slithers up, sliding along her ribs and into her heart when it’s the middle of the night and Maddie is asleep.

That part, oh-

It only sees ending.) 

[somerandr]

stories

1. The Beginning

2. Cassiopeia

3. The Elevator

4. Hot and Steamy

5. royalty

[somerandr]

84 years later but i finally dug something up from a prompt masterlist doc of mine: "Strangers MC1 and MC2 spend the day together, without knowing the others name. They share their secrets, life stories etc and trust the other with it. It is a singular event, never for it to happen again, never for them to meet each other again. It’s an escape from their real, stressful world. Holiday themed possibly."

here you go! thank you for the prompt buzz! 

[somerandr]

the elevator

After meeting Lizzie, her life split into two: before Lizzie came into her life and after Lizzie came into her life. She doesn’t really ever think about the before because it had never mattered. Lizzie was with her now, and thinking back to the days she wasn’t there seemed counterintuitive. But it’s only now, listening from the doorway as Lizzie types away frantically on her laptop (attempting to get her stories on paper before she leaves for her three-day trip for work), that Maddie wonders if there should be a third category: an after they’re no longer in each others’ lives.

(She’d watched her grandparents have that conversation—watched them prepare for the loss of the other.

She hadn’t thought she should prepare too.

She hadn’t thought she would get so little time.)

There’s a lot she understands as a resident. She understands the physiology, the chemistry, the treatment plans—the statistics. She knows the symptoms, the likelihoods, knows the emotional and physical toll it takes on an individual and their family.

What she doesn’t know?

She doesn’t know if Lizzie is okay. She doesn’t know if Lizzie is as prepared as she is, if Lizzie understands what may be coming, if Lizzie (like her) has trouble imagining a world without them together. She doesn’t know if Lizzie knows that whatever comes their way, whatever happens, she will be fine on her own—forging a new part of her life, the one sans Maddie.

But she doesn’t know how to tell her wife, doesn’t know how to explain it (and maybe that’s something they share, an inability to convey their deepest thoughts and fears, even after all this time). So she takes a page out of Lizzie’s book.

Slowly, Maddie approaches Lizzie’s side of the bed, closes her laptop, swallowing her protests with a kiss.

“I thought of a story,” she says, climbing into bed next to Lizzie, taking her hand and leaning against her. “One where we aren’t together.”

“Mads—” Lizzie immediately protests, but Maddie just squeezes Lizzie’s hand and shakes her head.

“It’s important, Liz. Please.”

(It is important, but she thought they’d have more time before this.)

There’s a long pause, so long that Maddie thinks Lizzie will refuse. But then:

“Okay. Okay, fine. Tell me.”

(She just wishes they had more time.)

x

In her experience, holidays either tend to be the worst or the best—there is no in between.

She thinks it’s the same for everyone, really. The combination of friends, family, food, and booze is a potent one, leaving in its wake destruction or massive construction, the outcome determined by nothing more than sheer dumb luck, a toss of a coin. Perhaps no one will argue over who gets the age-old recipes, and perhaps no one will get too drunk and make several inappropriate comments.

Perhaps. But Maddie, she’s not holding her breath.

(Getting along and having a good holiday is a lot like a unicorn—you’d swear you saw one when you were a kid, but as an adult you realize it was just a trick of the light.

The coin is weighted, after all. It’s only ever going to face up in one direction.)

She thinks that’s why she volunteers for the run to the grocery store to pick up more eggnog. She doesn’t particularly care for eggnog one way or another, but her uncle is halfway to drunk and he’s shouting for more, her mother’s hair is frazzled as she attempts to fend off offers of help in the kitchen by less-than-well-meaning sisters, and her dad is sitting on a chair, puffing away at his pipe and massaging his temples as he ignores the loud faux-coughing of several of the cousins.

(She has to get away. She has to.

Because if she hears one more person agree with her grandmother and ask when she’s planning on getting married she might actually punch the poor aging woman out of sheer frustration.)

Her grandfather—loudly mentioning that global warming couldn’t possibly be real when it’s this cold out, pointing to the snow that’s gathering on the windowsill as if he’s made some sort of astonishing discovery the vast majority of scientists missed—doesn’t let her leave without taking his overly large coat, winking at her as he pats the side pocket. It’s only after the door is shut behind her that she realizes he snuck her several twenties and a half-full pack of cigarettes.

(She doesn’t smoke often. Seriously. In fact, she can count on one hand how many times she’s smoked. It’s only a coincidence that each time fell on the holidays.

It’s not a coincidence that after her grandfather caught her the first time, he’d made it a point to gift her a half-full packet of cigarettes each subsequent time. He’d said it quite plainly: he wants one of his grandchildren to be at least half as brilliant as he is, and if he has to choose, Maddie is his best bet.)

(Naturally, Maddie has absolutely let that go to her head—as much as a climate change denier’s approval can go to one’s head.)

Grinning, Maddie pulls her grandfather’s coat a little tighter around herself and heads down the hall leisurely, not in much of a hurry to finish running her errand and head back to the chaos that awaits her in her own apartment.

(She still can’t believe it, the fact that she actually offered to have their annual family gathering at her apartment. Her father had finally put his foot down and refused to host the festivities, and Maddie had felt awful for her mother, who seemed to forget how miserable everyone became after being cooped up together every single year.

She doesn’t regret it, not really. It means a big headache now and perhaps for a few more days, but in any event, she thinks it was worth it. Her father had looked relieved, seemingly sure that escape would be easier in her apartment than his own home, and her mother had been so utterly happy, promising Maddie that she’d skip out on the green bean casserole that year because she knew that Maddie didn’t like it.)   

She fingers the pack of cigarettes in her pocket as she waits for the elevator, wishing her grandfather had thought ahead and snuck her a light too. The loud squeaking noises the elevator makes as it finally reaches her floor makes her momentarily wish she’d taken the stairs before she laughs the thought off, rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness.

(The elevator has its issues, of course. But the stairs. The stairs are ghastly, linoleum peeling off the steps, paint peeling off the walls of the stairwell—likely because of the permanent stench that has creeped into every inch, a mix of mold, pot, pets, and the vague smell of urine.)  

Maddie fingers the cigarette pack again, thinking longingly of a light. It’s just as she’s wondering if the bodega down the street would be open and the doors of the elevator begin to slide shut that there’s a shout from the hall, an extra loud creaking and screeching noise, a violent shake, and then something heavy ramming right into her.

“Oh no, don’t close, don’t close!” her assailant shouts, not bothering with an apology before scrambling off Maddie and banging on the now closed elevator doors. “Damn it!” the distinctly angry voice continues, slamming their fists against the elevator once more—as if that would convince the rickety old thing to get its shit together and work

“The elevator breaks down at least once a week,” Maddie says tiredly as she gets to her feet, feeling her pocket to make sure her cigarettes aren’t crushed. “Banging on the doors won’t help—we’re going to have to wait for the super.” Her assailant heaves a deep and annoyed breath, turning around to fix Maddie a glare.

(She would never admit it, never, but her first thought when her assailant turns around—

Wow.)

The attacker has long, blonde hair, a nose that’s scrunched up adorably in annoyance, and deep brown eyes that has Maddie mesmerized. She’s not very tall, but there’s a certain physicality to the stranger that makes her look undeniably regal—as if she raises herself several feet with nothing more than a straight back and tense shoulders. In a word, Maddie’s assailant is beautiful.

It’s too bad she’s also a jerk.

“I already know about the elevator,” she snaps, digging through her coat pocket as she breaks her gaze. There’s the sound of a lot of jingling, and Maddie wonders what sort of heathen just leaves loose change in their pockets. “It’s why I didn’t want to get stuck in the first place.”

(Her father always says first impressions are paramount. And as far as this girl’s first impressions go, she could be searching for an apology in her pocket that magically appears in the space between them, spelling out Maddie’s name in miniature fireworks, and Maddie would still not like her.)

“Maybe if you were walking like a normal human being and not running like a madman, neither one of us would be stuck in here,” Maddie huffs, dropping to the ground, sitting with her back against the elevator wall, and knees pulled up to her chest, settling for a long wait. The brown-eyed speed-demon ignores Maddie entirely and instead lets out a noise of triumph (which sounds a lot like an adorable hurrah, not that Maddie thinks anything about this girl is adorable) as she pulls out her phone. Maddie snorts. “I could’ve saved you a lot of trouble,” she laughs, watching as the girl’s expression turns dark as she stares at her phone’s screen. “No signal in the elevator.”

