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Hecate stares down at the ring on her finger, a simple, silver band that compliments Pippa’s more ostentatious one, and tries to breathe.
It can’t be.
There has to be a mistake, a practical joke here somewhere. Dimity, perhaps, because she doubts Ada would go this far, not knowing what she knows about how Hecate feels, how she’s always felt—
And yet Pippa is staring at her with equally wide eyes, a marriage certificate in her hands with their names clearly printed, and she needs to think, needs to breathe, needs the room to stop spinning and the voices in her head ( stupid, reckless, worthless girl! ) to shut up for a moment so she can make sense of any of this.
At least Pippa is calm. Pippa isn’t screaming or crying or shouting how could you do this? Or what made you think I’d want to marry you? or any number of cries echoing in Hecate’s own head.
Instead, Pippa approaches her slowly, brow furrowed, a hand hovering over her arm but not quite touching.
“Hiccup?”
She doesn’t know what to say.
Little pieces of the night before filter back:
Pippa in a pretty pink dress with a pretty pink drink—
A small chapel with plastic flowers and a bright red rug—
Hecate, smiling, and smiling, and smiling, because Pippa has her arm draped over Hecate’s shoulder, her lips pressed to Hecate’s cheek—
She swallows tightly, face burning under Pippa’s worried stare.
“Would you like some water?”
Hecate nods, because she can’t speak, and Pippa disappears into the ensuite - it isn’t either of their rooms at the convention hotel, a small place run by an old witching family, isn’t where they’re meant to be; it’s lush and lavish and the bed is enormous—
The bed they woke up in, together, clothes half off and Pippa nearly on top of Hecate, drooling a bit on her bare shoulder—
Hecate feels sick. She clenches her jaw and breathes through her nose and tries not to remember Pippa’s skin against hers and Pippa’s laugh and Pippa’s kisses—
She stumbles to the edge of the bed to sit down.
They kissed.
She kissed Pippa, or Pippa kissed her she can’t remember but the feeling curls in her chest, warm and bright and almost giddy, a happiness she hasn’t felt for so long, since she was a girl, since Pippa.
A glass of water appears in her vision.
A red rose appears in her vision. “This is much more you than a bouquet,” Pippa says, tapping her on the nose with it.
Later, pinning it behind her ear.
Later, tossing it aside as her hands tangled in Hecate’s hair—
Hecate glances near the door and sees a crushed red rose.
“Hecate, talk to me, please.”
She blinks and looks at Pippa, now sitting next to her and she’s close, so close, their thighs touching—
Legs tangled under the blankets, slow lazy kisses, Pippa’s hand possessive over her stomach. “My Hiccup,” she says.
Hecate jolts to her feet and puts half the room between them.
Her eyes sting and she bites back tears and when she speaks what comes out is nothing more than a garbled, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Pippa asks, genuinely confused. “If I remember correctly, we both did this. You didn’t marry yourself,” she teases, and Hecate doesn’t understand. How she can be so cavalier, how she isn’t panicking, why she keeps looking at Hecate so, so softly, not a trace of disgust or anger.
She knows Pippa loves her. In the years since they’ve reconciled, she’s allowed herself that. But Pippa loves her as a friend, nothing more. Not like this.
Not this much.
“I—"
Pippa stands and crosses the room, takes Hecate’s hands in hers and clings tightly. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out, Hecate. We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”
Hecate focuses on the calming timbre of her voice, the grounding feel of her hands—
Hands clasped together at the altar, before a stranger, but Hecate only sees Pippa, sees her smile and kindness and stubborn nature and her generosity and her over eagerness and her pride and her selflessness and her love, so much love in her eyes as she says “I do,” and Hecate echos the words so soft—
But it’s a lie, it has to be, a product of her alcohol addled brain, and Hecate pulls away.
“We tell no one,” she says, her throat raw and voice trembling. “I’m sure this town has seen its fair share of….accidents. We’ll fix it before we leave.”
She settles, calmer now that she had a plan, and glances at Pippa for reassurance, agreement.
Instead, Pippa is staring at her like she’s been slapped, a devastated look on her face, her hand clutching her ring finger.
“If that’s what you want,” she says, and it isn’t, not even close, but it’s what Pippa wants, what Pippa deserves, to find someone and love for real and not be trapped in a sham of a wedding with her best friend and yet, there are tears in her eyes that weren’t there before and she looks frightened, almost.
Like she’s on the brink of losing everything.
