PANDORA’S BOX

Excerpts from incomplete fanfiction based on characters of Chapter 5: Season 1 of Fortnite. March-April 2024.

Montague, the bane of Nisha’s childhood existence, is just as annoying as he was seven years ago. His hair is just as soft as it’s always been, a prized possession of his long before his relic turned his eye and the left tuft above it silver. He’s attractive; Nisha can’t fault him for that, but nothing is worse than a man who knows he looks good. It’s in the way he walks, tall and taut like his broad shoulders are too tight from the weight of running The Society. He wouldn’t ever admit to the slight swing of his hips, but Nisha has known him for half of her life and knows it only came to be after Peter once complimented his assets. He doesn’t have the commanding and loud gait that Oscar does, who walks as if every step is the last he may take. He doesn’t have the balanced precision that was ingrained into Nisha. He doesn’t have the carefree poise and elegance that Valeria has. Nisha sees him for what he is: a regular man who puts on a show so he seems like he’s more than he is. It’s a visceral facade and Nisha can’t help but hold back a scoff as he walks up to greet her, Oscar and Peter already at his side.

Nisha greets Oscar, the half-tiger, with a curt nod, which he mirrors. She doesn’t even look Peter in the eye, but the man never complains. Montague immediately starts talking, not even waiting for the proper etiquette of a greeting before he’s sprouting some poetic bullshit about his newest conquests. He has been successful with his hotel, The Grand Glacier, and the marble floors and gold detailing speak more to Nisha than his words do. 

They walk past the guards, silent and stoic like Nisha’s own. She’s glad to see that he’s taken on her recommendation of security; Oscar’s men are too violent for a hotel. Each has the rectangular spiral emblazoned onto their right lapel, the insignia for The Society. Montague once told Nisha that they all represented the corners of the symbol. Oscar was the North, Peter was the South, Nisha was the West, Montague was the East, and surprisingly enough, Valeria was the Heart. Nisha guesses his love for her never really died out. Who knows if that’s the truth now, but all those years ago, when The Society was a mere drunken idea between reckless teenagers with contempt for the current state of Helios, it was she that he promised to one day give the island to. 

There were many promises then, none of which Nisha ever saw come to fruition. Hell, who even knew if Valeria would show her face at all, the most notorious heartbreaker of them all. 

By the time Montague directed them to the basement, Nisha was having to hide yawns behind her fist. The tour was more of a boast than a courtesy, she knows, but she wondered why he bothered at all. They may not have seen each other in years, too busy working in their respective domains, but that doesn’t mean they all haven’t kept up with each other. One does not get as successful as they have from living in ignorance—unless you’re Peter fucking Griffin. And if Nisha had to listen to his god-awful laugh one more time, she might snag the saber from her hip and finally plunge it into his chest cavity.

She feels Oscar nudge her and realizes her hand is wrapped around the handle. There’s mirth in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what her train of thought was, and knew that he agreed. She’s not quite sure why Montague has kept the stupid bastard around—something about a shit ton of money and family obligation or something, something Oscar once told her about years ago. She doesn’t know the whole story and doesn’t particularly care to, but she knows that one year, some random boy joined them for the summer and never left. Something about a terrible accident and a great income of wealth too large for a young child to comprehend. She doesn’t know if Peter is a relative or a familiar friend or just some poor soul the Midas Family is trying to siphon from. 

He hasn’t been killed yet, that’s all Nisha knows; that’s how she knows he’s important. 

He laughs again at one of Montague’s lame references and Nisha can hear the low growl of a stifled laugh from Oscar. It’s nice to be with him again; he was always a favorite of hers. They kept in touch more than the others, corresponding through letters. Oscar had a thing for the simplicity and intimacy of penmanship and physical correspondence, always changing up his stationary to suit his mood. Nisha enjoyed his notes, always hanging up the pressed clippings from his latest flowers in her office, heeding to the note that they’d “cheer the place up”.  For such a large and gruff half-human, he was quite the gardener. 

She supposes they all had their own interests and vices. 

Montague had his sticky fingers and love of art. Oscar loved ransom and gardening. Valeria used to excel at espionage and loved reading books and learning in her free time. And Peter thought he was funny enough to do stand-up.

