#had to give him the little hair flippies that look like ears because otherwise it just Doesnt Look Like Rendog.
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Hey Flippy, I've had a horrible week and just wanna feel normal again with some Billy & Steve angst turned to fluff?
I’m sorry these things take me so long, friend. I hope you see this and you like it!
The Full Steve Harrington Experience
Once Steve fell in love with Billy, he immediately became terrified of losing him like he’d lost Nancy. One day at lunch he heard Jonathan say something about “learning from past mistakes” sort of sarcastically in reference to…Steve didn’t even remember, but the idea had stuck with him when he thought about Billy which was almost all the time.
He had to learn from his past mistakes which had been…what.
Nancy had told him he was bullshit, Steve thought that was bullshit. But Nancy had not loved him and now Steve wondered if it was because he’d come on too strong all along, been too clingy.
He wouldn’t do that again. Besides, if anyone didn’t want some clingy, sappy boyfriend it was probably Billy Hargrove, Steve reasoned. Billy Hargrove, who had been very edgy about going from fucking to dating, the fucking coming after a period of weird but meaningful friendship.
So Steve made a plan. He stopped seeking out Billy between classes, stopped always saying goodbye before he went home after school. They made dates and made love and it was good and Steve did his best to tamp down the wild passionate feeling inside him that made him want to find Billy in the halls and whisper something dirty or sweet in his ear and pull him into broom closets and leave him love notes and hold him under the bleachers and be away from him as little as possible…
Play it cool, he told himself constantly. You’ll drive him away otherwise.
Steve was not great at playing it cool when he was actually in love but he was great at playing it cool when he just wanted to fuck around so he pretended they were just fucking around and gave it his best shot.
It didn’t seem to be enough. Billy seemed agitated lately and insisted it wasn’t about his dad or anything like that. He seemed agitated with Steve and wouldn’t say why.
So Steve ignored him more.
And when Billy showed up leaning against Steve’s car smoking from time to time just to shoot the shit or was tapping his foot next to Steve’s locker, Steve was elated but he tried very hard to play it cool.
Billy still seemed unhappy though and Steve didn’t know what to do.
“Where you been Harrington?” Billy said.
Steve was in town, ambling down the sidewalk off Hawkin’s main drag and Billy had spotted him from the across the street and come jogging over nearly getting hit by a couple cars that honked before he flipped them off. “You quarantined or some shit? You’re never around. Fuck.”
Steve didn’t know how to play this. Billy seemed casual and yet also edgy like he’d been lately.
“Oh ya know.” Steve shrugged. “I’m just…doin’ my thing.”
“Just doing your thing?” Billy sneered at him.
“Yeah.” Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you…want to do something later?”
“Yeah!” Billy’s eyebrows rose. “I mean sure. Yeah.”
“Okay, well, ya know,” Steve said. “Gimme a call or whatever.”
Billy’s face fell and Steve turned and started walking down the street again.
“YOU’RE A FUCKING DICKHEAD!” Billy shouted behind him. Something light but sharp smacked the back of Steve’s head (mercifully his hair cushioned the blow) and he picked Billy’s half-empty pack of cigarettes up off the sidewalk and frowned at Billy who looked very upset as he stood there on the sidewalk glaring at Steve, his mouth half-collapsed as if he might burst into tears at any time.
“What the hell?” Steve said.
“Is this payback?” Billy said, stomping up to him. “Just tell me! Is this payback for beating you up all that time ago?” His eyes shut when he said as if he couldn’t bear to think of it.
“Is what payback?” Steve said, completely baffled.
“You make me fall in love with you and then you act like it’s all nothing?” Billy’s breath caught and he looked away. “I mean I’m an asshole okay, but that’s fucking cold-”
“What? No! I didn’t…I…I’ve been trying to give you space,” Steve said helplessly. “If that’s what you mean. Trying to be, ya know, cool about it. I dunno!”
“Space?” Billy’s nose scrunched up. Steve would’ve thought it was cute except that Billy seemed so upset. “Space for what!”
“I- I…dunno!” Steve threw up his hands. “For you to…do your thing?”
“What’re these things that we’re doing?” Billy said. “What’re you talking about? Ya know, I’ve talked to Wheeler, alright? She says dating you is like dating the fucking king of romance. You were all over her, couldn’t leave her alone. So romantic, like you couldn’t live without her! Full Steve Harrington Experience, she calls it!”
