AU: Trade in Your Hand

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

1890s England

The wedding was – in every traditional sense of the word – a success. However, it barely felt as if it were that. Penelope stood there, watched as the ceremony went on. She kept her back straight, her composure never wavering as it continued. Everything a supportive sister was supposed to do on her brother’s wedding day.

And she was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. The poorly trained psychometrist couldn’t help but to let her gaze linger for moments too long. Attention was already drawn to the Australian she loved, so she could easily look without being questioned, but every second that passed and Penelope stared made it that much more painful.

She couldn’t help but to advert her gaze to the floor as they kissed.

With careful, quiet steps, Penelope excused herself from the party, having stayed and put on a façade long enough to be considered acceptable before she could slip away. In the still, quietness of the hallway, she held her breath, refusing to falter as she twisted the handle of her bedroom door.

As it clicked behind her, Penelope finally let go of the breath she held, squeezing her eyes shut as the back of her head rested against the hardened surface of the door. She stayed long enough to insure that she could handle this; that each breath she took was even and didn’t threaten to break. The Brit was convinced she could step away and continue her nightly routine.

But the moment she took another step, every brick that had been carefully built up crumbled. Why she tried to stay strong in the confinements of her own room, she wasn’t sure. The thought now seemed fruitless. Impossible as she took in a slow, wavering breath. Vision blurred as tears lined her eyes, jaw clenched in a last attempt to keep herself in check, but as her thumb ran over the back of her hand, where Penelope last felt the mark of her lips, she failed.

Breath hitched, and she could barely take the few steps to her bed. Climbing into it wasn’t an option, not in such an empty space. Even if it wasn’t the same one she shared with the Australian, it felt too much of a reminder for the psychometrist to be in any bed alone.

With her hands trembling, she gripped the material of her dress, her memory based ability vividly recalling how she laced up the back of it. With a sharp breath, Penelope gripped the material, threatening to rip it off if she could, but her hold loosened, instead bringing her hands to her face as she cried.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Serrano, no more. It felt strange to think about, but it wasn't the most pressing thought in her mind.

Smiling. Lucy knew it was the most important thing; to keep a smile on her face as she looked at him. Really, they looked so alike in their own ways - the sister she loved and the brother she was marrying - but it wasn't where her mind wanted to go either. But it was impossible to deny how strange it suddenly felt to be under his gaze. How her hands suddenly didn't fit quite as neatly into his. How bitter it was to had to kiss him.

But it didn't show. She was almost certain none of it did. Arguably, it was the most important thing of all.

Afterwards, she was allowed to look - to keep her eyes away from him long enough to notice the people around her. Not a Serrano in the room, and she knew that, so it wasn't why her eyes wandered so intently. Smiles, but she never caught her gaze. She looked. She wasn't aware that she stared, from the corner of her eye with the man in her life at her side. Not until he moved.

Michael's voice hung heavy in her ear as he'd leaned in. As he explained that he knew - that he'd always known, even when she hadn't - and that that had been the whole point. Wide eyed and potently weary, she struggled to believe why anyone would ever be so selfless. How it was such an idea could even exist in a person in the world as it was.

Another look, and she was gone.

Eventually she left. It was hard to leave these things when the central focus was on her. But she excused herself with polite precision and managed just fine.

It was an unfamiliar series of steps to her room. Lucy had never honestly been there before, so the path was arguably difficult. In the end it was Michael himself who offered the best direction, and he left her to it.

Resting her forehead against the door, Lucy paused briefly. She wondered if she should just open it or if it was truly wiser to knock. What was she supposed to get either way? Raising her hand to the door, she curled her fingers into a fist and threatened to knock. But she didn't. Instead, her hand fell to the handle itself, and with a gentle pull downwards, the door shifted from the latch and opened. There she stood, silently, peering in from a break in the doorway.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, building herself up only to break down again within the next moment, but eventually she gave up trying. There was no point in attempting to hide tears from herself or convince herself that this wasn’t devastating. With her face buried within her hands, she felt hopeless. Lost in the woods without a clear path to guide her out. And so Penelope stayed still, frozen where she sat on the edge of her bed.

And Penelope couldn’t help but to wonder if it was just as hard for her to smile as it had been for the Brit. She readily recalled her expression when she last saw the woman she loved in private, and how she looked as she smiled in front of a crowd of people.

When Penelope heard her door open, her back straightened, eyes widening as she dragged her hands away. She hadn’t quite been able to see who was entering her room, and she cursed herself for not locking the door as she usually did. A slip in her frail mentality.

“I-I’m not decent.” She stated, wincing to herself as she heard the hoarse natures of her own voice, how it was on the verge of cracking. It was the first excuse she could think of from stopping a person from entering her room and discovering the mess that she wished to keep so private. Because she hardly expected it to be the bride behind the door.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

All in relative darkness, it was difficult to see much. Lucy's eyes tried to focus on the figure sitting at the edge of the bed. At least she knew who it was; who else could it be?

