Gn!Reader who is isekai'd into a classification AU - Part Two
A/N: thank you for all the love on the first part! I know it's a cliche, but I didn't expect anyone to care, haha. Also a cliche, but I genuinely didn't think I was one of those people who gets motivated by people liking their stuff...but here we are ;)
Reader is breathless and wheezing by the time they feel that they’ve sufficiently escaped the two strange adults. It’s almost entirely dark outside now—the streetlights have switched on, filling the empty road with a warm glow—and becoming colder by the minute as the sun dips below the horizon. Reader shivers once they’ve caught their breath, the warmth from their mad dash quickly dissipating, and clutches their dirty jacket close to their body.
As they continue to walk, they turn the day’s events over in their mind, and it soon dawns on them that wherever they are, it’s not home. This city may resemble their home, but something is wrong—and it’s not just that their physical house is nowhere to be found or that none of the names of anything looked familiar, despite physically being familiar.
So, Reader thinks, trying to ignore the frigid air nipping at their fingers, I’m either in a really weird city on the other side of the woods that I never knew existed and which never showed up on any maps, or I’m in some sort of alternate dimension. Neither option seems plausible, but one is far easier to fix than the other; just find a place to charge their phone and book a car ride home.
Yes, Reader considers as they come across a warmly-lit cafe with a late closing time advertised on the door, find a place to charge my phone and then get home. With shaking, shivering hands, they pull the door open and are immediately greeted with a warm gust of air on their face that instantly works to thaw their aching body.
There’s only two other customers in the cafe; an older man intently tap-tapping away on a laptop, sat in a plush armchair in the corner with a half-eaten scone on a ceramic plate next to him, and a young woman thumbing through a book, nursing a cup of something steaming. Taking a breath to steady themself, Reader nervously treads to the counter. The short-haired barista catches Reader’s eye, and she smiles, though there’s a strange, almost confused quality to her expression.
“Hi,” Reader starts, fidgeting with their hands. “I’m so sorry, this is sorta weird but—do you happen to have a phone charger I could borrow for a little bit? I just–it’s dead and I don’t have any other way to get home, you know?”
The barista, whose shiny nametag reveals her as Angela, blinks for a moment as she processes. “Um, yeah! Of course. I’ll, uh, go grab one from the back. There’s an outlet at that table there,” she points to a table in the back of the cafe, nestled in a cosy corner with a couch and chair next to it, “if you want to wait there while I get it?”
“Oh my gosh, thank you so, so much!” Reader says earnestly, genuinely relieved. They settle on the couch next to the outlet, sinking into the squishy cushions. It’s only until after they’ve sat down that they realize just how tired they are; their feet ache from all the walking and despite it still being relatively early in the evening, they feel as though they could fall asleep right then and there.
The faint clatter of a plate has Reader’s eyes shooting open—wait, when did they close them? They blink, rubbing their eyes before plastering an apologetic expression on their face as they look up to face the barista now in front of them.
“I found a charger,” Angela says, holding up a cable and block with a smile. “Will this work with your phone?”
Reader pulls out their phone and takes the cord, thankful when the charging bit fits in their phone’s charging port, and plugs the block into the wall with a grateful smile.
“Oh, and I brought you a little something!” Angela says, gesturing to the plate in front of them. It’s a large muffin—raspberry, by the looks of it—with a perfectly-browned streusel topping and polka-dotted wrapper. Reader’s mouth waters just looking at it, but they hold themself back.
“I don’t have any money on me, I’m sorry!” They exclaim, biting their lip, but Angela just shakes her head.
“Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” She says, waving a hand. “Also, if you want to call someone while your phone charges, you’re free to use mine. You seem like you want to be home sooner rather than later, no?” Her tone is friendly, but there’s an underlying implication in her words that Reader can’t entirely parse out.
“Ah—no, but thank you for the offer. I’m just going to book a ride home once my phone turns back on. ‘Sides, I don’t really…have anyone to call,” they admit, unsure as to why they’re being so open with a stranger in the first place; maybe it’s because they’re so tired, or because Angela seems so nice, so soothing, and she smells very much like lavender and it’s very relaxing…
Angela’s eyes are wide. “No one?” She asks, voice low and concerned in a way that has Reader shifting uncomfortably.
“I mean—not no one, I guess, but I don’t think any of my friends are available right now, you know?” Reader tries to amend the situation; for some reason, there’s this insurmountable urge to make her happy and unconcerned again that’s clawing at their insides. Just seeing her frowning lips and drawn eyebrows makes Reader want to cry.
“I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to pry, but…don’t you have, like, a caregiver?”
There’s that word again. Caregiver. Hearing it again should freak Reader out more than it does, but at the moment, they’re just confused and too tired to be scared. The cafe is warm, and Angela is nice, and she hardly seems like a creep.
“What do you mean by that?” Reader asks evenly, though that familiar feeling of wrongness has started its swirl in their stomach again. “What’s, um, a caregiver?”
If her eyes were wide before, it’s nothing compared to how they are now. Her mouth opens and closes for a half-second, chin moving like a fish. “Are you—” she stops herself, the crease between her eyebrows deepening as she pauses. “Oh my god, you’re not joking. Oh, oh, honey. Where on earth do you live? How did that even—I mean, surely someone—…wait here. I’ll be right back.” Angela wastes no time to hurry behind the counter and into the backroom, door swinging shut behind her.
Both of the other cafe patrons look up at the barista’s outburst, confused, before zeroing in on Reader as the cause. Reader stares back at them, wide-eyed, and raises their hands palms-up to signal their shared confusion.
Just as the two patrons return to their previous activities, Reader’s phone buzzes with life; good timing—they really, really want to get home, and preferably soon. But as they open their newly revived cell phone, another problem quickly makes itself known: no service. What a total piss off, because Reader knows they paid for the unlimited plan. Luckily, the cafe has free wifi, and Reader’s soon reconnected to the sweet, sweet internet. Breathing a sigh of relief, they open Maps.
Nothing loads. The entire digital world is infuriatingly grey and no amount of zooming in and out has any effect.
Where am I?
“Hey, kiddo,” a gentle voice sounds, startling Reader from their thoughts. It’s a man, on the shorter side, also donning a barista apron; his silver nametag says JJ.
“Um, hi,” Reader responds, too distracted to notice the nickname.
“Can I sit with you?” JJ asks, gesturing to the empty seat across from the couch Reader is sitting on.
“Yeah?” Reader is confused.
“Awesome, thanks.” JJ slides into the chair. A dark cherry scent flows into Reader’s nose—must’ve been his cologne—and it has a strangely calming effect. “How’re you liking your muffin?”
