Chapter Text
✩༺☆༻✩
"You look like shit."
Your coworker's voice rang out from behind you, where you were currently propped up against a grimy, discoloured brick wall leaning your body weight on your ankles. It was your well-deserved smoke break, your boss had managed to piss you off, yet again.
"Exactly what a girl wants to hear, Yel, thanks for that..."
"Just bein' honest, doll, did you sleep at all last night?"
"Think I got a good two hours in before my alarm, that's basically a new record for me."
Yelena tightened her eyebrows, it wasn't the first time she heard this from you. Certainly wouldn't be the last, either. Leaning down beside you against the wall, she sparked her own cigarette, letting out her worry with a heavy sigh. Even in a squat, the lanky length of her torso meant that her head still managed to tower over you. Her blonde hair had recently been trimmed, effectively lengthened into a mullet, with the sides of her temples buzzed.
"You should've called me, if you couldn't sleep—you know that." The corner of her lips tilted upwards. Technically speaking, you may simply be just coworkers, but you can't lie through your teeth and claim that you have never muddled the lines of professionalism under the cover of night with Yelena. It was a matter of close proximity. Plus, Yelena happens to be incredibly easy on the eyes, and respectful. Little more is needed for two people who may occasionally need a couple hours of mutual stress relief. Not to mention, Yelena was good at it, the distraction.
"I'm just worried about this gala, Yel," You puffed on the white stick, before continuing, "Pyxis knows that if we fuck this up, we won't have enough funding to cover the rest of the year."
You've worked for Pyxis' charity for a good couple of years, it's a solid foundation that works towards gaining medical accessibility for disadvantaged communities. It was good work and felt rewarding. People needed the extra help, and Pyxis had always prioritised those needs.
Well, at least, he used to. Now, it was all up in arms. Pyxis' only son and future heir, had refused to step up as CEO upon his father's impending retirement. With uncertain future leadership, and frustrations in his personal life, the old man was tired, and it shined through in his work.
The Wings of Freedom Foundation had lived a respectable life, and it was incredibly successful, at one time. Recently, though, funding slacked. Economic recession meant that wallets were tightening up, previously consistent investors seemed to be choosing a path of hoarding wealth instead of philanthropy. You know, the type of people that would set the world on fire for their own interests. Just yesterday, an investor had his assistant fax a message to the office that they'd be pulling funding due to 'unforeseen circumstances'. I mean, fax? In this decade? You'd have even preferred a phone call in comparison to that level of professional disrespect.
Which leads to tomorrow, the Foundation was going to be present at one of the biggest fundraising galas of the year. You often found that galas were simply a pretentious name for a bunch of corporate bigwigs meeting up for a dick-measuring contest. And unfortunately, a big part of your job includes lobbying entitled said bigwigs, who, frankly, don't give a single shit about impoverished communities.
"I'd accompany you as your date, doll, but I fear Pyxis will make you flirt with some of these guys— can't really do that with me hanging off your shoulder all night."
"Don't remind me," Groaning, you crushed the ends of your cigarette into the brick wall, "I should report him to HR for that."
Shrugging, Yelena responded, exhaling a swirling line of smoke from her nose, "He only pushes it 'cos it works."
You glared at her from the side, biting back curses with no effort to bite down the irritation in your voice. "Still. Whether it works or not, it's demeaning." you scoffed, "I mean, what? Rich assholes only fork out pennies when a woman bats her eyelashes at them? Don't piss me off."
"But it's those same assholes who run the world, doll, we all have to sacrifice something."
Sneering, you muttered out, "Yeah, well, I don't see you sacrificing your dignity for those creeps."
"Hey, you know I'd swap with you, but nothing makes an egotistical dick softer than a woman that's taller than them." She paused to laugh, "Besides, you look way better in those fancy gala dresses than I ever could, how can they say no to that pretty face?"
At the look on your face, unimpressed and not amused in the slightest, Yelena continues, her tone softer this time, more sympathetic, "Look, I know, okay? I'm sorry it lands on you, but it's only for one night."
"Yeah. One night for every event, it seems."
✩༺☆༻✩
The working day had ended, closing with another mumbled apology from Pyxis before you made your way out of the office walls. Even though you knew it kills him to see his life's work reduced to this, having to beg for scraps, it still stung. Apology or not, you had a right to be frustrated. Yet another count of essentially whoring yourself out for minimal funding. It does something to a person, to their self-dignified principles. The worst part is, you understood it. Without it, the foundation would fall into obscurity, and you cared for its deserved place in society. Like Yelena said, we all have to sacrifice something. No matter how much it sullied your self-respect. What's a little loss of self-respect when it helps more families? That was how you tried to reason with yourself.