Steve blinked at him, his cheeks red. “Um…”
Billy shoved him and he fell back a step. “WHERE’S MY FULL STEVE HARRINGTON EXPERIENCE, HUH!”
“Jesus!” Steve glanced around. They were not in a heavily populated part of town but to be on the safe side he grabbed Billy’s arm and led him into an alley. He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, trying to sum up words, he was so astonished. “Look, I…I just didn’t think you wanted that kind of…thing.”
Billy rolled his eyes and kept them on the sky for a moment as if seeking strength. “Harrington…I know you’re a total sap, alright? You’re a preppy…dorky…well, badass too and… But that’s what I signed up for! You’re just…. You’re…. For some goddamn reason I can’t stop thinking about you and all the ridiculous shit you do just seems cute like even how you’re so picky about your pizza and you whine if the mushrooms were canned! Why the fuck does that matter? But it just does! And you’re driving me insane? So if you don’t give a shit just tell me now ‘cause I can’t take much more of this!”
Steve didn’t realize he was grinning as he watched Billy slump against the brick wall behind him and catch his breath. His mouth hurt he was grinning so hard and he stepped forward and pressed Billy against the wall as he kissed him firmly, his top lip and his bottom lip, stroking his cheeks as he licked inside his mouth the way he knew Billy liked, the way he’d first kissed him like he meant it somewhere around the fourth time they’d had sex. It was the kinda kiss that now had Billy melting into his arms.
“You think I don’t give a shit?” Steve whispered. “I love you like crazy. I thought I’d scare you off if I came onto strong but it’s killing me. I’d be all over you all day if you wanted me too. So you better be fucking sure. You want the Full Steve Harrington Experience?”
“Fuckin’ A right I do,” Billy said, tugging on Steve’s jacket, his often icy blue eyes now sparkling like the ocean.
“Okay, Hargrove, you asked for it.” Steve murmured, kissing him feather light along his stubbly jaw. “Better buckle your seatbelt.”
“Oh, bring it on, Harrington,” Billy said, finally smiling. “I can handle it.”
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Unauthorized Understudy: Chapter 3
Ao3
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It had been two days.
Two days without a trace of Damian. No flashes of color in the shadows at night. Nobody leaving treats where the cat or the dog or the cow could find them.
Dick had initially assumed Damian’s hot-headedness and desperation to prove himself a hero had spurred him to go after the blackmailer himself, but after so long without contact, the seed of worry in his gut had grown into a stone. Damian was a smart kid, when he stopped to think. He would have figured out the blackmailer was an inside job.
And Dick had thought he was getting through to him; Damian was responding to routine and a constant stream of support with calm. It didn’t make sense for him to run off like that.
Two days.
He rubbed his eyes when they started to sting from staring at the computer so long. He had complied a list of the information he had. Tim had always joked it was like reading Nancy Drew’s notebook, but Dick needed something to focus all the thoughts racing in his head.
One: Damian was upset about being sent away. He was known for running off on his own to prove himself. He probably went after the blackmailer.
Two: He hadn’t been seen since.
Dick’s eyes traced over that line several times. The tracking devices installed in the Robin suit had gone offline, along with the comms. He almost regretted not implanting one in Damian the way that Bruce had insisted on one in himself, but that was a breach of trust Damian wouldn’t come back from, he was sure.
Batman had ‘interviewed’ the usual suspects and had eyes and ears on the underground. Nobody had seen or heard anything. It meant Robin was being kept on the down-low. Or that the criminals were more scared of the perp than they were of Batman.
Both options were bad.
Three: The last person to see Robin was Michael Heymann, Gordon’s new bodyguard.
He had reviewed the security footage of the police precinct. There was footage of Robin slipping up the steps to the roof, and of Heymann following a few seconds after. There were no cameras on the roof, because the relationship between the commissioner and the vigilantes were still, technically, illegal. There was no way to confirm which direction he ran.
All signs pointed toward the blackmailer having Robin. But for all of the bluster in the notes, the criminal had yet to act on any threats. And how would kidnapping Robin help? The kid was too troublesome to be held as ransom. The best Dick could surmise was that Robin had figured out who the blackmailer was and was being held so he wouldn’t reveal the information.
It would be easier to kill a witness. Dick tried not to dwell on that.
He almost wanted to believe the kid was with his mother. At least then, he knew he wasn’t dead. But Talia was anything but subtle; if she had Damian, Dick would know by now.
