Archive of Our Own

Misty isn’t lying that first time.

Well, she maybe exaggerates the situation, sure. But she isn’t lying. Someone was in her house. She was sure of it.

Misty has always been observant, and her vigilance has only increased since they returned from the wilderness. She isn’t forgetful; someone was in her home, and someone was looking for something. And after, they had left a closet door open.

So Misty had done the most logical thing she could do, knowing the crime statistics she did: she put Caligula in a travel cage, she walked right back out of her house to her car, got in, and locked the doors.

And then she called Natalie.

“What?” Nat answers, a little too flat to be an actual question. Misty is used to the irritation in her voice. For a moment she considers reminding Nat of their new relationship—she had come to Misty to get rid of a body just a few days ago, and now they were closer than ever, remember?

But Natalie must be realizing the same thing, because her voice softens to that resigned, bone-tired tone instead. “Hi, Misty.”

Despite the situation, Misty smiles at the way Nat says her name. “Well, I just—” she remembers herself, and pushes her glasses back up. “I don’t want to alarm you, Nat, but someone just ransacked my house.”

“What?” Misty has her attention now. “Who? Why?” Nat doesn’t ask if Misty’s alright, but Misty forgives her—it’s a lot to take in.

“I don’t know. Maybe Adam was working with someone.” Caligula squawks, and Misty holds a finger to her lips until he settles down. “I’m in my car right now. I don’t know if they’re still here.”

“Shit.” Nat sighs hard into the phone, and Misty can almost pretend she feels her breath from the way the line crackles. “Stay in the car. I’m on my way.”

Nat hangs up before Misty can respond. Instead, she beams at Caligula and tells him, “We’ll be alright, sweet boy. Natalie is coming to protect us.”

Not While I’m Around is playing for the tenth time when Nat parks behind Misty’s car. Nat’s new vehicle is a far cry from her Porsche: a plain-looking sedan that must be ten years old, and squeaks when she parks it. Misty watches Nat get out in the rear-view window, and imagines that it was probably the fastest thing she could get on her limited funds; Misty knows Nat well enough to have a hard time imagining her without the freedom to leave at any minute.

Nat gets out of the car, and Misty rolls down her window as she walks up. “See anything while you’ve been out here?” she asks, and gestures toward Misty’s house.

From the moonlight and the streetlamps, Misty can see Nat’s rifle on her shoulder, and a few bullets peeking out of the pocket of her denim shorts. Her hair is loose and limp in places but kinked in others, and Misty wonders if she’d been lying in bed when Misty called. Nat leans forward and grabs the window frame. Misty can smell a faint trace of whiskey on her breath, and her hair smells smokey from her cigarettes.

Misty swallows, in awe of the woman in front of her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over the raw power Natalie exudes when she’s like this, or how confusing it feels—in moments like these Misty isn’t sure if she wants to be Nat, or be her best friend, or something...else. Something deeper. Something so powerful, it’s frightening.

“N—no, nothing,” she finally remembers herself, and answers Nat.

Sliding the rifle from her shoulder, Natalie checks the gun and loads it, the cracking noise echoing down Misty’s suburban street. “Good. Stay here.”

And she’s off, moving quickly up the stairs to Misty’s door, the heels of her boots clacking loudly up each step.

Misty only hesitates a moment before she whispers to Caligula, “Mommy will be right back,” and gets out of her car. She follows Natalie’s path, and steps across the threshold of her front door.

Suddenly Natalie is pointing the rifle at her face, and Misty’s eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ, Misty!” Nat snaps, lowering the gun and turning back to face the rest of the room. “I told you to wait outside.”

“I didn’t want you to do this alone,” Misty answers, and starts to follow Natalie through the house.

Nat doesn’t respond, just raises the rifle up as she makes her way through Misty’s home. She moves through the space quickly but thoroughly, opening doors and pointing her rifle inside each one. Misty whispers over her shoulder each time, identifying whether each is a room or a closet, and how likely it is someone could be hiding in there.

Natalie doesn’t acknowledge Misty’s words, but she rarely does. Instead, Nat completes the loop around Misty’s home until they wind up in front of the heavy basement door. This time Nat does look over her shoulder, and Misty reaches out to test the basement door. It hasn’t been locked since Jessica left, and it pops open when Misty turns the knob.

The lights are off, and Natalie squints as she peeks through the crack that has been opened. After a moment, her rifle flags a little and she gives Misty a suspicious look. “The fuck is down there?”

“A basement?” she whisper-snorts, because it’s pretty obvious. But Nat’s still looking at her, so she gives a little shrug and reaches across Natalie to the light switch just inside the door. She jerks her hand back as Natalie starts to move into the basement, rifle in front of her as she scans ahead.

There’s nothing down there, and the room is as neat and fresh as she’d left it a few days ago. All signs of Jessica have been destroyed, of course, and the space looks like a normal guest or panic room again.

“What’s all this for?” Nat asks at her normal volume, gun pointed down at the ground as she looks around. She walks over toward the bed, and for a moment Misty’s eyes widen, wondering if Nat will see the handcuffs tucked discreetly between the mattress.

Misty’s heart beats faster as she wonders what Nat will think of her if she does; she’d assume that it’s something sexual, right? A thrill rushes up Misty’s spine as she considers what Natalie would think of that. Would she finally see Misty as fun? Would she finally see Misty as someone as flirtatious and sexual as herself? Someone worthy of thinking of like that?

But Nat’s eyes pass smoothly over the bed and back around the rest of the space. Misty feels relief and disappointment in turn, and shrugs innocently when Nat looks at her again.

“My basement guest-slash-panic room. You never know when a maniac will break into your house after all,” she gestures upstairs.

Nat snorts and puts the safety on the rifle before tossing it onto the bed. “What maniac?” She slides her free hands to her lower back and presses her hips out. Her eyes are dark, both from her usual kohl and the intensity with which she looks at Misty. “You said this place was ransacked, and I didn’t see a fucking thing out of place.”

Misty straightens, and pushes her glasses up. “I—I cleaned up a little before I thought to call you,” she scoffs to cover up the lie. Habit,” she shrugs one shoulder, and slides her hands into the pockets of her sweater.

Nat stares straight at Misty before she relaxes her shoulders and lets out a groan, and pulls her hair back away from her face. Misty has always been good at reading Nat—it’s part of why she’s Misty’s favorite, she never hides her irritation—but not in this moment. Nat seems frustrated, but not in the way she usually is with Misty, in the shallow way that Misty is happy to ignore until Nat nears her breaking point.

This time, Nat seems almost sad in her frustration. Disappointed, maybe?

“Fine,” she finally says, voice soft, and slings the rifle over her shoulder. “Show me what it looked like before I got here.”

Misty quirks her head to the side, reading Nat a moment, before she smiles at her and agrees, leading her back up the stairs. Once back up, Misty points out spots in her living room, kitchen, and hallway, where her books and drawers had been rummaged through and knocked over.

And the closet, which had actually been opened, though Misty makes sure not to make that distinction when she points it out.

“And what’s in here?” Nat asks, popping the door open all the way to reveal cleaning supplies and household tools that Misty rarely uses.

Misty shrugs, and looks up at Natalie with her widest eyes. “Nothing of value, surely. I have no idea what they would have been looking for in here, but I doubt they found it. All of my most valuable things are in a safe, and that was untouched.” Nat’s focus drifts from Misty’s face, so she rushes to add in her weakest voice, “That’s why I’m so scared. I have no idea what this could be about. I must have scared them off when I got home.”

As she hoped, Nat focuses back on Misty then, at the worry Misty makes sure is clear on her face. For a moment, Misty wonders if Nat might give her a hug and try to comfort her.

Instead, Nat stands up straighter, and clenches her jaw. “Well, then we need to be prepared for if they come back. If someone was working with Adam, then they probably know about...all of it,” she lowers her voice as she refers to the wilderness. She looks thoughtful, and leans up against the wall. “We might be able to get some answers about the blackmail.”

“Of course,” Misty wants to sigh, knowing by “blackmail” Nat means Travis’s murder, but instead she says it with sunshine and a smile. It would be nice if Natalie was primarily concerned about Misty’s well-being, but she can work with this, too. “We should set up a trap.” She feels a bolt of inspiration, and rushes to add, “And you could stay the night, so if they come back you can interrogate them right away.”

Nat gives her an incredulous look. “I’m not sleeping in your panic room.”

“Oh! My bed is plenty big, we can share. Like a good old-fashioned sleepover.”

Ignoring Misty as usual, Nat pushes off of the wall and walks over to the living room. She nudges the sofa with her knee. “This is fine.” She pulls the afghan Misty made last fall from the back of the couch, and sneers at the many throw pillows crowding the piece of furniture. “What kind of trap?”

Misty bounces a bit in excitement. “Let me grab Caligula, and then I can put a pot of coffee on and we can start brainstorming.” She lifts her shoulders and clasps her hands. “This’ll be fun!”

Misty manages to stretch their planning session just shy of an hour and a half before she can tell Nat is reaching her limit. Their plan isn’t difficult, but Misty managed enough tangents and coffee refills that she gets to keep hanging out with Natalie that much longer.

And because she stretches it out, Misty realizes something; Nat sits taller, speaks softer, and seems calmer than she has since they cleaned up after Adam’s dead body.

She should have put the pieces together sooner (could have if she’d seen Nat even once in the last few decades), but Misty realizes that Natalie needs something to do, thrives when she has someone to help.

Natalie needs someone to protect.

And if she can no longer protect Travis, Misty is happy to fill that role.

More enthusiastic than ever after the realization, Misty helps set up for their plan: Nat will leave and park her car away from Misty’s house. Misty will follow a short time after, and park her car elsewhere, too. Then they both slip back into the house through the basement window, and get ready to ambush the thief when they come in, thinking Misty’s home is empty again.

Nat picks up her rifle, and heads for the door. Misty opens it for her, and Nat gives her a tight-lipped smile before she turns to leave.

“Be safe, Nat! I’ll see you, soon,” Misty says before she gets too far from the door.

Nat doesn’t respond, but Misty smiles anyway and shuts the door to get through her part of the preparation.

Natalie is already in the basement when Misty starts sliding through the small window, anxious to get back indoors. She’d left her coat in the car so she had the smallest shadow possible heading back to her house, and the walk was brisk. Misty doesn’t understand how Nat can be wearing shorts in this kind of weather.

Misty slides in feet first, and shimmies through, holding on to the frame to support herself as her feet try to find the shelf she’d put beneath the window before she’d left. She’s grateful for all the lifting she does at work, her arms strong enough to keep her from falling, but even with her strength she starts to slide as she gets halfway through.

And then Nat’s hand is on her hip, and the other is on her thigh. Misty startles on reflex and lets out a soft gasp that she bites back when Nat’s fingers curl around her body and pull.

“Shhh,” Nat whispers fast, and slides her hands up Misty’s body until she’s holding her waist, fingers digging into the bare skin under Misty’s shirt.

It feels good, and foreign, and Misty’s face flushes as Nat guides her feet to hit the top of the shelf. She’s still a little off-kilter as she sees the faintest outline of Nat step down from the chair she’d been standing on to help, and settle back on the floor.

“Window,” Nat reminds her in a whisper before Misty can hop down the same path. She slides the window shut gently and locks it with a soft click, before she sits at the top of the shelf.

There’s an air freshener plugged into the corner of the room, with a little light that provides enough illumination to see Natalie’s silhouette, and the biggest angles of her furniture. If she tried, Misty could follow Nat’s path without help.

“Nat. I can’t see.” She doesn’t want to try.

Nat shuffles forward, and Misty can’t see her face, but she’s willing to bet the irritation is clear across it. Shallow still, though, so Misty’s OK.

Natalie rests her palms on Misty’s knees, and Misty stills before she puts her own hands on Nat’s bony shoulders. She must have left her jacket in her car, too, Misty realizes, because Nat’s shoulders are bare and chilled beneath her fingers.

Misty’s in no hurry, but Nat drags the chair directly between them, right below Misty’s feet, and she figures she can’t sit here forever. And then it’s worth it, because Nat’s hands are on her waist again, helping her down to the seat of the chair.

“I don’t usually get to be taller than you,” Misty can’t help but comment, and she can feel Nat roll her eyes at her as she starts to pull away. “Spoil sport!” she giggles at the silhouette of Nat moving away, and guides herself down the chair to the floor.

Nat is already halfway up the staircase by the time she’s done, and Misty hurries to follow. “So, what do you want to do while we wait? I could make some popcorn, and we could watch a movie. Nothing scary though, I feel like that would be a bit like tempting fate, right? Oh, how do you feel about documentaries? One of the other citizen detectives was just telling me about this one, it’s—well, it’s not really a true cold case, but the investigation has been hot and cold for almost fifteen years now. I know a little bit about what happens, but I promise I won’t spoil the big reveals. What do you think, movie theater butter? Or are you more of a plain salt kind of gal?”

By the time she finishes talking, Nat has led them up the stairs, and through the dark house to Misty’s living room where she sets the rifle down on a coffee table. There are tiny outlet lights here and there around the space, and a little moonlight peeking through cracks in the curtains.

Nat toes off her boots, ignoring Misty’s questions, and crawls under the afghan to lie down, head on one of Misty’s many throw pillows.

“Nat?” Misty prompts, still waiting for her answer, but Natalie just drapes her right arm over her face, and her left one across her stomach.

“I think we should just get some sleep,” she says beneath her arm. “Never know when this guy’ll show up.”

“Oh, sure. Would you like me to camp out here with you? I’ve got an air mattress in the closet. Unless that’s what the thief broke in here for, could you imagine! I’ll just go get it.”

“Misty?” Nat’s voice is soft and controlled.

“Yeah?”

“Just sleep in your own bed. Better odds one of us will hear him.”

Misty cuts off her own disappointment with a big smile. “Right, no, that’s smart. Well, can I get you anything? Glass of water, toothbrush, another blanket? Or pee-jays, I have a set you can borrow. Or a nightshirt.”

“No,” Nat snaps, and Misty can hear her get close to the edge of her tolerance. It hurts, like it always does. But then Nat drops the arm from her eyes and looks at Misty. “I’m fine.” Nat looks at her for a moment, and Misty is pretty sure she can’t actually see her expression in the dark room, but she smiles sweetly, just in case.

Finally, Nat drops her arm back over her eyes. “Night.”

“Good night, Nat. Sweet dreams!” Nat doesn’t reply, so Misty heads upstairs to her room.

Misty wakes first, and tiptoes into the living room to check on Nat. She’s sprawled across the couch on her stomach, one arm hanging over the side almost touching the floor, and the other above her head on the arm.

Leaning against the archway, Misty just watches her for a moment. For someone so fierce and unstoppable, Nat is physically so small, like she could be folded up and put in Misty’s pocket.

The image makes her giggle, and Nat jerks at the noise, right hand reaching for the rifle as she blinks herself awake.

“Morning!” Misty chirps, before Nat can wake up enough to aim the gun at her again. Nat breathes out, visibly relaxing, and starts to sit up more slowly.

The afghan slides down to the cushions, and Misty can see now that Nat had kicked her shorts off sometime in the night. Nat’s still covered by her briefs, it’s nothing obscene, but Misty still averts her eyes and pushes her glasses up her nose.

“Would you like some coffee? I can make some eggs and bacon for breakfast. And I have some fruit salad I just cut up yesterday morning. I also have bagels, and there’s bread for toast. Or I can run down the street and pick up some croissants, or donuts. Did you want to shower? I have fresh towels in the cabinet, and you’re welcome to borrow some of my clothes. I think I have a few shirts that might be your style.”

Nat wakes up enough to look up at Misty, her face clearly showing her doubt. Misty looks down at her pajama top, with a yawning bear that reads Bearly Awake, and tugs at it self-consciously.

But Nat ignores the offer and her questions, and instead points at the front door behind Misty. “Nothing down here last night. Did you hear anything?”

“Nothing. And the back door is still booby-trapped. I guess whoever it was didn’t come back. Maybe they saw us sneak back in?”

“Maybe they got what they came for and this is all another dead end.”

Misty had forgotten just how grumpy Nat could be in the morning. It brought her right back to the cabin, and those better days. “Well, after breakfast we could go through my closet, and those drawers, and try to figure out what it was?”

Shaking her head, Nat stands up, and hops back into her shorts. “I can’t, I have shit to do.”

“Well, I could help you with your errands, and then we could come back here. We could grab lunch! There’s this place on 5th that I’ve been wanting to try, it’s got—”

“No, it’s...personal,” Nat shrugs, and slings the rifle over her shoulder.

Misty stands up, and tries to sound nonchalant as she asks, “Oh? What?”

Nat doesn’t answer, just walks over to Misty’s front door and looks outside before she swings it open. “Don’t worry about it,” and steps outside.

“OK! Well, I’ll call you if anything else comes up!” she shouts at Nat’s back, and smiles when Nat acknowledges her with a lazy wave over her shoulder.

After Nat leaves, Misty does look in her closet to see if anything is missing, but there isn’t anything unaccounted for. She does look over the places she’d told Nat were ransacked, too. Even though she lied about how bad it was, it didn’t mean that someone hadn’t gone through her things. Her closet had been open, after all.

Though, now that the situation has relaxed, Misty considers the possibility that the closet just hadn’t been latched firmly. That perhaps when she came home and opened the door, it swung open from the flow of air.

Well.

Regardless, it was always a possibility that someone could break into her home. It was best practices to make sure anything valuable was accounted for, should Nat ask her.

And tidy a little, make sure that any of her sensitive belongings were stowed away where Nat wouldn’t see. Like the handcuffs still connected to the bed downstairs. As much as she would like to leave them out and see what Natalie might say, it would probably be best to keep anything related to her little kidnapping-slash-murder stint away from prying eyes.

What kind of friend would she be to make Nat an accessory after the fact?

But Nat doesn’t ask her if anything is missing. She doesn’t call, or visit, or even text. If Misty wasn’t so understanding, she would feel slighted and forgotten. Instead, Misty reaches out to Natalie, sending her a text to check in.

When that doesn’t get a response either, Misty sends another.

Are you OK? I’m concerned. I’m coming over.

That time Nat responds a minute later:

I’m fine

Stay home

Misty lets out a huff of frustration, but sets her phone down, and tries to distract herself on the citizen detective forums.

Misty hasn’t heard from Nat in two days. Well, she’s responded to Misty’s texts when pushed, but she might as well not be answering Nat at all.

It’s frustrating. Nat had been so ready to come over the second Misty was in danger. Why was she being so closed off now? Natalie was supposed to be the straightforward one, so why was she all but ghosting Misty?

The problem, Misty realizes, is that Nat is easiest to read in person. Misty had invited her over for movies and food and games, but Nat hadn’t bit at any of it. Really, she was forcing Misty’s hand.

He came back! Can you come over?

Misty sets her phone down and waits. Two minutes later, her phone rings. “Nat!” she answers with a grin, before furrowing her brow to try and get into character. “I’m so glad you answered.”

“I’m on my way over. What happened?” Nat asks in a rush.

“We can talk when you get here,” she puts a quiver in her voice. “Hurry!”

Nat disconnects, and Misty hops up from her couch with a surge of excitement. She’ll need to make the threat obvious this time—it won’t work to claim she had cleaned up before Natalie arrived again.