The way she held herself, straightening in a moment of threatening confrontation.

Her voice was strained; fragile and practically broken as it cut the air of silence. Lucy pressed her lips together, frozen in the space of the the barely opened door. It took a lot of nerve to make another move. It took everything to even try. The ink manipulator swallowed the pride that willed her to turn around and leave, instead choosing to draw the door open a little more and slip through.

There, a silhouette in white with no more light pressed her hand to the other side of the door and closed it behind her.

"I don't care."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Penelope remained still, holding her breath as she waited for whoever was behind the door to step away. Why would they enter a woman’s room when she was stated to not be decent, after all? It strained her eyes to try and catch who the figure was, but it was easy to see the door get pushed further.

She parted her lips, intent on reiterating her point. That they shouldn’t enter, but words failed her the moment she caught a flash of white. It wasn’t hard to recognize the dress Penelope helped put on her counterpart.

The psychometrist immediately stood, staring with widened eyes at the poorly lit figure in front of her. She took in a sharp breath when the familiar accent cut through the air. Her hands clasped together, squeezing them for a false sense of stability. “Aren’t—“ She stumbled over any attempt of a sentence, losing her breath as she took definite steps across the room to kiss her again.

It wasn’t like Penelope to do something so impulsive, but there was little that could stop her from moving to her counterpart.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

The words Lucy offered hadn't even pierced the air before she was standing up. But she'd spoken with definite conviction regardless; she didn't care what kind of state she was in. It didn't matter. Being able to be near her was the most pressing thought in her mind, and everything else was secondary.

She took a breath, intent on answering the beginning of the most obvious question between them. The tip of her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. No, she would have offered, had she been given the chance.

A beat behind, but Lucy took equal steps towards her to catch the movement she made. Anything to articulate in a second of time that she needed it, too.

Reaching up, she pressed her palms to either side of her face as she kissed her. It was impossible to ignore the cooler connotations of her skin as the damp nature of her cheeks caught her flared senses. She kissed her to the point where she absolutely couldn't breathe. To the point where her lungs were on fire with the desire to steal a sliver of air to fill the break. But it didn't matter. There, in that particular moment, she couldn't stop.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

It was impossible to ignore the way her counterpart stepped forward; a beat late or not, Penelope hadn’t thought it mattered. What mattered was that she moved at all. That she – for some reason – was here. Questions regarding why burned in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t find the means to stop and ask. Even doing so for the sake of a breath was an unreasonable request.

Her hands moved to either side of her form, pressing desperately into the fabric of her white dress. Even without appropriate training, psychometry was pushed to the back of her mind, the Australian providing the perfect distraction to keep her mind away from memory based abilities.

And so she drew her in closer, finding herself caught up in the way she kissed her. It let her push past her devastation, if only for a moment. Even as she finally broke away, a forced response from the lack of oxygen in her lungs, Penelope could barely offer a sliver of distance. And even then she struggled to take the necessary breath before finally speaking again. “How?”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy felt the way she held the dress she wore. The way her hands had settled on the fabric could have been the very thing to force distance - to force her to breathe. But even with the pressure at either side, she couldn't stop. Not if it saved her life.

She breached whatever distance was left in a small step, her thumb brushing under the line of her eye to dispel the remnants of tears. First one side, then the other before hands fell to her shoulders instead.

But distance was difficult to put in play again, and Lucy tried her best to follow the moment Penelope put a break between them. She failed, the word catching her lips instead as she pulled back. Just enough to hear it. "I-" She thought to explain. She wondered how she was even supposed to do that. What was the best way to do so in the shortest amount of time.

"He's always known." The ink manipulator offered.

Was it right? Did it even make sense? Her hands grazed the material she wore, high on her neck before her fingers managed to make skin to skin contact again. She pressed herself forward, her forehead resting against hers in a spare moment. On a forced breath.

"I'm sorry." She offered quickly, breaching that barely significant distance to kiss her again, "I'm sorry." And again, she brushed her lips against hers, impossibly fast in a moment where there was so much more to say; "I love you - I'm so sorry."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Penelope wasn’t usually one to let others see her in such a state of distress, but her ego hardly mattered when it came to her. Lucy Serrano—no, Blaise now – had seen her in a much more vulnerable state, and even then it felt more natural than any move she had ever made before. Her attention was far too captured by her counterpart’s sudden appearance than the tears in her own eyes.

But when she brushed her thumb to clear away what was left of tears, Penelope couldn’t help but to wonder if it were possible for this woman to become any more perfect.

Her eyebrows furrowed together at the explanation offered. Assuming she was speaking of her brother, seeing as she slipped away from him, how could he possibly know?