As if on cue, their stomach grumbles, and Reader blushes. “I haven’t tried it yet. I’m sorry.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry for. You should try some, though—the raspberry is my favorite.” JJ nudges the plate closer to them.
The muffin is excellent, just as it looked; fluffy and moist, bursting with flavor from the raspberry pockets inside, and decadently sweet. It takes maybe thirty seconds for Reader to devour the entire thing.
“You liked it, then?” JJ teases lightly.
“Sorry,” Reader says sheepishly, realizing how unmannerly they must’ve looked. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
There’s a twitch of a frown that flickers over JJ’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “So, Angela tells me you live all by yourself?” He says it casually, but Reader stiffens. What are these people’s problems? So what if they live alone—Reader’s an adult. It’s perfectly fine for them to be by themself.
“Um, why do you ask?” Reader says cautiously, trying to gauge the man’s reaction.
“Well, you know, it’s not exactly…typical…I just wanted to see if you were okay, you know?”
“What do you mean, ‘not typical’? Tons of people live by themselves?”
JJ looks suddenly very uncomfortable; Reader is glad they’re not the only one.
“Look, kid…I didn’t want to say it, and Angela kinda told me not to, but…you reek of Little.” His tone is gentle, cautious, but his words make no sense.
“Little? A little what?”
Reader is seriously getting sick of shocked expressions.
A/N: Hope the OC names don't bother y'all too much; I literally put zero thought into them and went with whatever popped into my head first. Would you guys mind if I made permanent OC caregivers for this? I'm still not entirely sure where I'm going with this LMAO
Also hope y'all don't mind the like, scent thing too much - I used to dislike that sort of thing but one fic I read made me love it and I wanted to try writing it loll
Feel free to drop suggestions in the comments/asks - I may not respond or get to them, but I promise I'll look :)
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Thinking about classification agere AUs not because I particularly like the trope, but because the world-building potentials are interesting. Feel free to use any of these if you want
Littles-only subway/train cars. Similar to women-only train cars in Japan, they are a safe and quiet way to get where you're going if you're suddenly small after a long day of work or out and about on the town. Attended at all hours by a caregiver member of the security staff. Accompanying caregivers or babysitters may also tag along if vouched for by the little.
Classification markers on government-issued ID like drivers licenses or passports.
If you're into sociopolitical angst, employment discrimination! Many jobs will not hire littles in favour of neutrals or caregivers.
Flips being the forgotten middle-children of the classification world, feeling left out of the cg and little-specific dynamics. Not taken seriously/trusted by caregivers to look after other littles while simultaneously defaulted to caregivers by other littles because they're the "mature" one.
A majority of workplaces being mandated to have a designated room for regressed individuals. Technically the only part required by law is an enclosed room that is a physically safe area, so most break rooms would suffice, but depending on the boss or company they may be an entirely separate place and much more lovingly furnished.
Little models on billboards or in gear stores like you'd see models in an Old Navy, wearing aggressively cutesy merchandise that gives other littles insecurity over the things they like
Bullying and stigma against male littles because all of that "man big strong no emotion unga bunga" junk would totally still exist.
Little-specific events and businesses
Hide-a-beds that are cribs or similar bed types so you don't need to have multiple dedicated bedrooms. Need the crib? Pull it down from the wall! Don't need it anymore? Back in it goes, you can sleep in your regular bed.
Little idols and celebrities with hyper-kiddish brands who are mistreated like Kpop/Jpop idols
Because I’m tired of seeing the basic, Character A doesn’t want to be a Little-> presents as a little-> hides their classification until they are sick-> gets outed as a little-> happily ever after
It’s a great formula, I adore these fics don’t get me wrong, but I am here to give people some inspiration and hopefully encourage some fics to go outside of the box
~~~
~Newly classified caregiver who doesn’t know how to caregiver. Maybe their past never allowed them to. Maybe they are afraid they are too scary or are going to hurt someone so small
~Caregiver who’s been told their whole life that they would never be good at taking care of a Little. They are too gruff/ stoic/temperamental/uncaring/etc (bonus points for them taking care of a little that doesn’t like being coddled. Who’s been told they should enjoy/ need more attention. Neither have to change much for the other and it’s perfect for them) (extra bonus for gruff but loving dad caregiver, no one understands except their Little, that no, they are really kind and caring and loving, just not dousing every word of theirs in metaphorical honey)
~Character who swears they are going to present as a Little, they have always adored looking through Little sections online/in a store, still collect toys that they think look interesting or fun, dreaming up paci designs, what the perfect day out would look like when Little. Turns out they present as a Caregiver instead and those little instincts they had were really all a longing to care for someone else
~Two Littles who swear they don’t need a caregiver between them. Screw the system! They’ll look out for one another. (This either goes terribly or wonderfully for a while you decide) Does someone eventually step in to help? Realize that the two aren’t Flips? What happens if both are biologically in the mindset of a child at the same time?
~Age ranges for Caregivers and what Littles they are best suited for looking after, much in the same way as Littles get classification ranges
~Little who is bitter at the world, because how come people only started to care after they had been classified? Maybe if the soft fondness was present in their everyday life they would be able to accept the fact that people cared, but it isn’t so it all now feels fake
~So most Littles are known aus typically say that Littles and Caregivers are rare, and then proceed to make the whole cast fall into one of those two categories. So with that in mind…
~One character within a group presents as a Little, the rest are all neutrals, who swears they are going to do their best to take care of the little. There are no twist Littles, or secret Caregivers in the group, just a bunch of friends bumbling around trying to make sure their other friend doesn’t feel like they can’t handle this new part of them.
<- (Bonus points for the Little feeling like a burden and saying they don’t mind getting a Caregiver to help, only to be met with “and let a perfect stranger take care of you? Don’t you trust us?! Honestly…. No, never going to happen. We’ll just do better”)
<- Extra Bonus points for a the group asking a classified caregiver a bunch of questions on how they caregiver. “Well it’s instinctive” “That doesn’t help us!!!”