“I hate this stupid apartment complex,” the girl hisses, shoving her phone back into her pocket. She lets out a sigh as she takes in Maddie’s position on the floor, mirroring her on the other side of the elevator. Her eyes flick over Maddie and she blinks several times in quick succession. “What is that atrocity you’re wearing?” she asks, eyebrows practically reaching her hairline.

Maddie can feel her cheeks heating up, and her annoyance at being trapped in an elevator with a jerk turns into anger.

“My coat is perfectly fine, you inconsiderate jerk, I—”

“Not the coat, the sweater,” the girl interrupts, suddenly looking terribly amused. Maddie’s cheeks heat up even more, spreading to her ears and neck.

“It’s the family Christmas sweater,” she mumbles, tugging her grandfather’s coat more fully around herself to hide the ghastly red and green sweater underneath (perhaps discovering her grandfather’s true motivation for pushing his coat on her). “My aunt insists on wearing matching ones every year.”

“Wow, you’re serious?” the girl says, chuckling as she leans her head back against the wall. It’s annoying that she looks cool while doing it, donned in her black leather jacket, boots, and beanie. “I only thought shit like that was for the movies. You know, fake.”

“How can you think those movies are fake when you’re a real, living Scrooge?” Maddie shoots back without thinking, horrified by her comment the second it comes out of her mouth. (Cousin Sally would be so disappointed in her if she heard how rude Maddie was being on Christmas.)  The girl, however, seems even more amused than before. Her lips curl into this gentle smile, her eyes seem to warm and soften, and it’s honestly as if Maddie is live-watching this girl’s edges melt away like snow when the sun finally comes out. (She refrains from thinking about the Grinch because that shit is only for movies.)

“Let’s just say the holidays are always tough,” the girl says with a shrug, pulling out her phone and untangling the headphones that are wrapped around it. “How long did you say we’d be stuck in here?”

“Depends on how drunk the super is. And considering it’s the holidays…” Maddie trails off ominously, forced to hide her grin when her assailant nods along in understanding, a look of faux-seriousness on her face.

“So we’re going to die in here,” she deadpans, flashing Maddie a bright smile when she rolls her eyes. “What do you want to play at your funeral, 4A?” she continues, holding up her phone, the music app pulled up.

“How do you know where I live?”

“I saw you across the hall from my brother’s apartment last time I visited.”

“Ugh, your brother lives in 4E? Well no wonder I don’t like you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t think he’s ever met a sound he didn’t like, especially loud ones.”

The girl, her assailant, Scrooge, the sister of 4 fucking E, narrows her eyes at Maddie, puts in her headphones, and tugs her beanie down low.

“He’s a musician,” she states bitterly clearly intended these to be her parting words. “You know. Noises.”

With one last huff, she literally turns away by shifting her body to the side.

Maddie sighs, wishing the elevator had broken down on her way back from her errand—at least then she could’ve had a smoke and would be able to drown out the thumping music coming from her assailant’s headphones with alcoholic eggnog.

She should’ve known better: the coin is weighted.

x

Maddie’s not quite sure how it happens—if it comes about out of sheer boredom, loneliness, regret, guilt—but an hour into their imprisonment, despite Scrooge’s (the name she’d gone with for her assailant) anger over Maddie’s “blasphemous comment” about music (words Scrooge actually used), they begin to talk.

“I’m sorry, how can a person like you even exist? You don’t like music and you’re not into eggnog. How can you not like eggnog, a holiday staple? Come on, 4A, I thought I was Scrooge.”

“First of all, I like music just fine. I just don’t know if what your brother does can be considered music,” Maddie says, laughing and dodging Scrooge’s half-hearted attempt at swatting her shoulder. “And eggnog is weird. It tastes fine. But it’s thick and has eggs in it.”

“I think you’ve discovered why they call it eggnog, you genius you,” Scrooge laughs, handing over the bag of chips.

(She’d dug it out of her bag, munching loudly until she heard Maddie’s stomach growl over the crunch. With a roll of her eyes and a dramatic flair, she then dragged herself over to Maddie, their arms pressed together as they passed the chips back and forth in silence.Maddie thinks of the chips as the olive branch that got them talking.)

Maddie thinks of the chips as the olive branch that got them talking.)

“I’m just saying, eggnog gets this big rep for being a holiday staple, but all it is is flavored, runny eggs. And that’s just lazy. Some scrambled eggs for breakfast seems like a much better idea.” Maddie thinks she’s just bested Scrooge with how silent she remains, but after nearly a minute, Scrooge lets out a sigh and shrugs, leaning her head back and turning slightly towards Maddie.

“I don’t have many fond memories of Christmas,” she says, fiddling with the opening of the chip bag, “but what I do remember is making eggnog. I dunno. I can’t imagine a Christmas without it.”

“My family mostly uses it as an excuse to get drunk and act stupid,” Maddie says, tugging the chips out of Scrooge’s hands and uses searching for the perfect chip as a pretense for breaking eye contact. “I, um, I don’t actually remember a good holiday.”

“But you have a big family right?” Scrooge asks carefully, now fiddling with the sleeve of her leather jacket. “Like what’s on tv? Chaotic, a lot, but loving?”

“Chaotic sounds about right,” Maddie mumbles, but Scrooge isn’t listening. When Maddie chances a look, Scrooge looks small suddenly—shoulders hunched and hair falling over her eyes.

“It’s been me and my brother alone for, well, a long time. I’d give anything for a little chaos.”

And that’s the end of that.

x

“I wanted to be a chef as a kid,” Scrooge tells her two hours into their imprisonment. “But then I realized I can’t cook.” She’s laying on her back, arms and legs splayed out, and Maddie takes the opportunity to poke her in the side with her foot. “Then my parents died and I decided I wanted to be in law enforcement.”

“Like a cop?”

“Well, more like a spy actually,” Scrooge says, laughing.

“Did you end up a spy?” Maddie asks, surreptitiously checking her pocket for her things—unsure if that lump next to her cigarettes had been there from the start or if it’s a bug planted on her.

“Of course not, I’m a teacher.”

Maddie stops her searching, looking at Scrooge in shock. Of all the things she imagined this tough as nails, leather jacket wearing, overly defensive girl to do, teaching wasn’t one of them.

“You teach?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked, 4A,” Scrooge says, no longer laughing. Instead, she turns over on her side, facing Maddie, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she stares Maddie down. “Do I not look like a teacher?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—you look so teacherly...teacher-like…” Maddie trails off, flushed and suddenly wanting to look anywhere but at Scrooge. She thinks she’s made this imprisonment just a hundred times more awkward and embarrassing when, astonishingly, Scrooge begins to laugh.

“Oh man, 4A, you’re really something,” she says, still chuckling as she rolls back onto her back. “You’re all red and rambling, it’s actually adorable.”

(Maddie didn’t think it was possible, but she flushes even deeper at Scrooge’s comment, once again unable to look at her.

She doesn’t know what it is, or maybe she does, but the longer she’s in this elevator, the more she’s okay with not taking that cigarette break from her family.)

“Why not become a spy? If it was your dream?” Maddie asks, trying to change the subject and get the sound of Scrooge’s laugh out of her ears. (It’s a little much, and Maddie’s only human, stuck in an elevator with an attractive woman.)

“Dreams don’t pay the bills or put food on the table. And my brother has an appetite. Boys,” she adds, attempting to shrug and only managing to shift her shoulders a little and make her jacket ride up. “What about you, 4A? What did you want to do?”

“As a kid? I wanted to be a superhero,” Maddie says, grinning when it has the desired result of getting Scrooge to burst out laughing. “No, I’m serious. I was super into all the cartoons, you know? I’d tie blankets around my neck and pretend I was Superman, save cities and everything.”

“That is a delight, 4A, seriously,” Scrooge says, laughing and swatting away Maddie’s foot when she attempts to poke her in the stomach again. “Let me guess, you became a superhero. You’re a...doctor? Human rights lawyer? Wait no, don’t tell me, you’re a retail worker—coping with the worst of humanity every single day?”

“No to all of that. I’m a composer.”

“No way, you?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked, Scrooge,” Maddie says, mimicking Scrooge’s tone. “Do I not look like a composer?”

“Well, no actually. You’re a music hater.”

“Again, what your brother does is not music, it’s an affront—”

“—and what do you compose, music hater? Silence?”

Maddie huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh ha,” she says, shaking her head. “For your information, I compose the music for indie films, usually ones no one has ever heard of. I’m no Hans Zimmer or James Newton Howard, but you know. I’m a composer.”  

