Chapter Text
If feeling upside down was a legit thing, a rational one, instead of a bullshit way of speaking, than Yennefer would be feeling fucking upside down. Not even in a fun way, not like when you are high on something really good and can’t feel your legs.
No, she was feeling upside down in a very shitty way, a heartbreaking way.
She learned that It was hard to breathe being upside down. It was too damn hard to live. And she was late.
Of course she was late to pick up her daughter, her little terror of a daughter, from her other mother. Because her life could not be made easy and a suspect had to punch her right in the face, which she did not see coming.
Her beautiful face! Her masterpiece of a face!
Said face now had a cut right above the left eyebrow and it had to be closed with stitches. And she was late because of that.
She hoped the five foot something imbecile got a difficult night in the tiny cell she put him in.
Yennefer parked the black suv, the service car because the government had to repay its debt to her in some way, and all but ran to the deep gray townhouse’s door.
Ciri was waiting for her at least an hour ago, and the little shit could make you pay the hell for that.
Trying to keep her breathing low and controlled, she knocked.
To have to knock on the door that was the entrance to your house was pathetic, and hurt like a bullet to the heart.
It tasted bitter on her mouth too, it tasted of failure and loneliness.
She heard familiar light, tiny (there had to be something in her eyes because it hurt like it might cry), steps. She’d recognize those steps everywhere, no matter in which shoes they were or on what floor they walked on.
Tissaia opened the door in the usual flourish, like the world was beneath her, but then her chin dipped slightly and the aura was toned down. The hint of old sadness reshaped her pretty face.
It used to devastate her, the thought of having put that feeling on that face. Now all she felt was longing and exhaustion.
«You’re late.» Not even a hello, a fuck you, nothing.
Why was she in a very flattering emerald dress and had heavy make up on? The sight made her heart go back for a moment, on a spontaneous date so long ago, when that emerald dress had been worn for her eyes.
She remembered, with plenty of details, peeling it off slowly with only the Moon peeking in their room and discovering pale skin with her hands.
«Ah yes, I got held back-» A hand grasped her chin out of nowhere and she was held still, chin high and eyes closed at the contact. The softness of her fingertips burning her skin.
«What happened to you? What kind of butcher stitched you?» Ah, the gauze had fallen off then.
Yennefer was quite proud of herself for having noticed it too, that the doctor who put those stitches was not aiming for the best.
Clear green eyes were examining the cut closely. On the step she was perched on, Tissaia could look at it without raising on her tiptoes. For a moment Yenner thought of going up to the second step and make her, because it was too damn endearing, but she did good and resisted the impulse.
See she could resist it sometimes.
«A guy punched me, nothing serious, they took me to the Hospital for a couple stitches.» She regretted not asking for a plastic surgeon, yes. Was she going to admit it? No.
Tissaia tsked, venom on her perfect little face. Yennefer adored it when it was not against her. «You should’ve called me! I would’ve made a call to Margarita. I could’ve done a better job too. Look at that, it will leave a scar and it is bleeding again!» As if a meeting with Margarita was better than a scar. The woman hated her. «What kind of incompetent did that?»
There was a warmth deep in her belly that she hadn’t felt in ages. Staring at worried and angry eyes, frustrated for her , the world seemed a warmer place.
Delicate fingers were still holding her chin and she, with grave discontent, got out of the hold. «It’s nothing really, don’t worry about that. Is Ciri ready?»
«Don’t be a fool and come in, I can at least redo the dressing.» Unimpressed eyes glinted in the moonlight. «You are bleeding, Yennefer. I am not asking.»
She is never asking.
Yennefer reluctantly followed her inside, trying to not watch the silky emerald wrap round hips.
Entering her not-home-now was always bad. It belonged to Tissaia filthy rich family and it was her right to keep it, and she never dared to say something else. But, oh God, she had stored so much happiness in these walls.
Every angle of it, every spot, held something and was soaked in memories that threatened to drown her.