~A Little and Caregiver dynamic told from an outsiders pov. For example, a friend group where two characters are a Little and Caregiver dynamic, and the third friend, who’s a neutral wants to fit in, but just can’t. Maybe they try too, try too hard, or start pulling away all together. All they know is their friend group isn’t the same anymore. (Positively or negatively, up to you)
~A Little who upon being classified is told they have a baby age range. Only… that’s not right. They’ve regressed before/never felt that way. They aren’t drawn to pacifiers and bottles and baby blankets, rather action figures and video games, and soft hoodies. Is the classification test wrong? Are they wrong? Maybe they never felt safe enough to regress so small. Maybe they have been without realizing it suppressing their instincts. Maybe this works better for them. (Bonus points for adding and older sibling type caregiver for them to regress around who encourages them to do what they feel like. If they one day want to use a pacifier sure, they’ll buy one for them. In the meantime, come one. I’m gonna kick your butt at Mario kart >:3)
~Littles getting sick from not regressing? Nah nah nah. Caregivers getting sick from not having a Little to take caregivers of. It makes them irritable, and snappish. Sleeping too much or too little, but still tired. A longing in their chest for someone to hold and coo over. Small bursts of being too “overly protective” or “clingy” to friends who aren’t classified as Littles.
<- perhaps a Caregiver who never told anyone of their classification. They made due with having house plants and pets to take care of. Maybe they find a little… or maybe a friend who isn’t classified yet, or isn’t a Little, offers to help the caregiver by pretending to be small. Sure they can act like a child for one evening. Get dinner made for them, watch cartoons and get free snuggles while being read to? Sounds wonderful! (Bonus points if this is how they find out their classification is wrong, or that they are going to present as a Little)
<- maybe the following day being confronted by this they brush it off and say that they were just too tired/overworked/playing it up/well your really good at making people feel cared for, of course I couldn’t help but settle
Summary: Ever since Caitlyn Kiramman was classified as a little five years ago, she’s hated it. She’s been overtaking regression blocker pills since she was classified, but now moving in with Vi, she can no longer access them. A classification AU.
Word count: 3.9k
Also published on my ao3.
Cw: Mentions possible side effects of taking pills, mentions self-hatred from Caitlyn's regression
Caitlyn Kiramman was a lot of things. She was the Councillor’s daughter, born into a life of privilege and luxury. She was an A star student, leaving education with a degree and immediately starting her career as a detective. She was head of detective’s, the person that her co-workers looked up to. And most importantly she was Vi’s girlfriend, and had been for several years. They’d met in high school and were practically high school sweethearts. Caitlyn knew everything about Vi, and Vi knew almost everything about Caitlyn.
Caitlyn was a neutral. Or that’s what she told everyone anyway.
Being the Councillor’s daughter meant that she was in the public eye from the moment she was born. She was expected to be just like her parents, hard-working, smart, and most importantly, a neutral. If her classification had been a caregiver, she didn’t think that would have been so bad. But when Caitlyn had turned sixteen and the dreaded appointment came and went, the words: ‘Caitlyn Kiramman—Little (2-4)’ were written on the slip of paper like a curse.
And her life had never been the same since.
Her parents were angry at her like it was somehow her fault, and not just a random one in a hundred chance. They had sent her to loads of different specialists to try and fix her, like throwing money at the problem would work just like they usually did, but no amount of money could change a person’s genetics. And so her parents gave her regression blocker pills thinking it would be enough to stop it.
On the bottle, it said to take a maximum of one to repress a drop, only temporarily. Caitlyn had been taking three a day since she was sixteen. Her parents didn’t ask when she asked for more a week earlier than she should have, and neither did the place they were getting them from. They just threw money at the specialist to give them the pills and to keep quiet, and it had worked for as long as Caitlyn had lived.
But Caitlyn was twenty one now, and she wanted to live her own life.
Moving in with Vi had been a dream so far. Vi worked as a trainer at a local gym, close to the station that Caitlyn worked at. Her job could be stressful and taxing, but the weekend off made it worth it. They’d only had one weekend so far together in their shared apartment, having moved in a week ago, but it was amazing, spending the whole two days in each other's arms, legs tangled together in their shared double bed.
When her parents had talked about being each other's soulmates, Caitlyn had rolled her eyes, not believing in that nonsense. But now Caitlyn understood.
She wanted to tell Vi the truth. She wanted to tell her so badly that she wasn’t just a neutral like her parents had pushed, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want anything to change, and she definitely didn’t want Vi to break up with her over this. She loved Vi more than anything, and if it meant repressing a drop to the point of exhaustion, she would, if it meant that things could stay this good forever.
The more she spent with her the harder things became. She didn’t really think that she’d break up with her over the truth. Besides, her sister was a little, and she was more than supportive, even offering to be her caregiver.
Vi had been very open with her about her own classification, a caregiver, and Caitlyn couldn’t help but feel guilty at not doing the same.
Caitlyn shook her pill bottle and bit her bottom lip. She was running out, and fast. She couldn’t ask her parents to get her more because she hasn’t spoken to them since she’d argued with them before leaving, and she didn’t want to speak with them anytime soon. She had no idea where they’d gotten them in the first place.
Having no choice, Caitlyn reluctantly called the regression clinic, booking an appointment. She needed those pills. She just wasn’t ready to tell Vi yet, and let her see such a vulnerable side to her yet. She wasn’t ready to see that side of herself yet.
She needed those pills.
—
“Hi, Miss Kiramman. I’m so glad to see you,” Dr Casey, a nice, older woman, greeted.
“Just Caitlyn is fine,” Caitlyn smiled shyly, trying not to appear nervous. She was still apprehensive about this, not completely sure what to expect.
“Okay, Caitlyn,” she smiled back, taking a seat opposite her after closing the door.
Caitlyn’s stomach swarmed uncomfortably as she looked around the room. It was clearly meant for regressors, filled with toys and baby bottles and posters of cartoon characters she didn’t recognise.
“I know we talked a bit on the phone, but could you remind me what brought you here today?” she asked, typing on her computer.
“I’ve run out of regression-blocker pills and I need more. I’ve recently moved out of my parents house and so I can’t get them that way anymore,” she explained, fidgeting with her hands.
“I see on your notes that you last got your prescription a week ago.”
“Yes that’s true,” she nodded.
“And you know that you’re only supposed to be taking them a maximum of one a day, and you were given thirty one pills on your last prescription,” Dr Casey reminded.
Caitlyn shrugged her shoulders, smiling in hopes that it would convince her to give her more.
Dr Casey frowned.
“Taking more than one tablet a day can have vast side effects, and detrimental long-term effects. It can cause being in a permanent life-long regressive state, which is almost impossible to come out of. It can cause chronic pain and cause the side effects from taking the tablets to become more intense. You are aware of this, Caitlyn?”
“Yes I know this,” corresponded Caitlyn.
“How many pills do you usually take in a day?” Dr Casey asked.
“No more than three.”
Dr Casey typed on her computer.
“I’m afraid that I’m not going to be able to continue your prescription. From what you’ve told me, I can see that you are not sticking with the attended dosage, and taking more could be a risk to your health. How often do you regress on average in a week?”