“Okay, but if you were a Hans something or James whatever, what kind of movie would you want to score?” Scrooge asks, sitting up and facing Maddie with her legs crossed. “Because I kinda peg you as a romantic comedy girl.”

“A superhero movie,” Maddie says without hesitation, ignoring Scrooge’s eyebrows flying right up to her hairline. “It has everything. Hardcore action scenes, devastating deaths, light-hearted moments, and touching found-family feels, you know? Music-wise, it’s just the whole package.”

“Right, right.”

“You think it’s stupid.”

“No, 4A, I don’t.”

“You’re literally laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just—that’s a delight, 4A,” Scrooge says, grinning widely and leaning back on her hands.

(Maddie’s only human. It’s not her fault the elevator suddenly seems a little too warm and that she’s suddenly very interested in her shoes. She’s only human.

It’s maybe not unrelated that Scrooge, well, she’s a very attractive woman.

Honestly, it’s really not her fault that her mouth begins to open and close and words come out without her permission. She’s only human—messy, silly, and prone to making herself look like an idiot.)

“Out of the two of us, you became the superhero,” Maddie says without thinking. “You know, a teacher. Molding young minds and creating a better tomorrow” At first, she thinks her stupid mouth has gotten her in trouble because Scrooge frowns as she stares at her, head slightly tilted to the right. But then Scrooge’s eyes soften, her lips curve upwards, and the gentlest of looks appears on her face.

(Maddie had thought Scrooge had softened before—that she’d gone all Grinch after he understands the spirit of Christmas—but that was nothing compared to the look on her face now.

It’s nice.

Nice, really.)

“I admit it. You’re the delight, 4A,” Scrooge says.

Maddie blushes instantly in response, but she doesn’t mind. She’s only human after all.

x

“I can understand not liking eggnog. But ice cream? How can you not like ice cream?”

“Listen, it’s too cold and it makes my head hurt—stop laughing at me I’m being serious!”

“It all makes sense now, I knew you were too perfect to be real, you’re a robot—ouch, I’m sorry! I said I’m sorry, stop hitting me you madwoman.”

x

She blames the wine.

First of all, Maddie doesn’t know how to say it, but she really is impressed by the sheer amount of goodies Scrooge is able to hide in her bag. In addition to the bag of chips, there was two bottles of wine, a light (which Scrooge unequivocally said that Maddie could not use), an extra beanie (“Look, you never know when you’ll need one”), a portable phone charger, loose change, six hairbands, something like looked suspiciously like weed (“It’s not—it’s parsley, I went to the farmer’s market—just smell it, you’ll see”), and several energy bars. Scrooge claimed it was because she was going to be spending the holiday with her brother and his new girlfriend which meant she needed to bring her own sustenance and ‘ways to cope’ but Maddie had a sneaking suspicion the bag was always filled to the brim like that.

Secondly, it’s really good wine. She admittedly knows nothing about wines, and in all honesty, when her dad brings out his favorite selections on special occasions, she drinks the stuff mostly to avoid a lecture about how she can’t appreciate the fine wine because of her unsophisticated palate. (Chicken nuggets are an acceptable breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she doesn’t care what her parents say.) The fact of the matter is that this wine is sweet, and she’s drinking on an empty stomach (they never did manage to get to the dinner part of the holidays before she skipped out), so she can feel the alcohol’s effects after a few swigs. (Contrary to the fact that she smiled at Scrooge’s teasing about being a lightweight, she didn’t appreciate the jokes.)

Thirdly, and worst of all, drinking made them more chatty, but it also had the unexpected result of Scrooge choosing to use her shoulder as a pillow, leaning fully against her, every shift and movement sending the scent of flowery shampoo right into Maddie’s face.

(Is it bad to have a pretty girl lean on you? No, not objectively. Is it bad because Maddie’s a little bit drunk and Scrooge smells really good and this will undoubtedly lead to Maddie saying something stupid? Most definitely.)  

“Can I ask you a question, 4A?” Scrooge asks as she drains the last of their first bottle of wine. She looks very disappointed that it’s all gone until she seems to remember that there’s another bottle resting at her feet, and she digs through her pocket looking for the pocket knife keychain to use the corkscrew on it to open the bottle of wine.

“Ask away, Scrooge,” Maddie says, taking pity on the other girl and handing her the keychain, which was sitting right next to her. It requires leaning over Scrooge, and maybe Maddie didn’t need to lean that close, but she also thinks if anything the wine is to blame for her inability to control her movements.

“What’s it like? The big family? Seeing each other on holidays? Because I...to be honest I don’t remember what that feels like,” Scrooge says, her words coming out fast—as if she didn’t like the vulnerability she’s showing and thinks the faster she gets the question out the faster she’ll feel better.

(It breaks Maddie’s heart. The confession about family. The soft way Scrooge says it. The fact that Scrooge is quite tipsy and repeatedly misses her mouth as she raises the second bottle of wine to her lips.

It breaks Maddie’s heart but it also makes her feel rather...close to Scrooge—not just physically, what with being pressed together, but on a deeper level.

It feels, well, it feels intimate.

And that scares the hell out of Maddie.)

“It’s loud,” Maddie answers slowly, thinking her response through. “It’s loud and it’s chaotic and it’s messy...but, um, it’s also safe?” She takes the wine when Scrooge offers it back to her, taking several long sips. “Like, sometimes they annoy the hell out of me and we argue about stuff all the time, but they’re all always there for me, you know? I know that if I fall, someone’s gonna be there to catch me. I know I have people I can lean on, turn to, trust to be on my side. It’s craziness, but it’s also love—I guess that goes hand in hand.”

Scrooge nods slowly in response, digging through her pocket clumsily before she pulls out her wallet, flipping it open and showing Maddie a photo that’s tucked right behind her driver’s license.

“This is my family,” she murmurs, head dropping onto Maddie’s shoulder again, fingers of her free hand running over Maddie’s wrist. The photo is of a smiling dark-haired man, and despite the fact that he’s in need of a shave and likely doesn’t own a brush, the similarity he has to Scrooge is striking. “He’s always had my back, even if his music is shit.”

“Well, if you’re wanting a little chaos,” Maddie whispers, not really thinking her words through, spurred on by liquid courage and the feeling of Scrooge’s fingers on her wrist, “you can always have some of mine.”

It doesn’t make sense, or maybe it does, or maybe it doesn’t even matter. One second, Scrooge is still running her fingers lightly over Maddie’s palm and her head shifts just slightly, enough that her nose brushes against Maddie’s collarbone, and the next second, Maddie’s set the wine down, tilts Scrooge’s head up, and kisses her.

And kisses her.

And kisses her.

x

Maddie’s head is in Scrooge’s lap, eyes closed as Scrooge cards her fingers through her hair, tugging gently every few moments to make Maddie smile.

“Do you believe in Christmas miracles?” Scrooge asks, hooking a finger under Maddie’s knit sweater and tugging lightly but pointedly.

Maddie opens her eyes slowly, studying Scrooge’s expression carefully. They’re still a little bit drunk, though the kiss had sobered Maddie up rather quickly, so it’s obvious that Scrooge is unable to hide as much as she wishes she could hide on her face. There’s want there, some excitement, a little bit of regret. Maddie just wishes she understood why.

“You’re Scrooge,” Maddie says finally, something heavy settling onto her chest. “I guess that’s your thing, isn’t it?”

(She knows that there are two ways this night can go. She can feel it. Those walls Scrooge so meticulously built up will all finally fall, she’ll tell Maddie her name, and maybe they’ll have something. Maybe it’ll start slow, with coffee dates and museum visits, escalating to spending weekends together. Maybe it’ll last for a few weeks, or maybe for a few months, but more likely a few years—maybe more than just a few.

This is the way Maddie hopes it’ll go. She’s a romantic. And that kiss—that kiss was one of those that left her wanting more and more.

But Maddie’s also a realist. And she knows better. After all, those walls are too thick and too tall to come down in one night. She knows that she won’t get a name. She knows that this night is a fluke—something she’ll always wonder what if about.

But then, she supposes one night—one moment—is better than nothing at all.)

“I’m—” Scrooge stops and Maddie’s heart thumps in her chest. “I suppose you’re right,” she says finally, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Maddie’s forehead and then to her lips. It’s soft and slow and feels final.

It’s obvious that for this Scrooge, there’s no such thing as a Christmas miracle.

x

All the wine is gone, the chips and energy bars have all been eaten, and Scrooge has dozed off while they were talking, using Maddie’s shoulder as a pillow, their hands tangled together between them, when the elevator lurches, a loud clanging noise wakes Scrooge up, and the elevator doors slide open.