He had Alfred spread the gossip he had the flu to get away with spending the day in the Batcave, searching radio frequencies and security footage for even a glimpse of the familiar uniform. He spent his nights under the cowl searching the city for signs of his young sidekick.
Two days. The likelihood of finding a victim of kidnapping dropped exponentially after the first twenty-four hours, a fact that echoed in the back of his head while he reread his notes with blurry eyes.
“It is time you got some rest,” Alfred said, stepping behind Dick with a tray of tea.
Dick blinked for the first time in what must have been several minutes. He pushed back from the Batcomputer to rest them on the dim-lit Cave. “I have to be missing something.”
“You must have memorized the footage and reports by now. The Batcomputer can continue searching for Master Damian’s tracking signal and the feed from the security cameras without rest. You cannot.”
Dick smiled unhappily. “You’re right.” He stood, cracking his back (and his hips, and his shoulders, and his knees—he should work more breaks into his investigations). “How did Bruce manage to get anything done?”
Alfred’s mustache twitched. “I drugged his tea. On occasion.”
Dick’s smile got a little more genuine around the edges, but quickly fell again. “I’ll take two hours.”
“Three.”
Dick eyed that tray that Alfred had brought down. He wasn’t Bruce; he knew better than to argue. “Fine. Three hours.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “If the computer finds anything—”
“I will tell you as soon as you wake.” Dick opened his mouth to protest, but Alfred cut him off again. “You will be no use to the boy otherwise.”
Dick snapped his mouth shut. His eyes closed as he nodded in agreement. He turned to leave.
“Master Richard,” Alfred called. “Do not let your worry consume you. Master Damian is too stubborn and prideful to let any scoundrel hurt him.”
Dick wanted to let that comfort him.
But then, that’s what they used to say about Bruce, too.
It was colder in the basement, a fact that crept up on Damian like the chill through his feet. Goosebumps rose along his bare arms and legs. He rubbed heat into the skin idly.
His feet hurt from standing, but the floor was too cold to sit on. His neck was warm and raw where he had tried—unsuccessfully—to remove the collar, then to remove the leash from the collar, then to break the leash, then to remove the leash from the stairs, then to break the stairs. Each step locked shut with one of those small padlocks that he could break through in a matter of minutes with the aid of a lockpick he didn’t have.
By his estimation, it had been at least forty-eight hours since he had been taken. But there were no windows, and Heymann didn’t seem to bring down food on any kind of schedule; there was no way to be sure.
He also surmised, from the pattern of Heymann’s heavy footfalls overhead, that Heymann left for a majority of the day. He assumed that the man was keeping up the ruse of bodyguard with Gordon in order to keep tabs on Batman’s search for Robin.
Damian grit his teeth against the chill that travelled up his spine. He had to get out of here.
The footsteps overhead began moving toward the door to the basement. Damian schooled his shivering into barely-perceptible tremors and rolled his weight into the balls of his feet.
Heymann was dressed in the Batman suit again, for the first time since the first night. In his hands was a paper plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the same thing he had brought—and Damian had refused—the last several times he came down. He wasn’t convinced it was even a new sandwich.
Damian opened his mouth to tell him off, but Heymann lifted a hand in warning. “A deal,” he said. “Eat the sandwich, and I’ll give you more of your outfit.”
Damian sneered. “How is that supposed to benefit me?” He positioned himself so the slack of the leash was behind him, further from Heymann’s reach but far from out of it.
Heymann offered the sandwich to him. Damian barely glanced at it though his stomach protested.
“We are going out tonight. As Batman and Robin.”
“No we aren’t.” His hands curled into fists at his side.
“You have a choice,” Heymann continued, as though Damian hadn’t said anything. “Eat the sandwich, and I will give you gloves, a cape, and shoes. Don’t eat it, and you will receive none of those things. We go out regardless.”
Damian gave the food another look. It looked innocent enough, but there was no telling what the contents of the sandwich were. The risk was too high. Setting his jaw, Damian shook his head. “No.”
Heymann grunted. “Very well.” Damian flinched when the man flicked his wrist, expecting an attack. The sandwich and accompanying plate crashed into the corner. While Damian watched it fall, Heymann pushed him back against the wall beneath the steps. “Face the wall. Head down.”
Ice, unrelated to the cold room, flooded Damian’s veins. He wouldn’t be able to see if he followed orders. The second Heymann removed his hand, Damian stepped away from the wall.