“Well, I try not to. Sometimes I’ll drop before bed, but never during the day. I’ve recently moved in with my partner and so I haven’t been able to,” Caitlyn admitted, truthfully.
“The recommended hours of regression a little should get a week is seven. One hour a day. I understand it’s not always possible, but the little time you are letting yourself regress is alarming. Repressing your regression can lead to detrimental effects in the future. Do you understand what I’m saying, Caitlyn?”
She nodded, wanting the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“I understand that being a little can come with internalised hatred, but Caitlyn, regression doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can be as simple as you want it to be. It can be just a day off work watching your favourite childhood show, or half an hour colouring a picture. It’s completely up to you. But there are no pills to stop regressing completely, and even if there were, the long term effects could never make up for it,” she explained, giving her a look of sympathy.
Caitlyn couldn’t help but think the opposite of what she was saying. Being a little was the worst!
Tears welled up in her eyes as fuzziness lined her brain.
“It may be that you regress more and to a younger age as your body adjusts to not taking the pills. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
Caitlyn shook her head, wanting to leave as soon as possible.
“Before you leave, I wanted to give you this. It should have everything you need, in case you don’t have it already,” Dr Casey handed her a bag of stuff. Caitlyn could easily guess what kind of stuff would be in there.
“Thanks,” she murmured, leaving the pink, teasing room as quickly as she entered it.
When she got into the safety of her car, she couldn’t stop the tears from escaping. She glanced into the bag, groaning in frustration as she was met with a pink baby bottle, pacifier, and teddy bear, and other stuff that she refused to look at. She took the leaflet that was at the top and flicked through it.
How to accept your regression.
Caitlyn rolled her eyes and threw it back into the bag.
—
Caitlyn could no longer ignore it. She was not prepared for her to start regressing daily.
The first time it happened she was luckily home alone long enough that Vi didn’t notice anything off, but the second time it happened at work, and she wasn’t as lucky.
She was overseeing a crime scene when she started to feel fuzzy. It was a serious crime, a thirty year old man had been stabbed in his home, no clear suspect yet. It was her role to make sure all evidence was collected correctly and to get a sense of what they were working with, before going back to the station and looking for suspects. The stench of blood mixed with people accidentally touching her as everyone did their best not to interfere with the evidence, somehow led to a drop.
She hadn’t even realised until a coworker, Maddie Nolen, asked if she was okay, and Caitlyn found she couldn’t talk. She quickly made her way outside with a lazy excuse that she was getting air, before regressing on the sidewalk in the middle of nowhere.
It was terrifying, and all she could do was cry as she sat on the pavement, rolling a few pebbles between her fingers.
“DI Kiramman? I think we’ve collected all the evidence if you wanna check it yourself,” Maddie said behind her.
Caitlyn froze, not recognizing her voice. She just knew she was scared and wanted Vi. But Vi was nowhere to be found.
“DI Kiramman? Is something wrong?”
Caitlyn groaned, violently hitting her head into her knees.
“I’ll uhm—I’ll just get Chief.”
Caitlyn began sucking her index finger for a means of comfort. She felt so small, an incredibly scary feeling she wasn’t used to.
“Hey, Kiramman. Everything okay?” Chief said, sounding close by.
Caitlyn whimpered into her knees.
“Can you look at me?”
Despite the fogginess, Caitlyn did what he said, and lifted her head up. The world was bright and unfamiliar, but Chief’s warm smile reassured her.
“There you go,” he said kindly, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Vi,” she whispered, clueless to anything else. She knew there was someone called Vi and Vi would bring her comfort and peace in this terrifying world.
“Do you want me to call her?” he offered.
Caitlyn frantically shook her head.
“Okay. What do you need?”
She shrugged her shoulders. Her brain was all over the place so she couldn’t think of a clear answer if she tried.
“Why don’t you come with me and we’ll find somewhere better for you to sit, rather than this pavement.”
Caitlyn slowly followed him across the street, hesitant on her feet. He paused in front of a blue car, opening the passenger door for her.
“Here we are.”
She sat down onto the unfamiliar seat, taking in her surroundings.
“Would you like to watch anything in particular?” he asked, referring to the ipad he was currently flicking through.
When she shook her head, he placed the ipad in front of her, a blue cartoon dog appearing on the screen.
“I’m not sure what you like but my nephew likes that. I’m going to have to leave you here by yourself for a few minutes while I finish up, if that’s okay?”
Caitlyn was thoroughly entranced by the cartoon to answer. She didn’t mind being by herself when little. She hadn’t experienced ever having a caregiver, so it was normal for her to be alone when feeling small.
Luckily, Vi was still at work by the time Chief dropped her home, not that he knew. She had enough time to wait out her regression before Vi came back.
But the third time she dropped in public, it wasn’t possible.
Vi had surprised her with an evening reservation at Caitlyn’s favourite restaurant. It was their little thing, Caitlyn loved to surprise Vi with dates when she knew she didn’t have work, and Vi liked to return the favour. Caitlyn would have been over the moon, if it wasn’t for the fact that she had been feeling a drop coming on all day.
Now she had regressed a few times, she could recognise the few hours before she completely dropped. When people told her to take a pill when she felt a drop coming on, she never understood it, now she understood it completely. It felt like her brain wasn’t cooperating correctly, but she was still big. Everything felt like too much, even though on a normal day, the same things would feel minuscule.
But with the way Vi was smiling at her, there was no way in the world she could say no.
“Look at you. You look stunning, Cupcake,” Vi beamed, coming up behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist, placing a kiss on her neck. Caitlyn melted against her touch.
“You look equally as perfect, Darling,” Caitlyn returned, turning around and stealing a kiss.
Caitlyn was wearing a silky, black dress she was saving for a special occasion, while Vi wore a white, button up and black trousers. They got carried away in each other’s presence, kissing softly, and then breaking apart for a split second for air.
Vi was the one to fully break the kiss. “If we don’t leave now we’re going to be late. And I know how much you hate being late.”
Caitlyn groaned, wanting to stay for a multitude of reasons that she couldn’t admit. She shook her head like that would help the undeniable fuzziness that swarmed her mind. She wore a brave smile and followed Vi downstairs.
—
The restaurant was warm and loud. It was always busy on a Saturday evening, which is why Caitlyn was so surprised at the reservation. Each table was fully filled with people, families catching up and pairs of women and men blushing at one another.
Vi and Caitlyn held hands as the waiter showed them to their table, nearest the back corner.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your drink orders,” the waiter told them.
“Thank you.” Caitlyn watched the way Vi smiled shyly, looking around the restaurant.
