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She couldn't sleep.
She usually couldn't, of course. It was some cruel joke of the universe that the nerves that had plagued her since childhood and prevented her from ever properly resting still haunted her in the afterlife. The one time in your life when you were meant to be guaranteed rest, and yet, still, she was denied.
This was different than usual, though.
Instead of her general sense of unease and nerves, thoughts of what had transpired earlier that day were swirling around her head. Graphically detailed ideas of everything that could have gone horribly, horribly wrong twisted inside her gut and made her stomach curdle. The idea of being trapped in that tiny box, with the walls closing in around her, made her chest tight with panic, and the more she tried not to think about it, the more the gruesome, terrible thoughts came.
Phantom sounds of Thor, Flower, and Pete screaming while they were eviscerated rattled around in her mind on an endless loop. Hetty rolled over onto her side, covering her ears with her hands and wishing desperately that she could crawl under her duvet and pull it over her head to try and block out the sounds, longing for the comforting weight to surround her. She shuddered as another wave of anxiety passed through her.
She was safe, she knew that logically. She had never been in any danger herself, and the trap was long gone, carted off along with Samantha's terrible, sniveling, backtalking employee. Her nerves never seemed to follow any sort of logic or reason though, much to her chagrin and the constant irritation of Elias. The one good thing he had ever done for her was ensure she had a consistent supply of medication for it, even if in hindsight she knew it was merely for his own benefit.
God, she missed laudanum. Maybe she could convince Samantha to pick some up for her on her next outing, so that she could at least smell it. Maybe even just having some of it in her room would do the trick.
Laying there in the dark, listening to the soft sounds of Isaac snoring at the other side of the room, was not doing her any good. But her usual routine of wandering the halls of the mansion during her nightly nervous fits had proven to be very unpopular with her descendant, who, after one too many times of being startled by Hetty looming out of the darkness while on a midnight trip to the bathroom, had asked her to please, please stop doing that.
While their recent spat had ended amicably and she now felt closer to Samantha than before, she did not want to do anything that might put a strain on that recently wounded bond. She had reluctantly agreed to keep her nightly pacing to her own room, at least during the very late hours, so she firmly resisted the urge to get up and restlessly wander throughout the house until the exhaustion finally won out.
She wasn't sure what else to do, though. There was only one thing other than laudanum that had ever allowed her to ease into sleep while she was like this, and she and Thorfinn had awkwardly agreed that they were no longer comfortable with it now that she was no longer a child, as much as she longed for that to not be the case.
But someone else had seemed more than comfortable with it.
Enthusiastic, even.
"There's nothing wrong with feeling good," Flower's voice whispered in her head, and Hetty laid her arm across her face to cover her eyes with a groan. This wasn't the kind of good that the girl had meant, she was fairly certain.
It had been one thing to slake her thirst with him, to find that mutual release of pent-up tension with one another, to submit herself to her demonic carnal desires, and finally achieve what she had never been able to in life.
That it had been with Trevor had simply been...coincidence, of course. She had not sought him out, and she was fairly certain that he had not specifically come looking for her, either. It had simply. Happened. Two people, at the end of their rope, desperate for release and turning to each other as the most convenient source. It made sense, at least at the time, and she could live with that. Probably.
What she couldn't live with was her reaction to the aftermath, the butterflies that had blossomed in her stomach when he pulled her close against him, ran his fingers through her hair, the way he had planted a kiss on her temple. How even though her needs had been satisfied, when she no longer needed his services, she had found herself melting into the embrace, allowing him to hold her and fuss with her like she was something...precious. Like he liked her.
It was disgusting. It could never happen again.
She had been out of control, undignified, immoral, and this sick, twisted yearning that was carving a hole inside of her chest was just a side effect of having gone unattended for so long. She was being foolish, childish. There was nothing there. She could not go to him. It would be humiliating, the exposure of a century-long pulsing wound to someone who, until very recently, she would not have considered to be the least bit trustworthy.
But...
She remembered earlier in the kitchen, when she had impulsively scampered over to latch onto him when Isaac left her side, the way that he had seen her coming towards him and reached out to her to link their fingers together. How he had allowed her to draw him into her side and cling to him in their shared moment of shock.
