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The first thing Grace notices when she walks through the door is the bun. Minerva’s hair is still pinned up, still slicked back even as she settles herself at the table for dinner, scrolling through her phone distractedly. Grace has developed a rating system for potential national calamities over the years, using all the subtle tells that lead to people classing her wife as cold and unfeeling; she has come to recognize these as deeply intimate indications. The bun is a solid seven out of ten, like Minerva is trying to keep both herself and the country together with a few well-placed bobbies.
Grace drops a kiss on her forehead, lingering slightly longer than she usually would.
“Darling?” It’s soft, investigative.
Minerva tilts back her head, pulling away to blink in Grace’s general direction. Grace can’t help but notice that she doesn’t meet her eyes.
“Hello. There’s food.”
Perfunctory. Effective. And balanced on a whole mess that’s evident in every corner of Minerva’s being. It was one of the things Grace found most attractive, in the beginning: Minerva’s utter mastery of language. At work, her ability to communicate without a single syllable more than necessary, as though words were tailored to her need. And her contradictory love of vocabulary, how she employs multisyllabic choices and savors sentences the way somebody else might anticipate dessert. Some of Grace’s favorite moments involve these words, these ridiculously long words Minerva saves for her only, traces into her skin and whispers in her ears. Now, though, Grace frowns, standing out of sight behind Minerva’s chair. Recognizing avoidance.
“It looks delicious.”
Her face is a careful empty that she knows Minerva reads the moment she walks around the table. I know you’re not ok. Grace hums softly, dropping into her place. She pulls both bowls forward, plating the pasta easily and sliding the second portion back across the table.
“Eat.”
It’s a mark of tiredness when Minerva doesn’t argue, just picks up her fork and twirls, dutiful. Damn sweetheart, what did they do to you? Grace tries not to stare, but the more she glances up, the longer she looks, the worse it gets. Minerva’s still in her suit, jacket over white button-up, both fully fastened. Every gentle laugh line Grace knows to pull at the corners of her eyes have been concealed; she must have re-done her makeup midday, a rare enough occurrence on its own. Despite these efforts, the exhaustion is evident: it kicks in her usually perfect posture, tightens her mouth, brittles her grip. As she raises the fork to her mouth, there’s a barely perceptible tremor. Fuck. Oh Min.
Silence, the occasional swallow. Grace can’t keep humming. She’s fighting the urge to leap across the table, pull Minerva into her lap and kiss her until whatever it is comes pouring out, a little less significant and entirely more manageable. Grace had done that once, early on, and it had been a complete disaster. She’s learned since that if a problem was substantial enough to bother Minerva, dragging it out before Minerva was ready was akin to knocking down every emotional levy the woman possessed. The flood damage was extensive.
“Bed early tonight, I think?” Grace grins with feigned airiness. “I know they say it’s kids that need the most sleep, but I’d like to lodge a formal dissent.” Please darling. You need to rest. Please let me take care of you.
Minerva hums something that could be construed as consent, and Grace exhales a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She watches Minerva push around a few final noodles.
“I’ll wash up, darling. Meet you upstairs in a moment.” Grace knows Minerva hears what she doesn’t say. Go let down your bun and sit in a tub. Scream at the wall. Throw pillows. Whatever you need. Grace carries a stack of dishes to the sink, turning on the tap. She nods, encouraging as Minerva hesitates.
“I’ll be right there.” Orders help. Small things that cannot possibly result in anything but success. Grace watches Minerva’s reflection leave in the darkened window, twisting off the water the moment she disappears. Grace grabs a book, settling on the bottom step as the bathroom door clicks shut, waiting.
It takes about ten minutes and two chapters. So clear Grace can picture the scene as she hears it unfold. A wayward elbow, a shattered glass. Minerva’s throaty “Fuck”, and then silence. Grace is already moving.
“Minerva? Honey, you ok?” As she reaches the landing, the faintest of sobs are audible. Shit.
“Minnie? Honey –” Grace pushes open the bathroom door. “Oh sweetheart.”
She’s shaking uncontrollably. Grace doesn’t hesitate, crunching through shards, gathering her up. Minerva melts.
“Oh lovely hush,” Grace croons, cradling her close with one hand and worming out pins with the other. Minerva’s hair tumbles down as she buries her face in Grace’s chest. “Shh, darling, you’re safe, that’s it sweetheart.”
Grace strokes her back, pressing kisses to her head as she trembles.
“It’s safe to cry now. ‘M right here. I have you.” She pulls back to kiss Minerva’s forehead, squeezing her upper arms gently. “C’mere darling.”
Minerva lets herself be led to bed without protest, stepping over the glass carefully, never letting go of Grace’s hand.
“C’mere,” Grace repeats, sitting near the edge of the mattress, patient. Always patient. Take as long as you need, lovely. We’ve got all night.
Minerva sucks in a breath, and Grace realizes that she said her last thought aloud.