“Well this is nice,” she grinned.
Caitlyn nodded in agreement.
“How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful. Thanks for doing this, Vi,” Caitlyn answered.
“No problem. I wanted to treat you to something special. You’ve been working so hard recently and I thought you deserved it.”
Caitlyn smiled, despite knowing it wasn’t the truth at all. She’d been coming home earlier than usual because she’d been feeling too small to work. She’d never told Chief directly that she was a little, but the way he excused her absence with no question he most likely knew. Vi didn’t know because she worked the same hours she did, or was supposed to if Caitlyn could just get her act together.
Vi and Caitlyn ordered their drinks, both non-alcoholic. Vi chose not to drink due to a family history of alcohol addiction, and Caitlyn chose not to drink this once because alcohol and not having regression blocker pills didn’t go well.
“Do you know what you’re gonna order?” Vi asked, scanning the menu.
“Not yet. There’s so much choice.”
Caitlyn glanced around the restaurant for the first time since sitting down. She spotted a table of a family, with a clearly regressed girl jumping up and down in her seat, excitedly talking to the people at the table, who were all listening attentively.
Caitlyn swallowed sharply, feeling herself start to slip. This had been a terrible mistake.
Once again, Caitlyn had bitten off more than she could chew, and assumed that choking it down would be enough. She eyed her bag which used to hold her precious pills. She suddenly felt extremely hot, and Vi’s soft eyes on her felt too much.
“I—uhm—bathroom,” Caitlyn coughed.
Caitlyn rushed into the end stall, grateful for how much cooler it was in here. She actively fought with her brain not to regress here. Anywhere at any time, but here and now. But it was too late. Caitlyn sat on the edge of the closed toilet lit, pulling out chunks of hair to let out some of her frustrations. She rocked back and forth over and over again until the heavy feeling went away and she was left with the soft feeling of being little. The stress and fear of being regressed were gone, her brain feeling too small to worry about it. Sucking her finger, she felt at ease.
“Caitlyn? You in here?” Vi’s familiar voice called.
Caitlyn lit up, scrambling to open the stall door.
“Hey, you’ve been in here a while and I wasn't sure if something happened. Are you alright?” Vi fussed, watching her from outside the stall now the door was open.
Caitlyn grinned at the sight of her, letting out a happy babble.
“Oh.”
Vi was caught off guard, having never heard Caitlyn make that noise before.
Caitlyn waved her hand around, ushering her closer. When Vi was inches away, Caitlyn whispered, “I luv yu.”
“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Vi replied, running a hand through Caitlyn’s hair.
Caitlyn continued to babble happily, “ayabaya.”
Vi was more than confused. Caitlyn had told her she was a neutral, and yet she was acting…strange. Vi knew that being a caregiver didn’t mean she had any heightened sensor for littles, but sometimes it sure felt like it. And her sensor was going off like crazy.
“How about we get out of here. Go somewhere just us,” she suggested. Caitlyn didn’t say yes but she didn’t seem unhappy at the idea of it either.
Vi took Caitlyn’s hand and led her outside, placing money down for their unfinished drinks. They could have their fancy restaurant date later when Caitlyn was actually in the mood for it.
If Vi had to guess an age, she’d suggest between one and two. She’d seen her sister regress to all ages, and that seemed to be the most similar acting. Except her sister loved to talk, while Caitlyn seemed content looking out the window, grinning and babbling away.
When they arrived at their apartment, Vi carried her to their bedroom, placing her in bed and tucking her under the covers. Vi looked around the entire room, in search of any ‘little gear’, She assumed Caitlyn would have something, considering that classification happens when you turn sixteen. All she could find was a small bag under the bed with a pacifier and a teddy bear.
“Here. Do you want this?” Vi offered the pacifier to the curious girl watching her with big eyes. She was apprehensive at first, not wanting to take her finger out of her mouth, but she did allow it, taking a while to figure out how it worked.
“Arms up, Baby,” she instructed, easing the girl out of the tight dress into something more bedtime appropriate. They wouldn't go to bed now, not before something to eat, but she didn't think she'd be comfortable wearing the dress any longer than she had to.
She then placed the bear next to her, but she didn’t seem phased.
Caitlyn huffed, crossing her arms.
“What’s wrong?” Vi asked, raising an eyebrow.
Caitlyn pointed to Vi and then patted the space next to her.
Vi slid next to her, pulling the covers over her. Caitlyn immediately settled with Vi by her side, laying her head against her chest and snuggling up to her. Vi melted at the sight of Caitlyn closing her eyes, gently sucking on her pacifier. She wasn't exactly sure why Caitlyn would keep this part of herself hidden from her. She knew Vi was a caregiver.
Vi made a mental note to ask her when she was bigger. But right now, Vi relaxed, wrapping her arms around Caitlyn as she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from everything that had happened the past week.
—
When Vi woke up the next morning, Caitlyn was nowhere to be found. It was a Sunday, so neither of them had work, so Vi knew she couldn't have gone anywhere far.
She found her at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of, stimming with her hands.
“Oh, Vi!” Caitlyn jumped, “you scared me.”
“Sorry,” she apologised, moving to place a slice of bread in the toaster, “You alright?”
“Yeah I'm fine. Are you?” She breathed.
“Yeah.”
It was quiet for a while as the two of them tried to come up with what they wanted to say.
“I'm so sorry, Vi. You shouldn't have had to see me like that, it was a complete accident. It's a long story really,” Caitlyn started.
“Firstly, you don't have to apologise for anything. Secondly, you don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to. If you do want to, that's fine, but don't feel like you have to,” Vi assured.
Caitlyn pursed her lips.
“I was and never have been classified as a neutral. I'm classified as a little. My parents made me hide it with these regression blocker pills, but the specialist wouldn't give me anymore because I've been overusing them to stop regressing all together, which isn't how they're supposed to be used, I guess. I'm really sorry, and if you want to break up with me over this, I'll understand. I really wish I wasn't like this.”
A tear slid down her cheek, opening the floodgates.
“Shh, Baby. I love you. I could never break up with you, especially over something like this. I'm literally a caregiver. What your parents did was completely unfair. It’s not your fault,” she soothed, gently wiping her tears.
Caitlyn sniffed, looking at her with her pleading, big, blue eyes, “so you…don’t hate me?”
“No, of course not. You’re stuck with me for life, Cupcake,” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood, “and I'd love to see your little side again, if you ever want to.”
“More than anything,” she admitted.
Vi smiled, “okay. Well we need to get little gear beforehand. You like pacifiers, right?”
Caitlyn’s cheeks flushed, before she shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve never used anything before.”