Standing in the hallway are Maddie’s parents and grandfather, as well as the man from the photo in Scrooge’s wallet. Maddie blushes when her grandfather catches her eye, waggles his eyebrows as he shifts his gaze to Scrooge and their linked hands, opening his mouth to say something—likely something embarrassing.

“You found us,” Maddie says, mostly to stop her grandfather from saying a word. He huffs and shakes his head.

“They wanted to come looking for you sooner, but I figured you needed a long smoke break,” he says, pausing briefly and suggestively. “I see you got the break, if not the smoke.” Maddie turns to look at Scrooge, but she’s staring at the elevator floor determinedly, her cheeks tinged pink.

“See ya, 4A,” she murmurs as she tugs her hand out of Maddie’s, gathering all their trash and stuffing it into her bag before she pushes past her brother and walks off without looking back. He frowns briefly, looking from Maddie—who’s still on the floor, hand hanging uselessly at her side—to the direction his sister stalked off in, and clears his throat awkwardly.

“It was, uh, nice meeting you guys,” he says before chasing after his sister.

It’s only much later, after Maddie’s eased her mother’s worries, helped her relax after Maddie’s five-hour absence and assured her several times that no, she’d not been kidnapped, that she sits in bed whispers “See ya, Scrooge” aloud, and smiles.  

One moment, one night, she decides, is more than enough.

X

When she finishes her story, Lizzie is staring at her with narrowed eyes, looking a tiny bit...angry.    

“What the hell, Maddie?” she demands, pulling away from Maddie and getting out of bed. Her hair is tousled, her pajamas wrinkled. She looks exhausted and worn and Maddie wonders how she missed it. She wonders if perhaps she’s been a bit selfish. “What the hell was that?”

“You want to talk about past lives? You want to talk about all the things we’ve done, well that’s one too. This was important.” She doesn’t know why Lizzie doesn’t understand, she doesn’t see why it’s so hard for her to just listen.

“These stories are about love—”

“—this one is about love—”

“—not about you being abandoned, Mads,” Lizzie continues, talking over Maddie.

“Abandoned? You think—dammit, Liz, weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah, I was. And at the end you were alone, and you’re not alone.” She’s red and she keeps running her hands through her hair, and Maddie doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lizzie so...agitated. So utterly broken. With a sigh, Maddie shifts on the bed, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, gesturing for Lizzie to come closer. When Lizzie shakes her head, Maddie hums disapprovingly.

“C’mere,” she demands, hiding her smile when Lizzie shuffles close enough that Maddie can grab her by the shirt and tug her the rest of the way. She stops pulling when Lizzie’s knees hit the bed, and wraps her arms around Lizzie’s shoulders to keep her where she is. “Being alone wasn’t the point of the story and you know it,” she says softly, playing with the hairs at the back of Lizzie’s neck.

“Maddie, I don’t—” Lizzie tries, stopping and shaking her head, not meeting Maddie’s eyes. “I don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know it isn’t,” Maddie whispers, closing her eyes when Lizzie’s forehead presses against hers. “But you know it’s true. You’ll be fine without me. You don’t need me to be happy. You did it before you can do it again.” She swallows hard. “You’re gonna have to move on, you know?”

“Why are you doing this?” Lizzie asks instead of answering her. Maddie feels something wet on her arm, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Because you’ve given me lifetimes with you, but Elizabeth, there’ve been lifetimes without you too. And compared to those, the time I’ve had with you here is more than enough.” She presses a wet kiss to Lizzie’s lips, eyes still closed. “Do you hear me? We’ve been so lucky, Liz. And you’re gonna be okay.”  

Lizzie doesn’t answer. Instead she wraps her arms around Maddie’s waist and pulls her in for a tight hug, and Maddie says nothing when Lizzie drops her head onto her shoulder, says nothing when she can feel the wet tears against her neck.

She just hugs her wife back, knowing in her heart that this has been enough and yet wishing for more.

[somerandr]

Cassiopeia

Maddie finds her—she always does—with the cat in her arms and nowhere to hide.

The woods behind their house are always calm. Calm and sure in a time when she needs it most. The trees are there, will still be there, tall and sturdy, no matter the occurrences in their lives. The leaves rustle in the breeze, clinging to the trees until they break off and drift slowly to the ground. It's cold, getting colder still, and looking at Maddie, she wonders what she could do to get Maddie to take her coat and wear on top of the one she’s already wearing.

(She tells herself that it’s not over-protective. But it doesn’t even need to be spoken aloud for it to sound like a lie to her own ears.)

“Um,” Lizzie starts. It's quite articulate of her, if she says so herself. After all, words have always been hard around Maddie—a constant mess of mumbling and too many vowels from the moment they’d met. She’s just a tiny bit surprised when Maddie’s lips don’t quirk like they usually do in response to Lizzie’s oh-so-brilliant eloquence, and instead watches as Maddie begins to tap her foot, hands on her hips. Lizzie clears her throat and tries again, unable to help the thought that her wife is intimidating in a not so intimidating way because Maddie isn’t capable of looking all that serious what with the way she’s standing and the perfect arch of her brow, even when she's trying to. “Hi.”

“Hey.” It's flat and clipped, the edge of annoyance and a sliver of amusement coloring Maddie’s tone. Lizzie seizes on the amusement as she tries thinking of how many times she should offer to do the dishes to avoid the talking to she's about to receive before she realizes she's already promised to do it for the next two weeks.

(She shouldn't have. It's not like it's her fault that the washing machine happened to dye Maddie’s clothes pink.

...though, it was. Totally her fault.)

Maddie shifts so that she’s crossing her arms, shakes her head, and Lizzie has the decency to drop her shoulders and almost wipe the smile from her face. “You got sloppy Elizabeth. You left a bowl outside the house two days ago.”

Maddie bends down, getting right in Lizzie’s face, and though Lizzie is sure it's meant to be serious (or at least, Maddie’s attempt at serious), all she can think of is how beautiful Maddie’s eyes are, the blue shining bright behind the crooked frames of her glasses, even as the eyes narrow. “I knew you were up to something.”

“That's just offensive,” Lizzie says with a huff, but when she tries to place a hand over her chest, the cat in her lap shifts with annoyance and nips at her hand. “I'm never up to anything,” she finishes lamely, attempting to avoid Maddie’s eyes.

“You promised you weren't going to feed anymore strays.”

“Madeline. Maddie. Mads, please.” The cat dangles in her hands when she raises her to Maddie, seemingly unbothered when Lizzie stretches further and holds her higher to say just say no to this cute little furry face. “Look! I found a Lady Macbeth.”

“You're ridiculous,” Maddie says, but even as she rolls her eyes she turns away, and for a moment Lizzie fears that she's actually upset her. But then she notices the tiny curve to Maddie’s lips and the way she keeps raising her hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

Lizzie smiles brightly back and hugs the cat to her chest. “So—"

“No. No way.” Maddie’s smile—that beautiful, stunning smile that continues to steal her breath away after all these years—disappears. “No more cats. I told you only one,” she continues as she rubs the bridge of her nose tiredly. Lizzie wonders if Maddie’s frustration will still look as adorable to her as it does now when she winds up on the couch because of it. “It's like you're trying to make yourself an old cat lady.”

Lizzie sighs. The cat—the officially not Lady Macbeth—wiggles out of her arms, walking a few steps away only to plop over in the grass. “To be fair, we'd be the old cat ladies.”

“If I live lo—” Maddie begins automatically, stopping as suddenly as she’d begun the statement.

(And in that brief moment, it's like Lizzie can't breathe. There’s a vice-like grip seizing hold of her chest, and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.)

“Madeline,” Lizzie hisses, says it sharper than she means, but oh, there’s fear and worry and hurt (and even a little bit of anger) all intermingled in her tone, and she knows that Maddie heard it all too. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, taking in a shaky breath as Maddie shifts hesitantly above her. “Sorry,” she whispers, not quite sure what she’s apologizing for and yet feeling she has to.

(Is she sorry for chiding Maddie’s blasé attitude? Is she sorry because she didn’t seize on the chance to confront her wife?

Or she sorry because she doesn’t really think she has a right to the fear, hurt, worry, and yes, the anger?)

Maddie makes a noncommittal hum. “It's fine,” she says, but her eyes are downcast.

(It isn't fine. It isn’t fine because Maddie won’t look at her, because the cat had sprinted off in the middle of all this, because it suddenly feels twenty degrees chillier and she still hasn’t thought of a way to give Maddie her coat.

