blooming.

.

Being back here was harder than Jac could have possibly imagined. Seeing everyone from the team was a reminder than it all was real and it all was something she’d shoved into the past. She told herself that’s what she wanted. But here and now, scrambling for some common ground Jac found herself wishing that there were voicemails and letters: little breadcrumbs leading her back to this life. But no, there was only in or out. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not missing much,” said Jac, “I don’t drink either, unless the situation truly calls for a glass of champagne.” She didn’t want to admit that her years of PR parties forced her into situations where peer pressure decided her morals before she could. “Honestly, I’d cherish your power if I had it.” 

. 

She froze at Jac’s words, thinking on all of the times Jac did have her powers, albeit temporarily. Grace took a breath, pushing that feeling down. They were having a nice conversation--there was no need to bring that into it. “Right, yeah. They have their perks, I suppose,” she picked up another bottle and began walking towards the other room. 

“So, how have you been?” Grace wanted to change the subject quickly. The two of them had never talked about their lives before the academy; there wasn’t much reason for them to talk about their lives after. But hey, it was better than dwelling on the healing. “I guess.. I don’t really know what you’ve been up to all these years.” 

…

“Kindness never is, but condolences tend to have a tendency to not ring true, don’t they?” Julieta had never been the one to have been given condolences, but she had built a community in the past ten years, formed bonds with countless people and lost many of them to age. Working with those who could not afford better lawyers often meant working with those in debt due to medical reasons, or with old pensioners that could barely afford to live as it is. She has witnessed the loss their families experienced, so even if she can’t fully relate, she has witnessed the pain that follows a loss, and how difficult it is to believe in honesty in times such as those.

“I brought y’all a small gift, just. Something small to make you feel a bit less alone in times like this,” she offers the words softly, riffling through her bags until she finds the one meant for the woman in front of her and offers them to the other delicately. “Apologies if I overstepped, I just thought. Well, it is sort of odd for us to show up and I quite dislike showing to funerals empty handed.”

...

Grace stared in surprise at the gift in the other woman’s hands for a moment, unsure of how to proceed with this unexpected act of kindness. After a short moment of hesitation, she reached out and grabbed it, holding the bag gently in front of her. If there was anything she expected from the Enigmas, it was stress, not a present. 

“Thank you,” she cleared her throat and spoke after the awkward pause, gingerly holding the bag. “No need to apologize. It is... very thoughtful of you.” If their situations were revered, Grace thought that maybe she would have done the same thing: brought gifts for the other team, not knowing what else to do in such a heavy, emotional setting. 

Grace looked up at the person in front of her and smiled. “Thank you, really. I’ve never gotten a gift from someone I don’t know the name of, so that’s a first.” 

CLOSED STARTER for @gracieevanss​, on the cemetary grounds.

Fingers reach out, through space and time and history and nip at Grace’s before interlacing with them. Taking them all, demanding five of them which is quite a humble act, considering Mila would like to lay claim to all of them, here. It’s a depressing affair. An angering one — one pulled out of another life, a previous one, a life left behind. And yet here she is, caught in a family affair of grief once again. 

It’s futile to pretend that she isn’t afflicted, as if grief isn’t banging on her doors wanting to be let in while rage guards the door. But still, she can reach out, take Grace’s hand, squeeze it. Because the other needs it — not because she does, of course. (She does, a little.) “Hey, you.” The ground beneath them is softened by the drizzle and maybe some of her black mascara tears, too. Mila stares at a gravestone, quickly calculating the age of the deceased stranger (78 years) before looking at Grace. “Do you want to grab the same car, on our way out of here?” 

The press will be waiting, vultures with flashing cameras. Mila can be the hero, Grace behind her as she basks in their lights. More importantly, she craves proximity. To keep an eye out or to rest her head on a shoulder or all at the same time. She offers a squeeze of her hand, gestures around with her free one, “This is a beautiful place, at least.” 

.

One of the people Grace was genuinely looking forward to reuniting with at the funeral was Mila: one of the few at the academy who had eagerly become her friend. Though the two had far from lost touch, their moments of connection, especially in person, had grown sparser over the years. At the feeling of her hand, Grace turned to instead pull Mila into an embrace. 

“It’s so good to see you, Mila.” In spite of where they were and why, she couldn’t help but let out a laugh. A moment of joy was well deserved. “I’ve missed you.” 

As their embrace ended, she pulled away and looped her arm in Mila’s. “Sure, we can grab the same car.” It might have been the first time today she was truly smiling. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket for her phone to send a quick text. “I’ll let Gabriel know. So he’s not waiting for me.” 