Heymann’s large hand clapped onto the back of his head, pressing his forehead hard into the cold brick. “I won’t tell you again.”
Damian growled, and pushed back against the weight. Heymann gripped his hair and tugged his head to the side, away from Heymann, applying more pressure than Damian could push against.
The tell-tale clacking of Heymann’s utility belt.
Damian clawed at whatever he could reach. The Kevlar held against his ripped nails.
After a second of silence, there was a small click, and the leash fell slack. Damian’s shock and relief lasted just long enough for Heymann to wrap the tail end around his free wrist. He released Damian’s head.
Damian turned. There was a trickle of something warm down the shell of his ear.
Heymann didn’t wait for him to react. He started toward the base of the stairs. “Come on, Robin.”
That’s when he remembered: patrol. Outside. Like this.
Damian grit his teeth. “Bite me.”
The backhand wasn’t unexpected, but it made the bruises already blossoming on his face ache. The new metal studs attached to the knuckles of the leather gloves made a horrid cracking sound against his cheekbone.
The burly man in the cowl growled. “That’s not how you treat the Batman.”
“You’re not Batman!”
The collar around his throat constricted threateningly as the man pulled him closer. “The old Batman is gone. I don’t know who it is that took his place, but he’s not the real deal. Gotham needs somebody stronger than Flippy-McGee out there.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “He’s stronger than you will ever be.”
He almost regretted the words when the man’s mouth twisted into a snarl. It was not his father’s face under the cowl, or Grayson’s, and it was never more obvious than it was now, when the man’s face twisted with uncontrolled rage.
“You stubborn little shit,” Heymann hissed. He used the collar and attached leash to drag Damian back to the steps. Damian choked. The man paused at the metal banister, switched hands, and began wrapping the leash around a higher baluster than before. He gave the leash a good tug, making Damian’s breath catch in his throat. Locked it in place.
And then he stepped away.
Damian tried to gulp down air, but even on his toes the leash was almost too short. The collar was flush against his neck, digging into his trachea. He tugged at it with his hands, but couldn’t put enough power behind it to relieve any pressure. Every breath was an audible wheeze.
Heymann began to ascend the steps.
“Stop!” Damian tried to shout. It came out as a raspy whisper. “You can’t leave me like this!”
The hollow steps above him stopped. Damian tried to twist around to see, but moving his head only dug the collar in deeper. He listened instead, as the stair creaked under a weight shift. He almost jumped when a hand landed on his head. It swept his hair back roughly, the seams in the gloves catching strays and plucking them out.
One finger caught a piece in the front and tried to coax it into a curl. Damian had to resist the urge to reach up and break it. He couldn’t afford losing his hands again. Not like this.
Heymann grumbled when the hair didn’t cooperate. “You aren’t the original, I know. But you’d think he could choose somebody a bit more similar.” He gave up, patting Damian on the head like he was a dog. “Last chance, you ready to behave?”
“Fuck you!”
Heymann swept another pat across his head before removing his hand. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Master Richard.”
Dick shot to his feet before gaining full awareness. What sleep he had gotten did wonders for his reflexes. “Alfred. Any news?”
The butler had a grave face. “It’s the commissioner.”
Dick’s heart skipped a beat. “Is he—”
Alfred shook his head. “He wants to speak with you.”
Dick nodded absently, already headed toward the door. “I’ll go change.”
“I should have been more specific. He wants to speak to Dick Grayson.”
Dick froze in the doorway. “Why?”
“I’m afraid he could not disclose that information.” Alfred’s voice dropped in volume against some imaginary eavesdropper.
“He said it was urgent.”
Next chapter
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Imperfections (36/?)
ao3
i’m secretly terrified that this series rewrite will become so long that no one will ever read it. and yet. i keep writing it
(also. some v soft faith/buffy this chapter!)
“You’re not a coffee girl?”
“I get all jittery,” Faith replied easily. “Not a good thing for a Slayer.” She squinted at Buffy’s drink. “Does that thing have any actual caffeine?”
“It’s a decaf frappuccino with whip,” Buffy said cheerfully, taking a dollop of whipped cream off the top with her finger. Her tongue darted out to taste the whipped cream. “Mmm. This place has the best toppings. Let no one tell you otherwise.”
“Huh,” said Faith vaguely. It took her a moment to stop thinking about Buffy’s tongue. “So. Talk to me about Angel.”
Buffy’s smile faded a little. “Oh,” she said. “Cutting to the chase, huh?”
