Chapter Text
Alaska carried the scrutiny of thousands.
Countless eyes watched her through their screens every day: televisions tuned to recordings of both Season 5 and All-Stars 2, tablets playing YouTube videos of the PayPal or ‘Party’ clips or the lip syncs where she won and cried over having to send a girl home, phones showing tweets of videos from her latest club gig. They wrote posts about her: debating her worthiness, questioning her humanity, assassinating her character. They picked apart every facet of her—physical flaws, moral failings, vocal skill, humor, upbringing, throwaway comments, rehearsed comments—until all that was left of Alaska was a shell of who she once was. Then the next day, they took out their favorite doll to do it all again.
Alaska carried their vitriol, their admiration, their morbid curiosity, their indifference. Alaska couldn’t put a number on it, couldn’t begin to literally quantify the weight of the figurative, but she was sure that she was beginning to understand Sisyphus better. Every time she thought she had settled the boulder of scrutiny, had found just the right angle to push it away, it came rolling back towards her and up the mountain she went again.
She carried her phone even though all it did was bring her headaches. An iPhone 7 weighed 4.9 ounces—and she felt every single one of those ounces and then some as she laid in bed and scrolled through the latest email telling her what she had to do next. This time at least, it was a simple request from her manager: call me when you can. Simple did not make it easy, however, and Alaska carried her anxiety in her gut.
“You need a win,” her manager said.
Alaska laughed humorlessly. “Uh, hello? Did I not just do that?”
“You need a couple of shows where you’re pure ‘Alaska’ and everything lands.”
“What did I do last night then?” Alaska asked. “The crowd loved me. It was great.”
There was a pause.
“Was it not great?” Alaska asked softly.
“No, no, it was,” she said. “Sorry, I was looking at, at a confirmation for something. I think you should go do a few shows with someone. Go get some good energy going on stage, let them see you with another queen, all that.”
Alaska wasn’t opposed to the idea. She always enjoyed performing with her friends. Some didn’t like to share the stage, but Alaska saw it as an enhancement, not a detriment. Put her on stage with, say, Jinkx and they brought out the best in each other. Alaska would gladly share the weight of the spotlight right now.
“Someone who you shine with, who you have great chemistry with, who gets you and what you do,” her manager continued.
“I think Willam’s available,” Alaska said.
Her manager hummed. “Not who I was thinking. Willam’s not a sure-fire way for you to have a few shows where everyone’s happy.”
Alaska grimaced. Tough hit on Willam, but she knew what her manager was trying to say: Willam was polarizing even to her own audience. Someone could actively seek out a Willam show and still leave pissed. It was actually pretty impressive.
“Then who are you thinking?” Alaska asked.
* * *
The things Alaska carried heading into this little collection of shows were mostly practical. She carried a suitcase that held one of her signature beehive wigs, a space buns wig, a curly wig, and two sleek wigs, altogether 9.4 pounds. She carried three eyeshadow palettes, several eyeliners, multiple shades of lipstick, lipliner, a basic blush palette, cream contour, powder contour, mascara, 301s, glitter, an array of brushes, an eyelash curler, lash glue, nail glue, three sets of fake nails, Albolene, and makeup wipes. This all weighed a whopping 20.3 pounds. She carried Capezios, shapewear, latex opera gloves, jersey opera gloves, three different chokers, six different pairs of earrings, an unknown number of rings, three massive hair bows, altogether 12.6 pounds. She carried black contacts and contact solution, 11.2 fluid ounces. She carried three different bras, a few Ru Girl merch shirts, a skimpy, gold dress, a mini skirt, a high-waisted skirt, hot pants, two pairs of high heels, and boy-clothes, altogether 10 pounds even.
What she didn’t physically swing over her shoulders or pull behind her, she carried in the hollows of her chest. Alaska held her hopes, dreams, fears, and delusions in there. She carried her wishes and heartbreak and broken trust. Alaska carried the agony that was getting everything she ever wanted and realizing how much she had had to break to get there. She bottled it all up and shoved it deep inside and hoped that nobody had the map to find that dark treasure.
Of course, as she walked through the lobby of the hotel, she knew that was a ridiculous thing to hope for because Sharon Needles was sprawled across a sofa in the lobby waiting for her. If anyone ever had her map, it was Sharon.
Sharon lounged as if she owned the place, but her green T-shirt with the image of Alaska and a machine gun on it and her dirty sneakers said otherwise. She was already smiling when Alaska walked through the automatic doors.