Misty starts at the backdoor, and grabs a knife from the kitchen. She makes a clean cut on the screen that will be easy enough to repair later, but close enough to the latch to look functional as a successful break-in. Next, she grabs a pair of men’s boots from her hall closet that she has in case she ever needs to disguise her footprints (purchased from a thrift store with cash, of course), and lays some tracks down in the soft soil outside the door, and then two faint tracks in the kitchen before she cleans off the soles and puts them back deep in the closet.

She pops open the cabinet where she’d kept the postcard threat from Adam, and shuffles her neat papers around. It’s mostly receipts in the cabinet now that her case files are at Nat’s motel, but it could conceivably look like an important storage area.

Next, she takes a pinch of the soil from outside her door and goes to the closet with the most storage boxes, and rubs the dirt into the carpet where a man’s muddy boot would dig in when he knelt there.

Misty washes her hands and wipes the sink down, and waits for Nat to arrive.

She does a few minutes later, and Misty meets her at the front door, and lets her in. She’s got her rifle again, and Misty starts to worry about the neighbors seeing a woman with a gun come and go in a rush over and over. It’s not like she’d ever intend to commit a murder with something as traceable as a gun, but you never know what tomorrow will bring.

“Where is he?” Nat slides the gun off her shoulder, and aims it as she follows the same path she had a few days ago.

“Oh, he’s not here,” Misty laughs, and Nat sighs heavily before she lowers the weapon. “But look!” She grabs Nat by the elbow and steers her over to the dirt on the floor. “He was going through these boxes. And,” she leads the way into the kitchen, “here,” she points to the postcard cabinet. “And he came in through here,” she opens the inner back door to show the broken screen and boot prints. “Men’s boots. Size twelve, I’d guess.”

Misty watches as Nat walks through the staged crime scene, and pokes through the kitchen cabinet. “So what does he want?” Nat turns and looks at Misty, leaning back against the counter. “What’s he looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Misty says, eyes wide and voice breathy as she tries to act frightened.

“You don’t know?” Nat repeats, doubt clear on her face. “It’s been a few days, you still can’t think of—” she shakes her head, “fucking anything you have that he’d want?”

Misty presses her lips together and shrugs, hands up. “No!” she blinks, but holds Nat’s gaze and tries to look convincing.

Nat eyes her for a moment, and then narrows her eyes and tilts her head until Misty can only see half of her face. “Have you been lying to me, Misty?”

Natalie’s voice is soft and quiet, and Misty’s breath catches at the dark look on her face. “What would I be lying to you about?” she asks in a high voice, her smile faltering.

Nat kicks at the kitchen floor, eyes calculating, before she sets the gun down on the counter and walks slowly over towards Misty. There’s six inches of height between them, and as Nat steps nearly toe-to-toe with Misty she tilts her head up to continue to meet Nat’s eyes.

Her hazel eyes look brighter than usual, Misty notices, and bites back the compliment she wants to try to give to diffuse the situation. For once, she thinks it’s a very good idea to not speak.

“Why would Adam’s partner,” Nat starts, voice soft and gentle and the complete opposite of the poison stare she’s giving, “be looking for something of yours?”

Misty blinks up at Nat, but she can’t speak. She’s seen Nat like this, everyone has, but to have it turned completely on her is more than she can handle.

Nat leans forward slowly, putting one hand on the wall behind Misty’s head. Her voice is low and dangerous, but still soft, as she says, “You’ve always been good at squirreling things away. Keeping secrets from the rest of us.” Misty wants to preen at the compliment, but settles for a small smile. “What do you have that we should be worried about, Misty?”

“I—I don’t know,” Misty struggles to say. Her grasp on this situation is so tenuous; she can’t let on that there’s no actual threat, but she isn’t sure how to convince Nat without saying just that. “Nat, I—I promise, I don’t know what he could be looking for.”

Nat clenches her jaw, so Misty reaches up with her left hand, and cups Nat’s extended elbow beside her head. “I’m not keeping anything from you,” she lies, and smiles when the suspicion on Nat’s face finally cracks.

“Let’s sit down and have a drink,” Misty tugs on Nat’s arm until she drops it. Misty almost catches it as she does, trying to hold her hand on instinct, but Nat steps back before she can. “We can talk through a new plan, OK?” she offers instead, and relaxes when Nat takes a seat at the kitchen table.

They don’t really come up with a plan. Nat makes a few suggestions that Misty cleverly refutes, since all of her suggestions would easily get Misty caught as the perpetrator. Nat’s finishing the beer that Misty had picked up specifically to have on hand for her, when Nat points the near-empty bottle at Misty. “Cameras? I know you know how to use those.” She gives Misty a fake smile, and Misty bristles. The wound is still fresh.

“I got rid of them,” she lies, and gives Nat a tight smile back. “That sort of help isn’t always appreciated.”

Nat takes a deep breath. “What you did was fucking insane, and you know that,” she accuses, and leans forward in her chair. She narrows her eyes at Misty, watching her until Misty starts to get uncomfortable. “You know that. You have to know that. You do batshit crazy things, but you can’t possibly not know you’re fucked in the head to do them, right?” Misty jerks her head at the insult. “I mean, Jesus, Misty.”

It hurts, if she’s honest. It shouldn’t surprise her, and if it doesn’t surprise her it shouldn’t hurt. But it does. Misty must not be hiding her pain, because Nat furrows her brow and puts a hand flat on the table.

“That’s not...” her voice is soft, friendly, and Misty feels herself moving past the words. “Like Shauna says, we’re all fucked in the head from what happened out there.”

All of them, Misty holds the words in an iron fist. It doesn’t matter that the others ignored her for twenty-five years. It doesn’t matter because they will all be a part of each other forever, after the wilderness. No one can understand them the way they understand each other.

Misty holds onto that truth, and tries to get past this with her friend. “I really did do it to help you, Nat. I know you like your space, but it feels nice to have someone watching out for you, so I thought I was finding a compromise.” Nat presses her lips together like she’s trying not to say anything, so Misty shrugs a shoulder and bats her eyelashes like she does on dates that are going poorly. “I know I like it when you watch out for me.”

Nat slides back from the table slowly and looks uncomfortable, angling her head down so her hair falls over her face, until Misty can barely see the smile on her lips.

It’s familiar to Misty, and for a moment Nat is seventeen, flirting with boys at school as Misty watches from across the lockers.

“Will you spend the night?” Misty asks, and then laughs. “Oh, I didn’t mean—Why don’t you just stay here tonight? You can have the couch again, or the offer for the sleepover still stands! My bed is much more comfortable.”

Nat stands up and drains the last of her beer before she sets the bottle down. “I can make it home, it’s not that far.”

Deciding to test something, Misty tries the eyelashes again. “I’d feel a lot safer if you stayed.”

Nat stays. On the couch, but still, Misty feels more powerful than she has since she had Jessica chained up in the basement.

Strange though, she thinks, how well her date techniques worked on Nat; they tended to fail with her actual dates. Misty shakes the thought off, and finishes making up the couch.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Nat says from the doorway.

Misty fluffs the pillow and turns to look back at Natalie. “Oh, it’s the least I can do. Can I get you anything?” Before she can launch into her list, Nat slides her jeans off and drops them in a pile on the floor, then slides under the blanket.

The unexpected display of Nat’s long legs causes Misty to hesitate. “I’m good,” Nat points at a fresh beer and the rifle on the coffee table.

Misty lingers, not ready to leave, and Nat looks up at her, eyebrows raised. “Night,” she prompts, a little bit of a question but mostly a dismissal.

So Misty puts on a brave smile and gives Nat a small wave. “Good night. Sweet dreams, then, I guess!” Nat picks up her phone, dismissing Misty, and Misty reluctantly heads upstairs.

This time, Misty waits until she hears Nat moving around to go downstairs. She slept in a nightgown this time—nothing too alluring, but definitely more attractive than the bear pajamas Nat had scoffed at that first morning—and she makes sure to fluff her hair a little before she walks into the living room.

Nat isn’t there, but Misty follows the noise into the kitchen. Nat’s drinking a cup of coffee, and scrolling through her phone at the counter, fully dressed. “Good morning,” she says, a little dazed from the sight. In all honesty, Misty expected to find that Nat had fled by the time she made it down.

“I helped myself to your coffee,” she raises the cup in her hand. She’s using her sweet voice, so she must have been awake for a little while now.

“Of course.” Misty is a little thrown by Nat’s attitude (or lack thereof) but goes to pour herself a cup. Under the pretense of adjusting her glasses, she glances at Nat in her periphery, and sees her watching Misty. Misty flexes her bare toes on the kitchen tile, and wonders at the shiver that goes up her spine at the thought that Natalie wants to look at her.

“So,” Misty starts, pushing that thought away. “Should we come up with an actual plan?”

This time, they do come up with a plan. It’s weak, but considering that Misty is vetoing any plan that would actually catch the culprit (her), it’s perfect.

They both agree that “Adam’s partner” must know Misty’s working hours, roughly. They also agree that Nat needs to leave in case he’s watching for that. (And because Misty can’t plant evidence while Nat is in the house.) So, Nat makes another show of leaving, and plans to slip in through the basement a few hours later, after Misty has left for work. (Which will give Misty plenty of time to stage a break-in before she leaves, well before Nat comes back.)

Misty waves goodbye to Natalie as she leaves, and then starts to brainstorm new ways to destroy her home.

Nat is waiting for Misty when she comes home, with news of another break-in. Misty makes sure to look shocked and confused when she says, “Oh, no!” and closes the front door behind her. “That’s awful.” Then, smiling wide, she holds up a bag of take-out. “Hungry? You can tell me what you found over dinner.”

Misty listens intently as Natalie lists off the evidence, and bites into a spring roll instead of pointing out that Nat missed the unscrewed floor vent by the upstairs bathroom. She found the rest of Misty’s wreckage, though, so Misty leans her head on one fist and stares at Nat in appreciation and awe.

“He doesn’t—” Nat sneers at Misty’s expression, “—doesn’t seem to be searching in any kind of clear direction.” She picks up the container of lo mein and passes by the chopsticks for a fork. “I don’t get it.”

Misty shakes her head and shrugs. “No, me neither. None of this makes sense. I suppose we could be dealing with someone really smart, keeping us off his trail.” Nat scoffs, but it’s the closest to a laugh Misty’s heard from her in weeks.

“Well,” she presses at her glasses, “it could be the opposite of course. He could just have no idea what he’s doing. I suppose Adam could have been the brains, and not left instructions. Or, oh, maybe he doesn’t even know Adam’s dead! Oh, that would be funny, actually. I love when criminals get caught from poor communication. I mean, you wanna be careful with your text and call records, obviously, but disorganization is just as dangerous,” Misty laughs, and Nat cracks a polite smile, which is about the best Misty can ever hope for, so she continues.

She’s halfway through telling Nat about the Hedgeclipper Killer when Nat slides her phone out of her pocket and looks at it. Misty keeps talking, but it’s clear Nat isn’t listening anymore. She bites back her disappointment and falls quiet to give Nat a chance to share.

She doesn’t, of course, so Misty prompts, “Important text?” Her stomach feels a little sick when she considers that Nat might be about to leave, that she might have somewhere better to be.

Nat tosses it down on the table with a hum, and hooks her elbow around the back of the dining chair as she leans back. She’s got a Nirvana muscle tank on today, five or six necklaces layered over it, and her hair is clipped back on one side. Her eyes are heavily lined, but the rest of her face is bare.

Misty’s breath catches in her throat, because this is one of those moments where she just can’t believe how cool Nat is. She’s suddenly very conscious of her tongue, of the way she feels like she can’t close her mouth without being obvious about...something. Her palms feel hot, and she casually runs them down her thighs under the table until she’s holding her knees like Nat had done the other day.

“Shauna doesn’t think Adam was working with anyone else.” The words snap Misty out of her moment of self-consciousness, and she tries to figure out the right move. Does she agree? Push back?

Misty hedges, and then says, “Well, she also thought he wasn’t blackmailing her for three months, right?” Misty holds her breath, waiting to see where this is going to go.

Nat taps the side of her thumb on the table in thought, but stares at Misty. “Right,” she says slowly, and Misty can’t stop the smile of relief that she chose correctly. “And Tai agrees. No big surprise.”

“Hmm,” Misty hums, not quite sure why Nat is looking at her so intensely, still.

She stops tapping, and looks away from Misty. “They just want to move on,” Nat’s voice is so quiet Misty almost doesn’t hear it. When she processes the words, her heart skips a beat. Because Nat almost sounds as lost and reluctant as Misty has for the last twenty-five years.

Misty knows she doesn’t always read things right, that she sometimes looks for what she wants to see. She’s been working on it (a little) over the years, though, so maybe Nat really does feel that way? Feel like Misty does?

“Yeah,” Misty grins, and it’s like seeing Nat in her living room unexpectedly all over again. “Yeah,” she repeats, tempers her smile when Nat furrows her brow. “I mean,” Misty slips back into a casual tone, “that’s gotta be it. Who else would be after us? We’ll just have to figure this out ourselves. It’s just the two of us against the world, again, right?”

Nat pulls a leg up onto the dining room chair, and hugs it to her chest. “Sure, Misty.” She holds Misty’s gaze for longer than she usually does, and Misty tries to seem calm about it by picking up her plate and picking out the meatiest parts to eat first, like she always does.

“So, what else did you do today?” Misty tries to start the conversation again. It makes it less likely Nat will leave. She also slides the few cartons of food that are out of Nat’s reach closer, encouraging her to eat.

When Nat picks up one of them and digs in, Misty feels her shoulders relax. “Just went to the motel and changed.” She looks up like she’s daring Misty to disagree, and Misty wonders what that means she really did, but she can’t begin to guess.

“Well,” she looks for ways to continue the conversation, “you look nice.”

“Uh, thanks,” Nat says slowly. She looks down to see what she’s wearing. “I guess.”

“You always look nice, Nat. Cool and effortless.” Misty is giving too much, being too eager. She can feel it, but she can’t stop herself. “I’ve always admired that.” With a self-deprecating laugh she adds, “I wish I was like that.”

Nat shifts, obviously uncomfortable. But she isn’t getting up. Instead, her eyes scan over Misty’s hair, and face, and chest. Misty had taken her scrub top off when she had gotten home and now just wears the plain black long-sleeve shirt she’d had on underneath it, nothing special. Her make-up must also be mostly gone by now, and she should know better than to invite comments on her appearance when she’s anything less than at her peak.

“You look...fine, Misty. Nice, too.”

“Well, my hair must be a mess,” she adds, poodle-haired little fucking freak coming to her mind unbidden. “I—I’ve been working all day, I’m sure it looks terrible right now.”

Nat looks even more uncomfortable, and Misty wonders if she feels guilty for what she said, or if she even remembers saying it. “No, it’s...nice. Uh, good, I mean.”

Misty waits a moment to see if Nat will say something else, but it seems like the end of her compliments. It’s still sweet, and Misty feels herself sit a little taller.

Nat gets quiet again after, so Misty fills the silence by recounting her day, even if Nat didn’t ask. She tells Nat about a few of her patients, and spends several minutes relaying the flirtatious conversation she had with the son of one of them, who had come for a visit. Nat listens to it all, and doesn’t seem to react in any way when Misty talks about how muscular he was, and how he was so obviously into Misty, but she was being a professional and had to be appropriate.

“Uh huh,” Nat contributes, picking at the label on her beer.

Nat isn’t even looking at her, so Misty lets herself purse her lips in frustration. “He gave me his number before he left.” No reaction. “Mr. Roberts—his father—hasn’t been looking good for weeks now. I’m sure he won’t be my patient much longer, and then there’s no reason not to call him.” Nat cracks a fortune cookie open, and reads the paper.

Misty isn’t sure why she’s so upset about how little Nat is paying attention, but she is.

“Do you want a drink?” She tries switching tactics, and this time Nat does look up at her. Misty pushes up from the table, and goes over to the counter. She does her best to block Nat’s view as she pulls a bottle of liquor from the bottom of the take-out bag. Misty had made an extra stop to get it, and picked out rum after careful consideration; she wanted something on hand that was hard enough to stop Nat from wanting to go out for a drink, but far enough down Nat’s list that she wouldn’t spend her time with Misty completely trashed.

She smiles at her own ingenuity, and squats down so she can pretend to pull it from her cabinet. “It looks like, oh, well I guess I just have this,” she pops back up and shows Nat the bottle with a disappointed shrug.

Nat tilts her head until she’s looking at Misty sideways, ear resting on her shoulder. “It’ll do.”

With a grin, Misty turns back and pulls down two glasses, resisting the urge to jump in celebration that she’d hit the sweet spot.

Nat takes a glass and watches as Misty pours for each of them, and then rubs the back of her nails over the glass before she brings it to her lips and drinks. Misty watches and copies, and does her best to act casually about the unfamiliar taste.

“So you gonna call him?”

Misty takes a moment to pretend to be confused. “Call wh—oh, Daniel? Well,” she pretends to consider it, and looks down at the fortune cookies at the center of the table. “I suppose I should let fate decide.”

Nat watches as she unwraps a cookie, and Misty drags it out as long as she can, greedy for as much of Natalie’s attention as she can get. She sets the cookie pieces aside and unravels the paper. “’Everything that is, was first a dream.’ So I suppose I’ll need to sleep on it.” She smiles, and then starts to laugh. “Oh, wait. ‘Everything that is, was first a dream,’” she repeats, and then adds, “’in bed!’” She starts to laugh at her own joke, but Nat just takes a long, slow breath. Maybe she doesn’t get it. “Like, well, that’s what you say at the end of fortunes, right? And this time it worked on two levels, because—”

Nat picks up the bottle of rum and heads out of the kitchen, and Misty cuts herself off as she scrambles up to follow. “Nat? Are you—did I say something?” But Nat isn’t heading for the front door. Instead, she walks over to the couch, where she’s left a flannel shirt draped over the arm. The couch is still made up (well, remade by Misty before she’d staged today’s break-in and went to work), in case she can get Nat to stay one more night.

She picks up the shirt, and Misty is ready to bat her eyelashes and ask, but Nat just pulls a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket. “I’m gonna step out,” she gestures toward the back door. “Maybe take another look around.”

“Sure, good idea.” Nat pulls a lighter out of the pocket as well, and then drops the shirt back down and heads for the door. Misty waits a moment, before she yells, “Wait! I’ll join you,” and rushes through the kitchen just as Nat steps out of the house. Nat hesitates in the threshold, but leaves the door slightly ajar. It’s as much of an invitation as Misty expects, and she steps outside.

“It’s a nice night,” Misty smiles, shutting the door behind her. “I thought some fresh air would do me good.” Nat takes the two steps down from the back stoop and rounds the simple railing along the side of the short stairs. Her boots compress the too-long autumn grass beneath her feet, and Misty watches from the doorway as Nat leans back against the side of the house.

The railing is waist-high where Misty stands, and just shy of Nat’s chest where she stands on the other side. “Uh huh,” Nat agrees flatly. “Here,” she hands the bottle of rum over to Misty. She takes it, and watches as Nat puts a cigarette between her lips. It bounces gently as Nat thumbs the lighter and raises the flame up to it until the cigarette starts to burn. Nat takes a long drag, and Misty knows she’s staring but she can’t help it. For all the D.A.R.E. programs she stage-managed, she’s always thought Nat looked so calm and confident like this. She’s never been able to look away.

