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Or; the one where Cruella's Not Fine.
Maleficent understood misery all too well.
Years ago she had been tired, defeated and drained and had sunk without resistance into such depths of self-pity that it made her shudder to think of her own weakness now. Without Regina stumbling into her fortress like a lost little lamb the likelihood was she would either be dead at the hands of one of her countless enemies, or else she would have been caught up in the same curse as the rest of the fools in the Enchanted Forest. Or she would still be there, lingering on a chaise lounge, unaware of the passage of seasons. She knew it was folly to be grateful to Regina for that reprieve but she was not so proud that she couldn’t admit, at least to herself, that she had missed her little Queen with such hope and wonder in her eyes; it had vanished in the Enchanted Forest, but here it seemed to shine again.
Seeing her like that once more had been enough for Maleficent to ignore the fact that Regina was quite clearly spying on them for the heroes.
She had promised the Dark One she could handle Regina, promised herself that she could cope with having the other woman close again and so far she had managed to keep both her vows. But the way Regina looked at her, the way she spoke, the confidence blended with nerves, the smile that covered her fears, the bluster and arrogance and softness… it was all too familiar. Horribly so in many ways and after Regina had left to fetch the page from her son’s book and the Imp had vanished to do things Maleficent had little care for, she had sat rolling the spindle that had once taken away her pain momentarily and remembered those days when she had turned wallowing into an art form.
She understood the need for it, the small sense of gratification that came from feeling yourself becoming numb to the world as misery encased you, creating an armour that you hoped would never be pierced again by such trifling emotions as love, hope or despair. Oh, she understood the need perfectly well and, she conceded as her thumb ran over the end she had purposefully blunted long ago, she was even prepared to allow others their weaknesses for a time.
Spending two and a half hours in the bathtub with a bottle of gin was pushing it.
She sighed as she checked the clock in the Imp's cabin and noted that her lone companion was actually ten minutes away from reaching the three hour mark and showing no signs of emerging from her moping. Perhaps she should just leave her to it? Cruella was unpleasant company at the best of times and after the day she had endured she would certainly be in a foul mood. On the other hand there were only two of them left and with her luck the younger woman would drink herself into oblivion and accidentally drown in the bath. That thought settled it.
She pushed open the door to the bathroom without knocking, quite sure that Cruella – assuming she was still conscious – would reject her concern if it was offered cautiously.
"What do you want?"
"Just checking you hadn't drowned yourself dear," she drawled, entering the room properly and closing the door with a decisive click behind her to let the other woman know she was going nowhere soon. "Allies are dwindling after all."
I can't do without you, lingered in the air but Mal was reluctant to voice it. Being sentimental would be a step too far no matter how true it was. Cruella offered no response but a humourless snort anyway and a long swig of her bottle, giving Maleficent time to observe her. She tried to suppress the treacherous twinge of sympathy that sprang within her as she got closer and saw properly the sorry sight her friend had become.
Cruella’s make-up had long since been lost to the bathwater and, Maleficent surmised, a fair few tears; her hair had the appearance of locks that had been wet and dried without any care given to them and it tangled and curled limply, a maze of opposing thorns guarding her face. The bathtub was so full it would overflow at the slightest movement and Cruella was sat, arms wrapped around her own knees, one hand clutching at the half empty bottle, looking like a tiny lost soul in the midst of the still water. It was the first time Maleficent had ever seen her looking so pale and washed out and had it not been for the remaining shock of black hair she would have looked almost entirely white.
"You can't stay in here forever you know? Even your modesty might blush if the Dark One drags you out of there."
Cruella quirked an eyebrow half-heartedly and Mal struck a line through using Rumpelstiltskin as a reason to move. The Dark One was a powerful, ruthless man with little scruples and no care for their comfort but they both knew even he would balk at having to drag a naked, half-drunk Cruella from her watery stupor.
"Fine, have it your way."
Mal flicked her wrist towards the window, sending it flying open and the chill of the Maine air blasted into the room. For her the sharp breeze was uncomfortable: she assumed that for Cruella the sudden drop in temperature would be unbearable.