“It is beautiful,” she looked out at the scene, brick walls and marble headstones, statues with overgrown ivy. It was serene, in the only way a cemetery maybe could be. “The rain seems fitting for today, doesn’t it?”  

.

               Gabriel,    theoretically,   knows why he smokes.   It’s nicotine,   of course.   Science does a simple job of explaining addiction,   but the psychology of it requires an entirely different field,   a social science,   the one that everyone is too ashamed to admit they seek the most help from.   Mr. Knox explained it to him once,   the first time he caught Gabriel smoking.   His torso was leaned so far over the window that he looked like he was trying to jump down instead of attempting to keep the smoke outside when a hand dragged him in by the collar and he stared wide-eyed at the Headmaster.   His mouth fought between swallowing or spitting the stick out,   but in the end,   Mr. Knox snatched it from his lips and promptly put it out on the bottom of his shoe.   Gabriel remembers staring as he did,   somehow more surprised that Mr. Knox was soiling the soles of his nice shoes over anything else.   He’d given him one of his long,   tedious lectures then.   Self-righteous but educational,   and more understanding than Gabriel would’ve expected.   From then on he never smoked inside the academy.   Until now. 

       “You’d quit,”   He says as he hands over the cigarette,   the weight of Grace’s warm body bringing him back from his idle,   grief-stricken thoughts.   Nevertheless,   he lets her take it and forgets ownership of it.   There is nothing one of them owns that the other doesn’t.   Absentmindedly,   he shifts his shoulder to allow her more comfort.   

       For Gabriel,   this is the spot where it all started.   Not the training rooms,   not even their first time meeting,   but this small window seat that looks out to the surrounding expanse of forest.   He used to sit here on his own,   pulsating with anger,   resentful of his circumstances while the team was away on a mission and he’d just finished another training session that yielded no results.   Then Grace arrived at the academy and he was never alone again.   He even remembers being angry with her about it,   like somehow it was her fault for arriving that now he had to do terrible things to her.   His rage was directed in every direction it could possibly reach.   Gabriel made it hard to get along in the beginning,   but eventually,   he all but melted around her.   He turned into a different person–   less guarded,   less upset,   smiling with ease he’d never felt before.  

       “They’re probably too busy tearing up Mrs. Kim’s curtains to realize they’re not even home.   I caught Boots wrestling his own hind leg the day before we left,   that one especially has nothing in his brain.”   He sounds disappointed,   yet the gentle smile on Gabriel’s face is anything but.   “We’ll catch up.”   The wake is only meant to be a momentary trip away from home,   after all.   While the effects of it will certainly last longer,   they’ll at least be back to their lives while they contend with the rest of their grief.   

       “I guess I haven’t been this cleaned up in ages.”   He responds,   half-hearted in his attempt to palliate his mood.   “You as well.”   Gabriel leans close and places his lips on the crown of her head,   whispering.   “How are you holding up?” 

. 

Though she felt uneasy today, being back at the academy after so long to bury their father figure, one thing remained certain: the one place she could count on to feel safe and right was at Gabriel’s side. It didn’t matter if they were in their home, in one of the apartments they rented while on the road, or here, where it all started, he was her home in every sense of the word. It made it easy to be honest, to finally be able to exhale after the day that they had and have a second to breathe. 

“It’s been a long day,” Grace said plainly, staring at the cigarette now between her fingertips. “I’ll quit again later.” She hesitated before bringing it to her lips, stifling the cough that came as a result.  

The description of their kitten made her giggle as she handed the cigarette back to Gabriel. “That’s what makes him so cute. But, you’re so right. I’m going to have to bake her a three-tiered cake as a thank you for handling him when we get back. To start.” It was dramatic, of course. There was plenty the two of them had done for the family over the years: plumbing issues Gabriel had helped Mr. Kim with, babysitting and cleaning Grace had done. Their neighbors were sure to insist on no payment, and they’d have to insist on thanking them somehow back. That was the pace of their chosen life now, and it was something she couldn’t wait to get back to. 

Grace smiled at his compliment and leaned into the kiss he gave to her forehead, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I s’pose so.” Other than Sunday Church, there weren’t many places in their small town to get dressed up. for The two of them worked so much that they’d never get to them even if they did exist. “Scrubs and work clothes are more our speed, I think. We’d be a little too much of the talk of the town if we showed up to Rob’s Diner in suits and ties.” 

Her smile started to falter at his next question, at the very the idea of reflecting on the day and how she was doing. As the weight of the day came crashing down, she just started to speak, knowing talking to him would make all of it make more sense.  