“Oh my God,” Sharon said as she swung her legs off the sofa dramatically. She held out her arms. “Come here. Let me see you. Let me—”
But Sharon didn’t need to keep asking because Alaska carried a torch; she was quick to shed all the other weights at Sharon’s request. She dropped her duffel, released her suitcases, slid her backpack to the ground. She shed the pounds so she could accept Sharon’s weight against her because Sharon didn’t hug lightly. When Sharon hugged Alaska, she leaned into her fully and assumed that Alaska would accept her weight. Alaska wouldn’t want it any other way. Right now, those arms around her rib cage were tight enough to make Alaska forget about the heaviness she carried.
“Hi, honey,” Sharon said into Alaska’s hair. “My reigning queen!”
Alaska huffed a shaky, wet laugh and pulled back from Sharon to roll her eyes up to the ceiling.
“Oh, she’s bashful. She’s humble,” Sharon said dryly. “Cut the crap. It’s you and me.”
“No, I know,” Alaska said. She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. “It’s just… been a tough few months.”
In response, Sharon swept up the duffel bag, grabbed the handle of the smaller suitcase, and started to the elevators. Alaska picked up her (now lighter) load and let the relief that came from Sharon Needles carry her to the elevator. Nostalgia could be so heavy, but right now, Sharon was the one carrying it; Alaska was chasing it. It was a quick ride up and a quicker walk a few feet down the hall to Room 203.
“Your room,” Sharon said as she popped the keycard into the door.
“Where’s yours?” Alaska asked as she followed Sharon inside.
“I don’t know,” Sharon said. She popped open the smaller suitcase and took out the wigs. “Chad’s in it now. I’ll text him. I’m guessing across the hall? Maybe next door?” Sharon held up one of the wigs, using her hand as a bust, and eyed it. “Is this new?”
“Yeah, it is,” Alaska said.
“I brought a new one, too,” Sharon said. “Chad found this purple one, and I was really against it at first, but it actually looks incredible on me. It’s kinda a grey-purple? No, not grey. I don’t know how to describe it. I tried, and Chad said I must be color blind—because my old man knows how to make a lady feel special.”
Alaska smiled and sat down at the foot of the bed to take off her shoes as Sharon blathered on about the wig. Then, she promptly turned to fall face first onto the bed.
“What is going on?” Sharon asked. She sat down on the bed and palmed the back of Alaska’s head. She playfully scratched her scalp. “Are you dying or something? When they called that you wanted to do a few last-minute gigs, I thought for sure something was wrong—like, why was management asking, not you?—but now you’re freaking me out and I’m too sober for that.” She looked at the balcony doors. “I bet I could smoke out there which isn’t a drink, but it ain’t nothing, right?”
“Yeah, I also bet you could smoke outside,” Alaska said.
“Shut up,” Sharon said. She patted her pocket with her free hand and sighed. “I don’t even have my pack.”
“Poor girl,” Alaska said. “Rub my back.”
It was supposed to make Sharon laugh. It was supposed to make Sharon smack her and tell her to get over herself and that, crown or not, Sharon wasn’t going to bow to her. Instead, it made Sharon rub her back. She slid that hand from Alaska’s head down her neck to run her nails over her shoulder blades.
And Alaska? Alaska could have cried. She could have cried over Sharon’s wearing old-school Alaska merch and waiting for her in the lobby and wanting to celebrate her and being so sweet to her now. Somehow, all these combined seemed to take a weight off of Alaska—even as Alaska was forced to shove more and more into the bottle in her chest.
“It’s the reaction, isn't it?” Sharon said.
Alaska didn’t say anything.
“You’re a fucking miracle,” Sharon whispered. “Don’t let them do this. You’re better than this. Those assholes don’t get to make you feel bad for what a fucking television production company orchestrated.”
“They can only orchestrate what you give them,” she said into the comforter.
“That’s true,” Sharon said, “but they set the rules. They set you all up. Why should you have been the one eliminating peers?” She traced designs on Alaska’s back. Alaska thought one might be a heart. “Who are you to make that call? Then to get you right there and put you in the bottom? They lit the fuse.”
Sharon wasn’t the first one to say it, but she was the first one Alaska believed. Everyone else who had said it in the past had had an agenda of sorts: family and friends wanted her to snap out of it already; fans wanted adoration; management wanted compliance. Sharon? Well, Sharon had never been shy about telling Alaska when she had sold out or fucked up or blown it. Alaska doubted Sharon was about to start being shy and careful now, so Alaska was more willing to consider her take on it all.
“And you have a short fuse,” Sharon continued.
“Not true. I’m still putting up with you after all these years.”
