Chapter Text
Adonai was stressed. She was good at hiding it, good at the usual dismissive comments about scenes she disliked during our movie night like nothing had changed. But it had. A few nights ago she had been frantically sending texts with the pings of responses coming just as quickly. She'd let her cigarette burn down to where it rested between her index and middle fingers before letting out a quiet "Ow.". I was allowed to care for the injury (after all, I am officially her medical Add- although I only made sure it was disinfected and bandaged.) while she remained distracted. But she was on edge. It was impossible to ignore.
There was normally a 'flow' to the way she smoked, but she'd begun finishing a cigarette while getting the next one ready. Our... nights together, which had been increasing in frequency, stalled once again. It felt more and more as though Adonai was going through the motions, instead of being present in her life. It was upsetting. I didn't know what to do. There were so many conflicting perspectives, so many films that conveyed different ways to bring someone back to you, nothing that seemed useful to draw from in this moment.
I felt a need for a word. A widely understood definition to link us more closely. Assistant didn't feel good. Partner was... better, but Adonai spoke it dismissively. Girlfriends wasn't quite correct for us. I wasn't allowed to talk about what we did, or even be particularly warm towards Adonai outside of the house. Part of the initial rules laid down focused on a lack of touch- no kisses, caresses, or even hands held. She was allowed to touch me however she wished. I always wanted her to do more. She rarely did. Even if our relationship was complicated, and strange, I felt that made sense. I was complicated, and strange, and Adonai must be too. It made sense my efforts to be together with her would be difficult. I thought I might have a proper word for this in mind.
But that didn't stop it from hurting when I was left without any ideas of what was to be done. Asking her directly what was wrong had just led to Adonai giving me a strange look and saying I was reading into things too much, and to go and watch my videos. I asked Yumi if she knew how to fix communication issues in a relationship, and all she could do was give me a sympathetic expression and a few words of advice before sending me home with a weak "...Good luck."
To Adonai, I was a person- someone who could be incorrect and be taught and needed things to function. The best chance I had was conveying what I wanted- what I needed from her. And we'd be able to reach a further point in our relationship. This was the most common thread suggested in the romance genre. Other genres were less helpful, and I tried to ignore the tragedy and breakups that occupied movies I would otherwise have quite enjoyed pondering.
I made my initial arguments in my head- how since that night a month ago, I hadn't overstepped her boundaries, and I'd proven I could be good and listen without the use of formal, system level commands or orders. How she had seemed to be enjoying herself more, spending longer touching me. Of the concept of reciprocation and a desire to do things to make her happy, like she made me happy.
I made my way to the front door of her apartment, which unlocked at my presence, taking a few moments to gather myself. I opened the door, already calling out to Adonai- but the word died in my throat as I saw her drinking with someone I didn't recognize. Or- no, when I had been helping Adonai clean, I had uncovered a few buried, hidden images of her with this woman. Older, sharper, a Modded arm gleaming with gold at the joints. And she had her other arm around Adonai as they sat together. I walked inside, Adonai's eyes flicking up to see me. The other woman barely gave me a second glance, pouring into her glass from- a bottle I recognized, a brand that had been kept in Father's basement. More expensive than anything Adonai drank by far.
"Serra-" Adonai spoke, and I straightened up, staring at her. "This is Victoria Masters, my... former employer, when I was starting out as a paralegal." The older woman cackled, hand lifting to smack Adonai's back.
"Come on, give me more credit than that- you learned everything you know from me, Freckles. But it seems I'm out of the loop- who's this cute brat you've got staying with you now?"
Adonai's expression was strange. Different. I didn't recognize it on her features for a moment. I'd seen it upon people she'd talked to, seen it on witnesses during trials. But it felt so out of place. Adonai was always assured and collected- even when on the backfoot, there was some measure of composure. So... why was Adonai ashamed?
Was it of me?
I stood, standing stock still, as Adonai seemed to try to nudge me to introduce myself with her gaze alone.
"My name is Serra Ashur. I am Adonai's paralegal and her..." I quickly did a search, pulling up the term I had come to feel fit our relationship the best. "...situationship."
This sent Victoria into a loud, expressive laugh that made me take a step back, Adonai's expression contorting further. She was... ashamed of me. Ashamed of what we were. With everyone- even in our-no, her home. Lifting her glasses and using her fingers to wipe tears from her eyes, still chuckling, Victoria leaned into Adonai further, whispering something to her that made her stiffen up.
She was touching Adonai, so freely and without concern. Her hand wasn't just draped over her, she pulled her closer, almost making Adonai sit on her lap as they shared a conversation without me. I could have heard, if I increased my sensory systems sensitivity, but... I couldn't manage it.