There was the old beige velvet couch where Tissaia would curl around her as if to suffocate her, and then there was Ciri doing the same at her other side.
The little table once filled with puzzles that she and Ciri never got the patience to finish, but Tissaia did it for them.
The white column where they started to write Ciri’s height on, and she was growing so fast it scared the shit out of her.
The entrance of the enormous kitchen, who needed seven fires anyway? There she had almost screamed until her throat hurt, she wished to, but whispered instead. Whispered that it was unfair, that Tissaia was fucking unfair and couldn’t handle a quarrel.
There Tissaia had whispered too, with the clearest eyes she ever put on. She whispered that perhaps it was never meant to be, that they acted too fast and as fools, that they’d never fit.
There her castle collapsed right under her helpless eyes.
«I can’t undo the stitches, I don’t have a kit for that. I’ll redress it, go wait in the kitchen, I’ll get the first aid kit.»
She did not have any strength to say anything else. Choosing a stool around the peninsula she crawled on it. The day had washed away all her energy and transferred it in a puddle at her feet, her reflection mocking her.
«Mom, you are so late!» And there she was, that bundle of terror, barely seven and already too much to handle. She smiled at the braid that Tissaia had tried to bend her hair into, the braid was now very loose and blonde hair escaped it in long curls all around her face.
«Yeah, I am sorry ugly one, I got held back.» The warm hug that engulfed her waist will always be wonderful, and tone lifting.
Ciri pushed her head in her stomach and then watched at her with wide eyes. «You are bleeding!»
Ah, right. She raised her hand to check but an authoritative voice stopped her wrist mid-air. «Do not touch it with your dirty hands, you’ll cause an infection.»
Her daughter smirked at her, happy to see her being reprimanded. How could a seven years old smirk like that, she never understood.
«My hands aren’t dirty!» And she was not a child, thank you very much.
Tissaia didn’t even reply, just fast approached with the kit in her hands. In the cold light of the kitchen the cat eyes were even more highlighted, the dark eyeliner forcing the shape and making her look that much seductive.
The very much opened shirt she had on felt too tight, abruptly.
If it had occurred a year ago she’d probably coax a stern looking wife on her lap, or between her opened legs with both hands softly circling on her hip bones. She couldn’t do that anymore and the side sitting, not touching bodies, was ankward as fuck.
«What happened Mom?» Ever the curious one.
«An as-» Green eyes started to glare at her. She didn’t understand Tissaia pudity for swear words, it’s not like Ciri didn’t hear any of it, with her past, or won’t hear it in the future. May as well learn it from her. «A suspect took a swing at me and I didn’t see it coming.»
Another glare, for another reason. You should be more careful, Yennefer, you have a family now.
It wasn’t her fault the damn guy took the arrest badly and decided to swing at her.
«Oh so you were slow.» She put so many “o” in it, to tease her and Yennefer had to smile at the cheekiness.
A damp gauze entered her view and then pressed on the cut, and it fucking hurt. «Ah it stings!»
«Remember it for the next time, and don’t move!» Fuck her and her second-hand live lessons. But her hands were delicate, so much softer and more careful than the doctor’s at the Hospital.
It was worry and not hatred that shaped her features, too.
When was the last time she had her so close? So close to see the different shades between green and aquamarine in her eyes, the tiny wrinkles around them, the sharp line of the jaw and cheekbones.
Months maybe, a year?
She smelled fabulous too, her spiced and sea fresh perfume, that felt like home and much more once. Still does, perhaps.
And the dress.
«You look lovely.» It escaped her, damn her mouth for not having a single filter. The gauze on her face stopped its gentle patting and Tissaia tensed with a soft sigh. Yennefer could feel in her hands the tension in those muscles as if she was actually wrapping her tiny waist.
«Thank you.» That, also, came in a soft sigh. As if it pained her. What the fuck.