“Time. It’s always time. There’s – never enough –,” Minerva gasps. She’s still standing, uncertain. Lost.
“We have all the time in the world.” Grace rubs up and down her arms, and she inches forward until her thighs hit the bed. “C’mere.”
It’s barely a whisper but it seems to reverberate through Minerva’s entire frame, pulling her closer until she clambers into Grace’s lap the way she prefers, wrapping her legs around Grace’s back and tucking into the safety of her front. Curled in on herself, the precise opposite of how Minerva seems to expand to fill every room she enters, dominating each professional encounter. Grace’s heart squeezes.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Grace whispers in her ear, tightening her hold. “It’s safe now. Nobody here but me ‘n you.” Minerva’s breath hitches.
“H-hate crime,” she mumbles finally. “We weren’t – f – fast enough. I wasn’t – couldn’t – God. Looked. Just like you. – all bloody – scared.” Her voice cracks, but she soldiers through. “An official. Foreign. Supposed to – protected. Not like this, not-“
“Shhhh, oh lovely, shhh, I’m right here. Not bloody.” Grace rubs her back in slow, smooth circles. “‘M right here.”
“Not like this,” Minerva repeats, and she can’t hold it back any longer. Grace rocks her through the waves, whispering sweet perfect nonsense, running her fingers through gorgeous curly auburn chaos.
“I’ve got you.” It’s fierce, insistent, something Minerva cannot help but hear and believe. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re ok. It’s ok, I promise.”
“It’s not your fault,” she says, quiet and deadly serious when Minerva falls silent except for the occasional gasp. “Listen to me. You didn’t fail her –”
“Then who did?” Minerva laughs humorlessly, muffled by Grace’s chest. It’s the saddest sound Grace has ever heard. “You don’t – you don’t know anything about it.”
“Then tell me.” Grace leans back, cupping Minerva’s face and tilting up her chin until messy green eyes meet her own. There’re whole cities living in Minerva’s pupils, infinite possibilities of what could have and what did blinking in and out of focus. “Stop thinking.” She kisses Minerva softly. Salt lingers after she pulls away. “When did she reach your desk? Before or after?”
“After.” Thank you, thank you, Grace thinks.
“And Anthea’s?”
Minerva hesitates. Grace wipes her thumb across her cheekbones, and Minerva leans into the touch.
“After.”
“Minerva Scarlett Elizabeth Holmes-Lestrade.” Minerva’s gaze flickers guiltily away. “What did we say about afters?”
Minerva mumbles something ineligible.
“What was that?” Grace kisses the length of her hairline before pulling back to stare intently.
“Not my fault,” Minerva repeats, louder.
“Exactly. Not. Your. Fault.” She seals each word with a kiss and Minerva trembles. “You cannot predict what is going to happen if it already has. You are not responsible for people before they are assigned to your protection. And you are certainly not responsible for the actions of a few – prejudiced – fucking – criminals.”
“Still should’ve. Known –”
“How? How, lovely? You’re still wonderfully, gorgeously human.” Grace watches as it sinks in, the small slump of Minerva’s shoulders, the release of some tightness as her brain quietly acknowledges lack of responsibility.
Minerva kisses her fiercely, wrapping her arms around Grace’s neck.
“You’re ok,” she gasps, pressing her forehead to Grace’s, “you’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok.”
“I’m ok,” Grace repeats back, like a promise.
“There was this look in her eyes - like she’d never forget. So much pain and blood. I wanted to hurt them,” Minerva confesses, looking intently at Grace, and it’s still there, dark, just sitting beneath the surface. “I wanted to hurt them over and over, wanted them to feel what it was like to be afraid. I wanted it to live in them, to creep up each time they thought of going out, to make them look twice and wonder. I wanted them to feel – hunted.”
“I know. I know. They deserve as much.” There’s no judgement in Grace’s voice. “You’re a stronger person than I am. I would’ve done it.”
“I wish I had.”
“No you don’t, sweetheart.” Grace smiles sadly at the perfect, brilliant woman in her lap. “You’re a million things, but not vengeful, not like that.”
“I think I could have been. Today.”
Minerva kisses her again, hungry, and Grace lets her take control, parting her lips as Minerva’s tongue explores, insistent. Claiming. Her hands find Grace’s hips and she rocks forward until not a breath of space separates their bodies.
“Mine,” Minerva hisses, and Grace moans into her mouth, biting at her lip once before pulling back. Minerva nearly whimpers with the loss of contact.
“Wait,” Grace gasps, chest heaving. “Lovely, wait, are you sure? ‘Cuz I need you to be sure for me –”
“Please,” Minerva’s voice breaks again and Grace can see that everything is still there. The whole day, red and scared, the moment she arrived and saw that poor woman’s shattered face, the moment she learned it was a hate crime. Her own fear. Oh Min. “Yes, please, I need to feel you, need to feel that you’re ok, please-”
“Shhh,” Grace murmurs, kissing her chastely, “That’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll take care of you. Make you feel real good.”