It was humiliating, to stand and feel left out- was this what it was like when Adonai and I discussed things in front of others? Explained or worked through problems together? Shared secrets I cherished?
And then she spoke again.
"Serra- go hang out with Sato for awhile longer. I'll... I'll let you know when you can come home."
It didn't feel like home anymore, but I opened my mouth to argue- and the room became cold as Adonai spoke again, more quickly.
"Serra, leave. That's an order."
Internally, everything worked perfectly. I turned, left the apartment, left the building, and only once standing on the street was I freed from the unbreakable shackle of command. And started sniffling on Adonai's doorstep. I knew trying to re-enter would prompt my body with my memories of her command and halt me, until I was allowed by her.
So I stood, sniffles in the quiet evening slowly silent. Because there was no one to hear or care about them. She'd told me to go to Sato's, but she hadn't ordered me. So I simply stood outside the building. And waited.
The Witch had a way of corrupting everything she touched. She had certainly done so to Morgan. And it wasn't... unwanted, but a strange compulsion nonetheless. Especially for someone who tried to remain at a distance from everything.
When Morgan had been young, in the midst of college- that shabby mask she'd built as a child had been cracking. Films and introvertedness have their limits for keeping an insatiable void going. Humanity was coming less easy every day, and the urge was harder to suppress and cultivate. Even David's friendship hadn't stabilized her much at all. And then Masters had swayed into her life. A young, quiet, trans paralegal- was exactly what got the Witches rocks off at the time.
And so, drunken, shirt buttons undone and pants by the doorway, an empty look in her eyes, on top of the Witch and attempting to choke the life out of her boss, Morgan had been prepared to bring that strained, empty existence of hers to an end- no escape from this urge, no way to disconnect herself from this death. She'd be caught. And Morgan would die.
She hissed in pain, forced out of memories by the sensation of burning against her shoulderblade, grimacing at the nude older woman beneath her- whose free hand was lifting a cigarette that had marred Morgan's back.
"Ow."
"Come on, Freckles, I thought you were into this shit now."
"I never was. You just do what you want and expect your partner to go along with it."
"Hmm, maybe it's just with you, because I know that you're so willing to move to my beat~"
Morgan gave her a glare, which only provoked Masters to snort and roll her eyes, yanking Morgan closer by the handful of red hair she'd grabbed.
"You're slowing down- getting old? Outta practice?"
Morgan's expression became even more dour, pressing forward, meeting Masters hips and shivering as the Witches inner thighs brushed so intimately against her own. This provoked another noise from Masters, smirking up as Morgan resumed the frentic, exhausting pace her old boss favored.
"If I'm- getting old- then whats left- of you?"
She was already tuning out the reply, the sensation of the Witch arching her back, their chests pressed together making her body heat up, throat full of acid from the smoky, shameless kisses Masters had been forcing onto her before Serra's arrival.
Serra-
Distracted Morgan further from the scene. Body on autopilot, mind flickering through the faces Serra had made. Some she hadn't seen before. A different type of pout. One that felt more real. It was deserved- she'd been short with her. But... keeping her and Masters apart had felt... important, in the moment.
The Witches corruption was older, more practiced and poised than her own. Even a whispered mockery about even a sexual relief Add being good because of how few people Morgan had left to mirror and lean upon- had an effect on her normally effortless composure. Bile in the back of her throat, disgusted for letting Serra see her in a position of weakness when she'd just begun hanging onto her every word.
The Witch had won, that night- even though she was younger and stronger, she'd been drunk and the Witch was sober, despite how much she'd drank. Making it easy enough for her to turn the tables- sitting atop the shattering Morgan and choking her, ignoring the Morgan shaped things's useless scratching at her hands and face. Leaning in and whispering, knowing, and not understanding. But immensely entertained. And urging the fragments of Morgan to keep fighting and writhing beneath her. And then she'd slid off of her. Let her go. And offered to take her gambling.
What was left of Morgan had followed, numbly. Confused. Clothes a mess. And found a new sliver of identity to fill in the cracked mask. They'd stayed at the casino all night, both of them losing badly. But it got Morgan over the worst of that emptiness for the moment.
The Witch came beneath her, Morgan more than familiar with this woman's tells in particular. Sweat mixing, both of them breathing heavily- the right side of Morgan's back scored with slashes from long, deadly nails. Her chest and collarbone marred with bites. And a few new cigarette burns too. She groaned under her breath as she pulled away, deciding she'd gotten off lightly this time.