Nat looks over at her and has to tilt her head up to meet Misty’s eyes from the height of the stoop. She puts her left arm over her stomach the same way she does when she’s trying to sleep, and braces her right elbow on her fist. Nat holds the pack of cigarettes loose at her waist. “Didn’t know what I was out here to do?”

She flicks the cigarette and the embers dance on the wind toward Misty before they split around her. “Of course I knew.”

“And Nurse Quigley doesn’t approve.” Nat smirks at her, and blows smoke right in Misty’s direction. The wind carries it directly at her face, but she barely blinks.

“It’s not a hard drug. I pick my battles.” She lifts the rum up, as if to illustrate her point.

Nat leans her head against the siding and stares at Misty. The quiet of early evening suburbia is oppressive in this moment, and Misty’s skin starts to itch. Nat takes a slow drag, still just looking at Misty, who wants to tug a sweater or jacket or something over her body, but she’s out here without anything to hide behind.

“Want one?” Nat asks, and holds out the box. Misty scoffs, a little less tense, even though Nat’s gaze is dark and heavy. “It’s nothing compared to a little coke.”

This is peer pressure, Misty knows, and can’t help the thrill at it happening to her finally. She spent almost four years of high school preparing what to say, only for it to never actually come up.

Nat laughs, deep and hoarse in that Nat way, like she barely has the energy to make the noise, and pulls the pack back to slide into the tight pocket of her jeans. It barely fits, and Misty’s eyes flicker between the retracted offer and Nat’s smiling face.

Shame grips Misty’s chest at the realization that Nat is taunting her, making fun of her inexperience. Irritation starts to build in her chest on its tail, because how can Nat not see the kindness in what she did? The loyalty, and love, the desire to save her friend to the exclusion of her own health?

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Nat adds, laughter lingering on her words. Misty focuses on Nat’s face instead of the cigarettes, and feels that grip on her chest loosen when she realizes that there’s a gentle sort of humor there. Almost a fondness in her smile. “You really are just fucking nuts, huh.” Nat’s laughter settles on the grass.

Is Nat teasing her? “Friends have each other’s backs,” Misty blurts, eyes wide as she tries to sort through what is happening. Maybe rum hits Nat harder than she anticipated.

Nat doesn’t say anything, just rolls her head to look up at the sky. She bounces one leg out and flexes her ankle like her body is going to explode if she doesn’t move. There’s so much life in her that Misty can’t look away.

“You’re staring at me,” she sing-songs.

Misty can’t say she looks cool or nice again, and her face warms as she pushes away any other adjectives. “You—” she looks down at her hand, and holds the bottle out. “Look thirsty.”

Nat rolls her head to the side again, and follows it with her body before she pushes away from the house and reaches for the bottle. Nat takes a drink and then hands it back, cap still off. Misty starts to reach for it, and Nat takes a step back. “I’m sick of looking up,” she gestures to the grass in front of her with the bottle.

Misty hops down the stairs and rounds the side of the stoop until she’s much closer to Nat than she intended, but Nat stays still and extends the rum. “Better,” Nat says, and turns away to start walking around Misty’s backyard once Misty takes the bottle. She hasn’t staged anything back here, so there won’t be anything to find, but Misty follows and pretends to look for clues.

The sun has nearly set, and the light over the back door doesn’t illuminate much as they walk towards the fence lining the yard. Nat runs her fingers over each picket, her rings making soft thumps over each gap.

“Do you see anything?” Misty asks after a moment, unsure how to best play along with the ruse.

Nat shakes her head but doesn’t turn around, and continues to walk along the fence until she reaches a tree growing close enough to the boundary that she’ll need to walk around it.

Instead, Nat turns suddenly, and leans back against the trunk of the tree. Misty blinks, trying to figure out why Nat stopped, and watches as Nat finishes her cigarette and stamps it out on the tree by her thigh.

Misty gives a small sneer, but doesn’t comment.

“Maybe I shouldn’t leave tomorrow morning.” Nat drops her cigarette to the dirt by the fence, and starts picking at the bark on the tree. “If this guys gets desperate enough, maybe he’ll just—” she shrugs and gestures back at the house, “fucking try and come in anyway, and we can finally figure out what fuck the deal is.”

Misty tries to work through a lot of competing thoughts at once. Namely that she both very much wants Nat to stay and hang out, and also that if she does, absolutely no one will break in. And if no one breaks in, Nat has no reason to stay and protect her.

Misty really wishes that she had thought through this trajectory a little better.

“What’s the problem?” Nat asks, pushing away from the tree to stand almost toe-to-toe with Misty.

She swallows, and then plasters on a giant grin. “Why would there be a problem? That’s a great idea. Although please don’t shoot anyone in the living room. I just had that carpet redone.” Nat watches her for a long moment before she gives a tight smile and hands Misty the cap to the bottle.

Misty takes it, a little confused by Nat’s behavior, and follows as she heads back inside Misty’s house.

It hadn’t been that cold outside, but once they are back indoors Misty feels herself shiver as she warms up, and she caps the rum before she sets it down. Nat empties the cigarette box and lighter from her pockets onto the kitchen counter, and it’s so casual and familiar that it throws Misty a little, and makes her feel kind of bold.

“It’s pretty early. We should watch a movie. I can make popcorn! You never told me how you like it.”

“Whatever,” Nat says as she turns, and Misty is a little thrown at the quick agreement. “I gotta get my shit from the car,” she says flatly, and walks out of the kitchen. Misty smiles as she leaves, realizing that Nat came back this morning planning to stay.

The front door clicks shut, and Misty allows herself a moment of excitement before she settles down and puts the leftovers from dinner in the fridge, and then pulls out a box of popcorn. She puts it in the microwave and heads into the living room to start looking for something to watch.

Nat comes back in as she’s scrolling the streaming options, and drops a small duffel bag by the couch. “It’s burning,” Nat warns, and Misty tosses her the remote with a Shoot! as she shuffles into the kitchen.

The bag is still popping, and doesn’t smell burnt at all, and when she pours it into a big bowl it looks and smells just fine. Misty narrows her eyes and takes it into the living room, where Nat is smirking as she scrolls through movies.

“Very funny,” Misty says as she returns, and sets the bowl down on the coffee table. Nat’s smirk settles a little, into more of a casual smile. Misty isn’t sure that she’s really seen Nat like this—comfortable and relaxed—since they were kids. Well, at least more relaxed than usual. It’s nice. It makes Misty feel...really good, actually.

“Despite your little prank, you can pick the movie.” Nat continues scrolling, and reaches for a piece of popcorn blindly. “Oh, but no Westerns. And nothing with Nicolas Cage. Or anything that will make me cry. What about—” Nat starts The Breakfast Club, and looks over at Misty, almost challenging her to say something. “Great choice,” she gives two thumbs up.

Nat ignores her approval, and settles down by the pillows in the corner of the couch. Misty takes the other end, and sets the bowl of popcorn on the seat between them as they settle in.

It’s a good thing Misty’s seen the movie plenty, because she has a very hard time focusing on anything other than Nat who is, to be honest, terrible at sitting still. Misty’s pretty sure she hasn’t moved more than an inch or two, whereas Nat has moved around every bit of the rest of the space.

Her legs have been over the arm of the couch, under her, on the floor, on the coffee table, and now they’re in Misty’s lap. “This OK?” Nat asks, head propped up by her hand at the opposite end.

Misty shrugs and makes a soft snorting noise like it’s no big deal and her heart’s not pounding a little bit, and pretends to turn her attention back to the movie,

Really, she’s just thinking about the weight of Nat’s legs on hers, and the way Natalie’s toes flex against the arm of the couch. Like even that small part of her is itching for something, desperate to move. Misty isn’t sure what to do with her arms now; she can’t put them in her lap without touching Nat, and she’s not sure how that will go.

Misty eyes the popcorn bowl on the coffee table, and decides to try and play it off as part of another movement. In one smooth dive Misty scoops up Nat’s legs, slides the bowl away, and puts her own feet up on the coffee table, before settling Nat’s legs back down on her lap, her hands now resting oh-so-naturally on Nat’s calves.

Her heart is pounding hard now as she waits a beat, and then looks at Nat in her periphery. Nat isn’t paying any attention to her, just staring at the screen. Misty smiles to herself, and tries to relax.

It works for about fifteen minutes before Nat gets restless again, and pulls her legs back and slides them under her as she sits up. The movement puts her closer to Misty, more on the middle cushion than not, and the motion sends a lock of Nat’s smoky hair in her direction.

Nat’s unpinned her hair and it all hangs loose now, dragging across the very tops of her shoulders when she moves. Misty can’t help but watch the locks sway, and feels her fingertips itching to touch the strands and brush them back.

Instead, she curls her fingers into the couch cushion, and tries to ignore how much she likes the smell of smoke coming off of Natalie. It takes her back to the plane crash, back to the woods. A million campfires, with nothing but her and her friends, her allies. Leaning on one another, bonding with one another.

Misty closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, stopping herself from turning toward Nat, and—not for the first time—wonders, what if it had just been the two of them? Nat and Misty together in the wilderness, only able to depend on and trust one another. She imagines it for a second: that Nat needs her, and she needs Nat, and that’s the way Nat likes it, too.

“If you’re sleeping,” Nat stage-whispers, and Misty shivers at how close her voice is. Her eyes open, and Nat continues at a normal volume. “Do it in your own bed.”

It’s not that late, but Misty isn’t really sure how else to cover for what she was actually just doing. So instead she holds her hand to her mouth and fakes a yawn. “You’re right,” she nods, and turns to face Nat, leaning sideways against the back of the couch, too. She looks at Nat like this for a moment, as long as she thinks is safe to stretch it out to, before asking, “Do you need anything before I go? A snack, or a glass of water?”

Nat shakes her head, hair bouncing off of her shoulders, and Misty inhales another strong whiff of cigarette smoke that she can pretend is a campfire. Nat leans her head against the couch and watches Misty as she cleans up, and she’s still watching when Misty leaves the room.

In the kitchen Misty sets the empty bowl on the counter, and wonders why she feels so flush. She touches her cheeks with the backs of her hands, then her forehead, and doesn’t think she has a fever.

She’ll splash some cool water on her face upstairs, she decides, and finishes shutting down for the night before heading to the staircase. “Sweet dreams, Nat!” She yells into the front room, not wanting to see Nat until her flush is gone.

“Night,” she hears as she’s halfway up the stairs.

Misty can’t sleep. If someone was actually breaking into her home it would be a reasonable reaction, but she knows there isn’t anyone after her. She shouldn’t feel this on-edge. But she does.

She thinks about going back downstairs a dozen times, before telling herself it’s stupid. That Nat will be upset, and it’ll ruin whatever this semi-comfortable peace is that they've been building once more.

But she keeps coming back to the smell of Nat’s hair, the way the smoke clung to her, and how badly she wants to be engulfed by the memories, just for a little bit.

Before she can second-guess herself again, Misty flips the covers back and slides out, feet bare on the rough carpet.

The main floor is silent, and Misty gets halfway down the stairs before she stops herself. Nat is asleep, and this is a mistake. She turns to head back up the stairs and the step creaks softly.

The pump of a rifle cracks through the silence, and Misty puts her hands up, not that Nat can see her. “It’s me!”

“Jesus, Misty,” Nat sounds tired, but not like she’d just woken up, and Misty wonders if she couldn’t sleep, either. “Stop fuckin’ doing that,” she says behind the wall of the living room. She clicks something on the gun, and there’s a soft thud that Misty figures is Natalie setting it back down on the coffee table. Misty’s eyes start to adjust to the darkness, and she sees the shadow of Natalie rounding the archway of the living room to stand at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing?”

Part of Misty wants to point out that it’s her house and she can move through it as she wishes. But a faster, smarter part of her realizes that she can get what she really wants with one little lie.

“I heard a noise.”

Her tone is unconvincing, so she tries again. She takes a few steps down the stairs, until she can make out the curve of Natalie’s cheek, and pitches her voice higher, and a little unsteady. “I mean, I thought I heard a noise, and so I checked upstairs but didn’t find anything. Is everything OK down here?”

“I’ve been up,” Nat says, slowly. “Nothing to report.”

Misty waits for Nat to offer to come upstairs with her, but she doesn’t. So Misty licks her lips and pushes things forward. “Well, just in case, do you think you could come up with me? I’d feel a lot safer if you were up there. You wouldn’t believe the number of murders I’ve seen that occur with another person just one floor away. Anything could happen—” Nat starts to walk away, and Misty furrows her brow, talking faster, more insistently—”to either one of us, and the other might not even know for hours!”

Nat comes back, and Misty can see the vague, odd shape of the rifle barrel. “Fine, let’s just go,” Nat says, voice heavy and more tired than it had been before.

Misty turns and leads the way up, grinning into the darkness. “This’ll be much safer, you’ll see. Do you prefer a side of the bed? That wasn’t really an issue when we all just had bedrolls, so I never really noticed how you sleep.”

Nat doesn’t say anything, but pulls back the covers on the side of the bed closest to the door, and sets the rifle down on the floor. Putting herself between Misty and her imaginary danger. Something warms in Misty’s chest, and her stomach feels a little fluttery as she takes the other side.

The bed bounces as Nat settles, fluffing the pillow and kicking at blankets until she’s found a comfortable spot. Once she stills, Misty takes her glasses off and slides in, realizing all of a sudden just how big a queen is. Funny, it always felt too small with the men she’d brought home, but Nat feels much too far away.

Misty scoots a little closer to the center, still well within her side, but at least now she can feel Nat in the bed with her. She breathes deeply, and can get just a trace of campfire and friendship.

It soothes her, and she relaxes deep into her mattress for the first time that night. She lets the silence permeate the room, sated by the knowledge that Nat is with her. When she turns her head to the side, she can see Nat’s outline in the moonlight coming through the window.

Nat’s silhouette shifts, and she rolls onto her side, facing Misty. Misty mirrors the movement, unsure of what is coming next, but eager for it.

But Nat doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t say anything. Just stares into the darkness between them.

“What are you playing at, Misty?” Nat’s voice is soft when she finally speaks.

“What do you mean?” She tries to laugh off the question, but even in the darkness she’s certain that Nat is staring her down.

“I mean,” she pauses, “you’re not some shrinking violet. I think we all know what you’re capable of.” Misty stops breathing. Even softer: “I sure as hell do.”

Misty isn’t projecting when she reads Nat’s tone as impressed and a little scared, she’s sure. She can’t help but smile wide at the compliment, the implication of her abilities.

“So what’s the deal?”

“Deal?”

“This,” Nat reaches her left arm across her body and pats the bed between them once. “Needing me to protect you.” Nat’s voice catches a little, and Misty suddenly wishes she had more light in this room. She wants to see Nat’s face.

Then again, there is something liberating about the darkness in here, in answering such a minefield of a question, where one wrong move can blow her entire plan. She can’t have Nat leave, not now. It feels too good to have her around. To have her back.

“I am capable,” she goes for self-deprecating with a hint of pride, but that usually sounds like arrogance or insecurity for her, no in-between. Nat’s silhouette seems stiff and distrusting, and even if that’s just Misty’s fear talking, she can’t risk it.

Misty tries to drop all pretense, all sense of manipulation and dishonesty. It’s not as easy as it used to be. “But not like this. Not...” It feels terrifying, like the most bare she’s ever been in her life. She thinks of Jessica, of all the planning she did and all the preparation she needed to ensure she had the upper hand at each step of the way.

The threat she invented is not real, but Misty thinks about how vulnerable she could be if it was. How much she relies on her mind to save her, because it’s all you ever really have when you’re alone.

Misty can feel Nat’s eyes on her, and she decides to fall, to let herself speak without crafting her words, shaping them to illustrate that she still has value. “I don’t have the upper hand with this. I can’t prepare, I can’t predict what he’s looking for or figure out what I need to hide. I’m...vulnerable.”

For a minute, Misty gets caught up in her own lie. It’s real suddenly. And Nat is lying here in bed with her, just because Misty asked. Nat is here to protect her, would protect her, will protect her. Misty knows Nat doesn’t care about her as deeply as she cares about Nat, but Nat does feel something for her. Nat cares about her, Misty’s certain, even if she doesn’t want to care.

It’s all Misty’s wanted, really, for way too long, and she grabs greedily at Nat’s left hand resting on the bed between them. “But I’m not alone.” Nat’s fingers twitch against Misty's touch. “I have you.” It’s almost a question, but Misty’s afraid to pose it as such. “I’ve never felt safer than when you’re around, Natalie.”

Nat starts to pull her hand back at that, but stops. Instead, she props herself up on her right elbow, and looks down at Misty. Her shoulder is bare except for the bra strap peeking from her tank, and her skin catches the moonlight. Misty wants to reach out and touch it, maybe pull her closer, fingers wrapping over to Nat’s back as she does.

Instead, she wraps her fingers around Nat’s palm, and smiles when Nat lets her. She smiles wider when Nat runs her thumb along the back of Misty’s hand, and prays it doesn’t stop.

“You could learn...how to use one. A gun,” Nat finally gets out. Her thumb stills on Misty’s hand, so Misty starts playing with the rings on Nat’s fingers instead. Nat lets her do that, too.

“It’s not the gun, Nat,” she giggles, feeling like a teenager as she drags her fingertips over Nat’s knuckles. “It’s you! Duh.”

Nat flexes her hand, disrupting Misty’s play, and pulls her arm back to her side. “OK,” she whispers, and Misty struggles to interpret the tone of her voice.

“Good night, Nat,” Misty whispers after a moment, and Nat turns onto her other side.

When Misty wakes up it must be nearly time for her alarm to go off, but Nat is still asleep. Like a rock, apparently, because she’s on her stomach with her left arm flung over Misty’s chest, and her left leg slung over Misty’s left hip. Misty is flat on her back when she wakes this way, and she can’t help but roll her head along her pillow until she can breathe in the smell of Natalie’s hair, fanned out next to her.

The smoke is barely there anymore, but Nat smells warm and familiar, and despite Nat’s weight on Misty, she feels more free than she has since the wilderness. Misty looks down her nose to the top of Nat’s head, and wonders how close she can get before Nat wakes.

She’s almost turned her chin enough to touch Nat’s forehead when she realizes that while her right hand is free at her side, her left hand is on Nat’s lower back. She flexes her fingers at the realization, and Nat nuzzles her face into the bed.

Misty freezes, waiting until Nat’s hips resettle against her. When they do, Misty’s lips twitch with an almost-smile, and she continues to move her head slowly, slowly, slowly. She’s almost there when Nat shifts again.

This time her left hand grabs at Misty’s shoulder, and her leg slides higher up Misty’s body as she scooches higher. Misty looks straight up at the ceiling to avoid Nat’s nose bumping into hers, and tries to remember to breathe when it settles into the curve of her jaw.

Misty’s fingers move unbidden again, and this time she digs into the soft skin of Nat’s back, bare and warm, her shirt bunched up just below her breasts.