Which naturally meant that Cruella, gratingly, barely looked up. Her eyes flickered briefly to the window before a slight sneer settled on her features and Maleficent understood immediately that it was the attempt she was contemptuous of, not the wind. Which left her perplexed, a state Maleficent abhorred, but a few moments of observation later it dawned on her why Cruella hadn't flinched and she waved her hand at the window again, closing the pane of glass so sharply it made it rattle in its frame. With a huff of irritation she strode to the bath and plunged her fingers into the water, immediately hissing at the practically freezing temperature.
"What use are you to us if you freeze to death?" She snapped, anger at the woman's thoughtlessness masking the concern that spiked in her.
"I can barely feel it," Cruella said carelessly, bringing up her bottle again. Maleficent snatched it from her hand before she could drink and that, depressingly, was the first rise she got. Electric blue eyes were on her in an instant, spindly fingers gripping the side of the tub so tight it made Cruella’s knuckles white, but without the strength to get out the water and take it. Had she been this sorry a sight once? Limp and useless and full of the sort of self-loathing that people like them specialised in, yet too far gone to muster any real aggression.
"Give it back," Cruella growled deeply, almost whining.
"Make me," Mal replied tartly, swigging from the bottle herself and keeping her eyes locked with Cruella's as she swallowed the other woman's – disgusting – lone crutch. Cruella took a deep breath and Mal braced herself, glad she had brought out a little fighting spirit even if it was soon to be at her expense; she had never been as susceptible to Cruella's powers as Ursula had - she suspected Ursula had never bothered to even try resisting them - but if Cruella pushed into her mind with enough intention even in this form she could be commanded for a time.
Nothing came. Cruella let out the breath as a sigh that ended with the sort of keening noise she associated with dying animals and Mal lowered the bottle, willing the medicinal taste away. The woman with mismatched hair sank into the water, her whole body becoming flat and her head sinking under until she was nothing but a blur under the aquatic sheen. Mal tensed at the withdrawal, recognising it as a retreat – something she had never seen Cruella do in all their years.
"Cruella?"
She stood the bottle on the nearest surface and stepped closer to the bath once again, gazing down cautiously. Cruella's eyes were closed and bereft of her usual make up her face looked even vaguer under the water and carefully Maleficent got to her knees, one hand poised to dissipate the water into the air if she deemed Cruella's retreat to have gone on for too long. Seconds went by and Maleficent stared still, eyes locked on Cruella's face, waiting for bubbles to form. If she actually was trying to drown herself then it was a fairly pathetic attempt.
"Cruella?”
Electric blue appeared suddenly in the middle of her water-hazy face and rapidly came closer as Cruella broke the surface, immediately breathed out her long-held breathe and Maleficent realised a moment too late that it wasn't just air coming from her friends unusually natural lips. She caught a blast of Cruella's magic at close range and felt it seep through her quickly, infecting muscle and sinew and nerve endings until her body would dance to Cruella's whim more than she had intended to allow.
"I hate you," she gritted out, trying the only thing she knew might help her at the moment and suppressing her inner dragon as much as she could. It was akin to the feeling of being drunk – everything felt more pointed and somehow hazier – and try as she might to regain control there was nothing she could do but wait for the effects to wear off.
"Then leave me alone for Christ's sake darling," Cruella ran a hand over her face to rid herself of the water clinging there and pushed her hair back till it was sleek. "And give me back the gin."
Mal got to her feet, resenting every step as she picked up the bottle and handed it over dutifully, but when Mal reached out her hand for the door it only took a small effort to keep her body still. She hadn't quite regained herself yet but she could feel the power waning already. Cruella’s heart wasn’t even remotely in it. She gritted her teeth and waited, allowing Cruella her small and temporary gin-related victory but refusing to be dismissed like a fucking maidservant.
She squared her shoulders and turned around slowly, her eyes glinting dangerously but going unnoticed by Cruella who was far too interested in her bottle. Mal flexed her fingers and almost willed the bottle away but changed her mind and with a sigh reached up to remove her hat. If she couldn't stop Cruella from wallowing then at least there might be something she could do to stop her catching something from the cold water.