“Is...isn’t that what you want?”
Pippa half-laughs, half sobs, and Hecate feels her panic rising again.
“Pippa?”
“No,” she says, biting her lip. “That’s not what I want.”
Hecate flounders.
“I—what do you…?”
Pippa sighs, exasperated. “This, Hecate. I want this. I want— you.”
Hecate stares at her, in a hotel robe with tears in her eyes and her hair mussed and makeup smudged and she’s never wanted anything so badly in her life but she doesn’t understand.
It must show on her face - her confusion, or terror - because Pippa sniffles and gives a broken laugh that rips at Hecate’s chest.
“You are a brilliant witch, but sometimes you are so….painfully unobservant—"
“Pippa—"
“I love you, Hecate. I’ve been in love with you for decades. And I’ve tried every way I can think to tell you that without frightening you or scaring you away and this…” She gestures to the honeymoon suite around them. “This, I suppose, is what happens, when you bottle your emotions for 35 years. Eventually they’re going to come out. So I guess this is me...coming out and telling you that I meant what I said at the altar. I’ve always meant it.”
Hecate doesn’t breathe, can’t concentrate, feels her limbs tingle and shake and she closes her eyes, tries to center herself and—
“ You’re my best friend, Hiccup. You’ve always been my best friend. And I don’t care what any silly witches think of us—as long as you’re with me, we can get through anything. Together.”
“I know.”
“Hecate...will you marry me?”
—“You asked me.”
Pippa snorts. “Of course I did.”
Hecate swallows, thinks of Pippa under the altar, Pippa’s desperate kisses, Pippa’s hands everywhere.
“You wanted...me?”
It comes out cracked, broken, a question more than a statement.
Pippa nods.
Hecate’s head spins.
“I know this is fast for you. I know it’s all out of order and not at all traditional and if you don’t want this - or me - we’ll have it annulled. But just…” Her voice wavers, and she looks at Hecate hopefully, “Think about it? Please?”
Hecate nods dumbly. Pippa’s shoulders deflate and she forces a smile, tremulous but bright.
“I’m—I’ll head back to our hotel and change and I’ll meet you there?”
Hecate nods again and Pippa steps forward, hesitates, then presses a soft kiss to her cheek.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says, and vanishes, and Hecate is alone.
She barely makes it to the bathroom before she throws up. The alcohol from last night burns the back of her throat—
“Pippa, I do not drink tequila.”
“Why not? It’s just like witches brew.”
“A little louder, why don’t you.”
Pippa laughs. “No one is paying any attention to us, Hecate. We’re in Vegas!”
“For a conference.”
“The conference is over.”
“And we have to fly back tomorrow.”
“Not until dark.”
Hecate purses her lips. “I don’t like being drunk.”
Pippa squires her arm. “I’m not asking you to get drunk. I just...want you to have fun.” She studied Hecate’s face carefully. “I’m sorry, you’re right. How about this? Why don’t we go back to the room and watch horrible television and raid the mini bar?”
“And that’s your idea of fun?”
Pippa smiles. “My idea of fun is being with you, Hiccup.”
Hecate stares at her for a long moment, her soft smile, her warm eyes, the utter lack of judgment or regret. Pippa never asks her for anything. Never pushes her boundaries, never makes her do things she’s uncomfortable with. She never begs her to stay for the conference galas or socialize at a brunch. More often than not, she comes to Cackle’s, so Hecate will be on more familiar ground.
But this - a drink at a bar with a friend - is something Pippa wants, and is something Hecate can do.
She catches the bartender’s attention. “Two palomas.”
Pippa’s eyes widen. “How did you know that’s my favorite drink?”
Hecate smiles, but doesn’t answer, and when their drinks arrive, Pippa watches her hesitantly. “Are you sure?”
Hecate takes a deep breath. “It’s Vegas, correct? One drink won’t hurt.”
Pippa grins. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Hecate grips the sink and stares at her reflection - her skin is pale and her makeup smudged, hair in disarray, and she knows it’ll take hours to get all the tangles out, if she does it properly. She’d quickly fixed her dress upon waking, and tries not to remember the way it was half off, stuck around her waist.
They must have fallen asleep before—
Pippa stares down at her, eyes bright, fingers tracing delicate patterns over Hecate’s cheek, her bare shoulder.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, and Hecate flushes.
“You are, too.”
Pippa beams, and kisses her, her hand sliding down Hecate’s arm to tangle their fingers together. She pulls them up and kisses Hecate’s ring.