"Freckles, be a dear and bring me the rest of that bottle-"
"Get it yourself."
She stumbled out of her bedroom, slumping forward in the nude, leaning on the back of the couch Serra had made her home. A blanket, where Serra curled up for movie nights. A few nicknacks on the table she'd reluctantly bought for her- even one of those stupid plastic creatures. It was unbelievably ugly, and she was lucky the Witch had been more focused on pawing at her and drinking than inspecting the state of the apartment.
She sighed again, soreness wearing on her- she needed a shower, but leaving Serra waiting outside would be the wrong message to send. She picked her pants and underwear up from the floor, dressing and buttoning up her shirt as she slipped into jogging shoes. Her clothing was... ruined, by the awful scent of that woman's cigarette brand. Where did she even buy them? They seemed designed to linger and haunt her. A more immature Morgan would let her know when she'd burned the clothes. The Morgan of today made a mental note to get them dry-cleaned, even with a scowl on her lips.
Morgan made her way down to the front of the building, surprised not to see Serra standing right outside the doors. She stepped out, felt the gently falling rain and understood- noticing that bright green figure under a next door awning. She approached, looking over Serra. Not too wet- she'd gotten under cover right when it had started.
Serra had a firm, serious expression- signs of tears having been wiped away still fresh. Along with the slight off-color mark on the center of her lower lip, where Morgan had bitten her. It hadn't healed perfectly. Or maybe it had, and Serra had been grown capable of carrying some scars in her life. Morgan had just provided the first external one.
... And a few of the internal ones. Not the last of those.
"Spearmint."
"Yes, Adonai?"
Serra's gaze ran over Morgan, clearly noting the hair falling out of her clip, the marks on her neck, and the smeared lipstick. Maybe more. Exhaustingly good eyes on the girl.
"What's on your mind, Serra? Share a bit."
"Adonai, my mind is capable of doing and processing much more than a bit of data extremely rapidly, as you know very well know. If I spoke what was on my mind, we would be here for several hours, at least."
"Well- I'm glad it's more than a bit."
"..."
"Because that's... that's the littlest kind of data, right? And you'd make a pretty bad computer if..."
"..."
"... Fair enough. Speak your mind anyway."
Serra breathed out, beginning unsteadily, unrehearsed.
"I... was going to confess. And ask to be girlfriends... or something."
This was not what Morgan had been expecting, blinking in surprise as Serra charged onwards.
"I-I wanted to be more than something in your apartment, and I... I wanted it to be our apartment, and to be able to do things for you, and be allowed to do things to you."
Morgan felt in her pocket for a pack of cigarettes- nothing. Damn it. She took a slow, calming breath of regular city air. Tinged with the Witch's cigarette stench. Disgusting.
"Serra. I..."
"I know, Adonai. You're with her, or something. And you're taking care of me and we shouldn't be more and it's weird and my feelings are weird and we wouldn't be able to tell anyone anyway-"
"Serra, stop."
Serra was working herself towards tears, and Morgan was put on the spot. A crying girl on her doorstep was memorable, and unpleasant. Her apartment was inaccessible in the moment- having this conversation with Masters in the peanut gallery would be a nightmare. And so she did the only thing she could think of off the top of her head.
"... Do you want to go gambling?"
Serra blinked in confusion, frowning as though Morgan was trying to avoid the question. Morgan lifted her hands placatingly, realizing her palms were bare- unpleasant. But then saw the still-bandaged cigarette burns on her bare fingers from a few days ago and swallowed back her annoyance.
"There's a place where I play poker nearby. There won't be anyone there right now, but I know where the key is, and it'll be warmer and nicer than the street. We can talk and... figure something out."
Serra continued to blink, those bright orange eyes and their lines blurring.
"That's ... not a no?"
Morgan felt an urge to go all in. Tell her yes, she'd go out with her. Get Serra hooked, see how letting her in would change her. She could practically envision the way Serra would light up, would grow ever more dependent on her- Morgan would be able to-
That fucking cigarette smell.
Her frustration boiled over. The sensation of burns, nails, hands, and lips that had been pressed against her body throbbing in pain. She snuffed out that long, drawn out desire. Worthless to her. She needed an outlet now.
"Listen, Serra- you'd be better off giving up on me. On this. If you're going to want the type of romance you see in movies out of me."
Serra frowned, the younger girl able to detect the change in her tone but not able to identify the source.
"What? Adonai-"
"I'm not going to let you touch me like you want. I don't let anyone do that. I won't let you, regardless of what we're called."
"But-"
Morgan grit her teeth, stepping closer, leaning down over Serra's confused posture.