Cruella paid her little attention as she removed her shoes and jacket, hanging the latter on the hook in silent deference to Regina’s years-ago beg of her to actually look after her clothing and not let it fall to moth-eaten rags, but when she moved to the buttons of her blouse blue eyes did turn on her. She said nothing, not that Mal really expected her to given the level of stubbornness she knew herself to be dealing with, but even Cruella couldn’t remain indifferent when Mal reached up to unclasp the black bra the woman in front of her had picked out herself, taking a step towards the bath as she did.
“Darling, normally I would never complain about the view but today I am decidedly not in the mood.” Cruella looked away, blankly staring at the wall and sounding as close to regret as Mal had ever heard her.
“And believe me if you were in the mood you’d need all the puff your little lungs could manage to make me fuck you. It’s not about that,” Mal rolled her eyes and shrugged off the last of her clothes. “Move forward. I’m heating up the water.”
“Have I asked you to?” Cruella ran her fingers through the water, not looking especially interested but Mal took it as a good sign that she was at least still self-possessed enough to be argumentative.
“Move.”
“Do you strictly need to be in the water?” Cruella sniffed and managed a half-hearted smirk, a depressingly soft version of her usual fare. “Have your powers waned that much?”
“Move,” she repeated, considering moving Cruella herself. The shock on her face would be worth it when she found herself hovering in the air, ripped from her frozen cocoon and Maleficent’s fingers twitched for a moment before the other woman disappointingly did as she was bid and slid forward in the water to create a space.
“This is positively ludicrous you realise? Is solitude too much to ask for?”
Mal ignored her as she gritted her teeth and climbed into the water, hissing at the cold against her feet. It feel like ice and inside her the dragon protested dramatically at what she was about to do to herself in the name of what? Friendship? Were they still that really, after all these years? Cruella and Ursula hadn’t said much about what they’d done in the land without magic but Mal knew how they had gotten there, knew why they had happened to be in the vicinity of a portal to a foreign place at just the wrong moment and she had wondered whether they resented her for it. Out there they were as insignificant as the greenfly that crawled over flowers in summer, in the Enchanted Forest they’d had power and to lose that for what? For her?
She lowered herself down and couldn’t contain a gasp of distaste as it lapped over her skin but the moment her hands met the water she immediately began to warm it. Slowly at first, she could inhale a fire without so much as blackening her lips but Cruella was still human, no matter what her gin tolerance might suggest, until it reached a point she assumed the other woman would find bearable.
“Is that too much?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. And this is entirely unnecessary.”
Mal rolled her eyes and made it marginally warmer. Back in the Enchanted Forest she and Cruella had discovered a common fondness - possibly the only real thing they had in common that didn’t involve villainy - for heat. Ursula could give or take the temperature, Regina, for all her high-born upbringing, had always seemed happier outdoors to Mal, but Cruella had taken great delight in commandeering rooms in the castle and covering the windows with pelts until barely a wisp of fresh air could get in and the fire turned the space into an stone inferno with her at the centre, draped in a fur still. Mal had never liked her quite so much as she had the day she’d discovered her in one of the makeshift heat traps and had finally found somebody that didn’t mind her breathing out steam while she napped.
“It is. I don’t expect you to talk to me or be considerate enough to get out but I need to bathe too today and as you’ve made this a temporary home I see no alternative.”
Even with only the back of Cruella's head visible Mal knew she was scowling. She also knew that Cruella was belligerent enough that she wouldn't budge on principle and Mal wasn't going to force her; they'd all spent too many years being forced into things they didn't want to be and truthfully Mal was tired. Finding out what had happened to her daughter was all she had the energy for now - fuck Gold's plan.
She settled back against the back of the tub, sliding her legs carefully either side of Cruella's tiny frame and reaching out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder. She hadn't been lying, no power in this town would make her have sex with the other woman right now: although truthfully she suspected she and Cruella had long since gone past the point where being drunk and feeling devilish was enough of a reason to fall into bed. It had been fun then, easy and invigorating and no matter how they might have teased Cruella both Ursula's fragmented old soul and Maleficent's ancient bones had always been aware of quite how young Cruella really was compared to them. She was always the first to speak, usually snarling an opinion that was half-wit, half-condescension and with very little common sense mixed in, and to Mal she had seemed terribly gauche behind the make-up and fur that looked like she'd stolen it from her mother.