Nisha wonders sometimes where she’d be if she was allowed to do more than follow in her father’s footsteps. Their vineyard had been in the family for a handful of generations and so was fencing. For as long as she could recall, long before she was legally allowed to drink, wine and her beloved saber were her only company. Everyone had expected the family business to fall into the hands of Kavel, Nisha’s brother, even though she was older. When he turned eighteen, Kavel challenged Nisha to a duel, to fight for his honor and “his birthright” but Nisha won without breaking a sweat. 

Nisha received a letter a couple of days later congratulating her on her victory, along with a crude drawing of Oscar impersonating Tony the Tiger saying “YOU’RE GREAT!” 

With all of the time and money that Montague has spent on his beloved hotel, one would think he would put heating in the basement levels. Nisha repressed a shiver with the flex of her shoulders, refusing to show any kind of weakness to Montague. She wore her honorary dualist suit today, the thick black material fitting her figure well, but not fitting the temperature from the remnants of yesterday’s blizzard. 

“There’s a fire up ahead,” Oscar whispers to her in his native Eastern language. They had started conversing in his native tongue when they were children; it was a simple gesture that Nisha thought would make him feel more at home in the Midas Manor. Oscar is cunning and keen, of course, but he’s always had a sort of sixth sense when it comes to people, Nisha especially, so it is not a shock that he sees straight through Nisha. Valeria always said it was because Oscar “had to study us hard enough to become part of us”, but Nisha thinks he cares. He’d kill her if he ever heard her say it, but Nisha doesn’t think it’s a stretch at all to call the tiger kind. 

Still, Nisha ignores the slight outstretch of Oscar’s coat on his forearm—a silent offer— and strides ahead. A fire sounds nice, maybe a glass of the old Midas brandy that her father used to always miss. Nisha tunes out Montague as he tattles on about his security system, waving a keycard in front of a laser to scan him into what he refers to as his lair, until she hears him mention her name, saying something referring to Valeria herself and she feels the cold drip of dread at the realization that she’s here. That elusive woman is here and somehow early, here long before Nisha and Nisha thought she had more time, thought she would be able to rest and take in the unfamiliar surroundings before her arrival so that she could prepare and not be caught off guard by her and—

She’s as beautiful as she remembers. Her hair is red now, the long and dark brown tresses dyed to a vibrant and fiery hue. There seems to be a shimmer to it, like a mirage that changes the longer you stare at it like her hair is aflame. Nisha wouldn’t be surprised if Valeria figured out some way to create the illusion–with her desire for attention and thirst for knowledge, Nisha knows that if anyone could do it, she could. 

She’s draped over a golden loveseat as if this is her fortress, not Montague’s. Regal. Proud. Her arms rest on the top of the seat, her legs crossed as she sits in the center, ensuring that she is the focal point of the room. No one would dare take up the little bit of space to her left or right; none of them are close enough for that proximity, not anymore at least. If it were a decade ago, maybe Nisha would feel inclined enough to try and make her way into Valeria’s space, to be foolish enough to think the now-redhead would bother to scoot over to make room for her. Maybe all of those years ago, Valeria would have. They’ve both hardened since then, much more than the distance between them. 

Nisha watches as her eyes calculate each person, rolling her eyes over the right of Montague and Peter, then nodding at Oscar, and finally settling on Nisha. Her brown eyes flash a fire-bright red and that’s not–

“Welcome to the Grand Glacier,” she says, cutting off whatever new details Montague was prattling on about, and Nisha has to stop herself from shaking her head to get the shade of red red red out of her mind. Instead, she swallows it down, squares her shoulders like her father had taught her, and replies: “Thank you for the invitation.”

…

Nisha inhales and it burns, hot in her mouth and she coughs. And she coughs. And she coughs. She’s burnt her throat for sure, can feel how the discomfort stays long after gulps of cool water. Val is laughing though, head thrown back and long neck on display as she heaves for air. 