When she told him she needed him, she had seen the way he had gotten excited when he thought she was interested in a second dalliance together, followed by a look of genuine disappointment and frustration when she insisted that he had misunderstood her intentions.
Had he?
He had seemed so surprised when she had allowed him to hold her afterward, like he had not expected her to lay with him in the afterglow for as long as she did, as if he thought that she was going to immediately leave him there when she was done with him. Instead, she had been weak, had given into the tiny voice in the back of her head that yearned for the attention, and allowed herself to be lulled into a comfortable doze, tucked up with her head on his chest, soaking in as much affection as he was willing to give her while she could.
When they had realized the others would start to be wondering where they were, and awkwardly went their separate ways, she thought about the way he had seemed so reluctant to let her go off without him. She had glanced over her shoulder as she slipped back through the wall and caught sight of him staring after her with a disappointed crease to his brow.
There's nothing wrong with feeling good.
Oh, God.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Hetty found herself slipping out of bed and sneaking out of her bedroom, careful not to wake Isaac as she went and feeling very much like a teenager up to no good. She crept down the hall, keeping an eye out for Samantha just in case, wringing her hands together nervously.
When she reached their room, Hetty peeked her head through the door, relieved to see that her suspicion had been correct. Thorfinn was nowhere to be seen, which meant Trevor was tucked up in the bed instead of scrunched up on the couch for a change. She felt a moment of concern for Alberta, wondering where she had ended up for the night, before pushing the thought to the back of her mind. It was not her problem to worry about, and she was sure to hear all about it in the morning.
She took a steady breath, letting it out slowly to give herself a few more moments to gather her courage before entering the room and slinking over towards the bed. She hesitated as she stared down at him. His back was to her, which should have made it easier, not having to see his face, but for some reason, it held her frozen in place instead. This was a mistake. She couldn't do this. He would certainly wake up the second she lowered herself onto the bed with him, and then what would she do? What would she say? How could she possibly hope to explain herself? She would never be able to recover from it.
But oh, she wanted to, so, so desperately. She wanted to feel good. She wanted to sleep. Hetty couldn't bring herself to leave, torn between her last chance to recover whatever dignity she still had left and the burning, childish impulse to seek comfort. She was so tired. A chance to get a decent night of rest for once was laying right there before her, and she couldn't find it within herself to reach out and grab it.
So she found herself just...standing there. Watching him sleep. Hovering over him, trying to convince herself to just go back to bed, to no avail. He looked...softer, in sleep, without any of that irritating bravado to get in the way. She felt a longing rise up in her to reach out and run her fingers through his hair, but forced it down. No. No, no, no.
And then, to her complete and utter horror, Trevor rolled over with a frustrated groan, and she realized with a dismayed clench in her chest that he had not actually been asleep after all. Trevor caught sight of her, and he let out a (frankly pathetic) yelping sound, scrambling back on the bed and almost threatening to fall through the wall it was pressed against.
"Hetty!?" he gasped, propping himself up on his side and clutching a hand to his chest, looking genuinely shocked to see her looming over him in the dark. "You- what are you do- don't do that!" He stared at her, bug-eyed and attempting to get his breathing under control, before running a hand through his hair and trying to look like she hadn't just scared him halfway to a second death. "What. Uh. What's up?"
He couldn't keep the stutter out of his voice, as much as he was trying to play it off. It was, she thought with a disgusting flutter in her stomach, almost kind of...cute.
Trevor.
Ugh.
She felt her entire face go hot, and was grateful for the cover of darkness that was partially obscuring her, hiding the pinkening of her face from him. She cleared her throat, clutching her hands in front of her chest awkwardly, and rolled her shoulders back to straighten herself up. Nothing left to do but commit.
This was her house.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she started, and he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Hetty, that makes it so much worse. You know that, right? You understand how that's worse?"
She frowned. "No."
"Okay, well, it's- people generally don't like it when you watch them sleep," he explained as he sat up, and she sighed, feeling a twinge of irritation that was much more familiar to her. Good. That was good. "It's, y'know, creepy."
