Chapter Text
Fear shot through her veins, along with the feeling that something is going to go horribly wrong. She woke up with it this morning and had hoped that it was just because it was Parent’s Weekend. Then, when she realized what it actually was, had prayed that it could wait until the evening when she could retire to her office.
It couldn't.
The halls were teeming with adolescents and adults alike and for once she's glad that her tall stature makes it so that crowds naturally want to part. She couldn't risk snapping at anyone for making the grave mistake of brushing against her. The noise, the suffocation, and the harsh crackle under her skin were all conspiring to overwhelm her.
She needed to go. She needed to leave she needed to-
In the corner of her eye moves a familiar shadow. It drifts towards her, always ready to do the opposite of what everyone expected, and Larissa makes a beeline towards it. The ‘click, click, click’ of her kitten heels echo like a death knell. She's tempted to abandon them completely, but they're all that keep her from sprinting outright. And that would be bad. That would be very bad. There were people watching, heading turning, peers wondering and judging and-
“Wh- Larissa-”
Strong hands grab lithe shoulders. She doesn't say a word as she practically bullies the smaller woman down a turn and into a thankfully empty bathroom. The cold thud of the lock turning is drowned only by the jumbled voices in her head vying for attention.
“Well! I didn’t realize our relationship has evolved into manhandling.”
Speaking of vying for attention… But she had a point. She needs to turn around. She needs to explain, needs to-
She manages the first one. Partially. The second one has just as much success. Her mouth falls open and the words catch in her throat. “I…”
Another wave of anxious nausea, this one laced with pain, urges her forward. She's running out of time.
Her voice shakes. “I need your help.”
She turns the rest of the way, unable to meet her gaze. She knows what she'll see. She'll see a woman so composed, so unbothered by everyone around her. She'll see someone who the very universe bent around to keep her happy. She'll see a woman with her head held high and that stupid smug look and-
“Anything.”
The answer's immediacy makes Larissa's head snap up. Morticia stares back, unblinking, nothing hidden behind the concern in her eyes. And it throws the shifter for a loop. She'd expected that knowing smile, and insufferable aura of pride, and that look of ‘of course you need me, I'm better than you’, and now that it has no target her defensiveness poofs away like smoke.
“What do you need?”
Right. She needs to answer. She needs to be quick. So she steels herself, shoulders dropping a forced fraction, exuding a bravado she does not feel.
“I'm going to shrink.” Morticia doesn't flinch even as the taller woman stalks over and gets uncomfortably close. “I need you to get me to my office. Can you do that.”
The urgency in her voice makes the question more of a demand. Morticia answers anyway, the pinch of her eyebrows warring with the widening of her eyes. “Of course.”
It's no relief, but she doesn't have time to back out. A hand thrusts a small box to the other woman, and then she focuses all her attention on taking her earrings off. Her hands tremble, and she yanks at her buttons next. She doesn't have time - her powers won't be stable enough to extend to her clothes.
“I-”
“You can't let anyone see me.” She interrupts, unable to stand that sympathetic tone.
When did she grab Morticia’s wrists? When did the panic start to leak into her voice? She needs to stop stalling. She needs to do it now, before her body forces it. Before she starts begging.
But she can't. She can't do it. She needs to, or she'll be out of commission for who knows how long, but still she resists because somewhere in her is the scared little girl chanting in a corner that Weems don't shrink.
“You can't. No one can know.” ‘Please, please don't let anyone see me.’
“I won't. You have my word.” Her voice is so unlike Larissa's. Strong where hers is weak. Steady where hers quivers. They'd done this once some twenty years ago. She's in good hands, much as she doesn't want to admit it.
Larissa hangs her head, nods in resignation, and gives in. She puts as much distance between them as possible as her body rapidly shrinks. The surge of power just on the edge of control forces her eyes closed, painful enough to remind her of her youth. At some point, between her shoes getting so big she trips out of them and her pins falling out she gets lost in a sea of fabric. It's dark in here, and maybe that's a good thing. She can take a moment to adjust. She doesn't have to face the world yet.
The too loud world that clashes into her ear drums.
There’s a soreness in her limbs, not unlike the one she gets when she has a fever. It’s what steals the breath from her chest, not fear - at least, that’s what she tries to tell herself. And as bad as it feels she knows it could be worse. If she had stalled a bit more, if she had been even more careless, she would’ve been stranded outside with the countless bodies stomping around, headless of where they might tread. But something cuts through the thought before it can linger. Vibrations, muffled by her confines, but unmistakable. Footsteps. The clack of heels slow and careful. A new anxiety churning in her gut, Larissa shoves her way out of the heavy fabric and when her eyes adjust comes face to face with the toes of a giant's heel.
No, not a giant. Morticia. Her oldest friend. Whose sole comes up to her hips.