“I’m so glad this amuses you,” Nisha manages after a few minutes of hacking. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be good, but god you’re awful.” It takes a few moments before Val calms, wiping tears from her eyes. Nisha can’t help but feel glee at seeing Valeria’s notoriously perfect eyeliner smudged, all from her doing. She likes the physical aspect of it, to see her impact on something so perfect, something so intangible. She likes that Val likes her enough– maybe even loves her enough– to let her leave her mark. 

“Here,” Val says and scoots closer to Nisha. “I wasn’t good at the beginning either. This way will be easier. I’ll take the brunt of the smoke and you can just breathe in, okay?” 

Nisha nods, vocal cords still recovering, and watches as Val lights it again, the end glowing a bright, ember red. She breathes in deep and Nisha is mesmerized by the way the red brightens into a shade she can’t try to name. With the smoke resting in her lungs, Val somehow finds the ability to speak and Nisha is in awe. 

“Open your mouth and I will blow the smoke into it,” Val tells her, continuing forward to bracket Nisha’s knees with her own. A couple of inches more, she would be practically sitting in her lap and Nisha’s hands itch to reach forward and feel the other girl’s skin under her fingertips. Instead, she steels her hands at her sides, her fingers tight in fists. But Valeria leans forward and grabs at the back of Nisha’s neck and she can’t help but gasp when the younger girl tilts her neck up the slightest bit. Her hands surge forward to catch whatever she can grasp, finding purchase on Val’s hips. She feels the brush of a thumb on her chin and she remembers the instructions. She’s coiled, apprehensive from the pain of the first smoke and the skin under her palms, but she trusts Valeria so she opens her mouth, pliant and ready.

The smoke is warm against her lip and she can’t help but gasp, a quicker intake than intended. It sits heavy in her lungs, unfamiliar and scratchy, but she holds it as Valeria had originally told her to before she lets it go in an exhale. 

“Good,” Valeria whispers, close enough that her lip catches against Nisha’s with the praise, and on impulse, Nisha closes her mouth around the plush bottom lip. She hears the intake of breath from Valeria more than she feels it, but the tightening of the hand against the back of her neck, tangling into the sensitive hair there, feels like euphoria. Nisha releases the lip as quickly as she takes it, intending to pull back to apologize, to tell her that her first fucking kiss was an accident, but there’s a press of a palm keeping her rooted there and Val moves and oh this is what the books wrote about. 

It was slow and tentative at first, the moving of lips against each other, chaste, nothing more than a touch, but then there was a swipe of a tongue against Nisha’s bottom lip she felt the sensation zing down her spine to somewhere lower, maybe her toes. She lost track of the sensation as she gasped again, Valeria’s lips fitting more snugly against hers in the newfound space. 

It was overwhelming to be able to taste the other girl, to have her invade her senses. She could smell her so intensely, so intimately. She never thought she’d be able to taste the lip balm she always watched Valeria apply but as she mirrored the other girl and swiped her tongue along her lip, all she could sense was that stupid fucking shea butter and how soft it had made her skin. It made Nisha panic for a moment, worried her lips were too chapped or rough or unappealing, but then Valeria tilted her head to the side to slot their lips better together and Gods Valeria could die right now and be a happy man. 

Valeria couldn’t help but grab onto the hips under her hands, pulling toward herself as their pace escalated. The innocent sound of pecks turned into smacks of wet skin and Nisha, often grossed out by the noises whenever she caught Monty and Val making out, couldn’t help but be enticed by the sound. 

Valeria sank her fingers fully into Nisha’s hair, her nails scratching against her scalp as Nisha gripped fistfuls of Valeria’s shirt, pulling her tight against her. Valeria tilted her head again, turning to the opposite side this time before her tongue pressed harder against the seam of Nisha’s lips and she followed the earlier instruction and let her in, open and following whatever Val was leading. She felt the wet, warm press of a tongue against her own and felt a whimper fall into her mouth before she felt the abrupt press of hands against her chest, shoving her off and to the floor. 

It took her a moment, a shake of her head to clear the remnants of the feeling of Valeria’s tongue against her own before the panic set in. 

She shot up, hands flying to her messed-up hair. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Nisha yelled, packing before a wide-eyed Valeria. She sat there, silent, with her fingers resting against her lips. Nisha couldn’t read her for once, and that was an issue. She stopped before her, pleading. 

“Say something, Val. Please. Say something.” 