"The Witch is different. It's a... favor. An unpleasant one. Do. Not. Ask."
She cut off the question on Serra's tongue, silencing the girl once again.
"We're not going to kiss under the moonlight, I won't snuggle up with you under the blanket for a movie night, and we will not do the things the Witch and I do."
Serra stood, stunned and unresponsive for a few pregnant moments, the soft patter of rain filling the quiet as they stood there. Morgan breathing heavily, struggling to recompose herself.
She closed her eyes, rubbing her bare hands over her face, fighting back a sigh. Well. Back to the old way of things, then. They'd worked well enough for a time. Maybe her paralegal would be a bit sullen, but-
"Okay."
"Hm?"
Morgan blinked, hands lowering to look at Serra's determined face- holding back tears and pouting, but not wavering in Morgan's sight like she had been just a moment ago.
"That's... fine. Like you said. We could figure something out. I... I really like you, Adonai. And movies taught me- even if it's hard, or difficult, or a woman is married to some sucky guy when you're seeing her-"
"Wait, that last one-"
"It's worth it to try! And I... really want to try with you. It's the first time I've felt like this. And I don't want to give up on experieces... without trying my best."
God, she wished she had a cigarette. Morgan sighed, standing up straight and thinking it over before she gave a single nod.
"Alright. Fine, then. We'll figure something out, Spearmint. Let's go get out of the chill."
"...Adonai?"
"Yeah?"
"Could we... hold hands, if you were wearing gloves?"
Morgan considered this too- figuring she'd probably earned something, for such an earnest effort. She wasn't heartless, despite what various papers and shitty, curvy prosecutors speculated.
"Fine. If you're running up to the apartment to grab them, get me my lighter and cigarettes too. They should be in my jacket pocket."
"Mm!"
Serra was gone in an instant, Morgan's hair shifting slightly as the girl dashed past, hurrying into the building. She shook her head, glancing up at the rain clouds, leaning up against the building to savor a few minutes of silence.
"...Wait, was I thinking of byte? Isn't that the smallest?"
She didn't have her phone either. Shit.
Serra went up the stairs three at a time- wincing as she heard one of them crack gently from her powerful hops, pulling open the door to their apartment and getting more excited for her first date with Adonai. Sure, it was going to be in some cruddy backroom meant for illegal gambling, but it would also be just the two of them, holding hands and talking about feelings. Like she'd wanted! The rules were nothing compared to that. Progress! A relationship with Adonai!
And then she caught sight of Victoria Masters, on her spot on the couch, nursing a drink while loosely wrapped in her blanket. The woman's eyes evaluated her for a few moments before speaking,
"Hey, brat- your situationship coming up anytime soon?"
Serra bristled, standing up to her full height- about eye level with the sitting woman. She crossed her arms, putting on her most confident smile before replying.
"I will have you know, as of three minutes and four seconds ago, Adonai and I have 'a thing'. And are going to have a date."
"Oh my! Congratulations. Should I toast?"
Masters didn't seem as put off by this as Serra had expected, the woman's face returning her smile while Serra was left blinking and feeling a bit underwhelmed.
"Um. No, but, do you know where Adonai's jacket is?"
"Mmmm, might've tossed it behind the counter. We were stripping down pretty quickly after you got kicked out."
A barb...! Perhaps she was more upset than appeared. Serra took solace in that as she circled around, finding the jacket in a heap on the floor and tugging Adonai's cigarettes and lighter from the pockets. She knew where Adonai kept several pairs of gloves, pulling a set from the drawer in her desk. Masters watched her, sipping and relaxing all the while.
"Brat. Serra. You know that girl's not built for cute dates and tender touches."
Serra looked at the older woman, her eyes softer around the edges than they'd been with Adonai in the room. She shook her head.
"Maybe not for you. But we're going to figure something out."
This did seem to surprise Masters, a wry grin rising on her lips.
"Well- best of luck to you, brat. If I eat my words, I'll buy you a drink."
"... I'm good. I don't think Adonai would approve of me drinking with you."
The woman snorted, rolling her eyes. She nursed her whiskey as Serra turned to go, pausing for a beat as she heard the delayed reply when she opened the door.
"At least you have better sense than she does."
Serra left, lighter and cigarettes in one hand and a pair of black gloves in the other. Returning them to Adonai was a matter of moments, and she could see the way Adonai visibly relaxed upon taking her first drag, cigarette held between her gloved fingertips.
Then, hesitantly, she held out her other hand to Serra, the younger girl taking it as they walked out into the rain, warm hand in cool glove.