“It’s all one big learning process. You’ll get the hang of it soon,” Vi reassured.
Although Vi’s words did soothe her, she still felt like she wasn’t ready. Most littles had all their preferences figured out before they hit Caitlyn’s age, while she still felt new to this whole thing. Surely it was just too late to accept that side of herself, or that’s what she told herself anyway.
The world would keep spinning and her parents would hate her regardless, what’s the harm in trying?
“Okay,” she said finally, "I want to do it. I’m tired of hating myself for something out of my control.”
“Yeah?” Vi grinned.
“Yes,” she nodded firmly.
Caitlyn had never been more sure about anything in her life.
Because Caitlyn Kiramman could be Head Detective, the Councillor's Daughter, and a girlfriend, while being a little at the same time. And there was no doubt about that.
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Despite popular belief, Simon Riley was open about his status as a little. He was good at ignoring any comments about having a little work for the military. The times were changing and protocols were added to bases. But there were always still closed-minded people. He knew his boundaries; he would regress when he needed to. Much to everyone on the 141's chagrin, it was alone, but there was no changing the stubborn man's mind.
He had his softer moments with the team. When he would get a little fuzzier around the edges, all slurred words and soft touches. But he'd never go so far as to drop in front of them. He'd retreat to his room as soon as he felt it, leaving the Johnny, Price and Kyle feeling out of touch and worried.
But Simon liked his little routine. He liked to think that he was doing well. He'd lock his door behind himself. Turn off the big light and turn on his lamp. He preferred the soft light on his eyes.
He'd change into something soft, usually pajama pants and a hoodie. He preferred hoodies because he could chew on the strings. He didn't like to use baby things. It reminded him of when he was first classified. His father's voice as he was handed the classification papers that read, 'infant (0-3).' The way his father beat him black and blue and made sure he knew he would never act that young around him.
He took it with him when he left to never be that young again. He had learned the hard way he couldn't go without his regression forever. So he learned to regress older. To be a child was safer than being a baby. It was easier to pull himself out of an older head space than it was when he was littler.
So he stuck with the bare minimum. Adult clothes that happened to be soft and kids shows on YouTube. Chewing on his hoodie strings and napping through his regression. There was always that soft pull in the back of his mind, but over time it got easier to ignore. Or maybe he just got better at living with it.
***
The first time that Simon crashed around the 141 was a shit show.
The mission was a bust from the beginning. Bad Intel and worse conditions. Sweltering heat and a sandy desert and Simon absolutely hated the heat.
He despised the way his balaclava clung to his face and stole his breath and the way his gaiter rubbed against his neck. But he worked through it, live he always did. It was easy to push to the side during missions.
It was a little harder on the ride back, though. They'd lost three of their men, three privates loaned from the Marines to help. He couldn't help but feel responsible. He was over watch this time, wasn't he? It was his job to watch over them. Now all their families would get is a flag and their dog tag. A body to bury if they were lucky enough.
He finally tore the neck gaiter off, the fabric ripping loudly in the tense silence of the plane. Heads snapped in his direction, eyebrows furrowed in worry. He ignored it. He didn't need their worry. He was fine. He was hot. He just wanted the neck gaiter off.
It didn't last long before his mask came off next, the plastic off the hard shell clattering against the floor. It wasn't a surprise to the team to see his face anymore. His chest heaved as he panted, trying to catch his breath. He was so hot. Why was this plane so hot? He didn't understand.
He heard footsteps and then the soft rumble of Price's voice. The same voice that he used whenever Johnny regressed. It didn't make sense to Simon. He wasn't regressing. "Simon… take a breath." Price said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Simon flinched, wide eyes jerking towards Price. He tried to make out Price's face in his blurry vision.
His head felt so fuzzy. Everything around him felt so big. He couldn't ever remember feeling like this. He felt… scared. He tried to talk but all that escaped was a soft whimper. Price's face softened.
The plane rumbled with turbulence and Simon grabbed the netting behind him, eyes wide and terrified. He wanted his room. He wanted his comfy pajamas and his hoodie with the chewed up strings and-
"Simon…" He sighed, trying to figure out how to calm down the little one in front of him. Touch seemed to trigger him. "Hey, buddy, look at me." He said softly.
Simon looked at him, eyes darting as around nervously. His usual grace was gone and he wobbled precariously with every bump of the plane despite his grip on the wall. Before Price could process it, the plane rattled as it hit another bout of turbulence and Simon's grip slipped, the little tumbling to the floor faster than Price could grab him.
Price jumped up quickly, hands hovering. "Simon?!"
The plane rumbled with turbulence and Simon grabbed the netting behind him, eyes wide and terrified. He wanted his room. He wanted his comfy pajamas and his hoodie with the chewed up strings and-
"Simon…" He sighed, trying to figure out how to calm down the little one in front of him. Touch seemed to trigger him. "Hey, buddy, look at me." He said softly.
Simon looked at him, eyes darting as around nervously. His usual grace was gone and he wobbled precariously with every bump of the plane despite his grip on the wall. Before Price could process it, the plane rattled as it hit another bout of turbulence and Simon's grip slipped, the little tumbling to the floor faster than Price could grab him.
Price jumped up quickly, hands hovering. "Simon?!"
Simon's eyes were wide. He was silent, looking up at Price as he tried to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. He inhaled sharply before letting out the ear-piercing wail of a fully-dropped infant that every caregiver recognized so well.
Price was knocked out of his shock and immediately knelt down and scooped Simon into his arms, adjusting the little into his lap. "Oh Simon, oh baby." He cooed softly, pulling his head into his chest with a hand on the back of his head.
Simon sobbed into his shirt, his shoulders trembling. It hurt! It was hard to think about anything but the warm arms around him and the buzzing of the plane as he cried. The fuzziness in his head felt like it had fully taken over and all that was left was static.
Price rocked and cooed, rubbing Simon's back with one and stroking his head with the other. By the time the plane landed, his sobs had trailed off to quiet hiccups as he caught his breath.
It wasn't hard to get Johnny and Kyle to return their gear so he could take care of this baby. He tried to help Simon stand, but his knees immediately wobbled, collapsing under him. He lifted Simon in his arms with a soft groan. It took a moment of adjustment but he finally got him in a position so they could walk.
He carried Simon to his own room, unlocking his door with the emergency key he isn't sure that Simon knows he has. He lays the boy down gently on the bed.
Simon stares up at him with big, wide eyes, chewing softly on his fingers. Price melts a little at the sight. "Oh, you're just a little one, aren't you!" He murmured softly.