But Valeria couldn’t meet her eye. 

“I’ve never heard you curse before,” she said, speaking more to the floor than Nisha herself. 

“That’s not what I—AGH!” Nisha started pacing again, picking up speed as she nibbled at her nails, a habit she had long considered broken. 

At this, Valeria stood, grabbing Nisha and making her face her. 

“Stop it, Nish,” she said, annunciating the statement with a shake.

“I’m sorry.” Nisha’s voice was small; her father would be so disappointed. He raised her to be tougher than this. He raised her to be more than this, sneaking around and kissing girls, girls who had boyfriends.   

“This didn’t happen,” Valeria decides. “You didn’t…”

“Kiss you? Valeria come on.”

“Shut up, Nish. You did this. Not me.” 

“Val, I’m sorry,” she pleads. 

“You fucked up. Not me.” 

Valeria sits down again. She puts her head in her hands and runs her hands through her hair. 

“But you kissed me back,” Nisha dares to say. Valeria stills. Her hands drop and her eyes flash open. Now, Nisha has seen Valeria instill the utmost fear into people. She has seen her make people quake in fear from a simple stare. Never had she once thought she would be the one to be on the receiving end, but here she was, eye to eye with nothing but a pool of venom and Nisha could feel the way it was running cold through her veins. She was frozen to the spot, no matter how loud her instincts were, how much her body screamed at her to run. She knew what this woman was capable of, knew how she could kill, knew she could ruin her in a breath, that the last thing she may know is the sweet, clean smell of her perfume and the taste of her shea butter lip balm. But she also knew how much she loved her and god was she leaning on that right now.

“I need you to leave.” 

“Val, please,” she begs, but the girl just puts up her hand, silencing Nisha. It hits Nisha then, the high and the reality of the situation. Everything around her has a swirl to it and she’s unsure if that’s the weed or the tears in her eyes. Valeria’s phone goes off on the table, an ugly photo of Montague filling up the screen and Nisha wants to throw up. 

So she does. 

She barely makes it to the (most likely) expensive vase in the corner of the living room. She pulls back her hair and spits mostly bile into the thing. She can barely hear Valeria’s voice swim to her over the pounding of her head and heart. She can hear her say something to her boyfriend, and hollowly laugh to him, one of the kind that only Nisha can fully hear. She says something about how Nisha got too high and got sick, how he can’t come over because she has to take care of her. She walks over to put him on speaker to let him listen to the third round of vomit that surges through Nisha’s throat. Gross, he tells them and Nisha agrees with him for once. He tells them to have fun and hangs up and the silence between them is punctuated with another wave of nausea. 

“You can spend the night,” Valeria starts, her tone the coldest Nisha’s ever heard it. “Gods knows you’re not in the right mind to be anywhere near your home.” Nisha hadn’t even thought of her father until now. Gods, he’d throw her out for sure. She was supposed to take on the family business in a couple of months. She’s supposed to be practicing fencing and learning the trade, not getting high and giving her first kiss to her very female best friend. Nisha was nothing close to a delinquent, but how was her father supposed to know that? “You can stay in Hope’s room tonight. She’s out with Jules or whatever, I really cannot be assed. And when tomorrow comes, I want you gone.” 

So, for the first time since they were twelve, Nisha slept alone in the Sombra household, curled up in the soft pink comforter of Valeria’s little sister’s room. Hope was confused when she came home, finding the older girl in her bed, but from the solemn look on her face, Nisha knew she had already encountered Val that morning and that the night had not slid off her shoulders through the night. She knew Hope was too smart to not know something had happened, knew the girl had her fair share of Valeria’s wrath.  

“It gets easier,” the younger girl said with no preamble. Maybe if Nisha knew this was the last time she’d see the girl for another almost ten years, she would have said something better, but she offered a polite “thank you,” and slipped from the bedroom and into the kitchen. 