“Promise you won’t regret this in the morning?”
Hecate nods, solemn. “I promise.”
She can’t do this. She absolutely, cannot do this and yet, nothing else is permissible. Losing Pippa isn’t an option, not again, not when they’ve come so far, and Pippa wants.
Wants her, somehow.
If only she weren’t too terrified to believe it.
Forcing herself to breathe steadily, Hecate returns to the small living room and sits on the sofa. The bedroom has too many memories, too much noise—here, she can think. Summoning a comb, she spends an hour sorting her hair, reasoning out every way this can end. Every consequence, good and bad. Every broken heart.
Her own she isn’t so worried about. She’s lived half her life with it in shambles, and it won’t be anything new. Worse, of course - because to have Pippa and to let her go, again, Hecate knows, would be excruciating.
But Pippa’s heart is another story. To break Pippa’s heart, again, would be the end of her own, completely. To hurt Pippa, to let Pippa think, even for a moment, that she isn’t terribly, desperately loved…
Hecate sets down the comb and carefully magics her hair into its usual bun.
She thinks of her father, his disappointment.
Thinks of her colleagues, their confusion and potential mockery.
Thinks of Ada, and her reassuring smile.
Thinks of the girls, how they’ll react.
And finally, she thinks about herself. What she wants.
There’s only one thing, one answer, and it isn’t the logical one. The logical choice would be to save Pippa the disaster of a relationship with her. To protect Pippa from herself.
But she’s tried that before. Tried it for 30 years and Pippa still came back. Still chose her.
Pippa always chooses her.
She thinks of Pippa’s face, the night before, standing at the altar with a smile so wide and tears in her eyes and happiness, joy, because Hecate was looking at her the same. There was no one to perform for, no one to trick. No lie in her voice or her words or her kiss.
Before she can change her mind, Hecate lifts a hand and transfers to the hall outside Pippa’s room in their conference hotel. It makes her a bit woozy, her head still spinning, but she manages to steady herself, to knock.
Pippa opens the door slowly, her face clean and her eyes red, dressed, but her hair still wet and loose around her shoulders.
Hecate wants to hold her, but doesn’t know if it would be welcome. Still doesn’t know what to say, only that she had to see her.
Pippa lets her inside, and Hecate tries to find the words knocking at the inside of her heart.
Pippa sighs, and ducks her head. “Let me finish getting ready and we can go down to the courthouse. I’m sure this kind of thing happens all the time and—"
“No.”
It’s a bit strangled, but clear, and Pippa looks up. “No?”
Hecate swallows. “I...do not want that.”
Pippa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. “What do you want?”
“I—" She hesitates, tries to put the jumble of emotions into something explainable. “You were right, when you said this was fast for me,” she says slowly. “It’s too fast.”
Pippa flinches and looks away, and Hecate does her best to keep breathing.
“But I would be lying...if I said this isn’t where I...where I wanted to end up.”
Pippa looks back at her, eyes wide and hopeful.
“It is?”
Hecate nods. “It may not be a conventional path, but...I see no reason to...deter from it. If it’s what we both want.”
Pippa stares at her and Hecate stares back, heart hammering and for a split second, she thinks Pippa is going to laugh. To laugh, and laugh, and say, oh dear Hecate , you really thought—?
Instead, she smiles. Small at first, then wider, until she’s beaming and her eyes are bright and she makes a soft squeaking sound before she launches herself at Hecate, hands on her cheeks and mouth over hers and Hecate stumbles, but catches her easily, holds her close.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, touching Hecate’s face, “I’m—is this okay? Is this—"
Hecate nods, and Pippa kisses her again, slow and soft and sweet and Hecate melts, feels all the tension she carries drain from her shoulders and it’s just Pippa’s warmth and Pippa’s smell and Pippa’s touch and everything is safe here. Protected.
“I—" She pulls back enough to press her forehead to Pippa’s, and closes her eyes. Knows what she wants to say, needs to say, words pressing against her teeth. "Pippa, I—" The words stick, and she needs something, needs strength, needs some way to show her—
Hecate summons the red rose, her rose. It's smashed and several petals are missing, but with a wave of her hand, she restores it. Full of color and life, she proffers it to Pippa, her eyes closed, hoping she'll hear the I love you she never quite learned how to speak.
