Lesbianism it is👍🏽

Baran had loved this museum since she was roughly fourteen years old and miserable on her middle school trip to D.C. She had gone to a nice enough school that they could afford to do an afternoon stop in Pittsburgh on the way home, and Baran had wandered into the museum half-asleep and walked back out feeling rearranged. There were many things about Pittsburgh that, now 40, she tolerated rather than loved. But this place had stayed in her bones.

Kaveh, unfortunately, was seven. He was usually a fantastic sport, but there were only so many oil paintings a child could stare at before he felt he'd seen them all.

Still, every Saturday Baran asked, “Do you want to come with me today, joonam?”

And every Saturday her sweet boy said yes.

She always let Kaveh lead when they visited the museum because there wan’t a single exhibit she didn’t enjoy and she had learned really quickly that if he felt he had control over what they were seeing, the longer he was able to last. 

Usually, this meant they ended up in the sculpture hall. Kaveh adored the tall, skinny statues there with his entire little heart.

“They look silly,” he would whisper loudly, staring up at the long bronze limbs and dramatic poses with complete delight.

And every single visit, without fail, he would eventually turn to Baran with barely-contained excitement and say, “Māmān, take a picture.”

Then he’d plant himself beside the statues and imitate them as seriously as possible, long face, arms thrown awkwardly into the air, knees bent at impossible angles as Baran gleefully snapped his photo.

Kaveh was bounding back to her side and standing up on his tip-toes to see the fruit of his photo shoot. She was showing him the latest one, his nose wrinkling with pleasure at his own performance, when his head snapped to the side with the speed of a small animal catching a scent.

Baran had about half a second of confusion before he pulled in a breath and used every bit of it:

“DOCTOR Y/N!!!”

Baran jolted so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

“Kaveh—”

Too late.

Across the gallery, you turned around and Baran’s heart sunk through every floor of the museum. It seemed like an awful collision of her two worlds that she very carefully kept separate.

She knew you in fragments that didn’t belong in a place like this, your scrubs and tired eyes after a long shift that always softened when you saw her, you padding through her kitchen at night, stealing water from the fridge like you lived there too, you half-asleep against her shoulder, breath warm.

She also knew how your voice sounded when it went all high-pitched and breathy, whimpering pleas of her name in her ear as your hands scraped down her back, her kissing your neck—

And now there you were. Dark jeans, a soft cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a tote bag from a college Baran had never heard you mention, rings stacked on your fingers that caught the gallery light. Your hair was different than she'd ever seen it. You looked soft.

She watched your expression move through confusion and arrive at something warm and surprised and delighted.

"Hi, Kaveh," you called across the gallery.

Kaveh was already moving. He crossed the room at a pace that was technically not running because his feet were not fully leaving the floor at the same time, but was in every other sense running. You crouched down to meet him and he wrapped his arms around your neck without preamble, without hesitation, the way children do when they've decided about a person.

"You're here!” he beamed.

"I am here," you laughed, settling back on your heels with your arms resting on your knees, completely unbothered by the contact with the museum floor. "What are you doing here, little dude? Are you an art guy?"

Kaveh pulled back and shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Māmān likes it a lot more than me though. But she says it's good for my brain."

"Smart woman, your mama."

Baran had crossed the gallery at a more appropriate pace and arrived to find you already looking up at her, easy and warm, not making anything of it.

"Dr. Al-Hashimi."

"Dr. Y/L/N." She heard how formal it sounded and internally winced. She cleared her throat and softened her tone. "Small world. I'm sorry about the ambush."

"Please don't be," you beamed, standing. "This is the best thing that's happened to me all morning."

You had met Kaveh twice before and Baran had kind of freaked out both times (you knew good and well she didn’t really want you two interacting, didn’t want to blend whatever fuck-buddy situation you had going on with the version of her life she was presenting to her son) but both interactions had been really, really lovely. You’re not sure what you did to earn Kaveh’s adoration, but you were glad you had it as the adorable little boy beamed up at you, staring at you like you hung the stars.