Valeria surprisingly was already awake, though noticing the concealer already present underneath her eyes, Nisha had a feeling the other girl hadn’t slept at all, already infamously bad at sleeping like a normal person. The jarring bit was seeing Montague and Oscar in the Sombra household at this hour. Monty’s arm was casually but possessively slung around Val’s shoulders as they sat at the kitchen table. Usually, Val sat erect and distant, as if she was peeved by the presence of her beloved boyfriend, but today, she lounged against him, sinking into his hold. She wouldn’t meet her eye when Nisha greeted them and she wasn’t sure if Val ignoring her hurt as much as the sight of her with her boyfriend did. 

Nisha escaped to Oscar, who was making breakfast for the lot. He looked adorable with an apron wrapped around his fuzzy frame. When he looked at Nisha he said nothing, just arched a brow and she couldn’t help but hide her reddening face. 

“You might want to shower,” he said before leaning in just so the both of them could hear. “You smell like vomit. And a certain shea butter.” 

Nisha paled and turned to face him, unable to utter a single word in rebuttal. 

“It’s alright, Зайчик,” he laughed softly, “Not everyone is half-human like me.” He hip-checked her, knocking her out of her shock. Before she could even panic at the knowledge that he knew, the half-tiger swore: “Your secret is safe with me, trust me.”

“Why?” Nisha bit out before she could process. 

He shrugged, turning back to the eggs he was cooking. “I like you,” he said plainly like that was the answer to it all. “Not in that kind of way, but I appreciate and respect you.” He turned to her again, gesticulating with the spatula. “I think you will go far. I know you will. I see greatness in you.” 

“Thank you,” Nisha replied, unable to muster anything more eloquent after the early morning sage commentary. 

“Plus I like you two together more than her and him,” he tacked on, stabbing at a stubborn piece of egg. 

“What?” Nisha gasped, “Aren’t you two best friends?”

“And?” He shrugged. “He needs a reality check. And I’m tired of hearing about his relationship.” 

Nisha can’t help but laugh at that and shoves at Oscar’s shoulder. He growls playfully at her, nipping at the air beside her shoulder. He plates her an omelet, just as she likes, and looks at her seriously. “Be careful, Зайчик. Good luck.” 

And with that, plate and all, she walked out of the Manor. 

…

Nisha thought she had seen it all, especially after meeting Oscar, but looking at a half-man, half-banana, she needs a fucking break. She sits down on one of the stiff metal chairs and puts her head between her knees. 

“Look what you did, Oscar,” Montague says, “Nish looks like she’s about to hurl.” 

“I will if you lot don’t stay quiet,” she replies. 

She takes a deep breath and then takes another five before she bothers to bring her head up. She glares at the three men before her. Thankfully, Peter has decided to keep quiet for once. Montague won’t meet her eye and Oscar is smiling proudly, happy with his work. 

The banana-man-thing wrestles against the restraints, words muffled by the gag in its mouth. 

“Espionage I understand,” Nisha starts, “Subterfuge, etcetera.” She takes another deep breath and stands tall, shoulders back and taut. She walks forward, toward Oscar and looks deep into the tiger’s eyes. His grin begins to waver as if it just occurred to him that this might not be the best idea. She grabs his shirt, pulls him close to her face, and spits out, “Since when are we taking hostages.”

Oscar has the gall to look sheepish, like he was caught in a small fumble not a highly illegal act that would anger and upset their largest enemies. 

“We’ve been looking for something to get a leg up over the Underground,” Montague steps in, “This here is the best friend and right hand of Jonesy.” 

 “We were at a loss for a while. I happened to stumble across the thing and boom here we are,” Oscar explains. Nisha lets go of Oscar’s shirt and he quickly smooths it, tucking it into his sleek vest properly. She wishes she was at home, so she could pinch the skin on the bridge of her nose and wish that it woke her up. Alas, she’s here, in front of a handful of idiots, and seemed to be the only voice of reason. She paces for a moment and the men watch her with bated breath. Finally, she stands before the three of them. 

“Oscar, Nisha says after another deep breath and explains, “I believe you have kicked an anthill. You wanted something to hold over their head, I understand, but this will only make them more angry, more motivated to find us and destroy us.” She turns to Valeria, who leans against the wall cooly. The woman is looking at her hands, as if too important to be bothered with such a trivial argument. “Please say something, Valeria.”