It isn’t fine.

It isn't, it isn't, it isn't.

She wants to yell, to scream it's not fair, but really, is it fair to say anything to the person who knows exactly how unfair it is?)

“Sorry,” she repeats, almost insists again when Maddie flicks the side of her head. Lizzie looks up—she's always looked up to Maddie and everything she is and stands for—and she feels a rush of relief when she finds herself staring into blue, blue eyes. Without thinking, Lizzie reaches out and tugs at Maddie’s hand. “Will you sit with me?”

Maddie raises her shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Lizzie frowns, and when it doesn't immediately work, frowns just a bit harder. “Quit that.” Maddie huffs, and it's in the way she shifts her weight to and fro that Lizzie knows she's won.

(Really, she doesn't know how they compromise on anything.

They both do whatever the other wants. Immediately and happily, despite all their complaining.)

Maddie bats her hands away when she attempts to help Maddie settle into the grass, blinking slowly when instead, Maddie drops down into her lap. “You're comfier than the grass.” She looks over her shoulder. “I suppose.”

Lizzie ignores the teasing. Her hands slide around Maddie’s waist to pull her closer, and Lizzie takes the chance to press her ear against Maddie’s back. She closes her eyes and takes in the steady rhythm of Maddie breathing, the thump of her heart, breathing in Maddie’s scent as she presses her cheek into the back of Maddie’s shirt.

(It feels like an attempt on Maddie’s part.

Comfort wrapped in physicality and banter.

So Lizzie tries, tries to reach out to Maddie the only way she can.)

“Did you know you used to love cats? More than dogs even.” Lizzie breathes in deeply as she speaks, and it's Maddie’s constant use of all things lavender that has her calming down, her breathing slowing to a normal pace. “We met because of one, in fact.”

“That's not how I remember it.”

“Shhh, or I won’t tell you about all our lives together.”

Even though she can't see Maddie, she can tell from the way she sighs and leans further into Lizzie, taking Lizzie’s hands and tugging them more tightly around her, that she’s rolling her eyes. And what an eye roll it is, Lizzie thinks with a smile, cheek still pressed against Maddie’s back. Dramatic and ridiculous and Maddie.

“Fine, if you’re going to hold stories hostage...Just tell me then.”

X

There's a cat.

It's the middle of the night and so dark that it’s incredibly difficult to really tell, but Lizzie rubs her eyes and blinks and—

There's a cat.

On her.

The cat doesn't seem to care about her confusion, simply keeps staring down at her from its place on her chest. It gives a little shake before stretching out and lying down on her, tail curling around itself.

Lizzie smiles, an aww almost slipping out, because it's cute and fluffy and—

Lizzie freezes.

She doesn't have a cat.

“Okay,” she says slowly. Lizzie sucks in a breath and forces it out just as fast. “Who are you?”

(Because the only thing weirder than finding a strange cat is asking it a question.)

“Can you,” Lizzie wriggles around, trying to get out of bed. It's a struggle because she really doesn't want to just throw the poor cat off, but then again there's the whole strange cat in her room thing that demands her attention. The cat jumps on her covered feet as soon as she starts moving, pouncing down and nipping. “No! That's—stop!”

Lizzie rolls out of bed, jabs a finger towards the cat. “Weirdo. You come in here while I'm asleep,” she leans forward but the cat's not even looking at her, choosing to stare off with an almost bored—can cats even be bored?—expression, “when I'm not your owner and I'm not even allowed—" Lizzie gasps. She's not allowed pets. Her lease says so. It's literally in the rules, and she follows the rules and this cat has to go.

(She likes rules. They’re nice and stable, dependable.

Consistent.

Predictability is something she loves.

Something she needs.)

“No, no, you're getting out. Right now.”

The cat tiptoes to the edge her bed, and oh, it's adorable and she's always wanted a cat but she can't. Lizzie smooths a hand down the cat's head, “I'm sorry, but you have to.”

She scratches under the cat's chin, hand brushing against its collar as it tips up its jaw with a pleased rumble. A metal clink sounding draws her attention to the tags dangling from the collar.

“Cassiopeia,” she reads aloud, stumbling with the pronunciation at first, but oh, she's relieved because this cat has an owner and a place and a home. “Who names a cat that?” She rolls her eyes at the cat’s owner’s pretentiousness. “Can I call you Cass?” She pauses, reading the address listed on the tags. Lizzie isn't sure if it's luck or not that the cat lives one floor above her.

She taps lightly on the cat's nose, smiling when she pushes against her hand. “Yeah, I'm definitely going to call you Cass.”

Lizzie sighs and runs a hand through her hair. It's too late for this. Not that there's ever a time to find a strange cat in her room. But well after midnight? Way too late.

“Time to go Cass,” she says, decision made, and she makes to scoop the cat up and—

Cass thrashes. Paws flailing and back arching and oh, her arms burn. “Okay, okay.” She keeps a hold of the wiggling cat, claws and all, until she can place her back on the bed. Cass’ tail flicks irritability as she paces up and down her bed. “Got it. You can sneak into my bed, but picking you up is a no go.”

Lizzie bites her lip, twisting her fingers in her sheets as she thinks. There's only one way she can get Cass safely home, but she's not going to like it.

Lizzie pulls a blanket off her bed and holds it up as she steps slowly towards Cass. “It's okay. Just going to wrap you up and get you home. No hard feelings, okay?”

Wrapping a cat up in a sheet in the middle of the night isn't on her list of ideal things to do then like say, sleeping. It isn't Cass’ favorite thing either judging from the low growls she gets once she wrangles Cass into her arms. Lizzie parts the blanket until a furry, angry little cat head pops out as she steps out of her apartment. 

“Well hello,” Lizzie coos, “I'm sorry little one, but it's you, not me.” She tilts her head, heading for the stairwell. “It's literally you.”

The only answers she gets from the fuzzy bundle in her arms are growls that make her smile or tiny meows that she's fairly sure are Cass’ attempts to charm her way out of the blankets.

“Look, you're almost home.” Lizzie steps onto the flat platform, noting each number above the doors she passes. “And,” she draws it out, coming to a stop, “4D.”

Lizzie knocks a few times, trying to put a happy spin on her knocking style because it's the middle of the night. Or maybe it'd be more annoying because it's past midnight.

(But a nice little rhythm says I'm not a robber, right?

Or maybe it says that she's extremely tired and god, please take your cat back.)

Nothing happens.

Lizzie knocks again. “Hello? I uh,” she looks down at Cass in her arms, “I have your cat?”

There's a shuffle behind the door and then the sound of the lock sliding out of place. The door cracks open and—

Oh. Oh.

(She felt dumb carrying around a cat before.

But now? Now she feels ridiculous and somehow underdressed even though the girl in front of her is in mismatched pajamas.)

“Um.” Which? That should be a perfectly acceptable thing to say in the face of a pretty girl because who can manage much else, but actually, somehow she thinks it's even worse to say that to someone so attractive. “Hi.”

“Hello?" The pretty girl seems to ask, looking positively breathtaking in her confusion, even with her short hair a mess and oversized glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. The door opens fully as the girl steps forward.

“Cassiopeia!” she says excitedly as she takes the cat from Lizzie’s arms and stops which Lizzie is infinitely grateful for because everything's happening so fast and she's not good with new people and okay, she's just going to stand there, isn't she? 

(And she knows she had thought the name was pretentious not five minutes earlier, but when this girl said it? Lizzie thinks the name is perfect—anything coming out of her lips would be perfect.)  

“She'll run out if the door is open, just come in,” the beautiful girl continues, startling Lizzie into paying attention and not daydreaming about the gorgeous girl saying her name. She studies Lizzie for a long moment, Cass squirming in her arms. It'd be funny if Lizzie wasn't thinking about the thousand different possible ways this could go. “Actually, wait. Is it safe to assume you're not a criminal or anything?”

Lizzie nods quickly, raising her hands to clasp them and twist her fingers together. “I'm not.”

The breathtaking girl smiles knowingly. “I didn't think so,” she says, smile turning just a little wry, “what with the birds all over your pants.”

“Oh,” Lizzie laughs weakly, “they were a gift.”

“Cute. I'm Maddie by the way,” Maddie calls over her shoulder as she leads them in. As soon as the door shuts behind her, Cass scrambles out of her arms and hops down to the floor. “Where did you find her?”

Lizzie gestures needlessly to herself, mumbling “Lizzie” stupidly before crossing her arms. It feels closed off, so she uncrosses them. Then she feels dumb for even moving to begin with. “And she found me? She was in my apartment.”