Ciri jumped on the stool right in front of hers, and was watching them with hawk eyes, chin resting on her arms. «Mum has a date. She’s still deciding on her hair, though.»
Honestly what kind of detective she was to not see it faster.
Fuck , it hit like two trucks crushing her in between. It was way too soon, wasn’t it? Barely a year it’s too soon. It must be.
Tissaia could probably read it all on her face and sent, a way softer, glare at their daughter. «It isn’t… It's not even a date. Margarita has been pestering me.»
A clean band aid was put on her cut, but she barely felt it, her mind was spiraling in an endless pit. «No… it’s fine, you totally should. Have fun.» It was the worst lie that ever came out of her wretched mouth. And she was a good lair.
The other woman, damn her, could see right through it.
The weight of the silence was going to crush her and so she jumped out of the stool, settled on not thinking of it and just be gone.
Not thinking being her favorite hobby.
Green eyes followed her movements, neck stiff and jaw clenched, pretty hard too. She was making herself not answer, Yennefer knew that move, because it would probably be a snappy one.
«Come on Ciri, let’s get going.» Her hands twitched at her sides, wanting to reach out and smoothen the tensed muscles. «And thank you for the patching up.»
A single nod was her only answer. It was awkward and bad and she hated all of it.
«You should totally wear it down, Mum, it always looks pretty.» Dark brown hair was half up in a loose chignon, a clearly still in-working look.
The pang in the intercostals could’ve been a poisoned arrow. Tissaia’s hair down was her personal treat, her personal soft space.
«I’ll think about it dear.» Ciri gave her a big hug, squeezing her middle and Yennefer could see the muscles start to relax. «See you Monday, alright? And I’ll call, you better answer dear.» It was a threat and a caress all in one. It was special the way it made her heart want to jump out of the stern.
Ciri smiled, took her bag and sprinted to the door. At least now she looked content, the first times she cried and trashed her feet. It was horrible.
Yennefer nodded her head at her ex wife. It will always feel like dying a little inside thinking it? She hoped so, she was not ready to give up that heartbreak.
Her feet went towards the door, trying to not think of Tissaia’s date and who may be and fuck .
«She has homeworks to do, she didn’t get to finish it all.» How much homeworks could a seven years old have, anyway? «And Yennefer, change the band aid tomorrow. If you are still bleeding then the stitches need to be redone alright?»
Yes, Mum.
She couldn’t say it out loud and risking being called childish. «Yeah, I think I can do that.» It went out as snarky as she intended and Tissaia rolled those pretty eyes at her.
Yennefer went straight to the door but there was something, an irking spot to scratch. The nagging wouldn’t leave her, and with the hand on handle she turned back.
Turning and speaking, well, she knew she was making a bad choice even before doing it. It never stopped her, though. Bad decisions were the bread and butter of her days.
«Don’t wear it down, the hair I mean.» She realized, too late, that it sounded like a plea and not an advice. «Whoever it is, they don’t deserve to see that yet.» To see her that much softer, with long locks framing her face and gentling it enough to make her want to cry sometimes.
It felt so fucking intimate, to get to see that hidden side of her. Yennefer was not ready to share it yet. As selfish as it sounded.
Because she doesn’t share, is selfish and makes impulsive, horrible decisions. She should’ve had that on her resume, it was a perfect summary.
Tissaia was staring right at her as if she’d seen a ghost. Maybe she was a shadow of the past that came back to haunt her. A hint of a smile on her dark peach lips, just an upper lip twitching in reality.
Yennefer used to be so proud of making the great and terrifying Tissaia De Vries smile when she wished to. It seemed she had lost her touch.
«I’ll consider it too.» God was she always this insufferable? Her special talent is using your words and your unconscious slips to tear you apart.
It was her fault anyway, who offers a snake their arm to be bitten and then blame the snake, right?
«Whatever.» Maybe she was childish, sue her!
Yennefer almost threw the door open and marched to the car, Ciri was already in the passenger seat.