“It’s just.... it’s so weird. Being back here. Nothing feels right.” Most of the time, Gabriel was the only person in the world she could pour her heart out to and know she was leaving it in trusting hands. No matter what she had to say, he always understood. “It isn’t just Harold being dead, too. It’s everything. Being back here and everything being dusty and empty. Talking to Mr. Moe about our life at home. The Enigmas, too. They’re... I don’t even know what to say. I guess I just don’t get what they’re even doing here.” She took a deep breath, leaning further into his shoulder. 

“One of them gave me a scarf, though.” Grace buried her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes that were starting to tear up. From exhaustion or sadness or something in between, she couldn’t really tell.  “It was actually really nice. And you?”

who? open

where? the wake, the oculus academy manor

note: oculus starter! it’s mutant christmas and santa fearmonger is bring you presents

The atmosphere is neighboring unbearable as soon as she enters the manor, the feeling of questioning eyes upon her as she strides inside with her back straight and nine understated gift bags on hand. The nerves are there, ever present, but she refuses to shrink into herself on her first appearance after years living without the mask. Julieta might not be prideful, might have too many self-esteem issues for that, but she is working on it. Slowly building up her confidence from the bare scraps, so that she doesn’t cower in moments just like this.

She feels the gazes of her siblings upon her, and she knows she will have to talk to them at some point during the night. She will have to find Zephyr and have the conversation she has been pushing back for years, meet Homura and apologize for the pain she put him through. Julieta has an endless list of grievances to apologize for, but she can’t start the evening with them, not after the funeral, not after witnessing her parent cry for what seems to be the second time on her life. She wants to ask Hollis what Harold meant to them, wants to ask if they would grief for her the same way they grief the Headmaster and grieved Homura. Wants to know why was she invited, when she was always barely treated as family.

Likely so that the world learns that all of Enigma has survived and respects the Headmaster, nothing more or less.

It’s all she has come to expect of Hollis, but the thought still hurts.

The sound of steps breaks her from her reverie, and she looks up, covered eyes meeting the maskless face of a former Oculus member. Julieta inclines her head in greeting, the desire to give them a smile and thus ruing the fact she has a face mask struggling against her fear of her identity being discovered. Still, she has worked with masks in the past, worked with those incapable of distinguishing facial expressions, so she knows how to make her body language open, welcoming.

“I know it sounds like an empty platitude,” she begins to say, voice soft and low, a contrast to her naturally loud volume in a further attempt to disguise who she is. “But I am sorry for your loss.”

Grace was surprised by the Enigma member’s presence in front of her, speaking directly to her, even more that the words they were offering where kindness. Condolences. Most of the afternoon and through the funeral, they’d all been standing to the side. Why they would even bother coming, just to stand together with masks on, was a bit lost on her. 

And yet, here was one speaking to her, a ring of kindness in their voice that was a welcome change to silence and tension of the day. Grace tilted her head to the side, processing the interaction. 

“Thank you,” she finally spoke after a moment, her voice hollow, throat dry from the quiet of the day. Sorry for your loss. It was something their neighbors had told them plenty when they left for the funeral, but they didn’t know who he was. They didn’t understand. Maybe the Enigmas did, maybe they didn’t. 

“It isn’t meaningless. To be kind.” Gracie crossed her arms in front of her, forcing a wider smile.

“Seven years and three months since the last one of you stepped foot out of the house,” he clarifies. Not to be rude or attempt to correct her, but the date weighs heavy on his mind and it doesn’t take much prompting to recall how long it’s been for him. He’d always wanted to have children, always wanted to be a father, and in the strangest way he’d gotten his wish. Eight children, and all of them remarkable. 

“It’s good to have you home, Gracie,” he says. He knows that she probably doesn’t want to be here, not really. But that makes her presence all the more appreciated. “I know you’ve all been so busy with your new lives. I think it’s wonderful. Are you happy? Out there inn the real world?”

Grace smiled, reaching out her hand to touch his, ignoring the tears pricking at her eyes. In this house, there had been so much pain, so much sadness she’d gone through, so much torment over her place and that missing sense of belonging. But, there had been good parts of it too. Having her first real friends. Having Mr. Moe and Mr. Knox take her in. Meeting Gabriel. All of the happy memories mixed with the sad... it was almost too much for her to feel at all. 

“Yes, I’m happy,” her voice came out gently. “We--me and Gabriel, we’re happy. We live out in the states now. A little house on a lake. I think you would like it there, sir. It’s nice and quiet, and all of the neighbors are friendly.” 

Jac never truly meant to ignore Gracie more than the others. Jac ignored everyone, but some of the earlier academy members simply made themselves harder to shake off. In the present Jac had no ill-will towards Gracie, just like any of the other students. To Jac, they were all just kids who’d been forced into classrooms and chaos together. No need to imbue that with any special feelings. 