Maddie’s nose scrunches up. “She just—oh, Cassiopeia.” She turns her attention to Cass who looks back at her, blinking slowly, “Why would you do that, you silly cat?”

Lizzie finds a bit of comfort in the fact that Maddie is asking a cat a question too.

When Maddie realizes what she's done, she swallows, a sheepish smile crossing her face, and Lizzie offers the warmest smile she can muster.

(When Maddie’s smile widens and brightens, Lizzie feels a nervous giddiness well up, because if she can bring about a smile like that, she must be doing something right.

She thinks that until it's just them staring at each other with far too wide smiles for far too long.)

“You found a cat in your home and then instead of just calling, you brought her here?” Maddie shakes her head, but she's still smiling, and damn if that doesn’t give Lizzie a swell of pride despite the late hour and the birds on her pajama bottoms. It’s a nice, genuine smile that makes Lizzie feel warm and content and oh, she's still staring too. “That was kind of you, thank you.”

“It was no problem. I live a floor below.” Cass rubs against her leg, stepping around in circles and meowing desperately when she bends down to pet her.

A hand on her arm stills her. Maddie makes a concerned noise, small and earnest. “You tried picking her up, didn't you?”

Lizzie drags her eyes away from the fingers gently touching the scratches on her arm and looks up towards Maddie. “She put up a fight.”

“I'm so sorry.” Maddie waves a hand behind her as her fingers encircle Lizzie’s wrist, thumb tracing lightly over her arm, “I have bandaids. I can go—"

“It's fine really. No worse than paper cuts.” Maddie doesn't look convinced, body tensed and ready to move, so Lizzie makes a point to shake her arms, regretfully pulling away from Maddie’s touch, to say look, just fine and winks. It feels silly and clumsy but Maddie laughs which oh, how could something end up being better than that smile? 

It feels like a little too much, their locked gazes, fading smiles, Maddie’s hand still outstretched from when she had run her fingers over Lizzie’s arm. It feels like just a little too much, and so Lizzie hums awkwardly to fill the silence, kneeling down to give Cass attention, if only to get a moment’s break from those breathtaking blue eyes.

“That's funny,” Maddie says as Cass rolls over and stretches out for Lizzie to rub her belly.

Lizzie glances up immediately, glad for the excuse and wondering what had made her want to look away in the first place. “What is?”

Maddie eyes her curiously for a long moment. “It's just—Cassiopeia doesn't really like new people.”

“Guess I'm just special then.” Maddie only nods as she—she's studying her, Lizzie is sure of it. She raises her shoulders awkwardly and feels intensely aware of her movements and Maddie’s. “It was just a joke.”

(The way that Maddie’s looking at her though, eyes impossibly bright in the low lit apartment—

Well, it makes it feel a little less like a joke and a little more true.)

“I'm sorry she bothered you.” Maddie gives a stern look to Cass, and Lizzie has to force down a laugh when Cass merely rolls around happily on the floor. “She's been sneaking out lately. I don't know how she managed breaking and entering. That's a new low even for her. I should’ve known my cat would turn to a life of crime.”

Lizzie winces. “I leave my window open. It must be how she got in.”

Maddie’s eyes widen at the confession, her mouth falling open, glasses officially perched precariously at the edge of her nose. Lizzie has never seen someone look so bewildered and so adorable at the same time. “You leave your window open?” Maddie waves her hands frantically. “No, you can't do that. That's dangerous.” It's then that Maddie points a finger at her, and oh, Lizzie shouldn't be thinking it, but it's cute. “Promise me that you'll shut it.”

(Lizzie has no ties to her. Nothing besides a name and a liking for her incredibly intrusive cat but—

She wants to have a reason to continue talking.)

“I promise,” Lizzie says, unable to help the blush she knows is present on her cheeks when Maddie beams in response. Hating to ruin that beautiful smile, Lizzie hastily continues, “that I'll shut it. Tonight. But if it gets hot, I'll open it again.”

Maddie’s eyes rove up and down Lizzie’s person, calculating and thoughtful. “We'll work on it,” she says slowly, finally using her index and middle finger to push her glasses back into place, before crossing her arms over her chest and arching a single, perfect brow. It’s a challenge, clearly, but Lizzie is barely interested.  

(Lizzie can only focus on one thing: we.

It's that promise of we that Lizzie says her goodbyes to a still apologetic Maddie and an uncaring Cass.

It’s that we that makes Lizzie immediately close her window when she gets to her apartment, not opening it even when it feels hot.

It’s that we that makes her steps feel lighter the next morning at the mere thought of seeing Maddie again. And, well, for once?

The unpredictability doesn't scare her.)

x

When she comes home from work the next day, she follows her routine.

Lizzie locks the door and makes sure to put her keys in the dish on her counter, a necessary piece in ensuring she doesn't lose them again. She flicks on the news as she passes and says hello to Cass lounging on the couch.

Lizzie stops.

“Cass?”

Cass’ ear twitches but she doesn't get more of a reaction than that, the cat burying her head behind her arms. Lizzie backs up and throws up her arms. “What—how long have you—” Lizzie cuts off, groaning, not that Cass minds. “Maddie is going to think I'm stealing you.”

Lizzie tips up Cass’ tags with her finger, entering the number into her phone and typing out a message. She adds a smiley face at the end and hits send before she can rethink.

(She does.

She always does. Because what if a smile says hey, I'm happy you keep losing your cat? What if Maddie’s only nice and everything is in her head? What if she imagined the heat of Maddie’s fingertips, the electricity of her blue, blue eyes?)

She sits down beside Cass as she waits for a response, trying not to hyperventilate at the thoughts going through her head (did Maddie hate her?). Just before she starts to worry (of course she does, Lizzie thinks, any sane person would hate the chick who showed up at their door in the middle of the night) about the lack of a response, there's a knock.

“You know,” Maddie starts immediately when Lizzie opens the door, not bothering with a hello and leaning against the frame in a way that looks effortlessly stylish. (Lizzie thinks the white t-shirt partially tucked into her jeans helps. Then again, Maddie looked beautiful when half awake, so it’s likely just a Maddie thing.) “You could've just asked for my number instead of using my cat.”

“I didn't...She just—” Lizzie falls silent, because oh, it's stupid to keep trying when she's gotten so tongue tied at just the sight of Maddie.

“Oh hey, I'm sorry. Bad joke.” Maddie reaches out and brushes against the back of her hand, tipping her head to the side. Lizzie feels the breath rush out of her at the adorable way Maddie awkwardly rubs her neck. “I'll teach Cassiopeia some manners, promise.”

“Cass is a very polite cat,” Lizzie protests with a smile. “Just now, I saw her shove her face in my cup just because she didn't want to dirty another one. Such courtesy.”

Lizzie steps back and waves Maddie in, eyes widening when Maddie bumps against her shoulder playfully, saying “Thank you” even though Lizzie doesn’t know what she’s being thanked for. Maddie unfolds the blanket hanging from her arm as she steps forward, making a soft cooing sound as she approaches her cat. “Okay Cass,” she says, using Lizzie’s nickname for the cat for the first time, making Lizzie smile widely, “time to stop playing around.”

Maddie is much more certain about it than Lizzie was the night before, stepping surely towards Cass and gathering her in her arms quickly. This time, it’s Maddie who winks and once again, Lizzie can’t help the red she knows is on her cheeks. Lizzie dips her head down, fighting back her blush and smile. “That was pure talent.”

“Yeah?” Maddie puffs up at that, walking proudly to the door. “Well, thank you.” She pauses in the doorway, rocking on her feet. “You know, Cass is probably just going to try and come see you again.” She shrugs her shoulders, but the nonchalant way of it feels forced. “If you're not doing anything, it'd save me the trouble of chasing after her if you just came over. We could talk, get to know each other.” She looks off to the side, shoulders hunching even higher. “Spend time together as sort of neighbors. Or something more. You know, whatever.”

“You want to spend time with me?” Lizzie asks, unable to help herself—needing the clarification.

“Yeah.” Maddie bites her lip and shifts, hefting Cass up higher in her arms. “We could get pizza, maybe a movie?”

Her tone shoots higher at the end, and Lizzie’s mind quiets when she realizes what it is. Hope. Lizzie grins, not bothering to hide the eagerness when she nods and scoops up her keys as she follows Maddie out the door.

(And Lizzie may not know where it's going but—

She can't wait to find out.)