Baran, standing slightly to the side, was also looking at your face. For completely different reasons. She took in the different style of your hair, the jewelry she hadn’t seen because it was kind of a pain to wear rings at work, the tote bag with your college insignia — a school Baran had not known you attended, had never heard you talk about, another piece of the woman she hadn’t had yet.

There were so many pieces.

“Are you here alone?” Baran heard herself ask.

You smiled. “I am, embarrassingly enough. I just like it here.” You paused. “Mom-son date?”

“We come most Saturdays,” Baran said. “When Kaveh is persuadable.”

“It’s an awesome hangout spot,” you nodded warmly, trying to will your heart to stop fluttering. Baran looked so… touchable? Something about her was calmer, more settled, and you wanted to soak it in like a sapling begging for just a drop of water to sustain it, but she was here with her son. And you were just a friend. Barely even that.

“Well, it was lovely to see you both,” you started to turn, “I hope you—”

Kaveh latched onto your arm, eyes going big with sudden sadness. “Wait, are you going?”

You froze, mouth falling open a bit, and your eyes shot to Baran. Sure, you liked her company and loved her son, but you knew this woman had boundaries and you never took that personally. 

“Um, well, Kaveh—”

"Don’t go yet because we are looking at statues and you can join us," Kaveh said excitedly. "Do you want to see?"

You blinked. Your eyes still searching Baran's face. 

It was sweet, Baran realized. She allowed her head to tilt, a warm smile to come across her face.

"Yes," she said warmly. "Join us. We could use the company."

Huh. You shook of your shock and replaced it with an eager nod of your head.

"I'd love to," you replied, a similar smile pulling at your lips. "Show me."

—

You fell into step beside her at an easy distance, and Baran noticed that too — the careful inch of space you maintained, not crowding her nor presuming that the invite meant she, all of the sudden, wanted you on top of her.

You talked to Kaveh mostly, crouching when he pointed at things, asking him questions that took his opinions seriously, which made him stand a little taller each time.

"That one is super sad," Kaveh pointed at a bronze figure with its head bowed.

"Hm," you studied it. "What do you think he's sad about?"

Kaveh thought about this. "Maybe he lost something."

“Lost something?” Baran prompted.

“‘Cause his head is down, Māmān,” Kaveh replied. “He’s lookin’ for it.”

It surprised a laugh out of you — real and unguarded, bubbling up from your chest and floating out into the high-ceilinged room — and Baran's eyes went straight to your face.

She'd heard you laugh before. But not like that. Not with nothing behind it but the simple fact that something delighted you.

She looked away before you could catch her looking.

She was noticing things she had no particular right to notice. The way you paused longest in front of the landscapes. The small private smile when something caught you, unannounced and unperformed. The fact that you knew which paintings were which without looking at the placards.

Initially she had been bracing herself for some level of awkwardness bred from the reminder that you existed in a different compartment of her life, one that didn't belong here under the high windows with her son. But you hadn't made it awkward. You just looked very content not to be alone on a Saturday, and it made her heart twist.

She felt herself begin to unknot.

"You come here often?" she nudged you with her hip as you walked again, and didn’t miss the way your eyes twinkled at the contact.

"Most weekends I'm not working," you tilted your head at the room around you. "There's a painting in the next gallery I've been coming back to for about a year."

"Which one?"

You smiled a little. "I'll show you when we get there."

In the decorative arts wing Kaveh grabbed your hand to drag you toward a suit of armor, and you let him, and Baran watched your face when he pressed his small nose against the visor to peer inside. The expression you wore was so soft, so unself-conscious, that it caught her off guard.

She had long wondered what you were like when you weren't managing anything at all, be it your poise at work or your manners in her apartment or your ecstasy in her bed. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was exactly what you looked like laid bare. 

—

They reached the end of the last gallery with the slow inevitability of a good afternoon running out. Kaveh had gone boneless against Baran's side around the second hour mark, dragging his feet and clinging to her arm, suddenly non-verbal.

You crouched down to him. "It was very good to see you, Kaveh. Thank you for the statue tour."

"You can come next Saturday," Kaveh offered, hand reaching out to fiddle with the neckline of your shirt.

