forthsofar | we were young and learning, steady hearts hate turning

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sabrina

we were young and learning, steady hearts hate turning

Rosie takes a few days to get everything settled in her mind before she even considers bringing it up to Sabrina. All the things she wants, and the things she doesn't; what she has to have back out of the things she's given up, and everything that she's thrown aside for the better over the last year. She doesn't know if it's enough, will be enough, but she wants to try.

Nick, she thinks, might have wanted her to try. More than that, she loves Sabrina and Charlie too deeply to turn away from this. Whatever it becomes.

She and Sabrina agree to meet in the window of time between when Sabrina's finished at Leviathan and before Rosie has to go down to the restaurant in the evening. After a day or two of storms, the weather's cleared, the humidity all but gone with the rain; after getting them both drinks from a nearby cafe, it's easy for Rosie to find a mostly-dry spot of grass in the park where they can talk and enjoy the sun. That it also makes it easier for either of them to leave isn't worth thinking about, and she does her best not to.

She texts Sabrina her location, then settles down to wait, fingers fidgeting with the straw in her drink.

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It's not as if life returns to normal.

It's that Sabrina has a lot of experience adjusting to a new normal, normals that shake the foundation of everything she holds dear.

No denying, in the end, that she hurts every day, that she deals with as best she can for the people she loves. In some ways, those things don't change. Her home is ridiculously supportive, and Charlie's devotion to her well-being is the main reason she's able to push herself to try. She can't let him down.

But there's still a frighteningly large area of uncertainty, one that she doesn't know how to fix. Fix isn't even the right word. She's loved Rosie more every single day since she's met her, since they huddled in a bed in a frozen hell, since they first kissed. The thought of losing that scares her, and yet, she's got no idea what to do.

So when she meets Rosie, she's made sure to put an effort into her appearance, checking her make-up and dress in the mirror before leaving work. Her heart is pounding when she joins Rosie at last, wanting very much to lean in and kiss her hello-- but she supposes she ought to wait.

"Hi," she says quietly, sitting beside her. "It's a nice day."

Rosie's stomach twists when she gets a reply as Sabrina leaves work, then twists again at the sight of her pale hair catching the light as she moves through the park. When Sabrina sits down, though, Rosie's smile is as steady as she can make it--if fainter than she might have liked. "Hi," she echoes. "It is."

Even the small talk feels stiff and uncertain, not like their old easy intimacy at all. It's not a sign, unless either of them take it as one.

"I got you your favorite," she says, nudging the other cup towards her, the ice rattling faintly against the plastic. "From the place on the corner." She picks up her own cup, taking a sip, the tea milky and cold and not very soothing as it mixes with the nerves already bubbling inside her. It takes a hard swallow to force it all down. She can do this; has to, because it's only by saying something that anything she wants is going to happen at all.

"I've been thinking about how different things are now, after..." Rosie trails off, unable to say it. Sabrina will know this part, anyway. Better than Rosie herself, even, on a level she wouldn't wish on anybody. "About how they have to be different, since it's three of us and not four."

"Thank you," she says as she takes the drink, a fruity hibiscus tea that somehow seems to have the faintest spice to it. Red, red, red. When's the last time she's been so nervous?

Sabrina knows, or at least, she's pretty sure, whatever happens needs to be on Rosie's terms, and that no matter how badly Sabrina wants to just do something about it all, that's not the right way back. Not back, she reminds herself, it's going to be forward.

A nod, at the beginning of Rosie's words, and she reaches down to tuck her hand under her own thigh to keep from reaching out, for reassurance, for support. "Okay," she says, with a solemn nod. "You're right. Things are different. And they-- they will be different." Just how, she's not sure. She makes herself take a sip of the tea. "I'm listening."

This is a different Sabrina, quieter and subdued, almost surprising in her meekness. It's like she's trying, just as she'd promised to try that night on the beach and so many other times thereafter. For a moment, Rosie feels awful for having doubted, even slightly, that she could see it through. She sees her fidget, and wants to reach out; wants to reassure her with a touch or even a kiss, something from their old lives that Rosie wants to have a place in this new one.

It doesn't, not yet, and so she holds herself back.

"Right," she says, breathing deep and letting it out again, looking down as she tries to find the start to everything she wants to say. "I had to think a lot about what I wanted this to be. What I was ready for, or what I thought I was...capable of sounds so cold and unromantic, but it's the closest I think I can get."