Faith gave her a look.
“Right. Opening up.” Buffy nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, we met about two years ago, we started dating about a year ago—”
Faith shook her head. “B,” she said, “I could get the bare-bones details of your relationship from Willow if that’s what I really wanted. Talk to me about Angel. Like—what kind of kisser is he? Is he always as broody as Xander says, or is it just an act?”
“He’s the good kind of kisser,” said Buffy softly. “Just a little bit cuddly, which I know is a little weird for a vampire, but I guess he didn’t do the whole cuddly thing pre-soul. He got me flowers one time and gave me a whole bouquet on patrol.” She blushed, smiling. “We used to make out in the cemetery on patrol a lot.”
It did sting a little to hear the lingering affection in Buffy’s voice, but it felt nice to know that Faith was trusted. “And you’re not getting back with him,” she said, just to clarify. Obviously.
Buffy looked up, smiling curiously. “Why are you so hung up on that?” she asked. “I don’t think you’ve even met him.”
Faith felt herself blushing. Was she blushing? She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I just don’t want you getting hurt,” she managed.
“You’re sweet.” Buffy had a wry half-laugh in her voice. “It’s a little late for that, though.”
“Then I—I don’t want you getting more hurt,” said Faith awkwardly. “You’re nice. You’re a nice Slayer.”
“Thank you,” said Buffy, sounding bemused but pleased. “You’re nice too, Faith.” She hesitated, smile fading a little. “He was the first guy I ever loved,” she said, “and because I fell in love with him, I ended up hurting some of the best people I’ve ever known. How am I supposed to come back from that?”
Faith hesitated, trying to think of something profound and kind to say. Jen made it look so easy. “I used to hurt people without even thinking,” she replied carefully, “and run like hell when they called me on it. You’re facing up to the fact that you fucked up, at least. That takes a lot of guts.”
“Yeah, but I want to fix it,” said Buffy, taking a vehement sip of her frappuccino. “Giles and Ms. Calendar had, like, the toughest summer in history because of me, and they’d just worked through their own boatload of weird relationship problems. They should have been—I don’t know. Holding hands in libraries.” She looked up at Faith, eyes bright with what looked uncomfortably like tears. “A-and I just left Willow that whole summer! She’s my best friend, and she’s been there for me for everything, and I left her, and then I kept this big secret from her! And I’m crying right now, and you’re so cool, and I’m crying in front of you—” She hid her face in her hands with a muffled sob.
Faith sat there, staring. This was not how she’d expected the outing to go, but she had made it clear that she’d be there for Buffy. “Hey,” she said softly, scooting her chair over until she was sitting directly next to Buffy. “Um, hi. Yeah. Did I tell you about how two days ago I got snot all over Jen’s leather jacket when I was sobbing like a little kid about her being okay?”
Buffy let one of her hands drop, leaning into Faith. Faith placed an arm around Buffy, reveling in the closeness. She almost felt guilty for enjoying it as much as she did. “I was crying so hard,” she continued, “and I kept on thinking, you know, I look like a fuckin’ baby in front of all these people—because Willow was there, too, and Giles—”
Buffy giggled wetly.
“Hey.” Faith elbowed her lightly. “Shut up. I’m telling you this embarrassing shit out of the goodness of my heart. Anyway, what I’m saying is it’s a badass thing to cry.”
“Yeah?”
“Super brave, especially if it’s in front of someone else.” Faith squeezed Buffy’s shoulder. “Fact of the matter is, you’re the coolest chick I know.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Buffy raised her head. Somehow, her makeup still looked absolutely perfect.
“Swear I’m not.” Faith smiled at Buffy, shyly, and felt all kinds of butterflies when Buffy smiled back.
“You’re not staying in?” Rupert inquired with surprise, looking up from his book.
“Some new teacher just called,” Jenny replied. “She’s subbing for the missing history teacher and she doesn’t know how to set up her computer.”
“Good lord, isn’t there anyone technologically adept enough to do it who isn’t you?” Rupert tugged insistently at Jenny’s hand, trying to pull her down onto the sofa.
Jenny laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to Rupert’s nose. “Do you realize how ridiculous it is that you’re the one complaining about technologically inept faculty members?”
Rupert rolled his eyes playfully. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Spend your free Sunday away from me. See if I care.”
“Hey.” Jenny hesitated, feeling a sudden pinprick of worry. “Are we okay?”
