Chapter Text
I
When Navia saw her cousin’s name light up her phone, she was happy for about ten seconds. She hadn’t heard from him in a while.
She put down the whisk she’d been beating the egg whites with, tapping the button to accept the incoming call on speaker. She even considered sending a batch of those very cookies to Léo and the rest of the family back home.
But then came his request.
“What are the chances that you’d ask Clorinde to join us at Poisson for the holidays?”
“Um. Zero?”
Why in the world would she? They broke up, after all.
Quite publicly. Horribly.
Suddenly panicked, Navia’s hands shook as she lit a cigarette. She picked up the nasty habit shortly after what happened with Papa, when nothing else managed to stop the jittery feelings.
“It would be great if she could come,” Léo said after a tense silence. Navia took a long drag– and her cousin continued without her having to ask, “Memere is not doing too good, Navia. Not good at all. We think… it may be her last.”
Léo talked some more, grating at her with things she already knew– how Memere positively adored Clorinde, what a promising young woman she was, the great family she came from. At one point, Navia coldly answered him, but it was a monologue for the most part.
Navia released the smoke from her lungs, slowly tipping her head back as if that would deter the tears forming in her eyes. Just when she thought she had no more room left for pain in her heart, her grandmere’s grim diagnosis just had to rear its ugly head.
Too upset to continue baking, she stepped out to the balcony, her phone tucked under her ear. She sat between two of her potted dracaenas, hoping the smoke wouldn’t damage them.
The fresh air helped. A little.
“So, can you ask?” Léo insisted.
Navia considered refusing. She hadn’t had a civil conversation with Clorinde since the early days of her father’s trial, which was what triggered their breakup in the first place. Not even when Papa’s name was cleared, when the evil fucking State finally acknowledged that they executed an innocent man.
It felt unbecoming to argue. Léo had been the old lady’s primary caretaker for years. If this was what he thought was best, who was Navia to argue? Grandmere was, in a way, one of her last direct links to her father, none other than his mother.
The blonde stubbed the mostly-new cigarette with more force than necessary against the clay of her potted plant.
Gods, she hated what she’d become.
But she hated Clorinde even more.
“I can ask,” Navia told him.
The Attorney General’s Office always brought rotten memories from her dad’s trial. She lost track of how many times she was forced to go there to cooperate with the investigation, and later, to beg for her father’s life.
Nobody dared to make eye-contact with Navia as she stormed in, on the hunt for the very best prosecutor that the Republic of Fontaine had seen in decades. As she passed by the water cooler of the second floor, Monsieur Neuvillette looked like he wanted to say something– but she brushed past him.
His empty words and pinched expression could not bring Papa back to life. Interactions with him –with anyone here– were of no use to her. His post-mortem acquittal was meaningless in all the ways that truly mattered.
The rest of her conversation with Léo replayed on her mind as she stalked down the government building, under the glaring government lights, over the stupid government floors.
“Uncle Callas knew what he was risking– hell, he was on good terms with Clorinde all throughout! Even at the end, he never—”
“You do not have to quote back what my father said, Léo. I was beside him. Till the end.”
“Okay. But I really think Memere needs this, Navia. We’re losing her, too. I’ve talked to the rest of the family, and they’re all on board. So, Clorinde can rest easy that it’s not an ambush or anything, okay? It’s in good faith.
Hey, if we can arrange a peace treaty between you and your ex…”
Navia knew he had been smiling from the other end of the phone, trying to bring some lightness, but she did not laugh.
This was not as remotely personal to him –to any of them– as it was to her.
The neat nameplate on Clorinde’s door was the one thing that made her stop in her tracks. Léo’s words had incensed her into action, but cold reality had made her finally pause to reconsider.
What the hell was she doing?
What in the actual hell was she doing?
“Navia?”
Dread seized her when that voice she would recognize anywhere reached her from behind.
Navia’s limbs locked together as the urgency to flee flooded her. Her body spun on autopilot to meet its owner.
She was not alone. First, her eyes landed on Captain Chevreuse, who shrunk away from Navia’s steely glare and wisely excused herself, leaving the taller of the pair alone.
Clorinde, though– she had a steady gaze. There was a softness in her eyes that was directed at her in a way that made Navia boil inside.
She had not changed one bit, it felt like she was plucked right out of Navia’s memories. Half her hair was still out of its patented ponytail, though the loose strands framed her face nicely. Her navy suit was perfectly tailored, impeccable on her slim frame. The look of someone cool-headed, in charge. If anything, Clorinde looked better than ever.
If she was at all surprised to see her, she masked it well.
Navia stared, dumbly, for far longer than was socially acceptable.
Clorinde shifted her weight from foot to foot, “Is everything okay?”
Of course her first instinct was to be concerned, to still be watching out for her despite the no-contact dynamic that Navia had imposed between them. Clorinde knew no other way of being. It was enough to snap her out of it.
Despite the storm of emotions that raged inside her, Navia appeared cool and collected to the untrained eye.
“I need to talk to you.”