Baran watched your face. She saw you almost smile  and then she watched you catch it and smooth it over.

"That's a very kind invitation," you said carefully, to Kaveh, but you were still looking at her.

The restraint of it was so practiced and so deliberate that it nearly hurt. She had put you here  in this careful, curtailed space  and you had stayed in it without a word of complaint, because she'd asked you to a few months ago. Please don’t ask about my ex-husband, please don’t ask about my son. You had nodded and respected it ever since, because that was the kind of person you were.

She had an empty afternoon ahead of her, but you were full of so many little pieces that had started to crack away from your skin and fall into her palm just over the course of an hour. She wanted more. She wanted every shard until she could build your full mosaic.

"We were going to get lunch," Baran said. "There's a place around the corner Kaveh likes."

She paused, small and deliberate.

"I would like it if you came."

Baran watched the surprise dance across your eyes even though you tried to remain nonchalant. You were a very smart girl and she knew you understood exactly what she was actually saying. This was very different from when you would brush shoulders in the hospital, or when your phone would buzz with a "Are you free tonight?"

"Are you sure?" you asked softly.

"Very sure," she said, then raised her brow with a smirk. “Do I have to say please?”

You looked at her for a beat longer, something soft and open moving through your expression, and then you smiled so large it changed your whole face.

"Okay," you said. "I'd like that."

Kaveh grabbed both your hands at once, one each, and lurched forward without ceremony.

Baran let him pull her out into the light.

—

🤎: Oh, this is very cute. I wonder what the project is.

🤎: Do you think it's something we bring materials for or they provide everything?

🤎: Also what does "light refreshments" mean?

🤎: Are we talking fruit and crackers or are we talking actual food? Are we expected to bring anything?

🤎: I can stop at Giant Eagle on the way home from work.

🤎: Do you think any of the kids have nut allergies? Would you please ask Kaveh?

You stare at your phone. The car behind you honks. You pull forward six inches.

you: are you fr right now

🤎: What?

you: b, it’s an art event for second graders

🤎: ?? 

you: "light refreshments" will mean a little bowl of goldfish crackers next to a juice box situation 

🤎: I already looked it up on the school website, it says "collaborative mixed media collage" which is actually really fun. Mel was just telling me how collage has such a rich history as an artistic medium—

You put your phone in your cupholder rather than finishing reading because you are in a school zone and you are a responsible adult. Also, you’re grinning so wide at the windshield that an elementary schooler who catches sight of you might shit their pants. 

You pick the phone back up at the next red light.

🤎: —and i think i have some good scissors at home so the paper edges will be much cleaner. 

you: you are not bringing your good scissors to kaveh's school 

🤎: Sure I will. They can go my purse.

you: it’s not a bring your own scissors event, b

🤎: That is why I am going to put them in my purse. 🙂

—

Saturday arrives and Baran is up before you. You find her in the kitchen at eight-fifteen in her Lululemon set, her jug of a water bottle on the counter and a bowl of fruit cut into precise little cubes beside it. Kaveh is in his chair eating cereal. There is already, somehow, a small tote bag by the door, fit to bursting with supplies.

“Oh my god,” you stop walking. "Don’t tell me you packed a bag.”

"Kaveh packed a back," she corrects, without looking up from her phone.

You glance at your son, quirking a brow. He grins toothily and shakes his head. 

"Right,” you grin, rounding the table to kiss his curls. “What’s in Kaveh’s bag?”

"Scissors and a bone folder. Oh, we also found some washi tape I had left over,” Baran lists, “Plus a few good magazine pages I pulled last night—"

"Y— Kaveh pulled magazine pages?"

"From the ones we were going to recycle anyway."

"When?” 

“Last night?” “Kaveh went to bed at 7.”

Baran frowns. “Well, I did the magazine part. I couldn't sleep."

Kaveh calmly takes a bite of cereal. "Maman also printed some pictures," he offers helpfully.

You turn to gape at your wife.

"They were reference images," she clarifies, taking large sip from the bucket bottle. "For composition."

"Baby," you say.

"Don't."

"Sweetheart."

"I mean it."