"I don't suppose you can tell me if you have any supplies lying around?" He asked himself, looking around the drawers in Simon's room. He opened the closet. Then the desk drawers. He peeled under the bed. His heart broke a little when he couldn't find anything.
He looked over at Simon, who was watching him. Did he always regress this young alone? With nothing? It hurt him to think about.
He dug out the softest clothes he could find, laying them out on the desk. He turned and looked at Simon. "You want a bath, little one? You're kinda stinky." He teased playfully. Simon giggled at him, nose scrunched. Price took it as a yes and picked him up off the bed. He carried him into the adjoining bathroom.
He held him on his hip as he turned the handles, making sure the water was the right temperature. He didn't want it too cold or too warm. When he was sure it was right, he set Simon down, making sure to hold him upright so he didn't slip under. He knew Simon was just little, after all.
Price made quick work of washing the sand and sweat off of Simon, using the foul-smelling 3-in-one that he had. He made note to make sure to get him something better soon. As soon as he was sure Simon was clean, he lifted the boy from the tub and sat him on the toilet seat. He toweled off his hair and then wrapped it around him, lifting him back onto his hip.
"We're gonna have to get you some towels, love." He said, bouncing him as he walked. Simon let his head drop onto Price's shoulder. "Get you some hoods. What do you think? Maybe… a lamb?" He asked, setting him on the bed and grabbed his clothes.
Price continued to talk as he dressed him. Simon watched with half-lidded eyes, his entire focus on Price. "You wanna be my little lamb?" He teased, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Simon smiled and giggled.
As he finished slipping the long sleeved shirt over his head, Simon yawned, his lashes fluttering. Price knew it had been a little day and the crash had taken a lot out of him. But he didn't want to let Simon sleep on a big bed like this, not when he was little enough he could roll off.
He did the only thing he could think of, climbing in with the little and resting Simon's head in his lap. Simon immediately adjusted to the position with a content sigh. Price smiled softly at the sight and pulled the blanket over him. He ran his fingers through Simon's hair, eyes on him as he watched his body relax and his breathing even out.
Doodles for a Classification AU (a Littles Are Known AU [Littles being age regressors] but also people have slight varience in mental state that classifies them as either Caregiver, Little, Neutral, or Flip.)
it's canon-adjacently canon-divergent. uzi and v are caregivers, j and n are littles, i assume other characters will be revealed if i decide to post the other doodles.
Littles-are-known/Classification Agere AU for Project Hail Mary 🪐
CW: angst, prescription drug misuse ("suppressants" and stimulants), "impure"/stress-induced regression, panic attacks. || This got away from me, oops. This turned into an entire unbeta'ed 2.3k oneshot my bad o7
☆ This AU establishes age regression as common, with humans either being Littles, Caregivers, and Neutrals, though some deviation from the norm exists. "Instincts" exist between the groups and they fit together like puzzle pieces. A Caregiver can be filed as a Little's official proxy of sorts (ex. being on file as an ICE number in the hospital). Drugs exist to stop regression and instincts regarding care, but these need to be used carefully to avoid long term health consequences (seizures, heart issues, etc), dependency, drug resistance, and more. All age regression remains sfw.
☆ Grace is three things: a Little, stubborn, and a man who has gone through grad school. He's sure that he abused enough Adderall to take a few years off his life, so his inconsistent regression-suppressant use doesn't worry him.
Research, starting his life over, becoming a teacher—Grace worked his behind off to get where he was in life. He experienced no shortage of people talking down to him like he was a child, excluding him, or finding an legal-loophole to refuse him a position "just in case." He resigns himself to separating his small and big sides—shaky hands and crayons had no place in the cold, sterile environment of a laboratory.
As per the recommendation of his prescribing doctor, he takes bimonthly breaks from the drugs so he doesn't wreck himself beyond repair. It's easy to lie about a Caregiver on his file—he never gets himself into a situation where they'd call his old roommate anyway—and not have any eyebrows raised about neglect or endangerment.
The inevitable crash always has him plummeting, but the wails and fear stays confined to the walls of his apartment. He doesn't need a Caregiver—Grace has been doing this long enough on his own to know himself well enough. He buys microwave meals and makes sure his sheets are clean the day before; he cleans the result of the tiny tornado that went through his apartment the day after. He's on top of it, but if he cries because he can't kiss his own bruised knee, then that's no one's business but his own.
...Until it becomes the government's business beyond the L they put on his driver's license. And worse, the information gets into the hands of Eva Stratt—a woman who is so head-strong and serious that Grace wouldn't have guessed she was a Caregiver in a million years if it wasn't for the small pull he felt towards her.
☆ Stratt has a tendency to study everyone she interacts with like they're a bug, but it doesn't help the unease in Grace's stomach whenever she looks at him like he's something to figure out.
She saw his file and still wanted to recruit him to the Petrova Taskforce. It's not his fault if she missed something.
It's not like Grace is lying about his classification—he's been tested, stamped, and approved Little for over a decade. It's public knowledge and helps him be protected from getting fired for needing days off (that he doesn't use, but he would bend over backwards to make sure someone else got what they needed). He's just... not being as truthful as he should be.
Grace's file in the medical system reads 'Age Range: 4-6.' There's never any evidence for a provider to assume otherwise—Grace is a doctor, he should have been on top of his own life enough to be right about whatever he tells them. It's not too out of the realm of possibility. Saying he regressed to 12 would warrant questions about recklessness. Any younger and there would be concern for his own safety—someone dropping so young on suppressants needed blood tests and check ups to monitor the hormones and neurochemicals responsible. A doctor would surely have to talk with his Caregiver because Grace obviously wouldn't be able to advocate for himself.
So he fibs a bit. Ryland Grace: the middle school teacher with a doctorate in molecular biology and Little who drops to ages 4-6. No one has any reason to think differently.
☆ There's plenty of people across and beyond the spectrum on Stratt's Vat. They have their own med bay room for any drops or emergencies (read: a repurposed office that one of the nurses had taken time to decorate) that Grace had been mortified when the director suggested he stop by.
They're the best minds on the planet all working toward their planet's survival. There's no time to doubt each other's qualifications for something as silly as a N, C, or L.
Everyone seems to be on the same page: the world is ending, sometimes you need to drink the anxiety away. For some that's hitting their taxpayer-funded liquor cabinet. For others, that's crying your eyes out into a juice box in a room with animal posters on the walls.
Grace, who is the leading authority on astrophage, doesn't get the luxury of taking a break. He always has a call to make or an email to answer or yields to report. There's so much work piling up that he doesn't know what day it is, much less the last time he took a small break. He's vaguely aware his body is going to reach it's limit sooner or later, but that's a bridge he can cross when it gets there. As soon as the fuzzy feeling enters the back of his mind, he tosses back another pill with an energy drink and locks back in.