Alas, Clorinde did not fall under ‘the untrained eye’ category. She immediately picked up on Navia’s mood and straightened in place.
“Certainly. We can speak in my office.”
Clorinde hid her anxiety well– but not well enough. Navia could tell from her body language alone. From the way she almost tripped rounding the corner of her desk, to how she pretended to take a sip from an empty cup– all obvious to her eyes.
Her childhood friend sat behind the imposing desk of the mighty District Attorney, bought by her father’s blood. The case had been but a blink– with President Furina’s popularity in rapid decline due to a series of gruesome murders, the quick trial and even quicker conviction had pacified a nation on the brink of collapse.
On a rational plane of thought, Navia understood all the cold, hard facts of the case. She was intimately aware of Clorinde’s reluctance to lead it– knew that refusing it would have cost her her entire career. Had she declined to lead the charge against Callas, Clorinde would have lost all she’d worked her entire adult life for.
She very nearly did.
And so, Navia broke things off, removed herself as a conflict of interest so that the rising star of a prosecutor could meet her destiny. Perhaps partly hoping that, in Clorinde’s hands, her father would get some leniency despite the impossible odds stacked against him.
Even without the breakup, Clorinde was pressured from all angles– Chief Justice Neuvillette, the media, even President Furina – hell, the entire judiciary was desperate to get a conviction. And to Navia’s shock, they did.
It was the unfeeling Oratrice that had ultimately decided her father’s fate, uncaring of the lead prosecutor’s recommendation for life imprisonment.
The death penalty, also known as capital punishment. Unappealable.
Final.
In the end, it had reached its verdict acting on Clorinde’s performance in court, how she bested Papa’s every attempt at a defense, crushing him. The ‘evidence’ had simply been too damning at the time.
It tainted the girl’s relationship in an excruciating way. Objectively, the outcome was not Clorinde’s fault, not really, but at the same time, to Navia’s eyes, in her marrow, yes, it was.
Her father had been innocent! He was framed! Perfectly framed. That was the worst part. Gods, it still kept her up at night.
Navia was at a loss of where to even begin. She did not take the seat offered to her. At the same time, she found the idea of small talk nauseating, but it was a good way as any to get over her ridiculous quest.
“Got any plans for the holidays?”
Clorinde seemed caught off guard by the question, but she answered regardless. “Not a whole lot. Right now, it looks like it will be a quiet night-in with Wriothesley and his partner, if they’ll have me…”
She trailed off, perhaps realizing how utterly sad it sounded. What a difference two years made. It felt like only yesterday that the plans they made were completely intertwined, like one simply could not exist without the other. They’d spent the better part of a decade together; common plans, common goals…
It had felt unthinkable, to have a separate existence from someone she’d known for most of her life, who, in a way, had been her life.
And yet.
The walls felt like they were closing in, swallowing her, smothering her– unbearable.
“How about you, any plans—”
Navia talked over her, “Can we– can we continue this outside, please?”
The small, cobbled courtyard was private enough to talk, though a part of Navia still felt like bolting for the nearest exit. Word had obviously spread, and some of Clorinde’s coworkers had shot more than one questioning look at the sight of the unlikely pair as they made their way outside. Some asshole even snapped a picture on their phone.
She wondered how she looked through Clorinde’s eyes. She knew her hair had lost some of its shine, that her curls were not quite as bouncy, not quite as pretty. Friends claimed she didn’t smile the same, nor as often. For some reason, it bothered her to think that Clorinde could smell the disgusting, lingering nicotine that sometimes clung to her fingers. Navia felt hideous inside and out.
If she noted any of those things, the careful, affectionate glances that Clorinde kept stealing from time to time betrayed nothing. If anything, she seemed giddy about their reunion– but nervous as well. The blonde pretended not to notice.
Navia needed out of her own head. She spoke.
“I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
Navia sucked in air through her teeth. The way Clorinde didn’t even hesitate was so…
She continued to stall. She pulled out her pack of cigarettes and cheap lighter. Clorinde wrinkled her nose. “You’re smoking again?”
There was no true judgement to her words, but they irritated Navia all the same. Granted, she hadn’t done this since they were… what? Seventeen? During her rebellious phase that lasted all of two months?
Back when things were so simple, when they had just started messing around…
Navia wrapped her lips around the filter and cupped her hand around it to protect the flame from the wind. “Oh, yeah. I’ve kind of been going through a tough time. Some personal matters, you understand.”
The bitter remark left her throat before she could stop it. Clorinde’s eyes flitted away, full of guilt.
Neither the cigarette not the remark were quite as satisfying as Navia had envisioned. She felt shitty for both, but there was no going back. She took a puff, her eyes narrowing.
Clorinde forced herself to meet her gaze, her voice thin, “What’s the favor?”
Well, it was now or never. Navia took a deep breath.
And so many words left her, all at once.