Yelena accompanied you on your walk to the subway, having vocally stated that you were, in fact, going to get some sleep tonight, if she could help it. You both knew exactly what that meant. Despite the dirt that was already preemptively coating your skin in preparation for the event, you agreed.
It'd be nice to have creature comfort before the night you were dreading.
Passing through the city centre after five o'clock, the swarm of human bodies took over the municipality. All wanting the same thing: to get home and wash away the hours of work. Through the masses, at a particular landmark of the city's history, your attention was grabbed by an audience of squeals and awes.
A young couple, possibly no older than twenty, were headlining themselves in front of an old, chipped statue. One of them leaned on one knee, holding out a box with a shiny band propped within it. The other half, covered her mouth with her palms in surprise, tearfully nodding and smiling down at her partner.
Beside you, Yelena coughed down a bitter laugh at the sight, "God— kids getting engaged in front of the biggest eyesore in the city, I give them a year before they call it quits. Stupid." She muttered, particularly more to herself than to you. Whilst you agreed somewhat - it truly is a ghastly place to propose, you couldn't help that your gaze was set on the beaming, young couple as you walked past the crowd.
They look.. really happy, you thought.
What followed next was a betraying thought, the kind that you had spent years exiling to the deepest depths of your memory. You didn't think of how stupid it was to get engaged at that age, you didn't even think about the dreadful location they had chosen.
Instead, in a damned moment of cruel weakness, you thought back to them. A momentary haunt of a lover from a far, distant past.
Averting your eyes from the couple, despite yourself, you remembered.
That had been you once.
At one point in your life, you had made the exact same decision as these kids did, no doubt feeling the exact swell of excitement and hope they surely feel now. The kind of blind faith that ignored logic, and had more courage than you could even fathom carrying now.
You think back to all the plans you had once made together, such solid and concrete plans they had been. When you still held stars in your eyes and all the confidence in the world that life would treat you kindly, so long as you were by their side.
With a definitive clench at your chest, the thought passes. Quieter than the violent way in which it first appeared, like an old ghost settling beneath rotting floorboards, it forced you to return to the land of the living.
✩༺☆༻✩
"I get it, three-eyes." Levi's voice carried all the heaviness of a middle-aged father, sighing after listening to the same, repeated monologue from his sibling, "I got it the first three times you told me."
He could probably recite their words perfectly, by now.
"You don't understand, Levi, it's such a good opportunity!" Hange's hands were moving erratically with their voice, "I've been holding out for a chance to share our work, and we can finally do just that!"
Hange Zoë, a well-established engineer, had been chewing their brother's ear off since they stepped foot into his home. If Levi wasn't so used to their antics, he would've kicked them out long ago. Pained, he watched as the tea he brewed for them hours ago, emitted the last of its steam before cooling completely. As the older sibling, Levi often wondered how their parents had produced two children that couldn't be more different.
Hange Zoë had kicked off their professional career with the force of a hurricane. What began as a few research papers, written shortly after their graduation, developed into a series of nonstop academic writings.
Dr. Zoë seldom left their office, barely let go of the pen, as Hange discovered their aptitude for finding new solutions to ancient problems. It must've only been a couple of months after achieving their doctorate, that they were headhunted by Erwin Smith, a giant in the medical industry. Soon enough, Hange's reputation went from respected academic, to a well-tenured, practical position at Erwin Smith's hospital, developing research into efficient, affordable medical technology.
"Best part is, the event is in the city," Hange settled onto Levi's kitchen chair, though not much settling took place, he noticed. Levi's eyes trailed down to Hange's knees, watching as they shook their legs so hard that the table trembled along, too. "As the chosen representative, I have to stay there for a couple weeks to liaise with the charities—Do you know how much I miss the city?"
"Sure," He did, indeed. Hange hadn't shut up about it since they got there. Whilst he was proud of his sibling, in their work to aid lower-income communities finally paying off, he couldn't help the taut frown tugging at his lips, eyeing Hange with a suspicious glint. Silently, he had been questioning their motives, dissecting their surface-level eagerness to head into the city for an indefinite amount of time.
So, with hesitation, he uttered what had been hanging from the tip of his tongue for the past hour, "And this decision has nothing to do with Subira?"
Hange viscerally deflated, silenced. Their previous excitement turned sour.
The swiftness with which the width of their smile faded showed Levi that he had hit the nail right on the head. The tilt of their lips was cut short, a tense frown now in its place. As their shoulders slumped, their demeanour instantly turned deflective. "Why would it be?"
"Maybe because last time I saw you, you were crying your eyes raw on my kitchen floor."
"This... has nothing to do with that," Hange muttered, avoiding his gaze. They wrapped their fingers around the fully cooled mug of tea, in an almost ironic showcase of seeking comfort from something unable to emit warmth. "It's settled. She promised me it wouldn't happen again."