She closed the door with too much force, making the thud resonate in the cabin.
«Were you two fighting again?» It seriously broke her heart, because Ciri deserved much more. She deserved an united happy little family, a normal family, to forget her abused past.
They didn’t manage to give her that, and it was the worst failure of her life.
«Nah, just adult things, nothing to worry about. All it’s okay.» Ciri gave her the exact same eyebrow lift in “you are dumber than me and we both know it” that Tissaia uses all the time, and it landed badly in her chest. Very badly. «Ice cream as a dessert?»
She was corrupting her child and, honestly, she couldn’t care less. Yennefer needed that ice cream too, if only to survive an evening of thinking at her wife- no, bloody hell, ex-wife - out with somebody else.
The fact that she was even considering calling Triss and, Satan-in-person Sabrina, to cheer her up, was indication enough that she was going mad.
Also, Margarita Laux-Antille better not cross her path, because she won’t be shy of car-invest her.
The door closed with a loud helpless sound, making her heart jump even if she was expecting it.
Yennefer had this virtue and flaw, a coin with two sides really, to crumble her walls with few words and a look.
She heard them fall, one by one, block after block, without managing to do anything but stand still.
It was anguishing, soul wrenching, and crowded her with so many fears it was impossible to breathe. Breathing near Yennefer had always been difficult, from their very first meeting.
Mayhaps she should’ve thought it as the warning that it was. The little bells that rang in her brain had been shut down then, she had turned her ears away, faking deafness.
What a fool, what an absolute amateur of life.
Yennefer had made her feel warm, whole, safe, for the first time in forever. Nonetheless she was impossible most of the time, had that damn bratty smirk (that she learned to adore) and challenged her so much sometimes it was tiring.
It had been a transfusion of chaos then, of pure adrenaline and warmth. She had fallen for it without a net, without parachute and now found herself crawling on the ground with her walls tumbling down.
It was never easy raising them up again too. It took tears and self-humiliation in astronomical quantities. All the stars in the night sky couldn’t hold her up, not when she made several teenager-like decisions and was paying for them.
Paying with blood, tears and self-hate.
A ping made her glance down at the phone on the peninsula. It still had Yennefer and Ciri smiling faces as wallpaper, but she never got around to changing it. Because she was tired all the time, and angry too and was pushing forty.
Tell me you didn’t wear one of your lab nun outfit!?!!?!
Margarita was pushing her luck these days. No, she was always pushing her luck and the fact that she was still breathing to push it, well, it was testimony of her good heart.
I even put the white coat on.
You are a nightmare. Let me see!!!
One day, one brilliant day, she’ll jump on a stool and strangle her.
Go back to Tinder, you nymphomaniac and let me be.
You evil witch :(
She rolled her eyes at the phone, as if Margarita was right there and went to her room.
Once theirs.
Having Yennefer strolling in the house brought back too many things, little whispers she didn’t have time to process now.
Yennefer with a cut the size of four fingers and bleeding. Blood shouldn’t affect a doctor that much, especially if there were two drops from a scratch. It turned her veins into ice anyway.
It was the thought of the dangers of her job, the crippling fear of hearing a phone night call or an unfamiliar knock at the door.
She couldn’t control it, and it drove her to insanity, it still does.
The mirror talked back to her. The wrinkles accumulating at the sides of her eyes, the deep purple under them barely covered with foundation, the lips that find harder and harder to sincerely smile.
You look lovely.
She shouldn’t hold that much power in her lips, on her tongue. Power used to disrupt her and never to glew her back together.
«You have too much makeup on to cry.» And now she was talking to a mirror. It was pathetic. She had made it so to be sharpened by it, to be inaccessible, and still Yennefer knew how to get inside.
And if she chose to put her hair up with a beautiful jeweled wood stick, it was because she decided it so, it was more classy and suited the dress, and not because of Yennefer gigantic purple puppy eyes.