“So, my grand-mere is not… doing too hot. The doctors say it may be her last hurrah before she– you know,” her voice got caught in her throat, but she refused to cry in front of Clorinde. “Her dementia is so bad– ah. She keeps asking about you… about us. She… thinks we’re still a couple. It’s literally all she cares to discuss with me. Um, things have deteriorated quite a bit from when you last saw her.”
Clorinde’s lips parted, but Navia continued, “Whenever I try to correct her– she goes ballistic, I don’t know why. She needs oxygen and everything, it’s just. Really upsetting to her for some reason? It’s always a meltdown whenever we contradict her version of reality.”
Navia swallowed, tilting her head up to look at the clouds. The last thing she wanted was to come off as manipulative by crying. In fact, she was mostly hoping that Clorinde would flat-out refuse Léo’s garbage plan. As she should, honestly.
It tore her up to see Clorinde’s gutted expression, followed by soft words, “I’m very sorry to hear that. She was always very kind to me.”
Navia waved her away, pretended she did not hear. “Yeah, so. Um. For the sake of keeping the peace, and to enjoy what may be our last get-together with my Memere…” she finally allowed her eyes to meet Clorinde’s magenta ones. “Léo and the rest of my cousins have asked me to appeal to your good graces, and…
Can you come as my plus one?”
Clorinde was, understandably, stunned into silence. Navia braced herself for the logical negative.
It was kind of a no-brainer. She was asking her to willingly go to a hostile environment, to a house full of people that blamed her for Calla’s death. It felt like asking her to don a meat suit and jump into shark-infested waters.
A no would be expected. It would be normal.
Clorinde, though. She did something that surprised her.
She asked for a drag of the cigarette.
Mutely, Navia handed it over, watching as the smoke curled around the other woman.
“So– so your grand-mere does not know about the outcome of the trail? I don’t recall seeing her.”
Does she know I got her son convicted on the death penalty, is what she was asking.
“No. Her mind was already cloudy by the worst of it. She thinks Papa is away on Rosula business. She thinks it every day.” Gods, she envied that bliss. “It’s not like we haven’t tried to correct her– we’ve told her a couple of times, and her entire world comes crashing down… then, the next morning, she asks if we can call him and tell him to bring a basket of zaytun peaches.”
After a while, the family realized that all they were actually accomplishing was breaking their own hearts, over and over, so they stuck to the faraway-travels story. Anything was better than their present circumstances, the cruel reality.
Clorinde took a final drag before offering the cigarette back, “Just to be clear. By plus-one, you mean…?”
Navia took it back between two fingers, “Um, that we act like a couple in front of Memere, like– like nothing happened. It’s three days at most. The day we arrive, then the night of the party– leave by the third day. Really, it’s just for one meal.”
One meal. It sounded like a sentence from the Oratrice.
Clorinde dragged a hand down her face, clearly distressed by the whole idea. Just voicing it made Navia painfully aware of how insane Léo’s plan was. All to keep one old woman happy. The extent of it all, the implications– it was asking far, far too much.
From both of them.
Before Navia could take it all back, Clorinde’s jaw suddenly set, her usually-reticent eyes bright with determination.
“Okay. When would I have to be in Poisson?”
Okay?
Navia could not help but stare at Clorinde in a sort of half-awe, half-disbelief. Her ears must have malfunctioned, or maybe the fucking smoke was finally getting in her brain. She dropped the butt and stomped it, hard, putting it out.
“Wha– are you serious?”
“As much as they may despise me, your cousins will be aware of the situation. I can expect some civility from them, at least?”
Navia nodded, still wide-eyed. She was having an extraordinarily hard time accepting this outcome. Clorinde must have misinterpreted her expression, because she steered towards the worst possible lane.
“Besides, I promised your father—”
“Don’t.” Navia swallowed down the tennis-ball of rage that seemed suddenly lodged in her throat. “Never talk about him.”
Clorinde bowed her head in apology, her voice small. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
You’ve already hurt me. That’s what she wanted to say. Those were the words she wanted to slap her with. Instead, she looked up at the sky.
One tear fell. Only one.
She wiped angrily at her cheek, disappointed at her weakness. At how she failed to keep her sadness inside.
“To answer your question,” Navia said, glad her voice did not come out shaky, “I was planning to leave on Tuesday. I… there’s room in the car, if you like.”
Clorinde studied Navia’s face carefully, and the blonde fought down the urge to cover it. That was the problem with wearing her heart on her sleeve. Clorinde could read her like a book.
Always could.
“I’ll meet you there,” Clorinde decided. Navia was a bit embarrassed that she saw right through her–that it was but a token invitation, empty and polite. “I have some work to finish up, but I can catch a plane there and join you.”
Navia tried not to resent the easy suggestion. “I can’t ask you to splurge on a flight after roping you into this madness.”
“I have frequent flyer points that must be used before the end of the year.” The corner of Clorinde’s lips tugged up into a half-smile. “It’s no trouble. They would be lost otherwise.”
There was no way for Navia to know if any of that was true, or if it was just one of her incredibly generous gestures, but the logic seemed solid.
“Only if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Navia, though. Navia was not so sure.
About any of it.