"It’s a second grade—"

"Kaveh, are you done with your cereal?" Baran asks, very loudly, in the direction of your son.

"Almost," says Kaveh.

"Take your time, azizam." She picks up her Hydroflask — truly the size of a small child, you've always thought, a gallon jug with a straw — and takes a long, dignified sip, looking at you over the rim with an expression that communicates, very clearly, that this conversation is over.

You love her so much it's honestly a little embarrassing.

—

Kaveh's school gym has been transformed, sort of. There are round tables covered in butcher paper and each table has a big tray of supplies in the middle, kids magazines, construction paper, tissue paper, glue sticks, safety scissors, stickers. A hand-lettered sign on the wall says CREATE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL TOGETHER  and there are, as you predicted, goldfish crackers next to juice boxes on a folding table by the door. Kaveh's teacher greets you both near the entrance.

"Dr. Al-Hashimi, Dr. Y/L/N! So glad you could make it." She crouches to Kaveh's level. "Kaveh, do you want to pick your table?"

Kaveh points immediately at the table closest to the snack station.

"Fantastic choice, buddy," you tell him sincerely.

Ms. Blake straightens up and gestures broadly at the room. "So the project today is totally open, families just work together to make a collage. The theme is 'us,' so whatever that means to your family! There's no wrong way to do it. Just have fun."

"Wonderful," says Baran warmly. "Is there a particular size constraint on the final piece?"

"No constraint!" Ms. Blake says brightly. "Just whatever fits on the paper!"

"Great," says Baran. "And the adhesive provided is just the glue sticks?"

Ms. Blake blinks. "...Yes?"

"Perfect," says Baran, smiling. "Thank you so much."

You wait until Ms. Blake has moved on to the next family, then you turn to tease your wife, but her head is down into her tote back, hands already rummaging through it to pull out her own supplies.

“There she goes,” you whisper to yourself as Kaveh dashes off to greet his friends and their families who are taking their seats. “B, I need you to have fun."

Baran looks up from where she’s rummaging through the bag. "Sorry? I am going to have fun."

You put both hands on her shoulders, look her dead in the eyes, and say: "Baran. Please put the bone folder away."

She holds your gaze for a long moment.

Then she puts the bone folder back in the bag.

"Thank you," you say.

"You're lucky I love you," she frowns. You just laugh and kiss her cheek, leading her to the table by the small of her back.

—

Within ten minutes of sitting down, Baran has organized the supply tray. Not dramatically, just — tidied it. The magazines are stacked by approximate size. The tissue paper is in a small pile off to the side. She has looked through approximately forty pages of a National Geographic with the expression she wears when she's reading a lab result, head slightly tilted, completely still.

She pulls out a page. Blue water, some kind of aerial shot. Holds it up to the construction paper background she's already selected — a deep navy. Nods once, to herself.

"Maman," says Kaveh, who is on his third helping of goldfish and has crushed four capri suns, and has cut out a picture of a golden retriever with the safety scissors. "Can I put the dog on it?"

Baran looks at the dog picture, her navy paper. “Yes, fandogham. Let’s put it in the bottom left corner."

Kaveh slaps the dog picture enthusiastically in the center.

The corner of Baran's mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. You press your lips together.

"What if," Baran says carefully, "we tried it over here—" she nudges it gently toward the left— "just to give the other elements some room?"

"I like it better here," says Kaveh.

"I think the dog could stay," you tell her, rubbing a grounding circle on her back.

"The dog can stay," Baran says with a bit of tension to her voice. YOu watch her distract herself by trimming the edge of the blue water page with a precision that is making the dad at the next table visibly insecure. He has been trying to cut a straight line with the safety scissors for five minutes. 

He glances at Baran's scissors.

"She came armed," you tell him, quietly, with great sympathy.

He tsks. “Smart woman. These safety scissors are sh— crap.”

You grin. “Oh man, don’t let her hear you say that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

A warm, amused voice from beside you, without looking up: "I can hear you."

—

Twenty more minutes pass.

"You know," you say conversationally, watching your wife hold a piece of tissue paper up to the light, "Ms. Blake said there's no wrong way to do it."