X

“So that,” she pauses for effect, “is how we met in that universe.” Lizzie rubs slow, small circles at Maddie’s hips. She hasn't moved in a while, and it wouldn't be too surprising to Lizzie if she'd fallen asleep. Lizzie tries to bring her awake gently, keeping her next words low, “Really, I think Lady Macbeth and Cass are the same. She's found us again.”

“You're warm,” Maddie says, just enough of a slur to it that she thinks her assumption was correct. “But I didn't fall asleep.” Maddie leans forward, pulling away enough that she can turn around and meet Lizzie’s eyes. “We didn't meet because of Lady Macbeth though.”

“No,” Lizzie agrees easily, “we didn't have to. We were already where we were supposed to be.”

“Where?” Maddie questions quietly, voice so thin the breeze almost carries it away before she hears it.

(Lizzie thinks of all the places she could've ended up. The things she could've done instead of the path she took.

She thinks about how it would've meant nothing without Maddie by her side.)

“Together.”

[somerandr]

The Beginning

One. Two. Three…

One—

She heaves a deep breath, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly enough that her knuckles turn white. She knows she's supposed to follow the steps, supposed to think, supposed to...well, she doesn't remember now.

(It's hard. Hard to keep her thoughts together, hard to take in deep breaths and settle her heart rate and remain calm.

She knows she'll go through this, this brief moment of being utterly overwhelmed, this feeling of drowning, every time she pulls into their driveway and sits in the car for several long minutes, attempting to put a smile on her face and enter the home.

She knows, and yet, every time she can't remember what the damn steps are.)

With a sigh, Lizzie closes her eyes as she very slowly loosens her grip on the steering wheel. She lets her shoulders relax, allows her lungs to fill with air, and then, with a smile firmly in place, she exits the car and heads towards the front door.

(One, two, three—she knows the exercise, hears the words Jack told her at the very beginning of all this, but try as she might she doesn't understand how it's so easy for her easy-going brother and so hard for her.)

She doesn't hear anything as she unlocks the door and steps inside, eyes immediately falling on the series of photographs that line the walls. She'd made a halfhearted attempt in the beginning to avoid them—reminders, all—but now the draw is magnetic.

She couldn't avert her gaze even if she tried.

Lizzie takes her time to drop her keys and bag onto the table, smile turning a little more genuine as she takes in the first photo.

(She remembers when it was taken, shortly after she and Maddie started dating—Maddie's blue eyes alight with some sort of fire, fiercely proud of her new short haircut, Lizzie in the background gesturing to her own long locks with her tongue sticking out at Maddie.

She remembers joking that she'd miss running her fingers through Maddie's soft brown hair, would miss Maddie allowing her to practice braiding, listening to Maddie sigh dramatically and wonder aloud about how Lizzie even managed with only a brother and no sisters.

She remembers Maddie rolling her eyes and saying she'd do what she wanted with her own hair.)

Lizzie blinks, giving a quick shake of her head as if to physically dispel the memories. She avoids thinking too hard about the photos that follow: the one at the beach with their melted down sundaes, the one in front of a library that Maddie had been so excited about during their first vacation together, the one with the white dresses and smiles abound.

Instead, she shrugs off her jacket as she heads towards the kitchen, knowing that's most likely where Maddie will be—hovering over whatever she had planned for them to eat that night, looking at what she'd created with a critical eye, nose scrunched up adorably. She's so expecting to see Maddie in the kitchen that it takes her a moment to realize that there's no scent emanating from the kitchen, that cold air is blowing into the house from the open glass window that leads to the patio.

One, two, three, Lizzie thinks, smile fixed firmly in place.

"Maddie? You out here?" she calls, stepping out onto the patio. She's not quite sure what she's expecting, but it's not Maddie sitting on the love seat, bundled up in several blankets, looking out blankly towards the trees beyond their home, idly scratching Hamlet's ears from where he's curled up next to her.

(She remembers that too. Remembers the way Maddie had chosen Hamlet on her own, how she said the dog reminded her of a tragic hero. Lizzie remembers how she'd laughed and laughed, not understanding how Maddie thought the shaggy dog was a Hamlet but giving in all the same.

She gave in more often than she liked to admit.)

"Maddie?" Lizzie repeats softly as she reaches her wife. "It's cold out here."

(She leaves the should you be out here? unsaid, and yet she knows Maddie has heard it because her thin, frail shoulders tense and she ducks her head so that half her face is hidden by her bundle of blankets.)

"It's fine," she says, voice hard.

"Maddie—"

"It's fine, Elizabeth," Maddie snaps, turning to look Lizzie in the eye.

(Lizzie had fallen in love with those blue eyes. She'd fallen in love with the fire in them, with the kindness that shone in them, with the determination in them.

Lizzie had fallen in love with those blue eyes. Blue eyes that are now narrowed at her, looking terribly and horribly cold.)

"Okay. I'm sorry," Lizzie says slowly, making an awkward motion at the loveseat. Maddie keeps her gaze for a moment longer then shrugs, watching as Lizzie sits on the loveseat—taking care to be as far as possible, shivering in the cold and wishing for her jacket.

"You're such a dork, come here," Maddie says after a long minute of merely watching her, holding up one end of her bundle of blankets, motioning for Lizzie to come closer. Lizzie doesn't even bother to hide her relief at the invitation, pressing as close to Maddie as she dares, feeling a sense of calm wash over her as Maddie presses back, going as far as to lean her head on Lizzie's shoulder. "I, um, didn't cook," Maddie continues slowly. "We should order out, that Chinese place you like."

It's an apology, Lizzie knows Maddie well enough to recognize the offer for what it is.

And Lizzie...well, Lizzie gives in.

"Hmm, what if we choose a movie, order some pizza, and we made a date night out of it instead?"

"Are you sure?" Maddie asks, shifting so that she’s facing Lizzie, taking the hand between them and squeezing lightly.

“About pizza?” She grins and brings up Maddie’s hand to press a quick kiss to the back of it. There's a brief moment where all she can think and feel is cold, her smile falling away at the sensation. But then Maddie’s hand shifts in her grip, bringing her back. “I'm never more sure.”

Maddie huffs, a little laugh that warms her heart with the sincerity of it.

(There are so many things that worry her.

So many things that could go wrong, wrong, wrong.

But all she needs is Maddie with her bright eyes and brighter smile at her side to make everything feel okay again.

She needs Maddie.)

“Okay.” Lizzie claps her hands, gently and quietly, but Maddie still grumbles with the movement. Hamlet blinks up sleepily at her, moving closer to Maddie and leg kicking out at her in a movement that almost seems purposeful. “Wait here.”

“Yeah, because I was going somewhere,” Maddie says as Lizzie gets to her feet, stretches slightly, and turns towards the door.

Lizzie pauses, already imagining Maddie’s pleased look at her own sass, turns around, and confirms her prediction, because there it is.

(Is it wrong to find it terribly attractive?

Because Maddie gets that same smug, infuriating smile every time she wins at a game or yells the answer in Jeopardy or chooses rock every time Lizzie chooses scissors to decide who does the dishes.

It's frustrating truly, and yet she finds herself staring every time and well—

Maddie is simply always beautiful even when arrogantly victorious.)

She almost wants to continue the playful bickering, because this, this is them. Routine and typical and normal.

It's comforting.

As soon as the thought even enters her head, fear creeps down her spine and the warm lull of familiarity slips away, because nothing is the same. It's all different. She hates that it’s so easy to forget.

(She doesn't do well with change.

She likes being able to predict each and every facet of her life, relies on it to keep her grounded and certain.

Without it, she's hesitant and worried and oh, she's scared, she's terrified.)

It must show on her face, because Maddie’s prideful look shifts into one of concern, a hand rising up towards her. “Liz—"

“Be right back.”

Lizzie slips into the house, the door shutting out Maddie’s reply. She leans against it, allows herself a deep breath in and—

God, when did they get so many pictures?

(Really, she just thinks, why, why, why?)

She walks slowly to the kitchen as she counts (one, two, three...she always loses track after three), and then she's staring at photos from their vacations, several of them stuck to the fridge by an overloaded magnet.

Her eyes burn all of a sudden, throat constricting as she leans forward and lets her head thump against the cool metal of the refrigerator.

One. Two. Three.

There's a brush of fur against her leg, with Macbeth peering up at her when she glances down, his black fur gleaming in the light of the sunset as he meows loudly.

(She remembers the slow smile that had spread on Maddie’s face when she brought him home and suggested the name, arguments for why they should keep the kitten on her lips, ready to go. She remembers that the arguments hadn’t been necessary.

She remembers the kiss she had received after even more.)