Or acquired it at the expense of her husband’s touch. She’d already been on number three by then if Mal remembered, or at least she was back in her world before she had abandoned him to join them. How many more had she had since then? Mal pressed her open palm to Cruella's shoulder, fingers just about long enough to curl over the top of a pronounced clavicle, and felt gratified when she wasn't shrugged off. How many times had her friend got on her hands and knees for the sake of her supper because she still knew nothing else?
Mal clenched her free hand under the water, raising the temperature again, knowing Cruella wouldn't mind too much. Gently rubbing her fingers over the other woman’s shoulder she reached up to wipe away her lipstick so at least she could pretend this was really about washing and no sooner had her fingers touched her lips she spluttered.
"This...is this salt water?"
"It’s good for your skin," Cruella drawled disinterestedly, swallowing another mouthful.
"We're sitting in brine."
"No one made you get in."
Mal rolled her eyes and tried not to open her mouth this time as she wiped away her make up.
"It won't bring her back."
"Mal..." The warning tone might have put off a lesser woman but she refused to be intimidated by somebody she had once caught surreptitiously wiping ink from her chin.
"No amount of moping and gin will make Ursula magically reappear."
"And all the power suits in the world won't make Regina spread her legs again."
Maleficent narrowed her eyes, but could hardly argue with the assessment.
"I have no interest in-"
"Oh please darling, you're even more transparent than she is when it comes to subterfuge."
"Speaks the woman who couldn't be subtle if her life depended on it."
Cruella turned her head slightly, not enough that Mal could see her face properly but there was a glint in her eye, a familiar hint of ridicule that Mal had always found challenging. Cruella was too chaotic to be truly on her radar as someone to be wary of: all her friendships, such as they were, had been combustible at any moment, made shaky by their own avarice and Mal had tried to be cautious, but her magnificent and malevolent little Queen and the influential, assured sea witch had been much higher on her list of worries. Cruella had always been an afterthought and Mal had never once doubted that instinct.
"You know me too well darling."
Even now she put Cruella's look down to bravado. She was worth having around, Mal had long since decided if only for how entertaining she was when the spirit took her, and she certainly had her uses, but it often felt like she was an overgrown child allowed to play at the adult's games and stretching out her turn as long as she could by the distraction of her hair, her make-up, her coats, her Panther, literally anything she could grasp at to keep herself in play.
She'll probably outlive us all, Mal thought wryly, pressing the buds of her fingers deeper into Cruella's shoulder and using the grip to gently pull the other woman closer.
"I don't want to talk about Regina," her other hand touched Cruella’s waist under the water, letting her know it was there before she slipped her arm around and held her closer. Something as pedestrian as hugging had never been very them and Mal doubted that if they were clothed or upright Cruella would allow the affection, but they weren’t so she did. "Or Ursula."
Cruella tensed minutely and Mal doubted she would have noticed if the other woman's long sleek back wasn't pressed against her front. Once she might have found it an invitation, the feel of Cruella's always marble like skin against her own body, legs entwined and her lips close enough to claim Cruella's neck. But dear god she was tired.
She kept Cruella pinned against her by the waist and released her shoulder, slowly reaching out to wrap her fingers around Cruella’s where they gripped the bottle still. She didn’t take it away this time though, instead covering the other woman’s thin fingers with her own and pressing a softer kiss than either of them were accustomed to the spot behind Cruella’s ear.
“Pull. Yourself. Together,” she said slowly, deliberately stressing each word and sportingly ignoring the shaking she could feel against her despite the rise in temperature.
"Go to hell."
Mal didn't even bother rolling her eyes.
"Far be it from me to feed your ego," she sighed against Cruella's skin, creating goose pimples on spindly arms. "But you are better than this."