"Sure, but there is a right way," Baran replies, tilting it again. She notices a crinkle and frowns, placing it down and selecting a new one to inspect.

"Well, so, no. That is exactly the opposite of what she said."

Kaveh ignores you both, tongue sticking out as he sorts through the various little cutouts he’s made. He picks one and brandishes it to you guys.

“Is that a wheel of cheese, baby?” you beam.

"Uh-huh," he nods. “I’m gonna put it on.”

You look at Baran, who is trying so hard to fight back her grimace.

"Where are you thinking?" she asks.

Kaveh points to the upper right corner.

"Next to the moon?" Baran asks. Her task of the past ten minutes has been cutting out planets and stars and asteroids from a cosmology magazine she found in the stack. She’s been planning an elaborate sky.

"No, it is the moon," Kaveh says. “Like the story with the cow where she's playing the fiddle and jumps over the cheese moon.”

You pull a face. “I’m 90% sure that was a different story.”

"Interesting," Baran responds to him, elbowing you in the ribs, but she's smiling now. "Making it a celestial body. Kaveh, that's very creative."

Kaveh accepts this as his due. "I know," he says, and reaches for more goldfish.

—

About forty minutes in, you have, collectively: the aerial water shot, the cheese moon, a golden retriever and two dobermans, Spiderman next to a cutout of red carpet Lady Gaga (Kaveh really liked her outfit,) a cutout of that the tsunami from that one famous panting, some random house from that one realtor show with the twin brothers — all framed by four strips of washi tape that Baran has placed with a level of care that you find both ridiculous and deeply attractive.

You are in charge of the text elements, which means you are cutting letters out of magazine headlines. You are doing this badly. Your hand slipped cutting out the B so it looks like a 3. Your A is missing the crossbar. 

Suffice to say, you can feel Baran sweating next to you.

"You can say it," you tell her, very focused on cutting out an H for Kaveh.

"You're doing great," she says, very carefully.

You hold up your jagged P. "I think I nailed this one."

She just hums, eyes not leaving your hands, and you decide to take pity on your wife.

"My love,” you say pleasantly, “Would you like to do the letters?”

Her hand is already out.

You grin “Wow, so you actually think I suck. I didn't even finish the thought.”

"Oh, you were going to offer me the scissors,” Baran teases, wiggling her fingers. “C’mon, we’re on the clock here.”

You put them in her hand. She's already reaching for the magazine before they've fully left your fingers, flipping through with the same focused efficiency she brings to everything, and within about thirty seconds she's found a headline she likes and is cutting clean and even. You try to absorb what it is she’s doing that you obviously were failing at, but aside from the fact she rotates the paper rather than the scissors, it seems just to be her. Naturally composed, completely absorbed, dedicated to the job.

Kaveh has pressed flower stickers up and down her sleeve at some point in the last twenty minutes. She hasn't said a word about it. She finishes the letters, wipes the dried glue off Kaveh's hands before her own, and then holds the collage out to him at arm's length, tilting it slightly.

"What do you think?" she asks him. "Is it good?"

“I think it’s okay,” he nods, “But look at what I found!”

He holds up a children’s magazine from the 1990s that has the three little pigs on the front. “It’s us!”

Your eyes giddily shoot to Baran’s, half expecting her to self-implode, but you’re surprised to find she’s grinning.

“I think you’re right,” she replies warmly, finger tapping the book. “I think that one is Mommy.”

You squint toward the one she’s pointing at. “What, why?”

“Because those two are doing labor,” Baran gestures to them, then lowers her voice to whisper in your ear. “Your piggy isn’t doing shit.”

“Woah!” you grin, “Hey, I’ve been trying to help but I keep getting benched.”

This is true. After Baran took over cutting you suggested adding some pretty little flower stickers on the “grass” (represnted by a thick strip of green paper Kaveh had pasted down) and were met with two resounding, disgusted Nos.

"Mmhm. Excuses, excuses," she tuts, already reaching for the magazine. You watch her carefully cut out the three little pigs with the same scissors she used for the letters, clean around every curve.