Another meow sounds, cutting through her thoughts. It's desperate, a little dramatic if she's being honest and— “Oh oh. I'm sorry little man.”

She bends down to the lower cabinets, ignoring Macbeth’s frantic pacing around her legs. It's not like her to forget to feed him. Not that she actually can, because he's forever whining if she doesn't, but usually she doesn't need the reminder.

But really, she hasn't been like herself lately anyway.

(She tries not to think about the why.

Forces it down, then even deeper as she pulls the tie from her hair only to put it back up again, this time tighter, a stupid, panicky thought that she’ll either lose all her hair this way or watch the blonde go gray while still in her twenties hitting her before she has the chance to stop it. But then, it’s easier to focus on the hair and not the why.

If she doesn't think about it, does anything really change?

She tries to ignore the resounding yes that echoes throughout her mind.)

Macbeth follows her to his bowl, ducking his head in as she pours, allowing the food to hit his head and slide down into the dish. A quick laugh bubbles up in her chest, sweet relief filling her lungs, and she bends down to scratch behind his ear. He sniffs at the gesture, at the food he spent the past five minutes crying over, tail curling and walks away.

“Really? Really?”

It's moments like that when she knows he's as dramatic as his owner. She blinks, pauses. His other owner.

She's not dramatic. Ever.

She hums as she grabs cups and cocoa. It takes standing in front of the fridge for a few moments before she can decide yes, it's worth using the last of their milk. The spoon clinks against the mug as she stirs. It's a steady sound that she finds herself lost in until the microwave beeps, jarring her with it's announcement that it's done.

The marshmallows are the last to go in. Only the tiny kind because Maddie swears it's the only ones that should receive the honor of topping hot chocolate.

(It was after one too many times that she found herself loudly discussing whether they even needed marshmallows while they were shopping at the grocery store, Maddie’s huffs of disbelief and offense louder than Lizzie’s half-hearted protests.

Maddie had straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and oh, they get them every time now.

She doesn't even like marshmallows.

But she loves Maddie, loves the way that every time she'll peer down into her cup, squinting and ask if Lizzie remembered the marshmallows.)

She immerses herself in the memory, wrapping it around her thoughts as she tries to reconstruct her smile. She tries thinking of the piece they've been playing at work. Knowing the beat after days and days of practicing, she starts counting to it. The pace feels frantic though, speeding up and falling apart as she's left with more panic than when she started.

Lizzie almost calls out for Maddie as the pressure builds inside her chest. Almost. She imagines Maddie’s concern and her getting up from the warmth of the blankets and it all seems so unnecessary. So instead, she swallows past the constricting apprehension and focuses on putting each foot in front of the other.

She steps back outside onto the porch, the warmth of the mugs seeping into her hands, and Maddie perks up immediately, eyeing the cups in her hands. It's a scene she's so accustomed to that it eases the dread swirling around in her chest.

(Though there's also a fair bit of suspicion in Maddie’s gaze.

It says she knows exactly what Lizzie is trying to accomplish.

Which, to be fair to herself, isn’t something she’s trying all that hard to hide from her wife.)

She holds out the mug to Maddie. Her hand shakes more with every second passed as she rethinks her plan. Maddie stares thoughtfully. It's when Lizzie has almost accepted that Maddie doesn't want it when she slowly takes the mug. Their fingers brush as Maddie murmurs her thanks. Her hand curls greedily around it and holds it close to her chest. “Did you remember—” she starts, squinting as she peers into her mug.

“—of course.”

Maddie nods cheerfully enough. She rubs her fingers idly against the mug and pats the spot beside her. “Come back here.”

Lizzie bites her lip, eagerness sifting around in her chest. Blue eyes look expectantly up at her as she reluctantly stays standing, thinking about her phone she needs to retrieve from her bag. “I still have to call in the pizza.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

Maddie grins, and oh, there it is. That wonderfully bright smile that casts away the darkest of shadows. She wiggles her shoulders happily and holds up her phone. “Why call when you can order online?”

“I love you.” Lizzie drops down beside Maddie, taking care to make sure she doesn't jostle her as she does so. Maddie holds up her cup while she wriggles around to get comfortable. “So much. You're amazing.”

“It's online ordering. Relax.” Maddie hums, tilting her head. “I love you too though.”

It's quiet for a long moment. The leaves rustling and the barest sound of Macbeth meowing from behind the glass door, begging to come out.

“Mads, we need to talk. You know that, right?” Lizzie says, eyes on Hamlet and not on her wife, remembering how jealous she’d been when he’d been so attached to Maddie as a puppy—never paying Lizzie much mind. Now, it makes her feel better, makes her glad to know Hamlet is on the case when she can’t be.

“Talk about what?” Maddie tries, shifting away from Lizzie.

(This happens every time. She broaches the subject and the wall goes up. She wants to talk about something that’s important to the both of them, and Maddie’s self-defense mechanisms kick in and she gets quiet, refusing to speak.

Maddie’s habit had always made arguing such an annoyance, but it had never hurt.

It hurts now.)

“Please, Mads. We have to talk about it eventually. It’s been two weeks.”

(One, two, three, she thinks. One moment two weeks ago everything had changed. She’s terrified what that three will turn out to be.)

Lizzie finally looks away from Hamlet to meet Maddie’s eyes.

(She fell in love with those eyes. Even now, she’s falling in love with those eyes.)

“Elizabeth, I just...” Maddie starts cautiously, blinking furiously as if trying to hold back tears. Her tone sounds off, and paired with her name and not one of the various, sometimes embarrassing, nicknames Maddie has given her, Lizzie is on edge immediately. “Look. I just—do you ever feel like you haven't done enough?”

(It’s not what she was going to say. Lizzie knows that. She knows that just like she knows Maddie hates Chinese and loves tiny marshmallows and is more of a dog than a cat person.

Lizzie knows but she gives in anyway.)

“Enough what?”

“No, I mean—” Maddie makes a frustrated noise, shrugging off Lizzie’s hand when she tries to place it on Maddie’s shoulder. “Enough. Have you done enough? With the time you've been given?”

Lizzie rolls the words around in her head, thinks on each one and purses her lips. It's not as if there’s an answer she can come up with on the fly, not something she can come up with and convince Maddie of her reasoning with a few well placed words.

The idea comes to her suddenly, like the first strike of lightning of a thunderstorm, and though she’s not sure if it’ll work, she runs with it anyway—grasping to it with all she has.

“Well,” she raises a shoulder and drops it, “we've done some crazy things in all our time together.”

Maddie turns towards her, makes a point to look at their porch and dog and back to their house. She looks at everything they own and seems to say, this? This is domestic and home. “Crazy? This is crazy? My immense school debt and your not so lucrative career in music? That’s crazy?”

“Not just this, I mean,” Lizzie explains slowly, watching as Maddie stares at her, adorably quirking her lips to the side in her confusion. Lizzie can't resist swiping there with her thumb, Maddie capturing her hand and folding it between her own afterwards. “I mean everything we've done in all our time together. All our lives together.”

“Lizzie,” Maddie draws it out, in that way when she's desperate to get to an answer fast, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, you didn't know?” A pinch at her side tells her Maddie’s done playing games, and gosh, there's another one. Lizzie rubs at her side, trying to get her words in order. “When there’s a love like ours, one life isn’t enough. So we’re together, always, living hundreds of lives together. In one, you’re a barista. You get my name wrong and I fall for you. And in another, we grow up next door to each other, have a very dramatic time in high school.”

She winks and Maddie rolls her eyes.

“Lizzie, I'm being serious.”

“I am too. Just listen,” she taps her head, “I remember it all. Every single one. I remember being a gladiator and another life when you were a princess and I remember the one where we grow old together.” She gingerly reaches over to tuck the blankets edges around Maddie. “If you're so worried about if you’ve done enough with the time you’ve been given, I can just tell you about everything you managed to do.”

Maddie rolls her eyes again, but Lizzie nods to herself as ideas keep coming to her, and this, this is something she can do. This is something she can control. This is something she can accomplish to help the love of her life—her lives.

“Just let me tell you one at least,” she suggests when Maddie is silent too long, maybe a little bit desperately, maybe a little bit too anxiously.

It feels like forever before Maddie sighs, long and heavy. Full of worry so smothering that it makes her heart ache. It’s a knowing and an understanding sigh—it’s a sigh that makes it clear to Lizzie that Maddie hasn’t been fooled for one second. And yet…

“Okay fine, tell me.”

(Because sometimes—

Sometimes Maddie gives in too.)