She turns to look at Sabrina, her expression guarded in a way she can't help right then. "I never thought about what you and I did, even when it was just the two of us, as...properly being in a relationship. Not just because Charlie wasn't sure about what we ought to be, what he was comfortable with. It was...I thought of it as something that happened sometimes. Because you wanted it, or I wanted it, or Nick wanted to see it." For a moment, an amused smile brings the corner of her mouth up, a soft laugh sounding on her next breath. "Or all of them at once."

The plan to be a more serene, thoughtful Sabrina appears to have been a good one, and though Sabrina prefers conversations like this to involve touch, she reminds herself that she does have restraint. And this is about Rosie.

She has to wonder if Rosie has any idea of the power she has here, if she chooses to use it.

Maybe that's what this is.

Sabrina bites her lip as she listens to Rosie say she hadn't considered it a proper relationship, and makes herself stay quiet against the desire to protest. Now that she's had to think about it in a way that their new situation demands, there's been plenty more realizations of how her concept of relationships, of love and sex and friendship, have shifted to something less human and mortal. She nods, saying, "I need to say this, because I don't think I did a very good job with it before. And I'm not saying that you're-- I just need you to know, whatever you decide, however you want to go, that yes, the wanting-- there was a whole lot of that. But even if I didn't say it, it was never just that you're a best friend I was, um, having sex with. I can't say I know how to define it, but I need you to know that you're just as individually precious to me as the boys." She breathes out. "Sorry. I just. I wanted to make sure I said that. Keep going."

Rosie can see the argument build in the dark of Sabrina's eyes, the way her teeth touch her lip as she holds it back--but she holds it back, gives Rosie the space she's asked to claim, if only for the afternoon. What she says instead isn't a protest as much as a fuller, deeper expression of her thoughts, and Rosie knows enough now to fall quiet and listen. Everything she hears sinks into her, through her, and if a little of it makes her heart ache it's a much cleaner, easier kind of pain than the grief and uncertainty she's felt over the last month.

"I know that," she says, eyes steady and clear as she watches Sabrina's face. "Even when I was upset, or things got muddled in my own head, or I didn't know how any of this was going to work, either at the start or...now. But you and Nick, you did your best in words and just by being here, you made me feel like I was important, and I knew that. And I wanted you both, more than I ever thought I could want anybody."

Her next breath is a little shakier, working hard to keep back a wave of feelings before they can sweep over her. She remembers Newt telling her to intellectualize this, rather than wallow, and it helps just enough. "I thought a lot about what being more than that, more than best friends who have sex, could be. If it was something I could do, because it's not something I ever expected to want. But I do. I want it with you."

Rosie swallows hard, aware of Sabrina sitting close enough that she could reach out and touch her. If she could, and she dared, and the tension of this moment wasn't as heavy as it is.

"But it shouldn't be me...moving up in the queue, to put it bluntly. I'm not taking Nick's place, and you wouldn't be taking his. It has to be something we do together, on an equal footing. And it means we have to start fresh. Not start over, not pretending we're strangers, but it can't be what it was before."

Sabrina realizes, by this point, that this is truly one of the most difficult things she's had to do in a very long time-- but she can see that it's working. She wants to know what Rosie's thinking, she needs to know. So she waits, and she listens, and keeps her features schooled and focused.

If there's a relieved exhale when Rosie declares that she wants it, Brina can hardly be blamed. "Okay," she breathes, falling quiet, knowing there's more to this.

The queasy feeling, the one that threatens to tip into guilt, swirls in her stomach at the idea of not doing this right. It's one of the most insidious parts of her, of how she's changed. Rosie's in control though, and there's relief there too, that Rosie knows what she wants and knows how they could get there.

"Okay," she says again. "Yes. We can do that." It just takes her a moment longer to figure out what that might mean. "Like-- we could date, is that what you mean?" Hope shines bright in her eyes, despite how still and tight she holds herself.

"That's exactly what I mean," she says, and her smile is easy and soft, the kind of thing that lights up her face until it fades away. The relief in Sabrina's tone, the quiet, breathless hope, soothes another of the nervous flutters in her chest. "I want us to date, just like we might have under different circumstances. If we'd only been friends before, and thought there could be more to it but never tried until now."

Rosie's aware of something solid and firm, almost certain, forming within her with every word she says and after every quiet and solemn nod of Sabrina's head. It feels new. It feels like strength, and confidence, all the things she'd thought she lost somewhere along the way. She trusts it, without thought or question.

"I need to be the one who decides how...fast we go, too," she says, and even after so many nights and afternoons and mornings in bed with Nick and the girl in front of her now, there's still a blush that rises to Rosie's cheeks. "Intimately. I need to know that I can decide that for us, because it's..."