When she opens them, Pippa is biting her lip, eyes full of joy, flower pressed to her nose. She sets it aside, carefully, in a vase she manifests, but when she looks back at Hecate, she's still smiling. “You’d better,” she murmurs, and kisses her again, and again, and again, until Hecate finds herself backed against the wall, her hands in Pippa’s hair.
Hecate knows they need to talk, to figure out what they’re going to say and to whom, but Pippa is so soft against her, everything so tender, she doesn’t want to leave. Doesn’t want to stop touching Pippa, doesn’t want Pippa to stop touching her. She wants more. Wants to be closer and warmer and she feels like her skin is tingling.
She’s never felt like this before.
She’s kissed other woman, made out with even fewer, but it feels like a long time ago, and she’s always stopped at this point. Before clothes come off. Before people get too close, before she has to be too vulnerable.
She’s never trusted anyone, never trusted herself, and she doesn’t quite understand why now because this - Pippa’s hand on her arm and the other around her back, wandering - doesn’t feel wrong. Doesn’t feel like guilt and fear and frustration.
It feels like where she’s meant to be, and she can’t help but kiss back, a bit desperate, fingers curling in the fabric of Pippa’s dress.
They break away to breathe, and Hecate feels their breasts brush together, feels her throat go dry and her cheeks pink slightly.
“You okay?” Pippa whispers, brushing her thumb over Hecate’s cheek.
She nods, and Pippa smiles, and kisses her again, and Hecate feels like floating, only Pippa’s touch keeps her grounded even as they wander, over her shoulders, her arm, up her sides.
Her hand brushes Hecate’s breast and she stiffens instinctively, unaccustomed to any touch there but her own and Pippa immediately pulls back, her quick, “Hecate?” drowning out the near silent, needy gasp.
“I’m fine,” she says, but it isn’t quite true—she feels anxious and nervous at the same time she feels wanton and desperate and she wants to be close to Pippa, wants to be so close, but she isn’t quite sure how and she’s never been comfortable not knowing things.
Pippa hesitates. “You know we don’t have to do anything,” she says carefully, watching Hecate’s face for a reaction. “If this is all you want right now - or if it’s all you ever want, that’s okay. It doesn’t change anything.”
Hecate blinks, startled, confused and touched and a bit skeptical. “You wouldn’t care, if I never wanted…?”
Pippa shakes her head. “Of course not. There are hundreds of ways to show affection, Hiccup, and sex is hardly the end all be all of any of them.” She presses a quick kiss to Hecate’s lips. “It’s your choice. If it isn’t something you enjoy, we won’t—"
“No, it’s not—" Hecate tries, but the words feel garbled in her throat. “It isn’t that.”
Pippa tilts her head, curious but not interrogative. “What is it?”
“I do,” she says, remembers:
"Do you, Hecate Hardbroom, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?"
“I do.”
Hecate clears her throat and looks away, cheeks burning and her stomach in tangles. “I do want you,” she says, so quiet she isn’t sure Pippa hears her, until she crooks a finger under Hecate’s chin and lifts her eyes to hers.
“I want you, too,” Pippa says, so simply, so honestly, Hecate relaxes slightly, until she remembers it isn’t the same, isn’t quite what Pippa thinks, and she can’t start this marriage on a lie, any lie, and says, as fast as she can,
“I haven’t done this before.”
Pippa blinks. For a moment, there’s confusion, then surprise, and Hecate waits for the disappointment or disgust but it never comes. Pippa smiles again, still bright, still happy.
“Well then,” she murmurs, and her voice sends a tremor down Hecate’s spine. “I have some wonderful things to show you. If you like.”
Slowly, tentatively, still waiting for the fallout, Hecate nods. “I would. Like that.”
Pippa beams and kisses her and everything fades away. She lets Pippa lead her toward the bed, lets her push her down gently, until they’re side by side, tucked in close. They’re still kissing, Hecate’s hand unsure on Pippa’s hip, Pippa’s hand moving soothingly up and down Hecate’s side.
“You know,” Pippa murmurs in between kisses, “it’s not the same, exactly, but this is a first for me, too.”
“Oh?”
Pippa grins. “I’ve never had married sex before.”
Hecate rolls her eyes, but she feels a small, quiet laugh bubble up, and shakes her head fondly. “I should hope not.”
Pippa reaches between them and grasps Hecate’s hand, their rings clinking together.
“We’re married, Hiccup,” she whispers, with delight and awe and so much love. And then, “And to think, all it took was a few shots of tequila.”
Huffing, Hecate rolls over and top of Pippa, silencing her with a kiss.