The covers have been kicked off of both of them, and if her entire body didn’t feel like it was engulfed in flame right now, Misty figures the cold could have been what woke her.

Misty tries to relax her breathing, tries to settle herself so she can revel in the feel of Nat until her alarm ruins everything, but her mind is on fire like the rest of her.

Nat’s breath on her neck, Nat’s hand on her shoulder, Nat’s nails on her back, Nat’s body pressed against hers from chest to toes, Nat’s thighs parted around her hip.

Nat’s center, hot and open against Misty’s hip, barely covered by Nat’s briefs.

And over and over again. The last thought lingers longer and louder each time, as Misty looks down her body at where they meet most intimately.

The softest voice in Misty’s head tells her not to, but Misty’s never had trouble ignoring it before. And the voice that pushes for more, more, more, has always been louder, has always sounded so much more attractive.

So Misty presses her hand flat on Nat’s lower back, until the tips of her fingers brush the soft cotton of Nat’s underwear. To the steady thrum of more pounding in her ears, Misty presses harder, with her hand and her thigh and her focus until all that exists in the world is Nat’s heat against her as Nat’s thighs part further around Misty’s waist.

“Mmm,” Nat moans, and Misty stops, heart pounding with fear and anticipation in turn. She isn’t sure what is about to happen, but good or bad Misty just wants something to break. “What’re you doing?”

Nat sounds confused and half-awake, but she’s not pulling back, or yelling. Instead, she whispers the question against Misty’s neck, lips dry from sleep. The gentle scratch sends a shiver up Misty’s back, and she feels her thigh push against Nat’s center without intention.

For a moment, Nat pushes back. Grinds on Misty’s hip, she realizes with surprise and anticipation. She feels validated by it, justified in her touch, and she slips her hand down until she can feel it rise over the curve of Nat’s ass.

“What are you doing, Misty?” Nat repeats, slower but more awake. This time she lets go of Misty’s shoulder, and braces her hand on the bed beneath Misty’s pillow as she pushes her upper torso away from Misty.

Misty doesn’t know. What she’s doing, or how to respond, or what’s going to happen next.

She really doesn’t expect Nat to just drop right back down and bury her head in Misty’s neck and laugh. Not deep or harshly, just a small shaking of her shoulders and the soft puff of stilted breath against Misty’s skin.

Misty’s still trying to figure out if she should apologize or be embarrassed. Or laugh, too, because sometimes she’s supposed to be in on the joke and doesn’t always realize it right away.

Before she can decide, Nat rolls off of her, leg dragging across Misty’s thighs in the process. She bounces softly on the mattress, and slowly crosses her arms under her head, elbows sticking out.

Nat lays there on her back, not looking at Misty, and just staring. She’s not laughing anymore, and Misty listens to the more voice as she lets herself just look at Nat. Her hunger is greedy but her eyes are poor, and she reaches blindly for her glasses so she can really look at Nat.

She gets her glasses on her face and leans up on a bent elbow, and just stares. Nat hasn’t moved, hasn’t jumped up when Misty frantically grabbed at her glasses. Instead she’s still just lying there, tank pushed up and baring her stomach, the lines of her muscles barely there with the softer tissue that comes with their age. Misty licks her lips, and has the briefest flash of disappointment that she’s never gotten to eat Nat, to consume her in the only way she knows how.

Misty’s breath starts to catch, and her eyes travel down to Nat’s hips, to the dark fabric between her legs, and wonders if she’s still hot there. If she was as warm and soft as Misty thinks she felt before Nat pulled away. She licks her lips, and that hunger is roiling where she doesn’t expect it.

Nat’s thighs are so small, but so strong, and Misty feels herself clench her own together. Just a little, nothing obvious, not that Nat is even looking in her direction. Misty’s pretty sure she could just look at Nat for hours, and she’s had that thought before but not like this. Not when there’s the thought just out of reach that she wants to bite into Nat somehow, and press her down, teeth bared, while she just looks and looks and looks.

Nat finally sits up, not looking in Misty’s direction, and slides herself to the edge of the bed. Her shirt falls down now, but that’s OK; Misty knows how the small of her back looks and feels. Knows the way her fingers can dip into the curve there, and then back out.

“When do you go to work?” Nat asks, not facing her.

Misty blinks, and tries to remember anything more than the feel of the woman in front of her. “The uh, usual time.” Does Nat know when that is? Does she pay as much attention to Misty as Misty does to her? “About an hour,” she shares, knowing that the answer is no.

Nat doesn’t respond, just gets up from the bed and walks out of Misty’s bedroom. She leaves the rifle, and Misty feels worry for a moment before she remembers that there isn’t actually any threat.

Misty waits to see if Nat will return, but she hasn’t by the time that Misty’s alarm begins to ring. It’s disappointing, and frustrating, and Misty dismisses the alarm aggressively. She waits again, but Nat doesn’t reappear,

With a heavy sigh Misty gets out of bed, and heads into her en suite for a shower. She looks at herself in her bathroom mirror as she passes it, and realizes how flushed her cheeks are. Her hair is a bit of a mess—nothing too alarming thankfully—and her face is bare and plain where she isn’t pink.

Disappointed with what she sees, Misty slips her glasses off and sets them on her counter. Her nightgown is next—the one she had thought alluring the other night, and now feels frumpy and plain as she lets it pool on the tile floor. Misty stares at it, and thinks instead of Nat’s tank crumpled beneath her breasts. She slips her panties off next, peach colored and lace, and thinks how nice they would look next to Nat’s plain black briefs.

As she finishes disrobing Misty realizes—face flaming—the specifics of how this morning has affected her. She’s...slick between her thighs. Her eyes widen, and she stares down at her body before she remembers what she’s supposed to be doing and turns the water on.

She waits for it to warm as she places her hands on her stomach, and thinks about that roiling hunger she’d felt while looking at Natalie. It’s low, lower, and Misty slides her hands to her hips instead of where she’s tempted to press.

Her hips are rounder than Nat’s and Misty’s eyes flutter closed as she thinks about the way Nat’s center had pressed right into her there.

Steam starts to hit Misty’s bare skin, so she shakes her head and gets in, closing the curtain around her. It feels so private, Nat and the rest of the world shut out for a moment, and Misty feels like she’s truly free to think.

About Nat, about what just happened. About the way Nat nuzzled into her neck, and the press of her lips against Misty’s skin. About the way she rubbed herself against Misty, just for a second, but it happened.

Misty’s heart starts to beat faster. She can feel that hunger again, can feel the fingers of arousal crawling up her spine.

It’s confusing. Nothing has changed the way she feels about Nat. It’s always felt like this, but did it always feel like this? Is this what she was feeling when she thought about Nat? When she looked at her and watched her and tried to be her friend?

This feeling is so strong, and sharp, but warm and soft and soothing, all at once. Nat’s trying to consume her and assure her at the same time, and she doesn’t even have a clue.

Misty thinks about Nat lying in her bed, sprawled out and letting Misty look at her like Misty has always wanted to even when she didn’t understand. Her stomach and legs bare, her body warm from Misty’s touch, her hair mussed from Misty’s bed.

And Misty slides trembling fingers between her legs, presses two fingers through her slick folds and feels the evidence of what it means.

Like a twig finally snapping, Misty’s free hand shoots out to the shower wall to brace herself and she gasps, shifting her legs apart and putting firm pressure against her clit. “Oh!” she gasps, surprised by all of it right now, and she lets it all flood back to her as she touches herself: Nat crawling into her bed, their fingers tangled, the smell of Nat’s hair, the heat from her leg and back and lips, the way Nat just let her look and look and look—

More, more, more.

Nat looking back over her shoulder with a smirk and crawling back into bed. Nat reaching for her breast instead of her shoulder, blindly cupping the weight toying playfully with her nipple through the nightgown. Grinding against Misty’s hip longer, and harder, and gasping into Misty’s ear that she wants Misty, wants her like this. Nat in the shower behind her, her fingers taking over between Misty’s legs, her wet, smoky hair dragging along Misty’s back as she kisses a line down Misty’s spine. Nat kneeling at her feet, tugging one of Misty’s legs over her shoulder and putting her mouth—

“Oh, god!” Misty gasps out, sparks flying behind her eyes and knuckles white where she’s pressing into the shower wall. For a moment she rides the wave of her climax and stands with a dazed sort of smile on her lips.

Then things start to come back to her, like a job she needs to get to, and a woman (hopefully) waiting downstairs for her that she suddenly feels incapable of talking to.

She finishes her shower as she worries her lip, and tries to remember how to act normal around Nat. She also tries to reconcile that what she’s felt all these years has been attraction, and she hadn’t ever realized it. Though, she laughs to herself—only a little hysterically—it does seem to make an awful lot of sense now that she knows.

Misty turns off the shower and towels off before wiping the steam from the mirror to look at herself. She wonders, does Nat know? Has it been clear on Misty’s face what she was feeling, thinking, even when she didn’t understand?

Does Misty want Nat to know?

Her goal with all of this fake break-in mess was—well, actually, she never really thought about it. First it was instinct (and a little opportunistic need for companionship). And then, what? She wanted Nat’s friendship. Best friendship, maybe—that’s what she had always thought. Then it was that and wanting to help Nat. To give her something to focus on, some kind of purpose.

And now?

Misty towel dries her hair gently as she thinks, and then runs her best curling serum through her hair. It’s an instinct that Misty now categorizes as “for Nat,” as if Nat would care how defined her curls are. For a moment, Misty thinks about trying to straighten her hair, but knows from years of experience that it will take hours, and end up looking worse than when she’d started.

With a sigh, she puts her glasses back on, wraps a towel around her body, and walks back into the bedroom.

Nat’s rifle is gone.

Panic grips Misty as she realizes Nat came back, was possibly in here while Misty was in there...figuring things out. Misty starts to worry about that, before the even more terrifying thought hits her that Nat came to get her gun so she could leave.

Misty’s heart beats faster, and she hurries to dress in her scrubs so she can head down the stairs. She reaches the bottom, and sags in relief against the bannister as she hears footsteps in the kitchen.

She should finish getting ready before she faces Nat, but her feet are moving toward the sound before she can stop herself. Nat’s back is to her when she walks into the kitchen, and she is grateful for the second to gather herself.

Misty takes one deep breath in and exhales, but Nat doesn’t turn around. “Good morning!” she says cheerfully, and wants to smack herself in the face. It was a weird choice, late and inadequate after how their morning had started. But she didn’t want Nat to turn around and see her there, looking, and be uncomfortable.

Nat does turn then, a confused expression clear on her face. She has a mug of coffee in her hand, and there is another poured and resting on the counter beside her.

Warmth blossoms in Misty’s chest at the gesture.

“Morning,” Nat finally answers, her face neutral once more. She picks up the second mug by the top near the rim, and takes a step closer to Misty to offer the handle.

“Thank you,” Misty smiles, and pulls the mug close to her chest. Nat is in the same tank that she’d slept in, but she’s pulled shorts on. Misty’s eyes finish their descent to her bare feet before she looks back up at Nat’s face. It’s clear that she watched Misty watch her, so Misty pushes her glasses up uncomfortably and adds, “It’s so nice to have this waiting down here for me. I’ve thought about getting one of those coffee makers where you can set it to auto-brew, but it’s not the same. A machine doing something nice for you is just by design, it’s the thought of it all that makes it special.”

“You could teach your bird to do this before the phone,” Nat deadpans, and Misty lets out a reactive laugh of relief. And then a bigger laugh, as though she can fix everything if she laughs hard enough.

Nat’s lip curls up, and Misty can’t be sure if it’s a smirk or a sneer, but it’s familiar, and it soothes some of the anxiety coursing through her.

Nat turns around and pulls a chair away from the kitchen table, dropping down and sipping at her own mug. She puts her foot on the leg of the other chair as she slumps down into her own, and Misty isn’t sure if she’s trying to keep Misty from sitting down or something else.

“I better go do my makeup,” Misty says, and then looks up at her forehead. “And finish my hair, obviously.”

Nat sneers, and Misty hesitates, unsure of what she’s said now.

“You look fine,” Nat mumbles, and pushes on the chair with her foot until it slides from the table.

It’s the most direct Nat has ever asked Misty to be around her, dead body clean-up notwithstanding.

Misty ignores the water dripping from the ends of her hair, and nods as she shuffles forward, and smiles wide across the table to Natalie. When she sits down Nat pulls her leg back, and pulls it up to her chair instead, sitting with one leg tucked under her, knee hanging over the edge of the seat.

Nat drinks her coffee, happy to sit in silence and stare at Misty, apparently. Under normal circumstances it would be uncomfortable for Misty. Today, it’s nearly unbearable. She can’t meet Nat’s eyes, and she feels like Nat is going to drop the hammer at any minute to call her a freak or a pervert or a stalker.

Misty’s afraid that Nat knows how Misty feels when she looks at her. More than that, Misty’s afraid that Nat hates it.

“What time are you done with work?” Nat asks, and Misty realizes she hasn’t said anything in over a minute.

“Around five tonight.” Nat nods, and drinks her coffee. “I should be home a little after that.” Nat purses her lips and nods again as she sets her mug down. She starts tracing the pattern of the mug with her fingers, and Misty thinks about holding her hand again, playing with her rings and touching each ridge of her knuckles. “But you can call me. Or text. If you need anything. Or want anything. I could bring dinner home again, or cook. I can’t make much, but there are a few recipes I’ve found that I can knock out of the park. How do you feel about rosemary?”

Nat furrows her brow and shrugs one shoulder. “Should I have an opinion?”

Misty laughs, and Nat’s expression doesn’t change, but she’s still engaged in the conversation. It’s almost disarming, if Misty’s honest. “Well, I would think most people do, but I can think of something else. What about pot roast? And fingerling potatoes? I can stop at the store on the way home.”

“I could just order a pizza,” Nat suggests, and slides her mug across the table a few times, back and forth.

Misty’s offer had been instinctual, another carrot to get Nat to stay just a while longer. It throws her that Nat doesn’t seem to need it, all of a sudden. “Absolutely, that sounds great, too.” And then, because she can’t help herself, she asks, “I could cook for you another time?”

Nat drains the last of her coffee, and Misty realizes she’s barely had any of her own. “How else will I figure out how I feel about rosemary,” she says, and stands up, pushing her chair back in and leaving the mug on the table.

“I’m gonna smoke,” she picks up her lighter and cigarettes still on the kitchen counter, and walks out the back door.

Misty wants to join her, wants to start the cycle of how last night went over again, even knowing how much of a mess her brain is after it all. But she does need to get to work, and her morning is slipping away quickly.

As she gets up from the table herself she looks out the window, and watches as Nat lights her cigarette. She’s facing mostly toward the backyard, but the tip of her rounded nose and the curve of her cheek are visible, even with her hair down and tousled.

She turns farther to the side and the early morning sunlight makes it look like she’s glowing just outside of Misty’s reach.

Nat is stunning.

Misty has thought it before, felt it, but she’s never really let herself understand what it means. How deep and visceral it is, how it sits on her chest and presses her down until she feels like she’s drowning.

She’s still standing, staring, again, when Nat looks inside and catches her eye. She doesn’t look away either, just takes a slow drag from her cigarette and turns her head just enough to blow the smoke to the side, not breaking eye contact.

Misty’s skin starts to prickle and her hands feel slick. She finally turns and flees, running upstairs to gather her things for work. She stops in her bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror: face bare and plain, wet hair hanging low against her shoulders.

It’ll have to do, and she finishes gathering her things so she can go downstairs to take care of Caligula. She greets him and feeds him and makes sure his water is fresh. She’s telling him to be a good boy for Natalie when the back door opens and shuts, and Nat walks through the house to join her in the living room.

Nat stops a few feet away from her and puts a hand on her hip, popping one foot out as she nods toward the cage. “Should I...I don’t know, do anything with him while you’re gone?”

Misty’s heart skips a beat at the offer, and she just looks at Nat for a moment, eyes wide. “No,” she finally says, smiling. “He’s all taken care of.”

“Cool.” Nat tucks her hair back and then crosses her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t know what to fuckin’ do, anyway,” she laughs hollowly, and Misty is thrown at the self-deprecation, uncommon from Nat.

She isn’t sure what to say, but she wants to make Nat feel better. It feels more important than anything else right now, even being punctual for work. “Come here,” she starts, and slides away from the center of the cage.

Nat hesitates, and then joins Misty in front of the cage. Misty starts to open the door, and Nat says, “I’d rather not get my eyes pecked out.”

“Caligula is very sweet. He just doesn’t like the men I bring home.” She unlatches the cage and reaches in, and Caligula hops onto Misty’s hand. Caligula side steps up Misty’s arm until he reaches her elbow, and Nat leans away as Misty holds her elbow out closer to her. “See?”

Nat slides her hands in her back pockets and presses her shoulders forward as she looks down at the bird. “No,” Misty says,”relax. Give me your hand.” Nat’s shoulders drop and she hesitantly holds a hand out to Misty. She turns toward Nat and holds her hand, raising it up to the level of her elbow. “Now wait.”

Caligula hops over bit by bit, and eventually hops from Misty’s elbow to the side of Nat’s hand. Nat almost jerks away at the contact, but Misty holds her still. “See?” Caligula squawks and shuffles back and forth.

Nat snorts the smallest little laugh, but Misty feels her heart swell. They stay like that for a moment, before Misty is forced to end it. “I better get going,” she says, disappointment obvious.

“Yeah,” Nat agrees, but doesn’t drop her hand until Misty lures Caligula back onto her arm and into his cage.

Misty latches it tight, and goes over to the couch to pick up her tote bag. “I’ll see you tonight?” Nat nods. Her hands are back in her pockets and she’s leaning against the archway beside the front door. “Be safe, Nat,” as if the threat were real, and Nat wasn’t guaranteed to be sitting in a boring suburban house for the next 8 hours.

Nat watches as Misty passes by her to the front door. “Bye,” she finally speaks, and Misty smiles on her way out the door.

Misty has always enjoyed her job, and socializing with her (oddly closed-off) co-workers. She’s never felt like her work was a slog, or spent much time watching the clock. But today is different, and almost brutal in its slow pace and quiet atmosphere.

After she settles in for the day and starts to work through her normal routine, she’s hit with the first, and largest source of confusion and anxiety: she likes Nat. Like, like-likes Nat. Her face flushes as she remembers her morning activities, both those with and without Nat present, and she looks around self-consciously as she pushes her glasses up.

Now that she has some time to sit with it, she feels...well, honestly, she feels a lot of different things: confused, surprised, embarrassed, excited, eager. And under all of that, right.

Of course, how she feels is really the smallest piece of the puzzle right now. Because what is she going to do? She knows that, regardless of why, she wants Nat around her. Wants Nat in her house and on her couch and in her bed. She just wants to be near Nat, and while the realization of her feelings really goes a long way to illuminate why she wants it, it doesn’t really help her figure out how to achieve those things.

After all, Nat is sitting in her house right now for some danger that will never materialize. And how long is she likely to stick around without justification? Misty reminds herself, too, that she’s doing this for Nat. Giving her a distraction, and a purpose. It would be cruel to take that away now, even taking Misty’s feelings out of the equation.