She twists sideways and Minerva gasps as her back hits the bed. Grace straddles her, lets her fingers ghost over the swell of Minerva’s breasts, laying feather kisses down the length of her neck. Minerva groans, arching into her touch. Grace won’t tease her, not today, not now. She bites down. A shiver of pleasure fissions through her stomach as Minerva’s breath hitches. Grace soothes the mark with her tongue.
“So pretty for me, like this,” she murmurs, setting to work on Minerva’s buttons. She eases each arm out of the jacket, tugging it out from under Minerva. “So perfect.” She can’t contain a small gasp as Minerva’s shirt falls open at last, revealing a swath of creamy skin. Grace lays a palm on her stomach.
“Please,” Minerva begs, shifting restlessly. “Grace - want-” She blushes.
“What d’you want, sweetheart?” Grace strokes her fingers up and down, teasing the edges of Minerva’s bra.
“You. Want to feel you.”
Grace shutters. Oh god.
And then, as if to clear up any doubt, “I want you to take me.”
“Good girl,” Grace murmurs, fighting to keep her voice steady. She leans down to kiss Minerva languidly. “Such a good girl, telling me what you need.” Minerva flushes gorgeously but maintains her gaze, swollen pupils making Grace ache with want. “I gotta get up lovely, just for a moment.” Minerva pouts, tugging on her hips. “God,” Grace gasps as Minerva pulls a thigh against her center, “God, Min – just – just a moment-” She slides off, trying to ignore the very throbbing desire between her legs.
It only takes a minute to slip out of her clothes and into the harness, but she fumbles with the straps, heart pounding. By the time she returns, totally naked, Minerva has slipped out of her remaining clothes and lain back down, hair spread across the pillow like some Greek painting come to life.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Grace is looking at her like she’s Venus. A shiver runs the length of Minerva’s body, and she holds out a hand, tugging Grace down, and then there’s no more waiting, just pleasure as Grace’s fingers stroke the inside of her thighs, dialing closer and closer until she’s practically begging for her fingers. Grace kisses Minerva as she curls inside, rubbing her thumb lightly over Minerva’s nub.
“Fuck me,” Minerva pleads against her lips, “Grace – baby – ” Baby. Grace’s heart expands until there’s no room in her chest for breath. She kisses her again, moving down Minerva’s body, teasing Minerva’s breasts with her teeth as her fingers move in a steady rhythm. “Good girl,” she exhales. “You’re doing so well.”
Minerva moans and bucks her hips, seeking more. “Baby,” she echoes, spreading her legs, and Grace presses in. She stops halfway, letting Minerva adjust, stroking Minerva’s cheek as her mouth pulls tight.
“That ok, lovely?” Grace murmurs.
“Mmm,” Minerva breathes, grasping at her back.
“Need a solid yes, sweetheart. Need to know I’m not hurting you.”
“No – yes – more.”
Grace kisses her, pushing slowly until she’s buried deep. Minerva arches, biting off a scream.
“Let me hear you,” Grace husks, licking her throat. “Let me hear all your pretty words.”
“Exquisite,” Minerva sucks in a breath. “Coruscating.”
“Yes.” Grace begins to move.
“I have - an appetency – all for you – only – you.”
“Yes, yes Minnie, you’re perfect, yes,” Grace chants, picking up speed as Minerva claws tracks across her shoulders, lifting her hips to meet each thrust.
“Answer to my - god - my orison -”
Grace kisses her fervently, nipping and sucking her lower lip.
“Baby – I – mmm – oh Grace – GRACE -”
“Yes,” Grace hisses as she fractures, biting down on Grace’s shoulder, an earthquake of pleasure trembling her body, “Yes, good girl, yes.”
Her fingers guide Minerva through, teasing every bit of pleasure from her core.
“Grace.” She rolls to the side, pressing her forehead to Minerva’s and breathing in each breath she exhales.
“I love you,” she whispers, kissing Minerva’s nose, her lips, her chin. “I love you. And I am absurdly proud of you. My brilliant girl.”
Minerva blinks sleepily, reaching down to tug at the clasps.
“Oh no. Not tonight lovely.” Grace makes deft work of the buckles but pulls Minerva’s hand against her chest instead, pressing it to her pulse. “You need sleep, sweetheart.”
“No – let – I can -,” Minerva yawns, cutting off her own protests, and Grace savors the look of peace in her wife’s eyes.
“Shh, Min. Sleep.” She wraps her arms around the blissfully still woman. “’M right here, darling. Be here tomorrow too. Sleep now.”
“But-”
“Sleep.” Grace presses a final kiss to Minerva’s lips, settling her naked body fully against Minerva’s warmth.
Minerva’s fingers stroke lightly at Grace’s neck.
“ You’re elysian,” she mumbles.