“Thanks,” she sighed, distracted as she looked at the bottles, “I’m hoping that most of the people here are sleepy drunks and by getting everyone to party a little harder we can bring this terrible day to a close at an expedited rate. Drink, drop, done.” 

The calmness with which Jac spoke to Grace made her take pause. It had been almost a decade since the two had been together--maybe time had healed all their wounds. Surely, Gracie could find it in her heart to forgive any pass wrongdoings. Or, maybe some fights weren’t worth fighting anymore. Or, maybe worst of all, maybe the way Jac treated her was just in her head the whole time. 

“Not a bad plan. Unfortunately, I’ll be sober all night,” she reached for a couple of the bottles, laughing lightly under her breath. “I actually can’t get drunk. Mr. Knox described it as my body being able to fight off the ethanol, or something. I’ve tested his theories. Turns out, he was super right.” 

The affair was winding down by the time Grace made it up the stairs, creeping through the old house like a stranger, on the hunt for the companion she’d lost at some point in the afternoon. Down the hall, another left turn, and there he was in front of her, in the first spot she’d thought to look: a window bench not far from their childhood rooms, where they’d spent so many hours chatting, dreaming, learning each other like the back of their hands. The rain sound was clearer up here, and she realized the window was ajar, probably because of the cigarette in his hands. 

“Figured I’d find you here,” Grace slipped her loafers off and settled into the bench beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Usually, her spot would be across from him, the two of them on opposite ends of the window, their feet tangled in the middle. She reached a hand out for him to hand her the cigarette. She’d mostly kicked the habit she in part got from him over the years--if she came into work smelling like smoke, the old ladies at the retirement home wouldn’t stop begging her for one. Today, though, was different. 

“I miss the babies,” she said wistfully, staring out the window where the rain was still gently coming down. Their babies being the two foster kittens Gabriel had brought home a couple weeks ago whom Grace was nursing back to health. Their neighbors had been happy to take them in while the two were abroad, but she couldn’t help but think on them. “And we’re missing Jeopardy. It’s the Tournament of Champions, too.” 

“You look nice, by the way. If I haven’t said it already.” 

open to all

“I’m moving all the cheap booze to the dining room table, wanna help me?” 

Grace was surprised to hear Jac talk to her. After many awkward years together and so many apart, Grace was content to spend her time at the mansion continuing to be left out and ignored. It was better, after all, than confronting Jac about their teenage years. 

“Uh, yeah, sure. I can help you.” Maybe she should have just walked away, as if she could ever walk away from a request for help from one of her team members. 

Numb. After the weeks of being at home, knowing he was gone, after the funeral where she stood to the side and watched as the chosen carried his body, after the media frenzy outside the cemetery, most of what Grace was feeling now was a lingering numbness. She’d spent most of the day glued to Gabriel’s side, partially for the steady comfort his presence gave her, partially fearing what else might pour out if she left it. 

Now that they were home, though, the hallow halls of the manor feeling just as grand and empty as the day she left, she finally found herself breaking away from her other half and off to her own solitude. There were plenty of hiding places she’d found over the years, and she made a beeline for her favorite: the parlor behind the butler’s pantry with the paintings. When she got there, though, someone was already standing in front of her favorite piece, the large Dali collage, a black mask quickly indicating their affiliation. 

“It is an original, you know. All of the art in this house is.” Her words came out quiet, barely louder than the chatter that could be heard from room’s away. “Mr. Knox used to tell us that he knew Dali, that he purchased this from him directly as a commission way back when. He had a lot of stories like that, and I think they were all mostly true. Who would he have to impress by lying?”  

“I’m Grace,” she offered with a smile, staring into the mask of the person beside her. There was so much they might know of her, and yet, she knew nothing of any of them. It fascinated her as much as it frightened her, a welcome distraction from the heavy feeling of the day. For so long, she’d wondered of the Enigma members. To have them in her former home was a strange, strange feeling. 

@gracieevanss

“despite the unfortunate circumstances, i must say that it’s nice to have everyone home.” ​

“Right, I suppose it must be nice in some ways, for us all to be back.” Mr. Moe brought Grace out of her thoughts. She’d found her way into the kitchen for a glass of water and somehow herself staring off into the sink. What a day. “How long has it been? Almost a decade, right?” 

“It is nice to see you, sir.” She put the full cup down on the counter, having not even taken a sip. “I’m sorry we haven’t been back before now.” A lie. Somehow, pretending and lying came easier when she was under this roof.