Before she could ask, Penelope’s concern skyrocketed when she heard an accented apology fall on her ears. It surprised her so much that she was a beat late reciprocating the kiss. And again, she was thrown by its repetition, but she caught Lucy’s lips a second time, but only just barely.

The psychometrist was caught between her heart racing from her admission to aching from the third apology.

“Please do not apologize.” She replied, this time breaching the sliver of distance between them to kiss her. “You have done nothing wrong, my love.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

The series of erratic apologies were the first to Lucy's mind. In her eyes, she had a great many things to be sorry for. She owed her every morsel of sorrow she gave, and then some. Even as she was told not to, she thought to shake her head. Instead the repetition built in her lungs once more before the air was ripped from them in the precise way this woman kissed her.

Being referred to as her love forced the pressure to rise in her heart, drawing her heartbeat further into her throat with each passing second.

She could be so perfect.

"I am yours." She offered, though the words tasted bitter. Ash on her tongue from the fire in her lungs. Because although improbable, it was impossible to refrain from speaking as such. Despite the obvious marriage, true things still remained so.

"But I hurt you."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy’s presence was disorienting in its own way. Her kisses made the psychometrist’s head spin, and her hands remained pressed to the white fabric as a means to keep herself steady. The stability she offered was far greater than any other surface.

As marriage binds would argue otherwise, the Brit chose not to fight her counterpart’s words. They forced her heart to speed up again. Because no matter who she was married to, Penelope believed Lucy’s words to be true.

“You did not hurt me.” Penelope explained, carefully emphasizing herself in attempt to make her point clear. “This is not your fault, and I do not wish for you to be sorry for it.”

This time, she took the distance between them, brushing her lips against Lucy’s just as lightly as she had moments before. “But I am afraid I still do not understand.”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Despite the reassurance she was offering, Lucy found it difficult to shift her perspective. She looked out so many times before that particular moment, catching sight of the woman she loved wearing such a feigned expression. One to match her own, she was sure.

The argument rose in her chest. She wanted to proclaim that she saw just how much it had pained her. So much so that she could practically feel it. That it didn't matter where fault might have landed, the fact was still a fact.

But her mind became enraptured with the simple way Penelope chose to kiss her. Light and precise, but hardly lacking in meaning.

However, explaining herself seemed as impossible as it was critical.

She stayed close, fingers filtering across the break in material against her neck. Anything to maintain that physicality. Anything to actually feel her.

"He said he knew. That he's known for some time. He's always known, even when you hadn't." She tried, the rushed conversation in hushed tones against her own ear still failing to truly sink in, "He wants you to be happy."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

She had to ask; it felt imperative to understand before she got too caught up in the woman in front of her. It would have been far too easy to just let her take everything. Again. Penelope would have been more than willing to let her.

But she couldn’t stand the thought of trying only to find out there was no time first. So she asked.

Even so, the small amount of contact at her neck was incredibly intoxicating, but Penelope was hardly about to do anything to stop it. It was as much of a lifeline as it was a distraction.

As the explanation fell upon her ear, Penelope felt a mixture of confusion and surprise take over her own features in an involuntary way. How did Michael possibly know? And before Penelope herself had? Still, as the words settled into her mind, the Brit felt her own hold tighten on her counterpart.

“You’re here,” she started slowly, “To stay?”

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy knew her explanation was rushed. Something about the whole ordeal felt so. But even as she considered pouring time into a detailed recount of everything that happened, she doubted she'd manage. It was an impossible situation; how would anything she said feel anything less than improbable?

It was impossible to dwell on as her hands surely tightened in a moment. Her fingers settled around the back of her neck instead, keeping herself close.

Because her free hand painstakingly left her, reaching back for the door she'd just walked through. Unlike her counterpart, she couldn't forget to attend to the lock, and the moment she did she turned her attention back to her again.

"Provided I leave early enough," She gave the disclaimer somewhat regrettably, but it was better than the alternative by far, "Yes."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Had it been anyone but Lucy telling her this information, Penelope doubted she’d believe it. Even coming from her brother’s mouth. But there would be no other way she’d be there, in Penelope’s room, had she not been speaking the truth.

Where Lucy’s hand had left felt sharply cold, but as Penelope registered the sound of her door locking, she couldn’t have been more grateful for the move. It was as much of an answer as the one her counterpart offered moments later.

There was so much she could have said; what the psychometrist should have taken the time to articulate within that moment. How she was thankful for her brother’s actions. How she was so glad to see her again. That she loved Lucy more than she could explain. It was all on the tip of her tongue when she instead chose to kiss the Australian again.

With or without a disclaimer, Penelope could not help herself, not around this woman. So much it burned her lips as they pressed against hers, and still could not find any means to stop.