Larissa takes a deep breath and pretends like it does something. She pretends like she isn't trying to cover up with her arms, and that it's not an insanely vulnerable feeling to have to crank her neck back to look someone in the eye. She thinks she does a good job of pretending it doesn't bother her that the woman that used to come up to her chest now takes up her entire vision even while crouched. And then a laugh booms out, and the illusion breaks. Her body jolts, free hand coming up in a half aborted motion to soothe her ear. Morticia must’ve noticed, for her voice gets notably softer. “I forgot how small you could get.”
Red hot humiliation burns. How dare she? How dare she speak in that amused tone like she's a child? How dare she laugh when Larissa is cold and naked and helpless-
“Larissa?” The giant raises her hand. It’s a few steps in before Larissa realizes that she’s moved back, and even more to see that Morticia’s hand had fallen still, hovering in a retracted fist. Oh… She wasn’t… It’s normal to reach out and comfort a friend. That’s probably what she wants to do right now. That’s probably what would have happened if she wasn’t the size of a mouse and her legs weren’t still trembling with the instinct to run.
“I’m fine.” She snaps before Morticia can ask.
“Hmm.” All traces of mirth are gone from the brunette’s face. Larissa doesn’t know if she likes that, either, but at least she successfully keeps her feet planted as her friend sets the now open box down on the floor. “Here. I’ll let you get dressed.”
Morticia stands, and it’s worse this way. It’s like watching a building unfold. It’s impossible to look her in the eye, so the shifter tucks her head down and forces herself to breathe.
‘It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just Morticia. She’s here to help. Chin up. You can deal with this.’
Or maybe she could crawl into the box and not have to deal with any of it.
She gets dressed in between flinches. Her hands shake as she uses a ribbon to tie her long hair into a bun. It’s nowhere near her normal level of elegance - just a blouse and fitted trousers - but it’s something. The tingling from her rapid shift finally fades, one less thing adding to the pot of agitation burning behind her eyes. She can do this. It’s just for a few more minutes. She’s strong. She’s a Weems. She can do this.
It’s what she keeps chanting when Morticia crouches back down and asks her if she’s ready.
“Yes.” She runs her hands along the fabric of her trousers to smooth them down, not at all to wipe the sweat from them. At least her voice isn’t shaking. “My apologies, for my tone. And for earlier. I lost my composure for a moment.” ‘Understatement of the century.’
But Morticia just waves her off. “Oh, Larissa, it’s no big deal. I completely understand. Now, should we get moving?”
Ah, yes. That. Words caught in her throat, Larissa forces herself to nod and braces herself to be grabbed. Moticia is gentle, to be fair. Her hand is slow in reaching down, shifting to be palm up and settling behind Larissa. A thumb thicker than her leg nudges her back into a soft palm, knocking the air from her lungs. It doesn’t quite come back even as painted pale fingers curl around her body in a careful grip, nor does it get any easier when they lift and her stomach is left behind. Her legs spazz with the urge to scramble away, and Larissa turns all that nervous energy towards gripping Morticia’s thumb as hard as she can. A face the size of a billboard smiles down at her and says nothing about the dents she’s leaving in her skin.
Her legs almost fail her when she’s set down on the counter. Morticia tends to her abandoned clothes while the tiny woman tries desperately to calm her heart. The fabric that she had been trapped under is shaken out and folded into a neat pile. Even her earring off to the side that would take both her hands to lift is plucked between two fingers.
‘I’m glad I’m not an earring.’
But it’s good, watching her work. This is her friend. Her oldest friend, and the first one she made here.
She… She had helped her back then, too. Once.
‘And if you need help again, just tell me. You know I’m always here for you.’ Ha! As if.
A wave of melancholic nostalgia washes over her. Would she hate shrinking as much, if she had taken Morticia up on her offer? Would she be used to the sight of something so massive moving about? …would they still have fallen out of touch?
As she looks up at the giant woman adjusting her shawl, she finds that she doesn’t know the answer.
“Take the back corridors. It’ll be less crowded.”
Obviously. By the look on her face, Morticia knows that, but she doesn’t say anything about the way her nervous energy is leaking out. If she trusted herself not to run she’d be pacing right now.
“Of course.”
Curse that sly voice. “And you’re sure that will hide me?”
“It has to. Unless you want to go up my sleeve.” The shudder that evokes distracts her from the sight of that damn hand the size of a car barreling towards her. No, not barreling. Swooping. Like a hawk, scooping her up and stealing her away.
…That’s unfair. Morticia’s very careful not to move too fast. She makes sure Larissa is seated and steady before moving her hand away. And when she fluffs up her shawl to make sure she’s covered the shifter feels… safe.
That’s odd new.
The skin under her vibrates with the soft ‘hang on’ that sounds out. It seeps into her skin and settles into her bones much like the dove's body heat. It chases away the chill, making Larissa shiver.
And then, they're off.