Perhaps, Misty starts to plot, she could send an anonymous tip to the police that there is someone skulking around her house. They’d likely knock on her door, and Nat would answer, and it would all lead credence to the threat and give a tidy explanation for why no break-in occurred.

But no, Misty decides almost as quickly. Nat was never great with authority before the wilderness, and Misty has wondered how things would have gone at Travis’s house if Misty hadn’t surrendered so quickly and encouraged Nat to do the same. No, that could certainly make everything worse in a whole new way.

Maybe, she thinks instead, she could have one of her fellow citizen detectives actually try to break in. Natalie wouldn’t know them, and she knows of a dozen locals on the message boards who would get a thrill out of such a thing (as long as she framed it the right way).

Misty loads up the site on her work computer, and starts to scroll down before she stops, remembering how things went down with Stallion99. If Nat had been willing to (hopefully only threaten to) light a stranger’s dick on fire in a public restaurant, she couldn’t imagine what she’d do to someone breaking into Misty’s private property.

With a sigh Misty logs out of the message board, and taps on the desk in thought. One single day without activity might not be so bad. She could probably convince Nat that he was just spooked by Nat being there, and that it would just be a short waiting game. Patience was very much not one of Natalie’s virtues, but she could probably be persuaded for a night.

And Misty wants that night. If it’s just one more, she’ll take it. Even if she can’t lure Nat back into her bed (though she certainly plans to try), Nat staying for dinner, maybe another movie, a smoke in the backyard? She’ll take those crumbs.

Besides, tomorrow is the start of her weekend, and that could open doors, right? Maybe she could convince Nat to go somewhere with her, and that’s when she could have someone else come in and plant some new evidence, without risk of Nat murdering them on instinct.

Her mood lifts as she starts to decide that this could work, and Misty heads to lunch as she tries to think of where she can lure Natalie tomorrow.

The staff room is nearly empty like it always is when she takes her lunch break, but two of her co-workers are still finishing up their lunch at the corner table. “Well, hi there, ladies,” she offers her brightest smile. “Having anything good?”

They ignore her question and continue the conversation they’d been having when she walked in, but Misty doesn’t let it bother her. Instead she takes a cup of instant noodles out of the cupboard where she’d left it, and starts to make her lunch.

She’s watching the container spin in the microwave when her phone dings softly with a notification. Misty sees that it’s from Natalie, and her stomach fills with anticipation as her eyes dart down to the message preview: You don’t have anything to eat

Misty smiles affectionately, and leans back against the counter to open the message up. The texting dots appear, and then: Or drink

She rolls her eyes a little at that, and starts to reply.

???

The refrigerator is fully stocked.

And there should be leftovers from last night.

It was bad enough fresh

Misty bites back another smile. Nat’s complaint might be just that, but without hearing her voice Misty reads it like she wants to; Nat is teasing her.

Well, then I suppose you won’t need to try very hard to do better than me tonight.

You’re welcome!

The texting dots appear, and then stop.

“Another match from that dating app?” one of the women from the lunch table—Joan—asks as she approaches to throw her trash in the wastebasket near Misty.

Misty looks up in acknowledgment, but her eyes immediately dart back down to see if the dots will reappear. They don’t. “No,” Misty mumbles, and then shakes her head and refocuses on Joan’s question. “I mean, no, I’m done with that.”

“Really?” Joan seems surprised, and Misty feels like there is judgment in her tone. It’s irritating, and Misty wants to make her eat the word.

“Really. I was just texting my friend. My girlfriend. Partner.” Misty isn’t sure what’s come over her, but she can’t stop herself. It’s impulsive, and a lie, and she only realized she was gay five hours ago, so what on earth is she saying? “Just talking about what we’re having for dinner. It’s her turn to pick something up, so it’ll be pizza,” Misty laughs, and touches Joan’s arm briefly to pull her into the joke.

Joan smiles politely, and Misty feels a deep thrill in this slightly-false fantasy she’s just spun. In this world where her hot girlfriend Natalie is picking up dinner like she does any other night, rejecting Misty’s desire for variety.

“Well, have a nice weekend,” Joan offers, and heads out of the lunch room with the other nurse.

“Bye!” Misty yells after her, before turning her attention back to her phone.

Still nothing.

The microwave beeps and Misty takes her meal out with one eye on the screen. She stirs without looking, just watching and waiting for some sign that her conversation isn’t over, but gets nothing.

Misty takes a seat at an empty table and lets her noodles cool as she picks her phone back up.

Anything to report?

It’s a bold and potentially stupid move to ask so plainly, but Misty thinks this is something she would say if the situation were real.

The dots reappear finally, and Misty sinks into the chair in relief.

No

Nothing

Misty waits for more, but nothing comes. She wants to keep talking, but all of her responses involve attributing the lack of movement to Nat being intimidating or powerful or hot, and she has a feeling that any of those would do more to shut down their conversation than continue it.

Against all of her instincts, Misty lets her screen grow dark from disuse. Instead, she tries to distract herself by thinking through a plan for tomorrow, and try to guess which of her fellow detectives would likely respond to her request should she post.

She’s almost done eating when her phone dings again, and when she swipes it open there’s another text from Nat.

What the fuck is carob

It’s a chocolate substitute! It’s better for you. I have some carob bars in one of the kitchen cabinets if you’d like to try one.

I know

I found them

They’re fucking disgusting

Misty rolls her eyes, but laughs affectionately. She hears what Nat isn’t saying, and bites her lip as she thinks about how well she knows the other woman.

There’s leftover Halloween candy on top of the refrigerator.

Nat doesn’t respond, but Misty imagines her smiling at Misty’s text. She’d been lying when she called Nat her partner, obviously, but is this what it would be like if she was? Texts just because they missed each other, and knowing what the other needs even when they don’t say it?

Misty’s never had that. Not with anyone. And even if it’s not real, the idea of it feels more tangible than it ever has before. Maybe she’ll hang onto this lie just a little bit longer, too.

The last few hours of her day are horrendously long. All she wants to do is get home to see Natalie, and make the most out of whatever time she has left in this little ruse.

Nat hasn’t replied since the Halloween candy, and Misty has kept herself from instigating anything, too afraid to shatter the nice rhythm they’d started.

Then, just after four, her phone dings.

What kind of pizza

Misty thinks of what she’d told Joan in the lunchroom, and looks around to see if there is anyone else that might comment, anyone else she might be able to mention her partner to. But the area around her is empty, her patients all distracted or lounging elsewhere.

You decide! I’m not picky. But no peppers, please.

Misty bites her lip at the demand, and worries that she’s being difficult. She sends another message.

Actually, I can pick them off if you want them.

Nat sends a thumbs up emoji, and nothing more. Misty sighs, and wishes that her girlfriend was a tad bit more talkative.

When Misty finally gets home, she opens her front door to the smell of pizza, and the sound of Natalie banging around in her kitchen.

It’s the first time in twenty years that she’s come home to another person, and it surprises her just how much she’s missed it without realizing. The house feels warmer than it normally does, brighter and homier, and Misty shuts the front door gently, not wanting to disturb this unusual atmosphere.

She hangs up her coat and is toeing off her crocs when Nat comes through from the kitchen. She’s got the rifle at her side but not aimed, and Misty gives her a crooked smile. “You’re not ready to shoot me this time?”

Nat tilts her chin as she stands taller, and her lips curl into a lazy smirk. Her hair looks cleaner, fluffier than most days, and her eyeliner looks fresh and even. Today’s band tee is Garbage, and she’s got her fishnets on under her denim shorts. “I’m always ready to shoot you.”

“Charming,” Misty sends back, her smile big but tight. Shoes off, Misty moves further into her home until she’s only a foot away from Nat. Fortunately, the gun remains at her side and her words an empty threat.

Nat turns back around, and sets the rifle down on a hallway table as she passes. Misty glances over as she does, and then stills. Everything on the shelf above it is out of place. Brow furrowed, Misty looks ahead toward Nat, but she’s already at the refrigerator, paying Misty no mind. So Misty looks at her other hallway shelves, the ones she’d claimed had been ransacked that first night.

They’re all out of place, too.

Misty continues down the hall and into the kitchen, and now she knows that something is going on; her countertops are cluttered with items, a few of her cabinets are open and have clearly been rearranged, and the contents of the few folders that had been in one of her kitchen drawers have been splayed over her kitchen table.

While Misty was at work, Nat had clearly gone through her things. She feels a little violated by the investigation, but she mostly can’t get past the fact that Nat did nothing to hide what she’d done. Was Misty supposed to comment on it? Ask her what she was looking for? Was this some kind of strange payback for the cameras, or for this morning, or just how Misty feels about Nat?

“We should eat out there,” Nat flips the top of the pizza box up and puts two slices on a plate. The box is resting on a stack of papers on the counter, and Misty sniffs with irritation, hoping there is nothing important getting ruined. “I made a mess in here.” Nat turns to face Misty again, and holds out the plate.

Her expression is dangerous. Misty isn’t really sure what it means, but she can tell that Nat is someone to be wary of right now. Her eyes are dark, and when she breathes her whole chest expands with the motion, like she’s making quite the effort to do (or not do) something.

Perhaps the rifle hadn’t been an empty threat after all.

“Sure,” she smiles carefully, and takes the offered plate. Then, because it seems like the worse idea not to comment at this point, she asks, “Were you looking for something?”

Nat turns away and gets a second plate before picking up an open beer bottle with her other hand. “I had a lot of time on my hands today,” she says, turning back toward Misty. Her voice is soft and sweet, and Misty feels like she is in a cage with a lioness.

“Well,” she gives an uncomfortable little laugh, “looks like you were productive!” Nat smiles back at her, but the smile doesn’t get anywhere near her eyes.

“Real fuckin’ productive.” She holds Misty’s gaze for a moment before she walks past her toward the living room. Confused, Misty shakes her head and pours herself a glass of wine before she follows.

Nat is sitting in her usual spot on the couch, one foot on the floor and the other on the couch cushion. Her food sits on the coffee table and her beer bottle dangles from her fingers, elbow propped on the arm of the couch. Misty crosses in front of her warily, feeling like she is ready to strike at any moment, and takes a seat at the opposite end.

Looking down at the pizza, she finally sees that it’s pepperoni, and holds the plate up a little as she says, “Good choice. Classic.”

Nat takes a drink of her beer, and Misty looks around the living room. Caligula is safe in his cage, cleaning his feathers. The rest of the room, however, has been picked over, books and decor moved, cabinets presumably rummaged through. There’s nothing too sensitive loose in her house—she keeps evidence of things like her actual, literal crimes in her safe—but Misty starts to get anxious about what she’s forgetting. What she might have that she wouldn’t want Nat to see, and hasn’t been locked up.

“How was your day?” Nat asks after a moment of quiet, voice still soft and sweet but calculating. She sounds careful and cautious, like she’s trying to ensnare Misty with her manufactured nonchalance.

Misty blinks owlishly as Nat leans over to pick up her dinner. She takes a bite and waits for Misty to answer.

Everything Misty had done to prepare herself for spending time with Nat goes out of her mind, as she tries to figure out what Nat’s angle is. What does she know? What has she found?

Then, Misty tells herself to breathe, and she forces a smile to her face as she remembers that she can work her way out of anything. Step one: put Nat off balance, so she can regain the upper hand.

“It was nice! Nothing too exciting. Didn’t lose anyone, so that’s always a win!” She laughs at the half-joke as she watches Nat carefully, trying to remember when she had been the most imbalanced the past few days. “T.G.I.F., right?” Misty laughs, and tries not to blush when she makes the smallest snorting noise at the end.

Nat breathes out a huff of a laugh, though, and her crafted neutral mask slips into a small but true smirk. She’s the epitome of power in that moment; dark, calculating eyes, back tall and straight against the couch, sitting just out of Misty’s reach. Bestowing a token of amusement on Misty the way royalty might dismiss a servant.

It’s just another moment where Misty marvels at how effortless, how easy it is to get caught up in Nat. How compelling and commanding and cool Nat is without trying at all. It’s attractive, she lets herself think now, finally, and there’s a jolt of heat up her spine as she thinks about all that confidence wrapped around her body just a few hours ago.

This isn’t getting her to step one, she realizes, and tries to think instead of when Nat hasn’t been like this around her. She pictures Nat’s confusion and stilted words from dinner the day before.

“But enough about me!” Misty leans forward on the couch, just a little closer to Nat, and lets Nat see her look her over from head down to her bare foot on the floor and back again. “What did you do all day? Other than try my carob bars.” She laughs again. “You look hot, did you go somewhere?”

Misty does everything she can to hide how uncertain she is about her words. It’s the tamest thing she could think of, not wanting to scare Nat off, but wanting to point out that Nat does, in fact, look truly fuckable right now. Misty nearly blushes at her own thought, but pushes through, and turns her attention to Nat as she tries to seal the deal with a big bat of her eyelashes.

“No...” Nat’s smirk falls, and she looks confused, a little uncomfortable maybe, but not exactly off-balance. “The whole point was for me to stay put.”

Misty tries to laugh the moment off, thrown that this didn’t work again. “No, of course! Silly me. Well,” she looks down at the plate in her lap and for a moment she thinks this might have been what a sleepover was like—rapidly cooling pizza, her best friend beside her on a couch, fumbling into and around all the things she wanted to talk about.

“It was nice to come home to dinner,” she smiles softer now, her manipulation dissolving away as she tries to remember what it felt like to be that earnest teenage girl she used to be, longing for such a sleepover; unsuccessful and lonely, but honest. “That hasn’t happened since my parents died,” her eyes drop down to her lap, and she smiles gently in both grief and memory.

Nat is quiet, and when Misty looks up she realizes that step one is complete. Misty’s eyes widen in surprise and she pushes her glasses back up on her nose as she blinks. Natalie no longer looks like a predator. Instead she looks...thoughtful, and a little haunted. Mostly, she looks diffused, like all of the energy she’d been building up before Misty had come home was just gone.

It’s disconcerting, and Misty didn’t mean to do such a good job. She wonders if Nat is thinking of her own father, or of Travis again. Misty knows that Nat’s only other family is an older brother she barely knows and her mother, who still lives in the same trailer she had when Nat was a kid. Misty also knows Nat hasn’t been back there in almost twenty years, if Nat’s mother was telling the truth when Misty had called a few months back. (Jessica Roberts isn’t the only one who can pose as a reporter.)

Misty thinks about Nat being in and out of rehab for two decades, of her only family dead or estranged, of how Nat hasn’t seen the other girls in nearly as many years as her. Something blossoms in her chest, not as hot as the warmth she’d felt this morning, but that spreads longer, reaches deeper and lower until she wants to twist herself up. Misty doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s been lonely for many, many years. And perhaps—could Nat feel just as alone as her?

The desire to connect with Nat then is intense and unstoppable, and she grasps at the first thing she can. “Thanks for not getting peppers,” she points at the pizza. It’s terrible, and weak, but Nat’s back sinks into the arm of the couch, and she pulls her other leg under her to sit cross-legged facing Misty.

Her victory is such a small one, but it feels so, so good.

“I didn’t want ‘em anyway,” she shrugs, and starts to eat her dinner. Nat’s no longer watching Misty like a hawk, and Misty feels herself relax, too.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Misty tries not to watch Nat the whole time. Instead, she looks around the room again, cataloging the rearranged items. When her eyes inevitably fall back on Nat she realizes that the bedding that had been out for two days is no longer there. She looks past Nat to the laundry room through the archway, and sees the sheet and blanket in a pile on the floor near the washing machine.

Disappointment and an unexpected sense of loss settles in her stomach, and Misty isn’t sure she can keep eating. She sets her slice back down and reaches instead for her wine glass. Misty watches Nat over the curve of her glass and rolls the wine across her tongue as she savors the flavor. She’s still staring at Nat when she pulls the rim from her mouth, and she swallows hard when Nat looks up at her, eyes intense once again.

“Will you stay again, tonight?” She blurts out, afraid that Nat is slipping back toward that suspicion that makes Misty nervous. “Since no one showed up today. He probably just got scared when he saw you didn’t leave. I mean, who could blame him!” She laughs, and slaps the couch cushion between them lightly. All those words she almost said via text earlier are just on the tip of her tongue, and she bites them back with, “I know better than to mess with you, Nat.”

Nat leans back against the arm of the couch, and her brow falls a little, heavy. “Do you?”

Panic prickles at Misty’s neck, and she waves Nat off, trying very hard not to put the pieces Nat is giving her together. “Of course! That’s why I slept so well last night,” she feels adrenaline coursing through her as the more, more, more thrums in her ears and she decides to go for broke. “I’d love to feel that safe tonight again. Why don’t you stay one more night? Sweat him out and make this guy decide to do something stupid like try and break in with you here.”

Misty looks at Nat with her widest, most hopeful eyes, and bats her lashes on instinct now. Whatever she needs to do to wear Natalie down, she wants—needs to do it. Nat doesn’t say anything, just picks her pizza back up and props her head up with one hand, elbow on the arm of the couch where she’s leaning heavily. Misty’s hope is fading, her smile is starting to fall, and she tries to think her way through Nat’s hesitation as quickly as she can.

It’s OK, I know I’m not the best company is on the tip of her tongue. She’s ready to play her dirtiest card, when Nat shrugs like Misty’s entire future isn’t riding on this moment. “Fine.”

Misty’s smile is very real then, big and bright and probably cloying—if Nat’s curled lip is anything to go by—but Misty doesn’t care. Nat is going to stay, she’s going to share Misty’s bed, and maybe if she does everything right, she can wake up with Natalie pressed against her again.

Her face starts to flush as she remembers the feel of Nat against her once again, and her eyes dart over Nat’s body greedily.

“If I put on some of that true crime shit you like, you gonna talk through it?” Nat asks, leaning forward to pick the remote up off of the coffee table.

Misty jerks her head back in offense. “No,” she scoffs, both annoyed and flattered that Nat knows her that well.

Nat turns her body to face the television, and Misty mirrors her. She can’t stop herself from glancing at Nat out of the corner of her eye though, lips twitching with the need to smile and Nat scrolls for the True Crime category.

She doesn’t ask what Misty wants to watch, but that’s fine; it’s more than enough that Nat has thought about what she wants at all. So she bites her tongue and lets Nat choose a dramatic retelling of a case she’s not particularly fond of, and says, “It’s perfect,” when Nat starts the movie.

They’re an hour into the story when Caligula starts to make noise, squawking as he shuffles near the door of his cage.

“What’s wrong with your bird?” Nat asks, looking past Misty at Caligula’s movement.

“Oh,” she shrugs one shoulder and smiles, “he’s probably just restless. I don’t usually leave him cooped up for so long.” She gets up and stands in front of the cage. When she puts her fingers up to the bars he nips at them affectionately, and she gives him a genuine smile before looking back at Nat over her shoulder. “Mind if I let him out for a while?”

Nat snorts, and stretches her legs out now that Misty has made more room. “You’re not worried he’ll fly away from you the first chance he gets?”

Misty’s smile falls, and she turns to look at Nat straight on. She’s smirking at her own words, but it doesn’t feel like one of the times she’s a part of the joke, and she knows the hurt she feels must be plain on her face. Nat’s lips fall back into her usual frown, and for what it’s worth, she looks a little uncomfortable.