☆ The others who share his classification watch a movie every Friday night.
A simple but needed break from the hustle and bustle of their lives. They get together in one of the conference rooms and use the whiteboard as a projector screen, sharing whatever snacks they manage to get from the cafeteria.
The Caregiver who hosts it—a cheerful, chartered financial analyst he should really get the name of—always puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him what movie they'll be watching. Like clockwork, every single Friday at 3 pm, she's there with the warmth that threatens the stability Grace fights to keep.
The first sign that something was wrong should have been that when the woman says they're watching Finding Nemo, he really, really wants to say yes. He catches the yes before it leaves his lips, instead letting out a vague grunt and gesturing to his double laptop setup.
"Maybe next time," even though there's been 10-something next-times he's failed to show up to.
Grace wonders if she believes he'll cave. He offers her a little shrug and turns around, ready to kick off this Friday's all-nighter once this little routine ends.
She doesn't leave. Her hand stays put and the patches she touches through his sweater burn—maybe it's a fever from whatever is going around, shame, or a mix of both.
"I think it's time to take a break." She whispers, despite the fact it's just the two of them in the soundproof lab. "You know you're not supposed to be small in here, bud."
The tone should have anger swell up in his chest, barbed wire wrapping around his throat. Instead, it has part of him stumbling—desperate to run away from the harsh sterility and into the gentle, welcoming vibrato. Every neuron in his body screams for it, yearning coded into the very core of his being.
He doesn't need a break—he's more than qualified to get this done. He has half a dozen hormone-stabilizing patches all over his body and took a pill half an hour ago. The strong ones from home that kept his head steady.
Grace, though, has never been farther from steady. His fingernails dig into his palms as he gets ready to defend himself.
"'M not a kid," and nope, that's not convincing one bit.
He wants to hit his head on the metal table until he forgets this interaction ever happened, wants to tell her to go away, but all that comes out is a little defeated sound.
"How long have you been out here, Dr. Grace?"
Dodging the denial; asking questions meant to frame the conversation like Grace was in control; using his name to create a feeling of trust. Top tier manipulation, to be expected of a government employee.
Or from someone who cares.
"It's only 7," because Grace is a government employee too, "got stuff to work on."
He points a shaky finger (betrayal) to the laptops and she raises an eyebrow.
The screens aren't on.
Panic fills his brain. What the heck has he been doing for the last few hours? He could have sworn he was deep in emails and Overleaf files—did he not plug anything in? Did the battery run out and he didn't notice? God, what if he didn't save and lost all the work from the past week—
She crouches down and places another hand on his shoulder, and that's the final straw. The breath he doesn't even realize he's holding comes out of him a startled, choked-out wheeze. The air is pulled back in as soon as it leaves and Grace's lungs burn from the effort. His face feels too hot and his hands won't stop shaking. His ears are ringing and there's snot coming from his nose and he's going to die.
The fear of not being able to breathe is much bigger than him, now, as he drops down, down, down.
He's pulled against something soft, something warm. He can't do anything to fight it but lightly smack his fists against the soft, comforting wall. The big part of him that knows this isn't very 'AR: 4-6' behavior desperately tries to save some of his dignity.
"Oh, we're small, huh?" The wall vibratos, and the rumbling helps smooth out some of the sharp barbs keep his lungs constricted. "Gonna call Stratt, okay?"
The Caregiver says it so casually, like it's not the end of the entire world. Like Stratt isn't one of the most powerful people on the planet who can drop everything at a moments notice to come get her lead scientist because he couldn't handle a little stress.
The displeasure he makes known is covered by bouncing and shushing. He tries to stifle some of his crying to not be annoying as she talks on the phone, but it just makes him sound like a kicked animal.
Exhaustion starts to take over. Grace is dead weight against the other, all of his energy being used to letting months of angst out. He doesn't know how there's still any tears left to cry.
He recognizes the smell of Stratt's flowery perfume before he sees her and dread sets in.
She can't see him like this. He shoves his face into the sweater he's ruined, inhaling the scent of peach-scented lotion like it'll save him from his fate.
The Caregivers talk above him, but it sounds like Grace's ears are full of water. He makes out words like expired and prescription and young, all adding fuel to the fire that is his shame.
"Dr Grace," a hand rubs up and down his back, separate from the pair holding him close.
She sounds disappointed. He's going to lose his job, or she's gonna hate him and send him away. There's snot all over the nice lady's shirt too, so he's gonna be left all alone because he's gross.
"'M sorry," comes out in a strangled cry and once the words start coming, they don't stop. "Didn't mean t' be bad 'n bother you. Sorry, sorry, sorry."
The rest comes out as gibberish, but Grace's muddled brain can't bring itself to care as it desperately tries to force syllables into words that exist in any language. He sounds ridiculous; he sounds Little.
Arms remove themselves from around him and he shuts his eyes hard enough that his ears sound like bees. This is it, they're gonna send him away or make him swim all the way back to California.
He's being lifted and his breaths come out in erratic gasps again. They're walking somewhere, but Grace keeps his eyes firmly closed. He doesn't want to see the end he knows is coming, just wants to believe the warm coat he's held against is safe.
The cold air outside hits him, but the cold bite of the ocean never comes.
"Breathe, Ryland."
A warm hand comes up to his under-eye and gently smooths the crinkled skin where his eyelids strain. His breaths even out the slightest bit at the gentleness of it all and the cold night air filling his lungs is leagues better than the smell of bleach and ethanol.
Teary blue eyes open and he's met with Eva Stratt. She's in her usual sweater and navy blue coat, but there's no serious crease to her brow. The director isn't look at him with disappointment; the Caregiver looks at him like Grace is worth something gentle.
Her hands move to the unruly mess of blonde tufts on his head, attempting the Sisyphean of smoothing them out. He giggles a little at her concentration and gets to watch as Eva Stratt honest-to-God smiles.
Pieces fall into place and Grace realizes just how much he's been missing, just how long he's been telling himself he's been treading water while drowning. Alone in the middle of the ocean, hundreds of miles away from his apartment in San Fransisco, unable to turn around and run. Grace finds himself not wanting to.
Maybe trying to hide secrets from the most powerful woman on the planet wasn't a great choice—Eva knows everything about everyone on the Vat. Especially not lies that she kinda-already-sorta knows the truth to, and most certainly not when a medical file from Grace's recruitment, an emergency Caregiver number belongs to one Eva Stratt.