Her expression turns regretful, the careful effort of choosing her words plain on her face. "I don't mean this to hurt, but it's going to. Neither of you, not you and not Nick, made me do anything I didn't want to do, and I promise that's true." She swallows hard. "But knowing that you both...liked it when I was good, when I was your Rosie, sometimes it got into my head. It made it hard to feel like I was allowed to say no. And I need that back. I need to know I can say no and it doesn't make me boring or mortal or anything like that."

There's the twist of fear she was expecting low in her stomach, the sharp, gutting ache when she sees the impact of her words on Sabrina's face, but that new strength she's aware of tempers it. Makes it manageable, a layer of certainty and confidence smoothing everything out to something more even. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I wish I could put it more gently, but I don't think that's as useful as the truth."

How is it, Sabrina wonders from time to time, that Rosie has no idea the power she holds?

It's all very uncomfortable, and she does her best not to squirm or show it, because she's fighting that awful force of guilt inside, that voice that names her as a corruption, proof of what a Satanic influence can do. And of course, it's not that Rosie says she needs to be control the speed of their intimacy that troubles her, but the reason.

No, the idea that Rosie felt as if she couldn't say no, it's the kind of searing pain that makes her feel as if she's floating. Even if she can't summon up much behind it, she's suddenly angry at Nick that she has to face this on her own. She bites her lip, letting herself feel the sharpness of her teeth a counterpoint and a reminder not to protest.

How can Rosie even want her?

She refuses to break under that, and so she glances down, squaring her shoulders to take the brunt of the pain head on, and nods. "Rosie," she says quietly, feeling a fresh bright lash of pain at the remembrance of the phrase my Rosie on her lips, "I have to know that you want this. With all of what you just said, I can't pursue you unless I know that you really, really want that. I'm not saying you don't know this, just that I have to say it. You don't owe me anything. I'll be your friend no matter what. And I'll love you, no matter what. But if you don't want that part with me anymore--" She's been listening, she really has, but after a revelation like that, she needs to know.

"Oh, Sabrina," she says, the words exhaled like a breath, expelled out of her with the knowledge that the wound she'd known to anticipate had, in fact, struck more deeply than she ever wanted it to. "No, that's not..."

It's then that she reaches out; carefully, hesitantly, like gentling a frightened animal. Her fingertips rest on Sabrina's knee, light enough that she can pull away if even this is somehow too much in the moment. Her eyes are woeful but steady, and she looks her friend--the girl she loves, deeply and entirely despite and because of all the faults they carry between them--full in the face as she keeps talking.

"You never made me do anything I didn't want to do," she repeats. "And I want this. I want this with you. I just...got lost, once or twice before. Thinking I wasn't anything but ordinary, compared to the two of you, thinking I had to make up for it." She blinks back a hard, hot prickle of tears. "When I should have remembered I'm just as magical to you as you are to me."

Sabrina blinks hard, blinks rapidly to keep the tears back. The touch of Rosie's hand anchors her, when she wants to lean into the intensity of feeling, all of the insecurities waiting to worm their way inside her and take control.

"If you didn't think you could say no," Sabrina whispers, "then how did we ever have your full consent?" It seems this is the sticking point, the idea that there had been some non-consensual element to any time they'd been together. The tips of her fingers touch the back of Rosie's hand, but her face is drained of color.

She pushes a breath out, at that last bit.

"You've only ever had to ask, for anything you want," she confirms, drawing her fingertips away. All of it turns over and over in her mind; she's still reeling from the implication that there had been such a power imbalance, she feels disgusted with herself-- but she can't let it show or else Rosie will think being honest was a mistake. She wants to do what will make Rosie happy, but she's not sure how to begin, and especially not when she's feeling so unsure of herself.

"Asking for what I wanted is what got my heart broken the last time."

She says it, and it's like another piece--maybe the most important--sliding into place. For all her irritation with him in the moment, Neil had been right in his own way the night they'd curled up together on the couch after Nick's disappearance: this was another bit of blame she could lay at David's feet. The realization and the surprising truth in it dawns clearly on her face, but she tries to push it aside.

"Not that David deserved my heart in the first place, and not to say you or Nick were the same as him. You weren't. You have to know that. But...I think I learned a lot of the wrong lessons over the last year, and it took me too long to realize that."

At that admission, Sabrina takes Rosie's hands in both of hers, determining that this would be okay-- and more, that if Rosie didn't want it, she'd say. "Then," she says, even as she's absolutely aching to pull Rosie into her arms, "then I think something I need is for you to keep telling me, if I've done something wrong, or asking me, if there's something you want. I couldn't live with myself if I was hurting you like that again, whether I meant to or not."