Misty ignores her, and turns to face Caligula fully, her back to Nat as she tries to get past the salt Nat just rubbed in her deepest wound.

“I’m gonna go out for a smoke,” Nat says to her back, and Misty feels a sick thrill of pleasure at how hesitant and quiet she sounds.

Misty doesn’t say anything, just continues to let Caligula nip at her fingertips. After a few seconds she can hear Nat turn and walk toward the back door, followed by the creak of it opening and closing.

She just stands and thinks for a moment, waffling on whether she should let Nat stew in her regret, or go out there with her. Misty wants to hold a grudge, she really does, but it’s just never been something she was good at. Even less so with her closest friends. Besides, the fact that Nat felt regret so clearly, and so quickly, goes a long way to soothe the hurt she feels now.

So Misty stands up and says, “Just a little longer, sweet boy,” to Caligula, and heads to the backyard.

Nat turns when the door opens, and they are in the same position they’d been in the previous night, with Nat leaning against the side of the house. She’s about to take a drag from the cigarette when Misty steps out, and she hesitates, and drops her hand away from her face as she looks up at Misty.

The expression on her face is one Misty has never seen before; Nat seems almost...lost. “Hey,” she says, voice soft but low.

“Hey,” Misty replies, and crosses her arms over her stomach.

Nat doesn’t say anything more, but turns to look out at the yard and finally takes that drag off of her cigarette. Misty is pretty sure that Nat just wants her to let it go, and there is a large part of Misty that wants to do it just to fix everything.

But there’s an even bigger part of her—the part that leapt to call Nat her partner to anyone who would listen—that doesn’t want to add issues between them. Misty knows they’re an odd couple, that even Nat’s friendship is tenuous and dreaming of anything more is foolish, but she’s never been good at letting things go. Misty wants to dig her nails into Natalie and hold on until they’re both bleeding.

“Look, um,” Nat is staring down at her feet but she’s going first, and Misty knows to see that as a win. “What I said—”

“Was mean,” Misty cuts her off, and Nat’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes hard.

Nat bites at her upper lip, clearly frustrated, and then lets it go to instead bite at her cheek. She’s acting like Misty is making her take responsibility for something like murder, and Misty almost rolls her eyes at how damn dramatic Natalie can be with this stuff.

“Was mean,” she finally repeats, looking off to the side as she says it. Misty doesn’t react, and Nat’s eyes slide forward to look at her, brow furrowed like she’s bracing for rejection.

For a moment Misty feels a surge of unfamiliar power, and considers letting Natalie wait for a response. But the lines of Nat’s forehead, the near-permanent frown, the way she holds herself right now—stiff, but angled, like she’s ready to bolt any second—melts Misty’s heart.

“Well,” she waves a hand, “you’re forgiven.” She offers Nat a large smile, and bounces on her heels. A cool breeze passes over her, and she notices that Nat is wearing her leather jacket. “It’s colder out tonight,” she makes small talk, and rubs at her arms.

Nat looks confused and a little taken aback by the sudden change in topics. “Yeah,” she agrees, and brings her cigarette back up to her lips. “You can go back inside,” she says, then exhales a stream of smoke away from Misty.

She watches it curl up and out, and then looks back at Nat. “That’s OK. Did you know there are actually a lot of health benefits from cool weather. Not cold,” she thinks about the wilderness and the bitter winter cold—one of the things she genuinely did hate after the crash—and pushes her glasses up as she continues. “But cool temperatures can help you regulate your circadian rhythm and sleep better. And it can stimulate your appetite, and turn your white fat into brown fat, which is the good kind.

“It can also—” she watches as Nat puts her cigarette between her lips, holding it there as she starts to shrug out of her jacket. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she giggles, and Nat raises one eyebrow at the noise, and holds the jacket out.

Nat pulls the cigarette from her lips with her free hand and lets out a hard stream of smoke. “Here.” Misty blinks, a little thrown at the offer. “If you’re gonna stay out here.” She hesitates, and Nat sighs, before stepping closer, right beside the stoop. “Just take the fucking jacket, Misty.”

The stoop isn’t very tall, and with their height difference it puts her just a few inches above Natalie. “Thank you,” she whispers, a little dazed at Nat’s unexpected thoughtfulness. Nat just shrugs.

Misty pulls it on and it’s a little snug over her shirt and baggy scrub top, and the arms are a little long on her tiny frame, but the warmth she feels is immediate and layered. “It smells like these,” Nat warns a little apologetically, and looks down at the lit cigarette between her fingers.

Misty takes the moment of distraction to turn her down into the collar of Nat’s coat and breath in the scent of leather and smoke and Nat. The combination is heady, and by the time Misty opens her eyes and remembers to stop, Nat is clearly watching her.

“I like it,” Misty blurts out, and withdraws from the warm leather that had just been against her cheek. “The smell of smoke,” she tries to clarify, and it’s the truth, if not all of it.

Nat doesn’t say anything, just raises her cigarette up to her lips. Misty’s eyes drift down to Nat’s mouth, and she watches as Nat inhales.

The cool autumn air is suddenly heated in this moment, and Misty takes a small step to the edge of the stoop, closer to Natalie. The slatted railing is between them, and Misty puts her hands on top of the waist-high bar as she steps up to it.

Nat watches her as she finishes her pull, before stepping closer and sliding her fingers around one of the vertical posts of the railing. She doesn’t quite touch Misty in the movement but Misty can sense her fingertips just barely missing her thigh.

Misty watches, rapt, as Nat tilts her head up just a little, and releases the smoke in her mouth, sending wispy tendrils up around Misty’s face.

“Like that?” Nat asks, voice low and gravely, and the feel of it drags over Misty’s skin. But Nat’s lips curl up into a real smile and she actually laughs, like far off rumbling thunder.

It feels hotter and more intimate than the laugh Nat had pressed into her neck that morning, like this one was for the both of them. So Misty smiles in return, giggles naturally, and leans over the railing. “Yes, actually,” she tries to flirt, but lingering smoke tickles her throat and she covers her mouth as she lets out two short coughs.

It makes Nat roll her eyes, but she’s still smiling as she leans back from the railing, holding herself up with two fingers wrapped around one of the slats. She looks at Misty and then breathes out and closes her eyes as she drops her head back. It’s a rare moment of the wild and playful Natalie she so admired back before the plane crash. Misty hasn’t seen her since they reconnected, and the sudden reminder of what Natalie has lost makes Misty’s breath catch in her throat.

So Misty just watches her, much like she did in those days, and lets them both be seventeen again, rewriting the last two and a half decades for the next few minutes.

Misty curls her fingers over the railing and stands on her tiptoes, leaning over and letting herself feel as free as Nat looks right now. She’s looking down at Nat, and her smile grows too wide as she lets herself look and look and look.

Nat must feel her heavy gaze after a moment because she raises her neck back up and starts to right herself, taking tiny steps backwards until she’s standing tall. She drops her fingers from the railing and her face is serious again. Serious and familiar and they are back in their 2021 where Free Natalie has been crushed under years of loss and shame and fear.

Misty lowers her socked feet back down to the stoop, their moment over, and watches Natalie take one last drag of her cigarette before she puts it out on the railing and exhales. Misty opens the door for Nat as she walks up the short steps and flicks the cigarette butt into the grass away from the house.

“Nat,” she starts, disapproval audible, but Nat just smirks and brushes past her into Misty’s house. Misty looks down at her socked feet and grumpily decides to leave it where it is for now, before following Nat inside.

The heat of the house is welcome, but Misty lingers near the door, not ready to part with the piece of Nat she has wrapped around her. Nat’s leaning against the sink, one knee bent, and both palms braced on either side of her against the edge of the counter.

It feels different between them now, thicker and inscrutable, but also crisp like they’ve been brought into perfect focus.

“You’re going to need to pick those cigarettes up, you know.” She’s aiming for teasing, flirtatious, but when the words come out they just sound bossy.

Nat tilts her chin down, and looks at Misty through her hair. “Good fuckin’ luck,” she says slowly, and Misty can see the corner of her mouth curve up before it disappears beneath her dark hair. Misty smiles back, and Nat pushes away from the counter to walk towards Misty.

Her breath catches as Nat nears, her eyes are focused and dark, and stay on Misty until they’re just a foot apart. “Turn around,” Nat orders, and Misty’s feet are moving before she’s decided to listen.

She can hear Nat’s boot click on the kitchen tile as she takes one step closer, and then Nat’s fingers are brushing over the collar of the jacket until she can grip the fabric by Misty’s throat. Misty’s heart is pounding, and she can feel the heat coming off of Natalie, can feel her body just behind her but not touching.

The smell of smoke engulfs her again, and she shivers as she feels Nat rustle her hair. Nat tugs on the jacket and Misty realizes she’s taking it back. A wave of shame courses over her as Natalie steps back and takes the leather jacket with her, all the way down Misty’s arms.

The deep cold of loss settles in her bones, and Misty follows Nat’s path through the kitchen, back to the entryway where Nat hangs her coat.

The remainder of the night is somehow both tense and comfortable. They settle back down on the couch to finish the movie both of them have missed, though neither makes an attempt to restart it. When it rolls into another one they let it.

Misty waffles on bringing up Caligula again, but eventually just goes to his cage and opens it, letting him fly free. Nat doesn’t say anything, but Misty catches her watching Caligula far more often than the movie.

She does her best to stay quiet, both because of Nat’s (rude) condition for watching true crime, and her own unexpected desire not to disturb the strangely peaceful atmosphere (violent murders on the television notwithstanding).

But when Misty catches Nat paying attention to Caligula for more than a few minutes, she can’t help but chime in with an explanation of his behavior, or a cute little story that happened a few days ago.

Nat listens but doesn’t comment. Still, Misty catches her smile at Caligula more than once, and her heart warms. When Caligula perches on the back of the couch between them, Nat’s attention follows and she catches sight of the smile on Misty’s face. “What?” she asks, pulling her legs up to her chest defensively.

Misty stares at Nat a moment before shrugging one shoulder. “Nothing.” She leans over to a drawer near the cage and opens it, taking out a few treats. “Here, hold this out.” Caligula is almost on the treat as Misty passes it to Nat, who takes the little biscuit and closes her fingers around it.

She’s hesitant as Caligula lands on her wrist and tries to burrow his beak into Nat’s fist, but when he scoots back and she can turn her wrist to offer the treat Misty can see the light in her eyes.

Nat is a new kind of breathtaking like this, gentle and a little awed, and Misty feels an unexpected blossom of pride that she gets to see her like this. Surely not many have.

Caligula eats the biscuit pieces from Nat’s hand, and Misty scoots closer to them. “Here,” Misty starts, and pets Caligula’s back gently. She gives Nat an encouraging smile and nod, and watches as Natalie copies her movement.

They sit like that until Caligula takes off, and Natalie brushes the crumbs off of her hands. “Do you like him?” Misty asks.

Nat shrugs casually. “He’s fine,” she says, but her eyes find where he’s landed in his cage. Misty pushes her glasses up and bites her lip, trying not to be so obviously pleased.

“Well, he’s probably had enough exercise for the day,” she says, and stands up to close the cage door. Once locked, she looks over and sees the credits playing on the movie.

It’s not very late—just shy of 10pm—and Misty doesn’t want to seem lame, but she doesn’t think she can sit through another movie thinking about going to bed with Natalie after. It’s been on her mind all day; plotting for it, asking for it, remembering it. She’s pretty sure the anticipation is going to make her snap.

“Wow,” she holds the back of her hand to her mouth as she fakes her way into a real yawn. “I can’t believe how tired I am.” She stretches her arms out. “I hate to be a party pooper, but I think I’m ready for bed.” She tries to be casual when she asks, “How about you?”

Nat stares at her for a moment, and Misty does her best not to waver. “Yeah,” she says softly, and gets up from the couch.

Misty starts to shut down for the night, moving a little more eagerly than normal as she locks doors and gathers their plates from dinner. Nat picks up her bag from near the couch and when she meets Misty at the bottom of the stairs she’s grabbed the rifle. “You want me for protection, right?”

Misty flushes. “Absolutely,” she agrees, and Nat just walks silently up the stairs. Misty follows at a little distance, and Nat’s shorts in her face do nothing to help it recede. She tries to count the rips in Nat’s fishnets instead, but staring at her legs doesn’t exactly help either.

She’s so focused on Nat’s legs that she follows her straight into her bedroom before she looks up. When she does, she sees that her bedroom hasn’t been spared from Nat’s rummaging, which honestly she should have expected. It’s not as messy in here, but it’s clear that Nat went through her closet and dresser drawers. And the safe in the bottom of her closet—usually behind coveralls and coats—is clearly exposed. Unopened, though. Misty is positive that, had Nat been able to crack it, she would have left it open to make a point, given the state of the rest of her house.

Misty is about to say something—though she’s not sure what, exactly—when she catches sight of size twelve men’s boots sitting on a side table instead of where they belong in her hall closet. It’s obvious that Nat put them there for a reason, which means she knows how they were used in Misty’s ruse.

Her eyes snap over to Nat. She’s dropped her bag onto the bench at the end of Misty’s bed and is digging for something, paying no attention to Misty. The rifle is still on her shoulder, and Misty has a brief moment of fear that Nat wasn’t joking when she said she would shoot Misty.

Nat pulls a black toiletries bag out of the duffel and looks up at Misty. Her attention doesn’t stray, doesn’t look at the safe or the shoes, and Misty doesn’t know how to interpret that at all.

“I’ll go first,” Nat says, sliding the rifle from her shoulder and setting it down by the bed before walking into the en suite and shutting the door.

Once the lock clicks Misty walks over to the boots and lifts them. The soles are as clean as they were when she put them in the closet after cleaning up. It’s possible that Nat hasn’t put it all together, right? She’s still here, after all.

Misty wrings her hands and paces a little while she listens to the bathroom faucet start and stop. She hasn’t decided what to do by the time Nat opens the door, and even if she had she’s not sure she would remember.

Nat’s still wearing the band tee she’d had on earlier, and the fishnets, but her denim shorts are gone. Instead, she’s stripped down to plain dark gray briefs, similar to the black ones she’d had on that morning. Without the shorts, Misty can see a dozen new tears in the fishnets, on her waist, across her belly, and between her thighs. Her mouth drops open slightly as her eyes fall on each span of tan skin, and she knows she’s breathing harder than she should be when she’s being so blatant about where she’s looking.

How she ever thought she was attracted to men, she just doesn’t know. She feels more hunger in this moment than she has on all of her dates put together.

“Ready?”

“What?” Misty’s eyes snap up to Nat’s face.

“Your turn,” she gestures behind her to the bathroom.

“Of course,” Misty giggles nervously, and turns to go back to her dresser. She opens her pajama drawer, and hesitates. She doesn’t want to look foolish, but—she looks over her shoulder at Nat, settling down on her side of the bed with one long leg bent at the knee and her foot flat on the mattress—she wants to impress her. Misty wants to make Nat look at her the way she looks at Nat.

Her eyes dart to the boots at the side table near her, and decides to go for it as she scoops up her nicest gown. Fabric in hand she shuffles into the bathroom and closes the door. Misty tries not to rush as she strips off her work clothes and drops them to the floor next to Natalie’s shorts. Down to her underwear, she looks at herself in the mirror, and tries to imagine Natalie liking what she sees.

A wave of self-consciousness washes over her and she closes her eyes, and pictures Nat looking up at her in the backyard, smoke curling over her lips as her eyes sparkle with mischief. Misty crosses her arms over her chest and touches either side of her throat, remembering how Natalie’s fingers had touched her there so gently, so unnecessarily as she pulled the jacket off.

Eyes still closed Misty turns her back to the mirror and unclasps her bra, letting it fall to join her scrubs and Nat’s shorts. She reaches for her nightgown and slides it over her head, letting the soft fabric cling to her curves before it settles around her thighs. The straps are thin and her shoulders are bare—it’s really too thin for an autumn night, but with how heated her skin feels right now she can’t imagine ever feeling cold again.

The neck of the gown scoops down baring the very tops of her breasts, and there is a thin ribbon below her breasts that she pulls into a bow. It reminds her of a dress she’d seen back in high school, when she still thought she might be asked to prom. She wouldn’t have had a chance to wear it even without the crash, but the idea of it has always lived in the back of her mind. Just like she’d imagined that dress would, this nightgown makes her feel brave, and bold, and sexy.

Misty turns around then, and looks at her image in the mirror. Maybe, she thinks. Maybe she will, and she runs her hand over her hip, feeling the soft fabric.

She finishes her night routine, butterflies in her stomach when she looks at Nat’s toothbrush and other toiletries spread out on her counter next to her own. Finished, Misty looks in the mirror, trying to fluff and smooth her curls in turn. As satisfied as she can be, Misty opens the door and steps out. The overhead light has been turned off and all that’s left is the bedside lamp by Nat’s side. She can still see without issue, but the dimmed light gives the whole room a soft, romantic glow.

Nat has slid under the covers, though they lay bunched at her waist, and she’s leaning on one elbow, propped up by the pillows on her side. She’s scrolling on her phone, but when Misty steps away from the bathroom door she looks up.

Misty holds her breath as she waits for dreaded laughter. Instead, Nat does a double take, almost glancing back at her phone before she chooses to look at Misty longer. She doesn’t say anything—good or bad—but her attention is firmly on Misty. Nat’s eyes drift from her face to her neck and linger on her breasts before they ride the curves of her waist and hips and right back up.

No one has ever looked at her the way Nat is looking at her now.

Misty takes a step forward and reaches for the covers at the same time that Nat starts to sit up. Misty hesitates, thinking Nat is about to say something, but she just looks up at Misty instead, staring into her eyes. With the way she’d been looking at Misty’s body she would expect her eyes to be dark, for her gaze to feel heavy, but it doesn’t. Instead, Nat’s eyes feel bright and open, and under them Misty feels visible, for once.

Nat settles back on the pillows, and looks down at her phone, brow furrowing a moment before her expression returns to neutral. As she crawls into bed, Misty catches Nat looking at her again out of the corner of her eye, and heat rushes up her back.

She lays down on her back, and reaches under the blankets to smooth the skirt of her gown.

Nat shifts, and continues to scroll on her phone.

Misty rests her hands on her stomach, one on top of the other.

She’d been so focused on getting back to this point all day, that she had forgotten to think about what would happen once she did. Misty rolls her head to the side and looks at Natalie for a moment.

Natalie doesn’t take her eyes off of her phone, but starts to reach for the lamp.

“Wait,” Misty says, and rolls onto her side facing Nat. She doesn’t want the darkness yet. Nat drops her phone down to her lap, and turns her head to look at Misty. Misty can’t help but smile when Nat’s eyes drift from her face and then back up. “We could play a game.”

Nat snorts. “I thought you were tired.”

“I guess I got my second wind,” she giggles, and Nat looks up at the ceiling as she gives one breath of a laugh. “We had pizza and movies, now let's complete the sleepover.”

“This isn’t a sleepover,” Nat slides down the bed until her head is on the pillow, and sets her phone on the nightstand.

“It’ll be fun, Nat,” she pleads, as Nat tucks her hands behind her head just as she’d done that morning. “Come on.” She waits until Nat turns her head toward her again and then bats her eyes.

“What game?”