She hands the cutout to Kaveh, who immediately glues them down slightly crooked, but Baran just laughs.

You lean in and press your nose to her temple, just for a second, and she tips her head toward you without thinking about it. 

"For what it's worth," she murmurs, "I think your piggy is very cute."

“That sounds like a terrible euphemism.”

She pulls back, scandalized, and slaps your arm. “We’re in our son’s second grade classroom.” “He doesn’t know what that word means,” you defend with a beaming smile, then turn back to your son. She huffs, but she's smiling, and she stays leaning against you.

“Kav,” you prompt. “What do you think, bud? All done?”

He tilts it a full 360 degrees, mimicking his Maman, then nods. “All done.”

—

You carry the collage out to the car. Kaveh runs ahead to press his nose against the car window, which he does every single time, without fail, despite the fact that it is his car and he knows exactly what is inside it.

Baran falls into step beside you. Tote bag over one shoulder, Hydroflask in her other hand. The October air is cool and bright and the trees on the block are just starting to turn.

"Fun?" you ask.

She considers it the way she considers everything, properly, all the way down. "Yes," she says. "Really."

You look at her. The small smile she's not bothering to hide. The flower sticker still on her sleeve, right where Kaveh put it two hours ago.

"You know," you say, "the collage is really beautiful, B."

She glances at you sideways, a little pleased, trying not to show it. "Kaveh did most of it."

"Kaveh did the cheese moon and the three little pigs," you say. "You made it beautiful."

She's quiet for a moment. "It was a good morning," she says, simply, and you can hear everything she means by it.

You take the tank of a bottle from her so you can take her hand instead, and she lets you without comment, fingers finding yours easy and warm. You stop walking. She takes one more step before she realizes, and turns back to look at you, brow lifting slightly in question. 

You answer it by stepping forward and kissing her, free hand wrapping around her waist. She makes a small sound against your mouth, warm and soft, tilting her head to make it deeper.

When you pull back she's looking at you with sparkly eyes and a pleased quirk to her lips. "What was that for?”

"You are a very good mom," you tell her. "And I had a really good day."

She holds your gaze for a moment, then pulls you back in by the front of your jacket and kisses you again, slower this time, high on happiness.

Kaveh peels himself off the window and turns around with a smear of grime across his forehead, a toothy grin on his face.

Baran pulls back, smooths your collar down with both hands, and goes to get the keys. She wipes the grime off with her sleeve, the flower-sticker side, and says absolutely nothing about it.

Looking at yourself in the mirror one last time, you mentally kicked yourself for agreeing to go on a date with Okoye today.

Okoye had been scheduled to leave for 2 weeks last month, and before leaving she had promised to take you somewhere special when she came back. It had actually taken 4 weeks for her to come back, so the day that she was returning, she contacted you and told you to clear your schedule for the next day because she was taking you out and celebrating. You had no problem with this. In fact, you were more than happy to see her and spent some much needed time with her.

The real problem was that you'd been hiding a secret for a while. One that held a lot of ugly history with it. History that had taken you years to get through.

You had meant to tell Okoye about your condition. You intended to tell her about your fainting spells after the 4th date. You thought that the 4th date was far enough into the relationship to tell her the basic version of how everything had happened, leaving out the details of what your ex had done to you, but the day that the 4th date came, you had been too scared to tell her.

So you tried to on the 5th date, and the 6th, and eventually you were far too deep into everything and you had still not gotten around to telling her.

Now it had been months of you lying to, disappearing from and misleading Okoye just to stop her from finding out about it.

You had been doing an okay job until now, only having drawn suspicion to yourself one time when you had been training with Aneka and had fainted in the middle of the match. Aneka insisted that you go to the infirmary but you refused and begged her not to tell Okoye.

She had obliged, on the condition that you would tell her soon, and you told her that you would.

But that was now 3 months ago. Your relationship was no longer new, and although you didn't want to admit it, the clock on how long you could keep your secret was ticking, and you didn't have much time left.

The past week had especially been bad, as you had been having bad trigger after bad trigger and it had been causing a lot more fainting spells. You had experienced 3 yesterday alone so you were definitely worried that it would happen again today.