"I wasn't intending to," she said shortly, twisting her fingers together and grimacing. His gaze dropped down to them, and she stopped, holding still. But he had seen, her restless tell betraying her. His posture seemed to soften a bit when he looked back up at her face, and oh, how she hated it. Henrietta Woodstone did not do pity.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, his tone gentler than it was before. She scowled, glancing off to the side with a huff and not answering. Her ears were burning, though with embarrassment or frustration she wasn't sure.
This had been a mistake. Her nerves were still twisting up inside her stomach, and now the bitter sensation of humiliation was curling up alongside it. She should have just woken Isaac. He probably would have sat with her. She knew he would have.
Trevor drummed his fingers on his leg uncomfortably as the silence stretched between them, watching as Hetty petulantly stared at the corner of the room instead of answering him, which felt like an answer enough in and of itself. The corners of her mouth were tense and her eyebrows were knitted together, and he realized that she had probably come here for a specific reason. She had been doing that thing with her hands that she always did when she was upset-- not that he noticed that, of course. Not that he paid attention to her like that, or anything. Obviously.
But he missed her. He, Trevor Lefkowitz, had found himself missing her, Hetty Woodstone, the bane of his afterlife, the woman who had spent the last twenty-two years looking down her nose at him and making sure that he knew that she didn't particularly enjoy his presence. The woman who he thought, until very recently, probably disliked him more than any other ghost in the house.
He missed Hetty.
He had noticed that she had been softening up to him since Sam had shown up, that she was finally starting to loosen her corset (in more ways than one). It was nice. She was nice. Well, sometimes she was nice. Kind of. A lot nicer than he was used to seeing from her, at the very least. Sam and Jay were rubbing off on all of them, he knew, but with Hetty especially, the way she smiled more often, looking soft and radiant and like she actually enjoyed being around them...being around him...he liked it. He liked her.
She didn't like him back, though, that was painfully clear with how quickly and harshly she had shut him down in the days following their...what did she call it? A dalliance? After they had sex. Gone to bone town. Whatever. He had thought maybe she did, when she had willingly allowed him to cuddle with her, had seemed to enjoy letting him play with her hair, had spared him a second glance before they parted ways. Then she had told him never again, that she was embarrassed, that they were to never let anyone find out, and...well.
Two could play at that game, of course.
But now she was here, in his room, clearly in distress about something, and it didn't take a genius to work out what it probably was, given the events of the day and his own similar position. What confused him was that instead of waking up Isaac, who was right there in her bedroom, or maybe even going to Sam, or Alberta...she had come to him.
That had to mean something, right?
"I'm having some trouble sleeping tonight," he offered her, stretching out the metaphorical olive branch when it became clear she would rather stand there all night glaring at the wallpaper than look at him, and he felt a thrill of success when she glanced over curiously.
"Thor went to-" he cut himself off, looking unsure if this was something he should say to her. "Well. You know."
"Flower's room, yes," she said, "It was quite obvious they were going to take a turn." That got a laugh out of him, and Hetty found herself smiling, preening under the attention. Trevor's attention. Lord, help her.
"Right, yeah." He took in a deep breath. "I've just kind of gotten used to him being in the room with me, and I can't stop thinking about the trap, you know? The others, they all seem to have gotten over it already, but I..." she watched as he clenched his hands into fists in his lap. "I just keep thinking about it."
Hetty hummed, letting herself twist her fingers together again, aware that he was watching her do so. "I...have been thinking about it as well," she said, staring down at the floor and looking like it was paining her to admit it. "It truly was awful."
He nodded, rubbing his hands on his thighs. She didn't elaborate any further, and he didn't really know what to say either. She needed help, and he wanted to help her; it even came with the bonus that it would being helping him out too. So why was it so difficult?
He needed to just...bite the bullet.
"Did you maybe want to...sleep here? With me?" He looked at her, arching his eyebrows in what he hoped was an inviting expression, but she balked almost immediately, stiffening her back and grabbing at the front of her dress.