Cruella shook her head imperceptibly but kept quiet; she did allow Mal to pull her closer though, until their skin was slick together and the press of the dragon's nipples in her back became an oddly grounding feeling. They both turned a head as they heard the cabin door open, Mal's eyes narrowed dangerously and Cruella's ears pricking up instantly, but all they heard was the mumble of a male voice before the door went again.
Neither of them bothered to comment. The Dark One's plans might have brought them all together again but they had little interest in his real desires, or what he did without them. Really, Mal wondered and not for the first time, was it worth being allied with him at all? All he had done was speak in riddles and the threat of his ire had cost them Ursula's presence.
Despite their re-acquaintance being brief Mal had found herself missing the sea witch more than she had expected. These women had chased after her daughter and gotten lost themselves, all for her and she had never offered them reward. Just house space and that she knew was worth next to nothing: Ursula had a whole ocean and Cruella... Mal released her waist and crawled her fingers slowly across jutting hip and aggressively flat stomach until she could locate Cruella's bottle-less hand and thread their fingers together, her arm still wrapped around the other woman. It was part comfort, part scouting mission and against her knuckles she felt the heavy presence of two rings.
Several nights ago she recalled Regina laughing whilst draped in a fur that nearly covered her whole body, Ursula with sparkling gems at her throat that Cruella had wrapped there tenderly as she pressed her lips against the sea witch’s throat, and finding Cruella’s unsurprisingly abundant collection of hip flasks in the hidden boot of her beloved car. Cruella, for all that she was a pain, was rarely closed off about material possessions and yet Mal hadn’t seen her flash the rings once. They had been there, she recalled through the dim haze of whatever cocktail the Queen had been making, but Cruella hadn’t mentioned them once.
“You need to get it together Cruella. This town doesn’t strike me as somewhere you can afford to be weak.”
“Weak am I? Oh well bully for me.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You’re not succeeding.”
“I’m not leaving either.”
Cruella took a hearty slug from her bottle.
“If you’re staying so close-” Mal tightened her grip on Cruella’s fingers and felt a squeeze back that was unmistakable. “Then the least you can do is bring me my cigarettes.”
Mal rolled her eyes but conjured them still. Who was she to preach about addiction? Especially when, much to her surprise, Cruella put down the bottle and used that hand to extract one rather than letting go of Mal. She placed it between her lips and turned around in the bath for the first time, slick skin rubbing together and Mal hissed as sensitive flesh that had stuck to Cruella’s back was prised away quickly.
“Would you darling?”
Mal blew out a short burst of air and the flame danced to life at the end of the stick, smouldering and smoking and Cruella breathed in deeply as she slumped back against the soft wall of dragon propping her up.
“I am fine you know? I’ve always been able to shake off anything and everything so I’m absolutely ship shape, Bristol fashion, fine.”
“That argument would be more compelling if we weren’t sat in sea water dear.”
Try as she might Mal couldn’t erase the incredibly pathetic image of Cruella rooting through Gold’s cupboards to find the salt from her mind. And as much as she would have liked to judge the action her coat jacket hung traitorously on the hook in the corner of her eye, a testament to her own inability to ignore a plea of Regina’s made nearly thirty-five years ago.
“It’s salt water.”
Mal rolled her eyes and opted not to comment. Cruella wasn’t going to be fine for a long time so there was little point arguing with her at the moment. Or for the next week or so, a week Mal already predicted would find her friend in much the same state she was right now. The only thing to do was make sure she didn’t drown and put her to bed when she finally slumped from the gin, which probably wouldn’t take too much longer given the two thirds that were already gone.
“I’m fine,” Cruella muttered around her cigarette, apropos of nothing. “Absolutely ruddy fine.”
If after three hours Cruella hadn’t hit the numb oblivion Maleficent knew she was craving then she highly doubted that she ever would. Perhaps there wasn't enough gin in the world? Or else the hurt ran too deep for Cruella to even begin to fathom and the only way was this truly terrible attempt at bravado?
“Of course you are dear.”
The simplicity of the fiction was easier. She could put Cruella to bed to sleep off the gin and try not to think that things would never be fine, not even slightly whilst Ursula was gone and her child was still missing and Regina's loyalties were away from her, and realistically she couldn't see an end where they ever would be.