Rupert looked genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry?”
“I mean,” Jenny crossed her arms across her chest, “the kids are probably going to be over a lot more now, and we haven’t had as much time together as usual.”
“Oh, that’s—” Rupert waved a hand, then smiled a little. “If you’re really worried,” he said thoughtfully, “we could set aside Friday night, make it date night.”
“Date night?” Jenny repeated skeptically. “Rupert, that’s really romantic and all, but a lot of the nightlife in this town is actually already dead.”
“So we have a night in,” said Rupert, looking at Jenny in that soft, adoring way that always made her heart do a cartwheel. “I could light candles.”
Jenny felt herself smile. “I’m sure the kids wouldn’t mind going out on Friday nights,” she agreed, leaning down again to give Rupert a proper kiss. “I still need to go help a lady with her computer, but—date night?”
“Yes,” said Rupert happily, going back to his book with a large grin on his face.
Jenny kissed the top of his head and left, grabbing her purse on the way out. Opening the door, she saw Faith and Buffy walking up the driveway together, Faith’s hand tucked into Buffy’s arm.
“Hi, Ms. Calendar!” said Buffy brightly. Faith went bright pink and just kind of grinned.
“Hey, girls,” said Jenny easily. “Faith, I think there’s some leftover pasta in the freezer if you two are hungry.”
“Oh, I can come in?” Buffy sounded a little surprised. “I mean, I was just gonna walk Faith back to your place, but if you’re okay—I mean, I didn’t want to impose—”
“Everyone spends time here now,” called Rupert from the sofa.
“Yeah, he won’t leave,” Jenny quipped, then smiled. “Seriously, Buffy, you’re always welcome here.”
Buffy blinked, then smiled very shyly. “Oh,” she said. “Thanks, Ms. Calendar. That—that means a lot.”
“You going out?” Faith asked.
“Just gotta help a substitute teacher,” Jenny replied reluctantly. “Apparently, I’m Sunnydale High’s tech support.”
Faith made a face. “Don’t get kidnapped,” she added more seriously.
“I won’t,” Jenny reassured her, amused. Adjusting her purse, she walked down the steps to her car, glancing over her shoulder at Faith and Buffy. Faith was unlocking the door, completely missing the furtive, appreciative way Buffy was looking at her. Hmm, thought Jenny, but decided that now maybe wasn’t the time.
She drove fast, mostly because it felt really nice to drive fast when there wasn’t an emergency, and reached Sunnydale High relatively quickly. Pulling into the parking lot, Jenny saw a woman standing by the entrance to the school.
“Hey,” called the woman. “Are you the computer-fixing lady?”
Jenny wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or entertained. “My friends generally call me Jenny,” she quipped, getting out of the car. “And you’re—”
“Anya,” the woman replied promptly. “I’m the substitute history teacher, and my computer isn’t working. I tried the little flippy switch just like the other teacher said I should, and then I tried another switch and I thought it was turning on, but all that did was turn on the classroom light.”
“Oh boy,” said Jenny, more than a little bit irritated now. Anya seemed friendly enough, but this didn’t seem like a problem that needed her specifically. “Okay. Just—take me to the computer and I’ll see what I can do, and then I think I’m going to talk to Principal Snyder about calling me in on weekends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I inconveniencing you?” Anya asked anxiously as they entered the school.
Jenny winced, embarrassed. “No, not at all! It’s just been a pretty long week. You’re completely fine.”
Anya nodded thoughtfully. “It might do good to know someone on staff,” she said, almost to herself. “I’m not sure if I’ll be here for that long, but one never knows.”
“Well, yes,” said Jenny carefully, “one never does know with substitute gigs.”
“Hmm? Yes, of course.” Anya smiled widely at Jenny. “Oh—here’s my classroom!”
Jenny entered the room, strode over to the computer, and turned it on. “Okay,” she said, her mind already back with Rupert on that sofa. “That should work. I’m looking forward to seeing you around school.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to go so fast!” Anya tugged gently at Jenny’s arm. “I haven’t made any friends yet!” She paused, frowning thoughtfully, then inquired, “Hey, do you know if a Ms. Emerson works here?”
Surprised, Jenny replied slowly, “Like, blonde hair, blue eyes, kinda young, just went through a really tough breakup Ms. Emerson?”
Anya beamed. “That’d be the one,” she said.
#fic#imperfections#bi jenny picking up on sapphic vibes is Important to me.#there will be more of that
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