"I- oh, well, I- that's quite- I'm not...I don't wish to-"
"Not- not for sex!" he said quickly, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture. "We both...uh...hated it. Right. Yeah. That's what we said. Neither of us liked it, whatever. I meant...to sleep. Like, actually sleep. Totally platonically. Just as bros."
She stared at him, and he watched, fascinated, as she bit her lip. She was thinking about it. That was why she had come here. Bingo. T-Money was great at this.
When she continued to not respond to him, Trevor laid back down on the bed and scooted so he was close to the wall, leaving a decent amount of space next to him. He reached over, patting the covers. "Come on, Hetty. It'll help me sleep. Please?"
She squinted at him suspiciously. She knew what he was doing. The man was not nearly as sneaky as he thought he was. But it was...sweet. He was attempting to help her preserve the last whimpering shred of dignity she was still desperately trying to cling to, and it sent a warm twist of fondness for him through her, to think that he cared enough to shame himself for her benefit.
"Well...alright, if you insist," she said, rolling her eyes and doing her best to look put out, playing along with him. He grinned widely as she awkwardly lowered herself onto the bed, shuffling her dress around so that she could comfortably situate herself. The bed was small, so a part of her dress ended up draped over Trevor's legs, but he didn't seem to mind.
Hetty felt a pleasant little tickle in the back of her throat at the odd intimacy of it, the simple acting of laying in bed with another person with no expectations laid out before her. A tingle spread up from her toes and curled around her like a warm blanket, and she folded her hands up on her stomach, doing her best to relax as they lay side by side. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Trevor was doing the same, but there was a strange look on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. She held her breath, waiting.
"This is...a little awkward, isn't it?" Trevor finally said after a few uncomfortable minutes, and Hetty felt her entire body tense up, clenching her jaw. He didn't want to do this. Of course he wouldn't want to do this with her again. She was horrified to feel her eyes begin to prick with tears of embarrassment. Curse her female brain.
"It- yes. It is," she said stiffly, clenching her fists into the fabric of her dress, unable to keep the quaver out of her voice as the nerves that had gotten her into this awful position in the first place threatened to boil over. She would rather go down like her terrible husband than do something as humiliating as cry in front of Trevor. "I should- go. I apologize for putting you in this position, Trevor. Thank you for indulging me. Goodnight."
She started to get up, doing her fair best at keeping her composure, but halted as she felt Trevor reach out and grab her arm, pulling her back a bit.
"No! No, Hetty, come on, don't go, that's not- that's not what I meant," he said frantically, and she turned to look at him over her shoulder. He had an apologetic look on his face, eyebrows creased and mouth slightly open. "I just meant...because of how we left it between us. With what you said, before."
Oh. Oh, yes. She had...she had told him never again. She had frantically jumped at the chance to reject him before he could reject her, coolly dismissing him and delighting in taunting him, snatching control of the situation out of his hands and keeping it all for herself. She was confident that her actions would ensure that he would not let word of her humiliating loss of control reach any of the others, except...looking at his face now, the thought slowly occurred to her that maybe...
Maybe he hadn't been going to do any of that in the first place.
She hadn't considered that.
"I didn't mean it," she breathed out, squeezing her eyes shut so she didn't have to look at him as she spoke her vulgar confession into reality, feeling like a weight was pressing down on her chest. She couldn't come back from this. "I didn't hate it. I'm not...It wasn't because of you, Trevor."
Hetty heard him exhale loudly at that, and his hand was on her shoulder now, gently tugging her back towards him. She relented, and allowed herself to be pulled back onto the bed, letting him gently tug at her until she was on her side, so that they were face to face. He reached out to her, taking her hand in his and giving it a soft squeeze. It made her heart stutter for a moment, and despite everything in her telling her not to, she squeezed back, biting down on the shameful emotion welling up in her chest at the gesture.
"I didn't mean it either," he said, "when I said I hated it more."
Hetty stared at him, searching his face for any sort of deceit, any sort of indication that he was about to start laughing at her, but she couldn't find anything other than genuine honesty reflected back at her. She oh so badly wanted to believe him. She glanced down at where their fingers were laced together, and ran her thumb slowly over the back of his hand.
She tightened her mouth, swallowing past the irritating lump in her throat. "Alright."