“I agree with Nisha–”

“Thank you–”

“--but I disagree that it was a bad idea.” Nisha balks at her, watching as she pushes off the wall to finally grace the group with her attention. “We cannot change reality, Nisha. We have the banana now and we aren’t returning it until we get what we need for them.”

“You can’t be serious–”

“Deathly, I’m afraid,” Valeria says, taking Nisha’s place on the chair. Somehow she makes the cramped chair look regal, her long legs taking up space in an elegant assertion. “We have the upper hand now. It might irritate them like you said, and yes, that wasn’t the smartest decision,” she raises a manicured brow at Oscar, “But they still have to climb a whole mountain to get to us.” 

Peter’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth and raises his hand slightly as if to interject. “A metaphorical mountain,” she clarifies and he shuts his mouth. 

Nisha stares at her openly, dumbfounded. She meets her stare, fire licking up the amber of her eyes to turn the hue and the room a little warmer. Nisha always found it fitting that Valeria was the one to find and keep the ruby relic, associating the woman with fire and the burn of it all long before she obtained her fire powers. It suits her, though Nisha will refrain from ever telling her that, lest it go to her already surmountable ego. 

Valeria lights a spark of a flame, letting it dance along her knuckles the way one might do with a coin. She arches her brow for a second and Nisha is eighteen again, watching helplessly as her best friend follows through with whatever challenge is ahead of her, never one to back down. But she’s too old to hold her hair back as she vomits out the shot she should not have taken, instead now they bicker over people and plans and lives. Gone are the bruised knees, sleeping in too late, and hangover anxiety, replaced by the harsh reality of life and death. 

“I cannot be a part of this,” Nisha says at last and turns on her heel. She throws the door open, letting it slam against the wall as she rushes through it. She feels betrayed to a degree, by the fact that she was left in the dark about such a large thing when she used to share everything with them, especially with Valeria. 

She hears the click-clack of Valeria trail after her. She winds through the halls, luckily able to remember enough to make it to the library without a wrong turn. She can hear the other woman hot on her heels but is too upset to find the worst to tell her to fuck off as if she would even listen. 

“Nish,” Valeria calls, but she doesn’t listen. She needs a cigarette–a nasty habit she rarely indulges in. The only one who knows about it is Oscar (curse his animalian sense of smell). Her fingers twitch and she fiddles with the end of her saber instead. “Nish, please.” 

She turns when she doesn’t hear the heel clicks anymore, knows that she’s bound to be in the maw of the beast soon, and chooses to jump into it instead. “There is no way you think that this is all a good idea.” 

Valeria shrugs. “What’s done is done. Why don’t we utilize what cards we have now?” 

“This isn’t a fucking game,” Nisha spits, stepping closer to Valeria. She never cusses; she’s losing her grip. Her hands tense again, craving that cigarette or something. She grabs at her saber again, riddled with the need to spar, to get whatever is growing inside of her out of her. “What happened to you? You would have never let this happen in the first place all those years ago. Or did you know this was going to happen and let it?” 

Valeria’s silence is an answer enough. 

“Jesus, Val,” the nickname is an old one, one she hasn’t used outside of her own head in almost a decade. Valeria’s eyes flash, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment of shock, lips parted and brows soft, before she resumes her hard demeanor. 

“And what was I supposed to do, Miss All-Strategy-And-No-Action?” she steps foward and Nisha can smell that she uses the same hairspray that she used all of those years ago. It knocks something loose in her chest, maybe that can of worms she had locked up and put high on that shelf all those years ago. Her hand itches again, clenches against nothing, an urge with no outlet, unsure of what she needs or wants. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” she explains uselessly. “You have an entire empire at your fingertips but never use it. You have an entire army of trained men at your disposal doing nothing but night watches. You learned to fight but never have hurt more than a fly. Why? Why even learn to use a sword if you won’t even use it?”

“You don’t get it–”

“Oh trust me, I know,” Valeria interrupts before she can continue. “I remember the spiel. It’s about honor and poise. Power, not glory, and all of that. I remember your father teaching you the whole thing. Is that what this all is? Daddy needs you to be all nice and good, to be sweet and run the business successfully and you’re too afraid to be anything but that. You’ve gone soft, haven’t you, subservient to Daddy’s wishes–”

“Stop it–”

“--But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re an acclaimed duelist, but I think you’re just a wimp.” 