“Two truths and a lie,” she bounces a little excitedly, and scoots closer to Nat who looks at her incredulously.

“Jesus, you can’t be fucking serious.” Misty pouts. She remembers the last time they played it, back in the wilderness, which must be Nat’s objection.

“We’ll do it with a twist. It’ll be different.” Nat looks unconvinced, but she’s waiting for Misty to continue. “We say each other’s answers, and see if we’re correct.”

“What?”

Misty holds her hands out and shakes them. “No, just—it’ll be super fun. OK, so like, I’ll say—for you—you played soccer in high school, you’re a perfect shot, and you sleep with a stuffed alligator every night.”

Nat’s eyes narrow, and she wrinkles her nose. “I’m not doing that.”

Misty bounces closer and taps Nat’s stomach once, just where the covers fall. “Well, no, that was just an example. I can do better.” She scrunches up her face in thought. “You have an older brother, you didn’t have any pets when you were a kid, and you’re going to be very open-minded about my new fun game.”

Nat looks at her sharply, and a little bit surprised, before she looks back to the ceiling. “Half-brother, technically. The third one is the lie.”

“See! I got it right.” Natalie’s lip twitches into a small smile. “You really didn’t have any pets?”

Nat shrugs, and rolls her head in her hands, still beneath her head, elbows out. “Wasn’t really enough space. Or money.” Misty looks around her bedroom and wonders if Nat feels uncomfortable in her house. It’s nothing extravagant, but Misty knows where Nat grew up.

“Well, Caligula really likes you. You’re welcome to play with him whenever you want.”

“Great,” she says, voice flat, but Misty saw how much fun she was having earlier.

Misty waits expectantly, but Nat doesn’t say anything. “It’s your turn,” she nudges.

Nat still doesn’t say anything. Misty purses her lips in frustration. “OK, I’ll go again. You haven’t been back home in 20 years, you snore in your sleep, and you enjoy making me mad.”

Misty’s surprised when Nat laughs, soft as it is. “The only truth in there is the last one.”

“Oh, you snore,” she teases, then frowns. “You went home? When?”

Nat turns her head toward Misty, and then props herself up on one elbow. “What the fuck does it matter?”

“Well, friends tend to share big life events like that.”

“Well,” she mocks Misty’s tone, “it was weeks ago. We had barely started working together.”

Misty thinks it’s a worthless point; she certainly cared about Nat as soon as they reconnected. Not that she ever stopped caring about her or the other girls in the first place. But instead, she tries to focus on the implication that Nat would share that kind of thing now, and asks, “What happened?”

Nat frowns, and looks down at her left hand, like she’s examining her cuticles. Misty knows she’s not. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Nat looks at her, a little taken aback. “My mom was there, and—nothing.”

“You can tell me.”

“No, that’s what happened. She barely looked at me, she tried to talk about how good things used to be with my dad, and. Nothing. I got something I’d left behind and got the hell out of there.”

Misty reaches out and takes Nat’s hand. With the lights on this time she can see Nat’s tan fingers, the chipped polish on her nails, and the plain bands on her middle and ring fingers. “I’m sorry. That sounds....bad,” she whispers, as if she’s quiet enough about it, it won’t have hurt Nat in the past. “I would have gone with you,” she adds, and tries not to let Nat’s tight-lipped smile of rejection hurt.

It helps that Nat hasn’t pulled her hand back. So Misty continues holding it, stroking her knuckles like she had the night before.

“This is your parent’s house,” Nat says as she looks around the room.

“Yeah,” Misty sighs, “they were older when they had me, and they both got sick a few years after we came home.”

“One.” Misty’s brow pinches in confusion. “Two,” she starts, and Misty realizes that she’s playing along. With her free hand she mimes zipping her lips. “You have handcuffs underneath your bed.”

Heat courses across Misty’s cheeks. Her heart is pounding as she remembers packaging them up in the basement and bringing them up to hide them just where Nat says. There’s always a chance that Nat is joking, or guessing, of course. But there is a smirk on her lips, and Misty knows she went through most of the rest of the room; why wouldn’t she check underneath the bed?

“Three: you made this whole thing up.”

Oh, no. Misty’s hand stills on Nat’s, and her eyes fly to meet the other woman’s. Nat is unreadable. Her timing is confusing, and Misty is flailing. Nat really has been toying with her all night, but why?

“Uh,” she tries to laugh. “I don’t know what you mean. Maybe you don’t understand the game.” She tries, tone condescending. But Nat’s expression just shifts to a darker sort of unreadable, and Misty drops her hand.

Does she apologize? Double down? She should have gotten one of the citizen detectives on standby for just this situation.

She’s floundering for the right words to say, eyes darting frantically over Nat’s face. “No, it’s not—not what,” she laughs, but Nat doesn’t react, “you think, it’s, um, it’s all just a funny—”

“Why?” Nat cuts her off and she’s grateful for a split second before she stumbles over this, too. Because I wanted you, she thinks, and it feels like a rewriting of history after her realization this morning but it’s not. It’s the truth, she just understands it now.

“You, what?” Nat’s tone is harsh, but her volume is low and even. She leans up on her elbow again and looks down at Misty. She bobs her head, her eyes wide, as she pushes Misty to respond. Misty can’t help but shrink, tuck her hands under her chin, her elbows hugging her sides. “You just wanted me to, I don’t know, fucking hang out this time, and didn’t think I would?”

Misty purses her lips at Nat’s aggressive tone, at the way she’s looking down, literally, at Misty, and drops her hands from her body as she sits up herself. “Obviously!” She braces her hands on either side of her legs as she tucks them under her. “If I didn’t force you to spend time with me you never would. You were—” her brows knit together as she bites out her words, “nice to me at the reunion, and it felt good. It felt really good to have you be my friend, to have you like me. So I just...tried to keep that going.”

“Jesus Christ, Misty,” Nat drops back onto the pillow and rubs her hands over her face. “That’s so fucked up.” She puts her hands on her head and tugs at her hair, looking up at the ceiling. “You can’t just make someone be your friend.”

Misty laughs bitterly. “Can’t I? You came to my house that first night ready to kill me, and now here we are. You complain about me, and insult me. You’re mean to me. But you keep coming back.” Nat looks at her sharply. “You don’t have to be here, you don’t have to spend time with me but you do.” The fight starts to fade from her words with Nat looking at her, palms still pressed just above her eyes. “You even had fun tonight, didn’t you?”

Natalie doesn’t say anything, but after a moment she drops her hands and sits up, back against the headboard. She’s staring straight out across the room, not looking at Misty, and drags one knee up to her chest.

Shoulder slumping, Misty looks down at her lap and picks at tiny pieces of lint clinging to the skirt. “It was real, at first. I mean, I really did, um, think that someone had broken in.” She looks back at Nat, and Nat rolls her head against the headboard to look at her. Nat’s disbelief is clear on her face, so Misty leans forward. “It’s true.”

“And you called me.”

“Well, yeah,” Misty scoffs. “I meant what I said about you protecting me. That’s true, too.” Nat’s expression shifts, and the disbelief seems more internal, now. Looking at her like this makes Misty’s chest tight, so she shuffles on her knees until she’s right beside Natalie, and puts her right hand on her knee. Nat’s eyes dart down, and then back to Misty’s face.

Misty thinks about how good it felt when Nat said she was good at things. At how her stomach fluttered at the idea that Natalie felt she had value. “You’re really good at it, Nat. You make people feel safe. Me feel safe.” Misty rubs her thumb over the side of Nat’s knee, the bumpy texture of the fishnets leaving her skin slightly numb after the fifth pass. “It’s what you’re meant to do. And I wanted to help you do it.”

Nat doesn’t say anything, but her eyes shift over Misty’s face instead of just holding her eyes. Her eyes drift back down to the valley between Misty’s breasts, and Misty’s breath catches. It makes her bold and she shuffles forward again, until her knee is pressed against the outside of Nat’s thigh. Her thumb stops stroking Nat’s knee and she squeezes it, feeling lightheaded when Nat's leg falls ever so slightly closer to her, thighs parting the smallest bit with the action.

With her left hand, Misty reaches a tentative hand toward Nat’s face, and slides her fingers beneath Nat’s dark hair to cup her jaw. Still, Nat says nothing. She barely moves, but Misty can feel Nat’s jaw clench against Misty’s palm. Natalie’s skin is soft, so much softer than she expected for how hard she looks all the time, and she can’t help but stroke her fingers over the dip from Nat’s jaw to her neck.

Misty has never had this much of Natalie’s attention. In fact, she doesn’t think she’s ever had this much of anyone’s attention, other than her parents so many years ago. The rush of power she feels is strong, and she kneels up on the bed as it travels along her spine. Nat’s eyes follow her movement, and she’s looking up at her just as she had in the backyard.

“I think you liked that I called you,” she blurts, Nat’s attention making her dangerously bold. “I think you miss the wilderness as much as I do.” Natalie jerks back at that, lip curling up in disagreement, but Misty presses her fingers into Nat’s jaw, into her knee, and shakes her head. “It’s OK, Nat. The others don’t understand, but we were necessary out there. We had a purpose.” Misty’s eyes are wide, and she feels a crooked, creeping smile on her lips that she can’t stop.

Nat brings her right hand up slowly, and wraps her fingers around Misty’s left wrist. Slowly, she tugs until Misty’s fingers relax, and she eases up her grip on Nat’s cheek. Misty smiles apologetically, and relaxes the fingers on Nat’s knee, too. She thinks she’s supposed to let go of Nat’s face altogether, but she just can’t. She slides her palm over Nat’s jaw to her neck, and Nat’s grip on her wrist tightens in warning, but she doesn’t stop Misty.

Slowly, Nat says, "Only the last one is true." We had a purpose. Warmth spreads across Misty’s skin, the vindication of knowing that she wasn’t alone, that Nat understood this deepest part of her.

Her smile grows and her fingers flex into Nat’s skin again. Misty’s hands travel in her excitement, one moving from neck to the flat of Nat’s chest just below her throat, and the hand on Nat’s knee slipping to the inside of her lower thigh.

Nat’s eyes dart between their points of contact, and then back at Misty who has stilled, waiting. “My turn?” Nat asks, and Misty has no idea what she means, but she nods, curls bouncing. “You want to kiss me.” It’s not a question. Misty tries to listen for the accusation, for the disgust, but Nat’s voice is raspy and hot, and makes her clench her thighs together.

“You want to fuck me,” she continues, and her thighs part further, Misty’s eyes darting down between Nat’s legs as her breath quickens. She’s catching on to what Nat’s saying, but her chest is pounding, and she can feel the slickness growing between her own legs.

Nat’s grip on her wrist tightens, before traveling up her arm, fingertips unexpectedly light. “And you don’t know how to ask for either.” Her hand reaches Misty’s shoulder, and she plucks at the thin strap of Misty’s nightgown, dragging it down to fall against her arm. “Do you?”

Misty’s eyes are the widest they’ve ever been, and she suddenly feels like a deer in the sights of Natalie’s rifle.

But she’s not prey. She’s a predator, and she hears the challenge in Nat’s tone. “The third is the lie,” she tries to match Nat’s slow, effortlessly seductive voice, but it sounds wrong to her own ears.

So she darts forward and kisses Nat instead.

At first it’s just a press of lips, hard but chaste. Natalie is stiff under her touch, maybe just surprised, but Misty has her chance and she will not blow it. So she slides the hand on Nat’s chest back up to her neck, wrapping her fingers around to the nape and tugging Nat into her.

Misty’s other hand drags up Nat’s thigh, touch hard but fleeting, and lets her fingers pass over Nat’s hip, up her waist, over her shirt and over her breast until her hand mirrors the other, dragging Nat into her by the back of her head.

Nat’s lips part in surprise at the sudden aggression, and Misty relaxes her grip as she smiles into Nat’s mouth. Her hard movements turn soft, and slow, and she drags her hands back down Natalie’s neck to her shoulders, bunching the fabric of her t-shirt with her fingertips. As slow as she can, Misty drags her lips against Natalie’s until she catches Nat’s top lip between her own, and then continues on, smirking when Natalie tries to follow as she pulls back.

Misty opens her eyes, as Natalie’s flutter to do the same. “Kiss me, Natalie,” she asks as much as orders, and Natalie puts her hand to the small of Misty’s back and tugs her forward as she kneels up.

Natalie kisses her as their bodies meet, pressed together from breasts down to their hips, and Misty wraps her arms around the back of Nat’s neck, tucking herself as close to the other woman as possible.

Nat’s mouth is hot, and there is nothing teasing about the way she kisses Misty in return. Her teeth bite softly into Misty’s lower lip and she swallows the gasp Misty makes in response. When Misty tugs on Nat’s hair, Nat moans, and her palms glide over Misty’s nightie until she can slip her fingers beneath the material to grab greedily at Misty’s thighs.

“Mmm,” Misty moans, and turns her head to nuzzle into Nat’s cheek, and up to her ear. She thinks about Nat tucked against her that morning, the thrill of her hot breath on her skin, and Misty opens her mouth in a wet gasp as Nat drags Misty’s clothing up to her waist, baring her heated skin to the quickly-warming air of the bedroom.

Nat turns her nose into Misty’s cheek, and her fingers still, hem of the nightgown still held under Misty’s breasts. Misty leans back and sees Nat just staring down between them, chest rising with heavy breaths.

“Shit,” she murmurs, and drops her head down to her chest as she pulls Misty back against her, and runs her hands down Misty’s back, gown falling to cover her hands as she palms Misty’s ass through her panties. “This is fuckin’ fast.”

Misty can feel her settling down, rejecting the passion that had been building between them. Fast, sure, but Misty can’t bear the thought of stopping now. “Uh huh,” she agrees, and drags her hands down to Nat’s hips and tugs her t-shirt up to her armpits. More, she thinks, and she pulls harder. Nat doesn’t help her but she also doesn’t stop, and when the cotton digs into her underarms she lifts them above her head to let Misty undress her.

“Misty,” she starts, but Misty ignores her, and tosses the shirt to the side. Her mouth is dry with her heavy breathing, and she glances at Nat’s face before she buries her lips against Nat’s neck and inhales. “Jesus,” Nat groans, and her body slackens as Misty wraps her arms around Nat’s back and starts to leave hot open-mouthed kisses down her chest, between her breasts.

Nat’s fingers find purchase in Misty’s hair, gliding through the curls before she can dig her fingertips into Misty’s scalp. “More,” Misty says aloud this time, and looks up at Nat from where she’s crouching to kiss Nat’s sternum.

Nat’s eyes look dark brown instead of their usual hazel as she looks down at Misty, expression intense as she slowly tugs on Misty’s hair, tilting her head back as she holds Misty’s gaze.

“Slow down,” Nat says, voice catching. Misty bats her eyes and smiles at the way Nat’s nostrils flare slightly, before she reaches for the strap of Natalie’s bra and tugs it down just as Nat had done to her. Only, Misty keeps tugging. Down, down, down, until Natalie’s nipple bounces free, and she sucks in a breath as it pebbles in the cool air.

“Oh,” Misty breathes out, and Nat’s stomach ripples as Misty’s breath dances over her exposed skin. One hand rests just below Nat’s elbow where she’s dragged the strap of her bra, and Misty’s other hand flies to the other side to repeat the motion. “Natalie,” she breathes in reverence, and looks up at Nat with her owl eyes.

Nat is staring right back down at her, focus unwavering. Her hair is falling in thick locks over her shoulders, and it shadows half of Natalie’s face. What Misty can see is dark and intense, her lips parted as she pants softly.

Nat’s skin is hot beneath Misty’s hands, a little slick with sweat, and when Misty leans forward to mouth Nat’s breast she tastes the slight salt of her body. “Jesus,” Nat murmurs, and her grip on Misty’s hair grows tighter.

It’s a trigger Misty cannot ignore, and her tongue laves Nat’s nipple before she moves to the other breast. Her fingers can no longer remain idle, and she reaches behind Nat to undo the clasp of her bra. It sags slightly but remains held by Nat’s elbows, bent as she continues to tangle her fingers in Misty’s hair.

Misty’s hands dart down to Nat’s waist, and she starts to tug at the waistband of Natalie’s near-ruined fishnets. “Slow down,” Nat repeats, and Misty is surprised at the gentle laugh trailing the words. She feels a gentle tug at her hair before Nat’s fingers withdraw, and she pushes Misty back by the shoulders until she bounces back on the bed, seated.

Hands free, Nat slides her bra the rest of the way off and tosses it over the side of the bed. Misty leans back a little, and pushes her glasses back up her nose so he can see Nat, nearly bare but for her fishnets and briefs, and the layered chains around her neck.

“This is slow,” Misty giggles, her eyes devouring every inch of Natalie before her. Hunger eats at her, and Misty bites her lip as she imagines sinking her teeth into Nat’s thigh.

Natalie slithers down to Misty’s level instead, and places her palms on either side of Misty’s hips. She leans in close and captures Misty’s mouth with her own. This kiss is deeper, slower and softer than the previous ones. It feels like a secret, naughty and a little nasty, but theirs, and Misty tries to pull Natalie closer again.

Nat jerks back and grabs Misty’s hands before they make contact. She grips her by the wrists and smirks as she murmurs, “Don’t make me get the cuffs from under your bed,” Nat murmurs against her ear. Misty can’t help the quick intake of air, or the jolt of arousal that blossoms from her clit, not even touched yet but pulsing between her folds.

Leaning farther away, Nat raises her eyebrows and squeezes Misty’s wrists with slow pressure. “Oh!” Misty gasps out, and a twisted smirk starts to crawl across her lips as the pressure increases.

With a jerk Nat drops Misty’s wrists, and she sits back on her heels. “Fuck,” she breathes heavily, and pushes the hair away from her face. “Should I?”

“Yes,” Misty nods eagerly, and the thought of Nat’s attention on her like that breaks something in what was left of her control. Nat slides backwards off the bed before she squats down out of view. Misty scrambles after her to look over the side, and watches Nat slide the box of handcuffs out. Misty looks quickly for the black pouch that holds the keys and reaches down for it over the side of the bed.

She starts to open it, sees a glimmer of silver metal, before Nat pulls the pouch from her hand slowly, velvet slipping through Misty’s fingers and making her shiver. “Get up there,” Nat points at the headboard with her chin, her voice that soft and sweet tone that makes Misty think of a coiled snake.

Misty crawls up, and makes a spot for herself in between the two sets of pillows at the head of the bed, and watches Nat follow her back up with one set of handcuffs with a longer connecting chain than normal. She’d used it to chain Jessica’s feet to the bed in her basement, but it should work for this, too.

Nat tosses the cuffs into Misty’s lap, and the cool metal feels ice cold against the heat of her thighs. She’s about to ask Nat if she wants her to do something when Nat sets the key on the nightstand before wrapping her hands around each of Misty’s ankles and tugging, hard.

Misty bounces down the bed until her head is on the very edge of a pillow and she has to crane her head up to see down her body. She looks down as Nat is straddling her legs, kneeling over her and looking down her long nose at Misty splayed out before her. She flips her hair over the side of her head as she angles her face down, and Misty is on fire.

Nat walks on her knees up Misty’s body until she can settle herself down on Misty’s stomach. Nat is all lean muscle and bone, but Misty is even smaller, and Nat’s weight feels as much of a restraint as the cuffs she’s about to be wearing.