"Yeah?" Trevor grinned at her, and the hopeful look on his face pulled a smile out of her. She nodded. "So do you want to, uh...?" He lifted an arm in invitation, pleased with himself for having guessed correctly once again when her eyes widened. Her grip on his hand tightened, but she didn't move into him. Okay. T-money could make the first move, no problem.
Trevor reached out with his free hand and pulled her up into his chest, looping his arm up around her shoulders and giving her a firm, snug squeeze that made her gasp in surprise. She didn't return the gesture right away, but he counted it as a victory when she didn't immediately pull away from him or berate him for assuming he could just hug her like that.
It was awkward. There was no way to pretend it wasn't still a little awkward. He was Trevor, and she was Hetty, and it was weird. But he liked it. Her dress draped over his legs was warm, and holding her felt so nice, and god, someone was finally touching him. He'd missed this so much.
Hetty didn't know what to do. He was hugging her, and it felt absolutely sinful how much she liked it, how badly she wanted to burrow into the embrace like she had before. She had more of an excuse to be allowing it then, when she had been able to justify it as merely granting him a reward for the release he had graciously bestowed up on her.
"There's nothing wrong with feeling good," drifted through her mind again, and Hetty squeezed her eyes shut as she rolled the words around in her head, coming to a decision. With one final shiver of embarrassment, she relented, choosing to push all of her shame out the window and let herself have this. Just this once. Any regret would be a problem for the Hetty of tomorrow. Let her worry about it. The Hetty of today wanted this.
He could feel it when she gave in, the tension dropping from her body as she almost seemed to melt into the bed with a shuddering noise of relief, exactly the way she had a few weeks ago. Yes.
Trevor reached up to run a hand through her hair, and she arched up into the caress like a cat with a soft sigh. He beamed down at her, delighted, and did it again, gently scratching his fingers along her scalp.
Oh, that's absolutely lovely, she thought, continuing to rub her fingers against his. Hetty let out a hum of contentment, and clutched her other hand into the fabric of his jacket as she pulled herself closer to him. She wriggled herself into a more comfortable position, tucking her head up on his shoulder. It was nice. It was so nice. Even if it was Trevor.
Or maybe because it was Trevor. He had surprised her that first time after all, with just how willing he had been to center her pleasure over his own; even their truly hedonistic display afterward had been mostly focused on him peppering her with attention. She glanced up at his face, pondering the idea that she had misjudged his character for the last twenty-two years even more than she thought she had.
She would have to thank Flower again in the morning. That girl had a much smarter head on her shoulders than Hetty could have ever believed possible, even if she was constantly advocating for the more uncouth side of life. But maybe it was okay, every once and a while. Under dire circumstances such as these, of course.
"Good?" he asked quietly, the hint of a fond laugh in his voice, but instead of it making her prickle with embarrassment she seemed to relax even more, burrowing her nose into the collar of his shirt.
"Yes," she sighed. "Thank you, Trevor. I..." she trailed off with an embarrassed twist of her mouth, but he understood. He reached over and gently cupped her face with his free hand, rubbing his thumb along her cheek, and she pushed into it, sighing and closing her eyes.
"Yeah," he said, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I did too."
They fell asleep that way, with Hetty in his arms, and when Trevor woke early the next morning he realized with nervous excitement that she was still there, and hadn't bolted in the middle of the night. She was still asleep, still clinging to his hand, and he took advantage of the rare moment to get a good look at her face, studying her features in a way he never really had before. She looked...gentle, like this, with the soft light of the growing sunrise coming from the window catching on her hair and making it almost seem to glow.
She was so pretty. How had he never noticed before?
Trevor reached out, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, and she made a quiet, irritated huffing sound, shuffling closer to him in her sleep. Cute. Hetty. Another burst of fondness for her shot through him, and he settled back down, tightening his grip on her hand.
He wasn't entirely sure how she was going to react once she woke up. He wouldn't be surprised if it ended up being a repeat of the other day; he could already imagine her pushing him away in the vulnerability of the light of day, as much as he hoped that she didn't. But for now, he's content to lay in her embrace for as long as she wants.