Valeria is in her face at this point, her eyes scouring over Nisha’s face for any inkling of a fracture. Nisha clenches her jaw and her fists, her one hand still over the hilt of her saber. Valeria’s eyes light up as she notices Nisha’s dull. She knows she’s hit her mark, even if she’s unclear which blow hit, she knows when she’s able to sink her teeth into soft, supple skin. 

“Whatever,” Valeria huffs, and parts away from Nisha. She turns to make for the door and makes it a couple of paces before Nisha’s anger, silent and cold, reaches her fists. She unsheathes her saber before she can even think and lodges it straight at the other woman, catching it perfectly in her extravagant jacket and pinning it to the bookcase in front of her. It shakes under Valeria’s weight, and a couple of books dislodged. Valeria’s eyes are wide and fiery red when she looks over her shoulder at the duelist. 

Nisha prepares for a myriad of reactions, but the one she expects the least is for the woman to start laughing. It’s not a pretty one, like the ones that she saves for company or Montague. This one is more of a cackle, hyena-like. She throws her head back, her soft red curls bouncing as each breath escapes in a loud and raucous sound. She slowly slinks out of the jacket, letting the long garment hand there, anchored deeply by Nisha’s saber. 

“So you finally mastered that trick, I see. I’m proud of you.” The words, the ones that Nisha has yearned to hear for years, fall flat. She sees the twitch of Valeria’s smile and knows it’s far from filled with mirth; she knows that Valeria is furious. “Good to see you still got some temper in you.” 

“I’ll pay for damages,” Nisha says, urging the conversation in another direction. Anything else, she pleads to the gods. 

“No, fuck that,” Valeria snarls, taking back the steps she took, resuming her place in Nisha’s personal space and Nisha cannot meet her gaze. “I have finally made you break for the first time in almost a decade and you are worried about fabric. But I know you, Nisha. I was your best friend for years, in case you forgot–”

“I haven’t forgotten–”

“–I know how you tick. I know that you’ve gotten better at reining it in and pretending, but you forget that you cannot pretend here, not with me.”

“I’m not pretending,” Nisha tries, making the mistake of looking into those molten amber eyes she’s had dreams and nightmares about for the past decade and more. 

“We both know I’m the only one who sees this side of you, that I’m the best at bringing it out of you. Why do you hide it? Is it your father? Was I fucking right? Is that why you’re so angry now?”

“Quit it, Val.”

“No!,” She throws her hands up, running them through her red hair, pulling at the roots and letting out a noise of anguish. “God. You could be powerful. You could be so fucking powerful. You could be my righthand man or even more than that! But what? You’re too much of a coward?” 

“You know that’s not fair, Val.”

“Then what!” she exclaims. “You have this untapped power, this empire at your fingertips. Your father is gone, Nish. You don’t have to live in his shadow anymore. What are you doing with your life?”

“Cleaning up after you!” she shouts, shoving her way into Valeria’s space. The other woman steps back, startled by the charge. “You four go around parading your power and glory and leave yourselves blind and stupid. And I have to make sure you stay safe, that the ends are tied and all loose ends are snipped.” 

“No one asked you to do that,” Valeria says, her voice softer, “Especially not alone.” 

“No! You didn’t, but I still did it. I still do it. I got everyone out of trouble when we were younger and I’m still doing it, cleaning up all of the messes. I make sure everyone is safe, that you are safe–”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Valeria interjects, and Nisha knows she’s right. There’s frustration, confusion, and something else swirling in Valeria’s eyes and Nisha’s mesmerized at the sight, drawn to the brightness of them like a moth to light. Her words are gentle now, anger zapped from them. Nisha didn’t know if she surrendered to it, some sort of regret or realization, or if she was choosing to treat Nisha gently now, but her breath carried something sweet and it was not just from the candies she knew she was snacking on earlier. “What do you want, Nish. Think for yourself for once. Don’t do what your father, or Monty, or anyone else wants. Do what you want.”