She exhales slowly.

There's an awful feeling that she's not sure how to put into words, or if she should, some combination of the worry of what she is and how she was wrong to let herself be comfortable with it.

"Rosie," she says, quiet, a whisper. "It won't ever be quiet or normal. Normal for this place. Even before we lost Nick, I was scared, and hurting. I can be subdued, I can turn away from it all and let them say what they want, whatever stupid abuse they want to pile on. I would do it for you, for the year. But it won't be me."

"You never meant to," she says, and she'll keep saying it, again and again, for as long as Sabrina needs to hear it. "It was me, it was all mixed up in my head, all my faults and thinking I needed to measure up. That I was too ordinary, just as I was."

Sabrina takes her hands, and even though there's still that sick twist of guilt inside her, regret that speaking her mind had caused so much pain, it's washed over by a flood of relief when the other girl holds on tight. When neither of them choose to pull away. Rosie nods. "I'll keep telling you. From now on. No more trying to make up for something I didn't need to in the first place."

She's about to say more, but then there's that slow, shaken breath and Sabrina's regretful whisper, and Rosie makes herself stop and listen instead. It hurts, hearing it, the idea that Sabrina thought--that Rosie had suggested, unintentionally or not that night on the beach--she'd have to make herself smaller, make herself less for the sake of getting through their last year at Petros. It hurts nearly as much as she's aware her own honesty had cut Sabrina, deep and sudden. It's hard to put that aside to respond, and Rosie's silent for a long moment, her hands still tight in Sabrina's.

"Don't do that," she says, quiet but firm. "I don't want you to be someone you're not, and that I asked you, that you even thought..." She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "I don't need a different Sabrina. I don't want a different Sabrina. I want...I want you to understand that I can't always ignore the rumors as easily as Charlie could, and I can't fight back against them as fiercely as you do. That doesn't mean we let people get away with it, or say what they want, but it does mean that I need you to understand that. Sometimes I just...want to be bothered, or upset, and have you comfort me. Does that make sense?"

Sabrina blinks hard, her eyes hot and wet. Her hands tug a bit, and then she pauses. "I really want to hug you right now, but I'm asking permission. I kind of think we need it." She gives Rosie a teary smile. "I promise, no funny business."

She realizes she needed to hear that from Rosie, just as Rosie needed to hear the other from her.

"I understand," she says. "I'll try to keep my head on straight, then. You might have figured out it makes me furious for anyone to make you feel badly. I love you and But I'll try not to act in the moment unless I have to, and you can be the one to tell me if we need to do something. Besides, if someone really-- you know Marcus would bring the school down."

She laughs, a soft, hiccuping sound as Sabrina's face blurs in a sudden rush of tears. "No funny business, alright," she says. "Yes. Of course you can hug me. Please, Sabrina."

It feels important for Rosie to start it, and so she does, gently tugging Sabrina forward as she moves closer herself. She only lets go of her hands once they're close enough for her to throw her arms around her instead.

"I love you, too," she says, letting Sabrina murmur the rest into her shoulder, the new plan already taking shape. The better one, something they've started to build together. "I'll let you know what I need, and when I need it, and we'll make it through together." She pulls back, still holding Sabrina close as she gives her a bright if shaky smile. "And you're right, Marcus would be terrifying. Newt and Kavinsky too, if they heard about it, even though they're Charlie's guardians and not ours. We won't need to do it on our own."

Sabrina breathes out her relief, moving into Rosie's arms and wrapping her own around the other girl, breathing in the warm familiar smell of her, shaking a little at the relief that she hasn't ruined it after all.

She doesn't need to say how terrified she was at that prospect, and perhaps for the first time since she'd stared down at a circle of runes in her own blood, she feels like she's breathing easily. "We'll make it through," she agrees. "And I'm gonna date the hell out of you." Her nose crinkles. "You know what I mean."

We won't need to do it on our own.

It's always been one of the hardest things for her to remember, but she's going to try. "You might have to remind me too, but it's better, maybe, to have other people doing things. No matter how often I rush into things without thinking."

"I know what you mean." It's not really funny, not after everything--not after what had happened to Nick and to them both, a little less than a year ago--but Rosie manages to smile anyway. "You never do anything by halves, and I'd expect that to extend to wooing me. I want it to." Her next laugh is steadier than the one before. "You can even call it wooing me, if you really, really want."

She quiets again as Sabrina continues, sobering a little under the weight of what she asks. "It doesn't work without other people," she says, knowing it's a lesson she's not yet perfected herself. "But I'll remind you, and so will Charlie."

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we were young and learning, steady hearts hate turning

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