Of course, you couldn't cancel on her, because it would just bring more attention to you hiding something so you sucked it up and decided to face the day head on.

Unfortunately for you, Okoye had wanted to walk to the location, saying that it would do her some good to walk in the city for once. You would have usually jumped at the opportunity to take her into the city so the two of you could spend some time with your people, but now it just made you curse yourself.

'Has Bast decided she hates me, today?' you thought, but continued walking with Okoye.

The journey started off well, people greeted you and saluted you as you walked by mainly showing their respect to Okoye, but there weren't too many people stopping you and derailing everything choosing to respect that the two of you were clearly having a day for yourselves. You were sure that you'd make it.

Entering the more crowded part of the city, you chose to distract yourself by talking to your girlfriend.

"What's going to be waiting for me at the end of this, might I ask?"

Okoye turned, smiling at you while taking your hand in hers and bringing it up to her lips to kiss your knuckles.

"If I told you before we got there, it wouldn't be a very efficient surprise would it."

"No, but I would know what to expect."

She rolled her eyes, and you let out an exaggerated laugh, enjoying pestering her.

You took a detour when you got distracted playing with the kids and Okoye got sucked into a conversation for a while but soon you were back on track.

An hour or so after, you started to feel the tell-tale signs of a black out, saying silent prayers hoping that Bast could make it wait.

"How far away are we?" You asked, starting to worry that you would pass out soon. Your voice, although slightly shaky, was still firm and sounded relatively okay, so Okoye didn't slow down or turn to look directly at you. If she had, she would have seen the hazy look in your eyes and the woozy swaying of your body.

" Not far, I think. We'll be there in less than half an hour, my love."

There was no way that you were going to make it. You knew that you had about 3 minutes to sit down if you wanted to stop the inevitable from happening.

"I... I need to sit down somewhere."

"Come now, it's not that much more that we need to travel. I've never seen you need to take a break from such a short trip."

"No, Okoye. I really need to sit down and rest for a bit." You looked around to see where the least amount of people were, knowing that you were gonna need some room to lay and also not wanting to scare too many people when it happened.

Now, hearing the raw distress in your voice plus the serious tone in which you had said her name, Okoye looked towards you, not with her previously loving and excited eyes, but with those of intense inspection and worry.

"Sthandwa, are you okay? What's going on."

"I don't feel so good..." not even being able to fully explain, you lost consciousness nearly falling on the hard ground if not for Okoye being there to catch you.

"Y/n!" Okoye held on to you as best as she could, not having been prepared for the weight of your body crashing on hers. The crowd directly around you separated, giving Okoye enough room to lay you down so she could take action.

Since Okoye didn't yet know that this was something that happened a lot, she assumed that something was very wrong with you and that you might have stopped breathing completely.

Luckily when she checked, you still had a pulse, although weak.

Around the two of you a ripple effect of chaos began to stir up in the crowd. People had recognized that you were the one who had fainted, and others had heard Okoye yelling your name, so the general conclusion that many came to was that an attack had started.

People ran to look for people, while others rummaged to leave the area immediately.

3 people who had stood there as you fainted tried to alert everybody else that you had just looked ill and probably lost consciousness but with all of the running bodies, the message wasn't getting out fast enough.

Meanwhile, Okoye laid you on your back. She checked your breathing and asked people to give you some air, hoping that you would regain consciousness soon. After a few minutes, your eyes started to flutter open, as your body also started receiving blood flow again.

Okoye let out a sigh of relief, noting that you were not dead. You sat up after taking a few breaths

" Does anyone here have water?" She asked the audience of civilians.

"I do." a man walked up holding a 1 litre bottle that looked to have about half of it filled with water.

"Can I take it from you?"

"Here you go."

Okoye nodded a brief thank you, opening the bottle and handing you the water while helping you take off the jacket that you had put on earlier in the day, leaving you in just the matching tracksuit bottoms and a tank top.

After 10 minutes you cleared your throat.

"I'm fine." You were actually quite mortified that this had happened, and you still felt terrible, but you pretended that you were fine so that you could leave as soon as possible and all of the commotion over your health could stop.

