But that’s ridiculous, so she pushes the thought back down.

Plan. This is time to plan. Does she run? She should probably run, because Grace’s new wife is apparently far more capable than Chess had realized, and as much as she wants to declare herself willing to fight for Grace’s favor, she is aware of the fact that she’s in the presence of a far superior enemy. And then there’s a blinding flash, and when Chess blinks the light from her eyes, Grace is standing in front of her, looking... extremely unamused.

Her hair is pinned up in a pile on her head with a few loose strands in front of her ears, her green eyes narrowed, a...beautiful shimmering white dress draping off her shoulders, and about ten sets of fiery wings off her back, blinding red, orange, yellow, blue. She’s holding a bouquet.

“Chess.” She seethes, exasperated, looking really and truly angry in a way that Dr. Cheshire had never seen her, and Chess opens her mouth, hoping she has a one-liner on standby from her prepared speech, but apparently she doesn’t, because what comes out of it is—

“Helen.”

Grace stops. Squints at her. Does not punch her, so she takes that as encouragement to continue, face as red as her hair.

“I think I’m going to go by Helen.”

“Helen.” Grace says, and ah. Okay. Telling Grace her name so Grace could say it. Is not helping matters. Grace searches her expression, for a second, and then she reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, and her wings disappear again. She looks... more human, now, in the dress, and Helen feels something very like guilt that she sincerely hopes against hope is just indigestion.

“What’d they do?”

“What are you doing here, Helen?” Grace asks.

“—Though I’d try my hand at the I object. It always goes great in the movies.” Helen winces at the force of Grace’s glare, tries it again. “You weren’t there. I’ve killed like three more people.”

“—ordered civilian bombings.”

“Those don’t count as people. Why are you really here, Helen?”

“Because—”

Because i’m in love with you.

“I don’t know.”

Dammit, Helen!

Grace looks unconvinced by that, and Helen braces herself.

“—What’s she like?” she asks. “Does she make you happy?”

Grace blinks, surprised, and then softens. “She makes me happy. She’s— serious. Deadpan, but funny when she’s in a good mood. Beautiful when she isn’t smiling, stunning when she does, half because it’s so damn rare.” Grace hikes up her dress and kneels in front of Helen, folding her arms across her knees. Helen notes, distantly, that she’s wearing brown leather boots under that dress.

“She’s a lot like you, actually.”

Helen feels her heart stop, looking back up at Grace. She doesn’t know what her facial expression is doing. Grace meets her eyes.

“Look.” She says. “I’m going to marry Laurie today. Because I love her. But— maybe if you weren’t. A completely murderous maniac. I’d like to have you around.”

Helen feels like a scolded kid again, but she swallows.

She straightens, letting her dress drop over her boots again, and Helen feels like she’s been let in on a secret as Grace smiles.

“And maybe if you can avoid any more fighting, you can stay for the cake.”

“—could do.” She says.

Grace offers her a hand.