#snippitz

“How?” Caitlyn gritted.

“You just missed the step. It happens.”

“Not that. How do you do it?”

Vi loosened her hold enough on Caitlyn so she could step back enough to look her in the eye. She cupped her cheek with the hand that had been rubbing her back. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been weeks, and I’m still in pain. I can barely breathe.” She gripped the front of Vi’s top, twisting the fabric in her fists. “Our injuries weren’t so different, and you just got up like it was nothing. I’m stuck here, utterly useless, while there’s so much work to be done. Tell me how you did it.”

Vi traced her cheekbone with her thumb, her mouth twisting to the side in amusement. “You say that like you didn’t have to drag me round the Fissures.” She searched Caitlyn’s face before sighing, the smile dropping to be replaced by concern. “You’re not gonna like my answer, but you get used to it. You get yourself in enough situations where you can’t look injured or weak, and you learn to carry it.”

She was right, Caitlyn didn’t like that answer. She tugged on her shirt, pulling Vi that little bit closer to her, their noses gently bumping. Vi put a hand to her side, over the still healing wound. Her brow scrunched, she could probably feel the heat that radiated off of the wound through the dressing and Caitlyn’s shirt. It felt like a brand pressing against her skin.

“No one used the word perforated to describe my last run in with a blade,” Vi said, brushing her nose against Caitlyn’s. “I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen enough stabbings to know that when it hits organs, it takes longer to heal. Go easy on yourself, it was bad.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes and leaned her forehead to Vi’s. She forced her hands to relax, releasing the death grip she had on the fabric of Vi’s top. She pressed her hands flat to Vi’s stomach, felt the hard muscle beneath, the rise and fall of her breath as her rib cage expanded.

“Breathe with me,” Vi murmured. “In and out, that’s it.”

A dull ringing in Winter’s ears drowns out the quiet sounds of Robyn’s breathing. She’s eleven and right back in father’s study, listening to the click of the fastener against the metal of the beltloop. A dry, racking sob shakes through Winter, bubbling forth even as she tries to stop it – she can’t stop it. How could she – how could she betray this principle that’s guided her ever since she walked out of that house? How could Robyn doing that feel so good and safe and right?

She’s about to cry, the tears threatening. Winter buries her face in the pillow and inhales the soft smell of Robyn that lingers there.

How could she have let that happen? How could she have let Robyn let it go that far? Fuck.

Weiss frowns. “It’s nearly ten o’clock there.”

Winter picks up he scroll and turns toward the dresser. She fixes Weiss with a withering stare. “It’s nearly nine o’clock there – why are you still training?”

“Oh – Ruby wanted to work on our team moves –” Weiss looks away, lip caught between her teeth. “—she’s given them names, Winter. Names.”

“They cannot be that bad.”

“One of them is freezerburn.”

And Winter, because she’s obliging and understanding of Weiss’s endless consternation at her teammates’ antics, rolls her eyes. “That is … uninspired. I’d imagine this is you and Ruby?”

Fleur hesitates for a moment, sucking in a breath that seems almost deliberate. “Don’t put it on, when he gives it back to you.”

“But I would –Why?”

The kiss Fleur presses to her lips is searing heat, her teeth pulling at Hermione’s lower lip as she pulls away. Hermione’s breath catches and she wants, but there’s no time before she has to leave and Fleur knows that. Fleur’s smile is impish as Hermione tries to lean in kiss her back. She presses a finger to Hermione’s lips, stopping her. Hermione’s hands tighten in the soft fabric of Fleur’s t-shirt. “It is my promise to you, Hermione. There are parts of my nature that have been screaming to see it returned to your neck since March. It was all I could do to stop myself from going to retrieve it myself. I—I, Hermione you must understand.”

Winter sighs. "Too often," she says. "Look, I've had a really awful day and I'd just like to--"

"No no, I get it, don't bother the girl having a nice brood on a Friday night," the woman flashes her a smile and it makes the corners of Winter's mouth feels tight. Like she wants to smile back. "But if you say, wanted to be left alone while also appearing to be with someone, I wouldn't mind just standing here."

"Why would you do that?"

“That your father publicly disowned you but never completed the paperwork to disentangle you from the company heirship while all the while telling your kid sister she was the heir?” Winter lowers her hand and Robyn grins at her. “I got that much from the report itself. 

Winter tilts her head toward the cracked ceiling. “I give the society pages until Monday at the latest before they discover that the soldier General Ironwood promoted to his second is still the heir to the SDC on paper.” She looks to Robyn then. “We shouldn’t be seen together in public for a while. This is… this is a mess, Robyn. And you don’t want to be associated with this.”

Robyn holds up her scrollpad and gestures like she’s going to throw it to Winter. Winter straightens, and catches the pad when Robyn tosses it to her. She spins it and stares down at what Robyn’s written. Her lips move around the words silently and she looks up harshly. “This is…”

“Will you talk to me?”

“You – you would not understand Penny.”

“I can try.”

“Oh, Penny. Please just leave me be. I’ll be alright. I just need time.”

“Do you wish to be left alone?”

“You mean having sex the first time—”

“Second time,” Fleur corrects with a wry grin.

Hermione puffs out her cheeks. “Fine, the second time we kissed isn’t proper courtship? Why Mademoiselle Delacour, I am appalled.” She thinks of Pansy and her insistence that their relationship be discussed in society the way someone of Fleur’s family’s standing should be, and adds: “The papers would thrive on such a scandal. I can imagine Page Four of the Prophet already: Delacour Heiress Forgoes Romance to Seduce Harry Potter’s Best Friend. Rita would love it.”

“Well,” Fleur says, and her tone is deathly serious in a way that belies the humor in her response. “One would hope there’s still time to woo you in the proper way.”