"Sthandwa sam, don't lie. You just collapsed out of nowhere, we need to get you back to the palace so that Shuri can check your vitals and see what is wrong."

Still being too ashamed to stop and talk to her, you got up and attempted to leave, a bit too quickly though because you grew dizzy as soon as you were halfway up and fell back down.

"Y/n what are you doing? Sit down before you hurt yourself. I'll call someone to bring a quinjet so we can at least go to the hospital."

Getting frustrated at the combined stubbornness of the two of you, you drank the rest of the water, got up again and started to drag Okoye with you.

She was in shock at how easily you were pretending that you were okay, and how quickly you were dismissing her concern. You felt guilty about it too, but if you were going to be having that conversation, you wanted it to be a bit more private or at least in a place where you could finally relax.

The other people surrounding you were calmer now, seeing you awake and moving, but you knew that you would still have to answer plenty of questions on why people thought there was an attack. You didn't want to deal with all of that now. You just wanted to leave.

"I'm alright everybody! Thank you for your concern!" You waved your arms in a waving motion, to say goodbye.

You then turned to Okoye and placed your hand on her cheek, much to her displeasure.

"Sthandwa, I'm fine. Really. I just need you to help me get back to the palace." This was the first thing that you had said that made some sense, and Okoye didn't want you going any further on your own, so she hesitantly helped you get back to your headquarters in the palace, holding most of your weight when it got too much for you.

Reaching the entrance, you made her release you from her grasp and tried to retreat to the infirmary so that you could take your medication and head home, but your girlfriend was not having it.

"Where do you think you're going,Y/n. We need to have Shuri run tests on you."

"Baby, I'm fine, I already told you. I'm just tired and need some sleep. I'm going to go and take some medicine before going to sleep for the rest of the day." You again tried to lie your way out.

You didn't want to fight with her, especially because this was technically your fault, not having told her about everything earlier.

She tried to hold you back, moving in front of you and blocking the way. She looked at you, frustrated and annoyed more than ever. She didn't appreciate you trying to keep things from her.

" Y/n! You can't take medication without knowing what's going on with you!" She pleaded with you, and you could tell that this was stressing her out, but you were becoming just as stressed and finally you just snapped.

" Okoye, I already know! I already know what's wrong so can you just drop it!" You started to tear up and couldn't keep yourself up, crouching down on the floor, Okoye leaning you down against a wall and sitting next to you.

She was in shock at how the day had been going and she hated seeing you break down.

After you composed yourself, you nodded, telling yourself that it was finally time to tell her the truth.

"I get fainting spells." you started, looking in your girlfriends direction, her doing the same.

" A few years ago, I had a really bad fall, and hurt myself very badly. I was fine mostly, but the one permanent thing that happened was that I started to faint randomly. Sometimes it was multiple times a day, and sometimes I could go weeks without fainting. I have medication to help me when it happens but it still gets really bad sometimes."

You sniffled, preparing yourself for her questions that would force you to talk about some much more serious things.

Okoye took your hand, leaned in and kissed your head. She was shocked that you had hidden this for so long.

" Why didn't you tell me? We could have been going through this together." she no longer looked angry, but there was a sense of betrayal in her voice, and it made you feel even worse for hiding.

"I didn't tell you because of the reason that it all happened. I was pushed by my partner at the time. I had been trapped in an abusive relationship with them for 2 years and one day, they got very angry and pushed me down the stairs. The hospital nurse was the only reason I was able to leave. She reported them and they were arrested."

" I didn't tell you because I was too embarrassed. I didn't want you to think that I was weak. I didn't want you to leave me." The tears started to run down again as you finished talking.

Okoye had shed a few tears herself now, feeling the pain that you clearly still had stored inside reflect onto her. She engulfed you in a hug, allowing you to let it all out.

You were a complete wreck, the intense emotions mixed with the side effects of you fainting not too long ago, making you feel terrible.

At some point, you were sure that it was going to happen again.

Before you could warn Okoye, all of your weight laid on her and you once again blacked out.

PART 2. & PART 3. OUT NOW