Nisha can’t help herself from looking at her painted lips upon that. With a gasp, she rips her eyes back to that amber gaze, only to see the flicker up of Valeria’s own eyes. The other woman swallows and Nisha follows her lead, as she always does, gulping around the stone in her own throat. Her lips part and she can feel the warmth of Valeria’s sweet breath upon her skin. 

“Nisha,” she whispers. Her eyes fall once more to Nisha’s lips before darting back to her eyes, her gaze warm and honeyed. “Take what you want.” 

So, Nisha kisses her. 

She can’t help but gasp into Valeria’s mouth once they meet, the electric spark she had felt all those years ago and dreamt of more than she could count awaiting her like an old friend. Her hand sinks into the thick hair at the nape of Valeria’s neck, guiding her head to tilt them into the perfect angle and she can feel the heat like the flick-lick of Valeria’s old lighter, how the warmth of the flame curled around her thumb as she used to light Valeria’s smokes for her. She sinks into it easily, breathing heavy and familiar mouthfuls of perfume and smoke. She opens her mouth to Valeria, pliant and easy, just like the other girl had taught her years ago, and is rewarded with a low hum coming from Valeria.

Valeria comes alive then, kindling catching a flame, grabbing at the pinned lapel of Nisha’s suit, pulling it tight enough to tear, to get a handful to pull her closer. She bites into Nisha’s bottom lip, making the woman gasp as she digs her fingers into her hip, her nails begging to pierce through the tough material. Nisha hopes it pierces through. Hopes it bruises. Hopes it leaves marks that last long after whatever this is. 

At Nisha’s gasp of pain and rumble of pleasure, Valeria runs her tongue along her lip, as if she knows that her kiss is the only salve that Nisha needs. 

“Nish,” Valeria groaned. “Fuck.” 

Nisha broke from her then, reality crashing against her as her hips collided with Valeria’s. She’s wanted this for so long, her thoughts and dreams consumed by the woman in front of her, but yet she finds herself stopping. Maybe she doesn’t want a repeat of before, of being pushed to the side for uncertainty’s sake. They’re adults now; rationale must be at the forefront. 

But then Valeria pushes Nisha back, forcing her to sprawl ungracefully against the chaise lounge. Before she can compose herself, Valeria pushes into her space, straddling her and pushing against her chest, forcing her back against the frame of the lounger. Nisha has one leg out, one bent, and Valeria finds a home between the two, hovering above Nisha’s outstretched thigh so she can have a leg bent on the chaise. In an act of boldness, Nisha grabs onto Valeria, raises her lax leg, and pulls her hips flush to hers. Valeria moans into Nisha’s parted mouth as she settles onto the waiting thigh, rubbing against it once before she continues to look. Her eyes dart between Nisha’s two eyes and her lips, her own being wet by her tongue. She bites at her lip, waiting to kiss, but letting Nisha take the lead.

That’s the only conclusion that Nisha can come to, the reason they’re not kissing like madmen at this moment. Nisha broke the kiss and Nisha should start it up again: a blessing and a curse. Valeria is tantalizing as she sits on her lap, sitting warm and smelling as divine as she always has, literally within Nisha’s grasp. But for some reason, Nisha can’t bring herself to close the gap. Maybe it’s competition— Valeria always brought out the worst in her— or maybe it’s anxiety. They sit there, breathing in each other. 

”Are you going to kiss me,” Valeria says finally, her accent as sweet as her breath is. 

“Do you want me to?” Nisha answers and Valeria’s face scrunches uncharacteristically for a beat before she leans back and laughs. 

“Corazon, if only you knew how badly I wanted you.” 

It makes Nisha gasp, the statement. It’s something she’s only heard in dreams. ”Then kiss me.”

Valeria braces one hand on the side of Nisha’s head and reaches for her hair with the other. She grapples with the hair tie in Nisha’s hair for a moment and with a sharp grunt of pain, the tie breaks and Valeria is able to sink her fingers into her hair, her taloned fingertips scraping sensually against her scalp. With the noise of pain, Valeria reclaims Nisha’s mouth, tongue swirling in before Nisha can even think to close it. And once again, she listens to her previous teachings and lets herself open to Valeria. 

With a moan of appreciation, the other girl licks around, tongue against teeth, and it sets Nisha aflame.