For a moment, Nat just stays there, holding Misty down and watching her as she squirms. When Misty is about to say something, Nat slides her hands beneath the pillows on either side of Misty’s head and leans down to kiss her.

Natalie tastes like mint but smells like embers, and Misty feels the sparks of her everywhere they touch.

But Nat pulls away sharply, sits back on Misty’s stomach, and takes the straps of Misty’s nightgown in her fingers. She smiles as she plucks them, one from her shoulder and one still draped on her bicep, and drags them down. It’s Misty’s turn to be bared to the cool bedroom air, and she shivers under Nat’s heated stare.

Nat leaves Misty’s nightgown at her waist, and eases each of Misty’s wrists through the straps before she sets them down on the pillows beside Misty’s head. “Hands up,” Nat orders, and her voice is gravely again, no longer sweet and soft.

Misty follows the instruction, and raises her hands until she feels the back of the headboard against her knuckles, looking over her head at the image of it. When she looks back, Nat has shifted up her body again, her center now resting just below Misty’s breasts. She leans forward and Misty can’t help but catch Nat’s nipple between her teeth as Nat clicks one cuff over her left wrist.

“Christ!” Nat wiggles over her, and Misty replaces her teeth with her tongue, and bats her eyes up at Natalie, the picture of innocence. “Insane,” she murmurs, but her lips are curled in a fond smile. She lets Misty continue to lick and suck at her breast, making little gasps when Misty gets most aggressive, and rocking her center over Misty’s stomach. Eventually, she winds the chain over a post before she snaps the other cuff over Misty’s free wrist.

Nat cups Misty’s chin as she leans back, popping her breast free from Misty’s mouth, and as she scoots away from Misty’s face she can smell the thick scent of Nat’s arousal before she crawls back down Misty’s body.

Next, Misty thinks, and watches wide-eyed as Nat crawls all the way down past Misty’s legs.

Panic grips Misty as she suddenly pictures Nat crawling all the way off of the bed, and walking out the door, leaving Misty here like this. “Don’t!” she blurts out, and instinctively starts to tug at the handcuffs that were just put on her.

Nat’s sultry expression shifts to one of concern, and she stills, straddling Misty’s shins. “Don’t leave me,” Misty whispers. It’s what she’d wanted to say at a gas station just outside of New Hampshire. She remembers how she’d watched Nat through the gas station window as she’d shopped, certain the other woman was going to take off without her at the first opportunity.

The charged atmosphere between them shifts into something heavier, something that crackles at a lower tone. Confusion is clear on Nat’s face, and she reaches for the key pouch on the nightstand. Misty breathes out slowly, realizing what Nat is offering, and she shakes her head. “No, just—” she doesn’t want to ask again, admit once more how much power Nat holds in this moment, so she just knits her brow and hopes that Natalie understands just enough.

Nat nods slightly, and sets her palms on Misty’s legs, rubbing them with her thumbs. “I won’t,” she promises, barely audible. She looks confused at her own words, and leans down to press a kiss on Misty’s left knee. Then her right.

She kisses her way up Misty’s body slowly, sweetly. Her lips are soothing, and Misty feels herself relax as she gives herself over to the feel of Nat’s mouth against her. Of her tongue painting small spots across her skin.

When she reaches Misty’s thighs, she tugs at the nightie, finally pulling it the rest of the way off of Misty’s body. She drops it off the side of the bed, and continues to work her way upwards. Nat drags her short nails over Misty’s inner thighs as she does, and pushes them up and apart, holding her legs open. Misty is still covered by her panties, but she couldn’t feel more exposed with Nat holding her thumbs just shy of her center, on the innermost skin of either thigh. Nat bites at Misty’s exposed skin, harder and harder as Misty’s gasps and moans grow in volume.

She must be drenched beneath her panties, and she raises her hips off of the bed in a silent plea for Nat to find out. “Mmm,” Nat hums against her thigh, and then Misty’s heart pounds as her lips press directly over the gusset of her underwear. “Not yet,” she whispers against the fabric, but presses her nose where Misty’s clit is hidden between her folds.

“Nat,” she groans, straining at the bed frame. Her heart is pounding as hard as it did when she’d snorted cocaine, and she thinks she might die from this, too. Nat laughs against her lower belly as she continues her path up Misty’s stomach. The longest of Nat’s necklaces falls between her legs as she does, and Misty raises her pelvis up to try and meet the friction. Instead, the metal drags over the fabric over her mound, and then lands cold on her stomach. She shivers with the chill, and Nat leans up enough to tease her with the feel of it. She rocks on the bed, the necklace swinging back and forth around Misty’s navel, and laughs when Misty presses her lips tight and tilts her head into the pillow beneath her.

“You do like making me mad,” Misty accuses through shuddering breaths. Nat doesn’t reply, and when Misty looks back down her body, Nat envelops a nipple in her mouth. She coats it with her hot breath, and drags her teeth over the tip before she switches to the other breast to repeat the motion.

Misty is writhing now, desperate for Nat to touch her where she needs it most, but unable to ask for a moment of this pleasure to change or stop. But Nat continues to move upwards, and her hands glide against the soft cotton sheets beneath Misty’s back until they can curl over the top of her back. Nat tugs her closer as she kisses her way up to the hollow of Misty’s throat, putting pressure on the cuffs around her wrists just enough to feel a small sting of pain.

“Nat,” she breathes, eyes fluttering from the pleasure of the pain. Nat’s deep kisses turn into small pecks as she reaches Misty’s chin. The tender kiss is unexpected, and it soothes something deep within her, consuming the last lingering fear that Nat will abandon.

Misty uses the small leeway she has to duck her head and pull Nat in for another kiss, deep and lingering. They kiss in crests and rolling waves, soft and slow and then almost too much at once before it tempers again.

Misty feels nearly giddy from the rhythm of it, and she finally pulls back. Remembering Nat’s challenge, Misty gives Nat the heaviest look she can. “Fuck me, Natalie,” she says, eyes darting down to Nat’s mouth and back up again as she smirks around the words.

“I guess you win,” she raises one shoulder in a playful shrug, and reaches out to take Misty’s glasses off.

“No,” Misty tilts her head back, and looks at the features of Nat’s face like she’s about to lose them. “I want to watch you.”

Nat snorts, but drops her hands from Misty’s face. “Of course you do,” and she holds Misty’s eyes as she slides back down Misty’s body to settle between her still parted thighs. Misty has only grown wetter and slicker, and when Nat finally pulls her panties down Misty’s face flames at the cream that follows.

“Jesus,” Nat breathes, nostrils flaring, and looks up at Misty once before she parts Misty’s sticky folds with her thumbs and exposes the bundle of nerves barely hidden there. Nat sits back a second, leaving Misty exposed, and making a show of tugging each ring off of her fingers. She puts the handful at the end of the bed before she slides her way back to Misty, eyes sparkling in a way that has never been directed at Misty before.

Nat drags her naked fingers through Misty, and bites her lip before she leans down. There’s a puff of cool air across her center, and she arches her back as Nat’s mouth descends on her swollen flesh.

Her tongue is fire, and Misty is burning, burning, burning, but all she wants is more. Blood rushes in Misty’s ears as she tries to both focus on the image of Natalie devouring her most intimate flesh, and chasing the tendrils of smoke that are spiraling outward from her core.

Misty’s lower back is slick with sweat, her knees parted around Nat’s shoulders, and she grasps futilely at the air in front of her bound hands. She can feel beads of sweat slick her hair, and the handcuffs were a mistake because she’s watching Nat’s head dance against her core and all she wants to do is grab at her dark hair.

“Oh,” Misty starts to gasp, smoke building to actual flame, and Nat has to hold her down by the hips. One hand keeps her from bucking off the bed as Nat slides her fingers inside, lips still sucking around Misty’s clit as she stokes the fire building inside Misty until she’s shuddering, toes burning with the heat of it all. Her climax rages like a crackling campfire outward, little aftershocks snapping like wet twigs as Nat guides her through it.

Misty feels fire-warmed and sated as she smiles lazily up at Nat, sat back on her heels and wiping evidence of Misty’s arousal from her chin. Nat doesn’t say anything, but her smug smile says it all, and Misty feels so dazed she can’t fault her for it.

Nat takes a second to breathe, just watching Misty recover, before she reaches for the key and unlocks Misty’s wrists. They’re red and a little raw, and the wrongness of it makes Misty smile before she lunges from the headboard to tackle Nat. The fog from her orgasm is lifting, and her appetite comes back stronger, harder.

Misty sits on Nat now, straddling her thighs, and looks down at her. Nat’s hair is splayed out around her, her eyeliner smudged more than usual, and her necklaces are bunched in the hollow of her throat. Her breasts are still bare to the room, nipples stiff and pointing up toward Misty above her.

She can’t help but run her hands over Nat’s beautiful body, over her shoulders, and arms, and back up to her shoulders before she glides her hands over Nat’s breasts, and stomach. Misty starts to tuck her fingers beneath the waistband of the fishnets again, but hesitates.

“You’re staring,” Nat rasps, after Misty has stilled for several seconds.

Misty traces her fingers over the waistband, and then up the lines of the muscles defining Natalie’s stomach. “I like looking at you,” Misty murmurs. Nat’s eyes are bright, face open when Misty looks back up. “I like smelling you,” she adds, and leans down to bury her nose against Nat’s neck and inhale.

Natalie’s hands settle on Misty’s back, her fingers digging in and Misty slides her nose up the line of Nat’s jaw to her ear. “I like tasting you.” Misty leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, closer and closer toward Nat’s mouth until Nat can duck her head and pull Misty into a long, languid kiss.

“I’m not done,” Misty giggles when they part, and she pushes her glasses back up her nose, though they slip nearly right back down. So Misty sits back, resting her bottom on Nat’s thighs, and pushes her glasses up again. “I also like touching you,” she whispers it like a secret, and Nat just rests her hands on the tops of Misty’s thighs and squeezes.

“Can I touch you here?” Misty asks, and drags her fingers over Nat’s sternum. Nat doesn’t say anything, so Misty turns her head to the side and cups her ear. “I can’t hear you.” Nat rolls her eyes, but it loses its power as she sucks in a breath, Misty’s nails scratching lighting against her stomach.

“Yes,” she rasps, and Misty smiles brightly.

“Good. I like hearing you, too.” She scoots back on Nat’s thighs, and savors the feeling of the rough fishnets against the back of her thighs. “Can I, hmmm,” she pretends to think, before circling Natalie’s breast with one fingertip, “touch you here?”

“Yes,” Nat replies faster, but her tone is short. Misty smirks.

“What about,” she drags her finger down the center of Nat’s chest, down over her navel, and lower, and lower, and lower. “Here?” Misty holds her finger to Nat’s center, and feels the heat burning through her briefs.

“Just fucking do it, Misty,” Nat’s tone starts harsh, but dissolves into a breathy laugh as she squeezes at Misty’s thighs.

“Do what?” she teases, and brushes light fingertips back and forth over the faint suggestion of Natalie’s cleft.

“Touch me,” she answers, voice soft once again. Misty melts at it, and presses harder, her fingers pressing into the fabric until Nat’s eyes flutter shut and she moans low, barely audible.

Nat is soft and hot under her touch, and Misty wants to feel her without any separation. She starts to tug at Nat’s fishnets before she realizes that they’re under her briefs. Her breath catches and she instead peels Nat’s underwear down, down, and Nat lifts her ass to help Misty tug them down to Nat’s thighs.

“Oh,” Misty sighs, eyes wide as she looks down at Nat’s center, the only fabric remaining in small diamonds of net across her thighs, her hips, her folds. The fishnet that constricts Nat’s wet lips glistens with her arousal, and Misty lets out another breathy sigh at the unexpectedly erotic sight.

Misty leans down and presses a kiss over the tear across the belly of the fishnets. Nat sighs, and her fingers slide into Misty’s hair, pushing it away from her face. Misty glances up at her, but then moves over to a tear near her hip and nips at it. Her lips trail across each gap, nipping and kissing and nuzzling until she sits back up, Nat’s hand falling from her hair.

Impatient, Nat starts to push at the waistband of the fishnets, but Misty pushes her hands away. “Uh uh,” she shakes her head, smirking, and instead tugs up at them, dragging the fabric across Nat’s slippery skin, over her clit. Natalie tilts her head back, neck bared as she breathes through her nose hard. “These are fun,” Misty teases, and hooks her fingers through the tear at the inside of Nat’s thigh, tugging down this time as Nat grinds her hips uselessly into the gentle tug of the fabric.

Misty tugs a few more times, hooking into the various tears in the stockings and dragging the soft fabric up and over and to the side as Nat tries to chase the pressure. “Stop fucking teasing me,” she says finally, and rolls the waistband of the fishnets down, starting to lean up before Misty pushes her back down and takes over.

She rolls the stockings down Nat’s long legs, until she can pull them off at her toes. She wriggles them as Misty drops her feet back down to the bed, and pushes her glasses back up. “Come here,” Nat murmurs, and tugs on Misty’s waist until she falls half on top of her, Nat’s legs cradling her hips. Misty’s glasses are slipping again, but this time when Nat reaches for them, Misty lets her. Nat’s so close it doesn’t matter this time.

“You really are pretty,” Nat whispers, and brushes Misty’s bangs away from her eyes. Misty starts to disagree, to try to demure so that Nat will say it again, and again, and again. Instead, Misty dips her head forward and kisses Nat again.

Nat’s fingers trail up and down her spine, then over the curve of her ass and down the outside of Misty’s thigh as Nat slides one of her legs between Misty’s knees. The kiss grows hotter, messier, and Misty runs her left hand down Nat’s body, this time not hindered by the stockings. Her fingers brush through the curls at Nat’s center and then lower, and deeper, until her fingers are engulfed by Natalie’s velvet heat.

She feels incredible around Misty’s fingers, but Nat starts to grind against her hand. Misty slides her fingers out, and in, and out, fucking Nat too slow and too shallow. Nat breaks their kiss with a groan of frustration, before Misty smiles against Nat’s jaw and adds her thumb to rub in counterpoint, pressing hard into Nat’s clit as Nat’s hips start to circle harder and faster.

Misty’s fingers are burning with the tension, but Nat’s gasps and breaths are getting shallower, and Misty has never wanted anything as badly as she wants Natalie to come against her fingers.

She leans away from Nat’s jaw to look at her, watch her face as it happens, and Nat must know because her own eyes fly open to stare into Misty’s before everything shatters, and Nat bites her own lip as her back arches.

It takes longer for Natalie to come down, and Misty prolongs the aftershocks as much as she can, getting a thrill every time Natalie shivers and jerks against Misty’s palm. When Misty finally accepts that it’s over, she slips her fingers free from Natalie’s heat and settles down against Nat’s side, her head on Nat’s shoulder.

They lay like that for several minutes, both of them comfortable in the silence for once, and Misty feels the strongest sense of peace as Nat brushes Misty’s hair away from her neck, and trails her fingers lazily up and down her spine.

Natalie’s leg is still tangled between Misty’s, and her necklaces are digging into the side of Misty’s cheek, sure to leave a mark. But Misty ignores the metal, and runs her fingers over Nat’s stomach and hip and arm and anywhere else within reach.

When Misty reaches her limit on silence, she tilts her head up toward Nat’s face. “You should really replace those stockings.” Nat’s fingers still on her hip before resuming their lazy trail. “I’m amazed they didn’t fall apart when I took them off.”

Nat snorts, fingers still caressing Misty’s side. “Fuck that. They’re lucky.”

“What?”

Nat shrugs, and bounces Misty’s head with the motion. “I thought you were gonna make a move.”

Misty’s head snaps up, and she pushes off of Natalie’s shoulder to see her face. “And you wanted that?”

Natalie looks to the side, confused, and then gestures between them. “Um, I mean—yeah?”

Misty grins. “So, you made a move.” She thinks back, and it feels like ages ago. “Sort of.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Nat looks up at the ceiling. “I was gonna give you space to figure your shit out.” Misty furrows her brow, confused, and Nat looks over at her. She shrugs, “It was pretty clear this morning that you hadn’t known...” Misty’s face heats at the accusation, as accurate as it may be.

Nat curls her fingers over Misty’s waist with the arm wrapped around her, and trails a finger of the other hand over Misty’s jaw. “Then I said fuck it.”

Misty feels her body warm at the way Nat’s looking at her, and rubs her jaw against Nat’s finger, nuzzling back. “Well, I’m glad you did.” She settles back down against Nat’s body.

Nat drops her hand down, and runs it over Misty’s thigh, settled between her legs. They stay like that, both caressing the other with soft touches, breath becoming shallower and shallower as their arousal renews, but neither makes a move to instigate anything more passionate yet.

Misty thinks about calling Nat her partner. She thinks about this as a regular occurrence, lounging together, touching each other, loving each other, just like this. She wants that. Wants Nat as her girlfriend, her partner, not just her friend. Her lips twitch and she considers telling Nat about what she’d done today, telling her co-worker, but decides not to. They’ll make it there naturally soon enough, and then it won’t matter.

“I have tomorrow off,” Misty starts. “We could go out. Like, on a date. There’s this restaurant I’ve always wanted to go to downtown, it’s supposed to be very romantic. Or we could see a movie, I haven’t seen anything that’s out now. Oh, and you liked Chicago when we listened on the way to New Hampshire, right? Well I have tickets to a matinee next weekend. Or we could go into the city, there’s always something new, and I’d be happy to see something neither of us know, if you prefer me not to hum along,” she laughs, and walks her fingers around Nat’s arm.

Nat stops caressing her arm, and Misty can picture the sneer on her face when she says, “I didn’t like any of that shit.” A pause, and then, “You don’t just get to decide that we’re dating.”

Misty snorts. “Well, I decided that we were friends, and I won that one, didn’t I?” She knows she sounds smug, but she is. She deserves to be, after how things turned out.

“I—this, fuck,” Nat breathes, and Misty watches in concern as her girlfriend looks pained. “It—relationships don’t end well for me. Ever.” She gets quiet, and Misty thinks about all the things she doesn’t know, hasn’t been able to find online about this adult Natalie who has been out of her life for twenty-five years. “Things...explode around me.”

Misty pushes up from Nat’s chest again, and trails her fingers over Nat’s sternum. She watches Nat suck in a breath as she drags her thumb over her nipple, back and forth and back again. She grins at the reaction, and leans forward, burying her nose in the hair at Natalie’s temple.

She smells familiar, and dangerous, the cigarette smoke still clinging to her even under the faint tang of sweat. Nat’s fingers flex against Misty’s lower back, and she breathes through her nose in a rush as Misty presses her thigh between Nat’s legs.

“I told you,” Misty smiles against Nat’s temple, before she pulls back to look Nat in the eye. “I like the smoke.”

Nat stares up at her for a long moment, focus shifting from her eyes, to her mouth, and back up again. She doesn’t say anything, but she tucks Misty’s hair tenderly behind her ear, and guides her gently back down to her shoulder.

“We can grab a drink,” Nat offers

Misty smiles against her bare shoulder. “A drink sounds nice.” For now. She tilts her head up to look at Nat, and wonders what her girlfriend would like for Christmas.