Alaska hoped Sharon could hear the smirk in her voice. There was a brief pause before Sharon laughed. When Sharon tugged at her shirt’s hem, Alaska lifted her hips to allow her to pull it up under her armpits. Sharon’s nails on her bare skin gave her goosebumps, but Alaska made no mention of it because Sharon would love the opportunity to make a joke about still having it. Torch or not, Alaska wasn’t willing to walk into every fire for Sharon’s sake.
“You’re really coming for me today,” Sharon said. “I mean, tamely and without your usual skill, but you’re there.”
“I’m out of practice,” Alaska drawled. She rolled her head to the side to look at Sharon. “Sorry.”
“You should be sorry for being out of practice,” Sharon said. “But no, you do have a short fuse when it comes to your drag. They threatened your win; you defended what was yours.”
Alaska turned her face back into the bed.
“And before we all fucking forget, it’s a fucking reality show about fucking drag queens!” Sharon cackled. “Let’s gain a little perspective!”
For another few minutes, they both were content to sit together without a word. Even in the silence, Alaska still carried Sharon’s unsaid thoughts. Sharon’s silence had a way of being so loud, of curling around Alaska and tightening the rope, that she had no choice but to take on the weight. Alaska sat up, effectively pulling out of Sharon’s touch and shaking some sense back into herself. It helped, but the weight of her silence lingered anyway. Still, when Alaska looked at Sharon, and when Sharon smiled at her and raised her eyebrows, how could Alaska not smile back?
“Are we drinking?” Sharon asked.
“I mean, are you ever not drinking?” Alaska countered. “I drink after shows now.”
Sharon stood and put her hands on her hips to survey Alaska’s bags. What she gathered from it, Alaska couldn’t be sure, but it made Sharon start to the door of the hotel room. At the last second, she spun around and pointed at Alaska.
“A miracle,” Sharon said seriously.
“Stop,” Alaska whined.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Sharon said.
“No, that’s Chad.”
Sharon scowled. “He wishes.”
“I won’t tell him you said that,” Alaska teased.
“I won’t tell him that you took your shirt off for me,” Sharon said.
Alaska gasped. “I didn’t take it all the way off!”
“Oh, I'm so sorry, the shirt didn’t come all the way off—that sounds like a really innocent thing, and it will definitely give my fiancé peace of mind.”
Sharon grinned. It was her most feral smile, the one that never ceased to make Alaska smile right back at her. It was the smile that Sharon had flashed at her at Veruca’s house when Sharon had realized that Alaska was worth her time, worth getting to know. The smile was too open, too revealing, too free. It took Alaska’s breath away every time.
“Text me when you’re ready to go.” Sharon opened the door and then spun back around. “Do ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ with me tonight?” She shimmied her shoulders. “I’m hooked on a feelin’!”
Alaska snorted. “Sure. That’s new. We can have fun with that.”
“Great!” Sharon said brightly, and then she was gone.
Alaska carried heat in her cheeks that burned so hot it rivaled the torch she carried for Sharon. Either way, both were lighting her up now. She wished she had the space to carry them both inside that bottle tucked away inside her chest, but that was precious real estate. No, she’d have to carry the heat on her face and along her back where she could still feel Sharon’s phantom touch.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself.
Alaska let out a whoosh of a sigh. If that was the song Sharon wanted to do together, then management had to have told her what this was all about. She had to know this was to give Alaska some padding, some fun press, a different kind of intrigue. If she was going to sing that as a duet with Alaska, then Sharon had to know she was opening another door to allow the Shalaska shippers inside yet again. That was a real kindness because Alaska had to imagine that was very uncomfortable when you were engaged to another man. If Chad wasn’t so damn quiet and reserved, maybe Alaska would have thanked him for going along with it all, too. But he was, and Alaska wasn’t that good of a man to do it anyway.
“I’m hooked on a feelin’,” Alaska belted simply to see if she could—and she could. “Okay, okay, yeah.”
She opened her large suitcase and took out the gold dress. She could hear Willam telling her she was going to scooch it up at the club. That was the plan. How could she sing a 70s classic and not wear this little number? Paired with one of her sleek wigs, gloves, and the right makeup? Alaska was looking forward to it already. She was also looking forward to whatever bizarre comment would come out of Sharon’s mouth. Or maybe she’d forego compliments and jump to reads and gratuitous touches. Alaska carried the anticipation high in her chest. Its lightness did battle with the tightness, and excitingly enough, it seemed to be winning.
“I’m high on believin’ that you’re in love with me,” Alaska sang under her breath.