For the hundredth time today, Levi sighed. His eyes narrowed into the type of disappointment that mixed with concern, the kind of look Hange knew better than to argue against, "I guess fifth time's the charm, then, huh?"
"Levi, don't. Please."
"How many times are you going to let this happen, Hange? I mean, I'm shocked she's even letting you leave for that long."
"She..." Hange paused, rubbing their thumb over the rim of ceramic, "Doesn't know yet, I haven't told her."
"Colour me surprised." Levi deadpanned with his face void of emotion, settling his arms into a cross over his chest.
Hange had no defence, they knew that. So did Levi.
Despite there being much more he wanted to say, this time, Levi bit his tongue and changed the subject.
✩༺☆༻✩
Tonight was the night of the gala. The bile you'd been swallowing down for the better part of your day had gotten lodged somewhere in your oesophagus. Yelena had helped ease the nerves, somewhat.
True to her promise, last night she fucked you into your mattress so hard, that as soon as you finished for the second time, you effectively passed out once turning on your side. Yelena had kissed along the back of your neck as you mumbled a 'Thank you', into your pillow, and in that position you slept for the remainder of the night.
As you slept it was the only time, outside of sex, that Yelena saw an inch of peace softening your expression. The taller blonde wordlessly wiped the concoction of mixed bodily liquids from your thighs. It slowly became a ritual. She'd come over, make true to her words. Then once you were finally fucked out enough to get some actual rest, she'd wipe your thighs clean from sin, and tug your bed-sheets over your naked body. Actions that spilled over with more affection than either of you were comfortable admitting.
When morning broke through the skies, eventually, Yelena slowly began staying longer, and slowly, you began to allow it. What was, exclusively, a night-time booty call, was evolving into an unspoken, human craving for comfort.
Feelings had no place in this union, it was simply an agreed-upon carnal bond of the flesh. A way to quieten your mind, and get some goddamn sleep. You always noticed Yelena happened to be down for the ride, taking life as it comes. Just happy to be involved.
It was easy, having no expectations.
Her lips may be pressing against your skin more softly, and her touches perhaps, were growing fondly gentle, but that was just a by-product of being intimate with another person after a while. Solid aftercare, you called it.
So, when she gazed upon you from behind, taking you in as you stood at the foot of your mirror running your hands down to smooth the satin material of your lengthy, black dress, you didn't mind.
Courtesy of Pyxis' old money, the hem at the back of your dress exposed the curve of your spine. All dolled up, you were even wearing heels, for the love of god, you hated heels.
When she whispered out, "You look beautiful,", into your neck, you took it as it came. When she pressed her lips against your barren shoulder, her hand cupping your hip as she watched the chain on your neck dangle into your sternum with her movements, you welcomed it.
The creature comfort was settling down the very little food that resided in your stomach, it coated itself over the worry that had strained your intestines.
And humans are sordid creatures, after all.
Yelena drove the both of you to the location. It was a wide, opulent hall, with stained glass windows and a ceiling higher than anyone could ever reach. You wondered how much dust secretly took home in a place as wealthy as this. In the corners that no one wanted to touch. Etches of art adorned the boards splitting up the panes of the wall, specks of gold welded into the decor. Far too opulent. Far too rich.
Entering through the doors that towered over even Yelena, you swallowed your pride as she left your side. With a passing smile, Yelena walked away and took the comfort away with her. You watched as she made her own way through the elites, beaming with charm and ease as she worked the room. Pyxis was already settled in the building. No doubt working his own connections to attempt their submission.
The gala had commenced a while ago, you're dressed to the high heavens, bound under the weight of appearance and expectations of respect laced tightly around your waist and ankles. You never liked this aspect of the job, having to fawn under big-city heavyweights who decide whether or not to slightly empty their pockets for people beneath them, all from one singular conversation. It was all a performance act; you bat your eyes at them, lose a little inch of yourself with each passing sentence, and hope that they like you just enough to so graciously fork out investments.
It was wearing you down. Probably smiled enough to work out the muscles in your cheeks for the months still to come. In-between talks, you couldn't help but set your jaw tightly, it was the only form of release you could have. Pyxis even explicitly demanded that you were not to sit outside for a smoke, lest the men catch its lingering scent on your clothes. It was too high a stake for even an inch of you to be depicted as anything less than a perfect image.
Currently, you're in the middle of a conversation, with a particularly arrogant CEO who you can tell is just there for his seasonal tax write-off. He's talking down at you, condescending even though you can still see the visible lust clouding his irises. Pick a struggle, you thought.
"And then I said to her, 'You're not sexy enough for me to go bankrupt!'" His words left a bitter taste in your mouth, worsened by the roar of chuckles by the surrounding guests. They weren't even discussing business. This was no better than locker-room talk, stupid men will be stupid men no matter their age, it seems. The standards were different for them, they didn't have to be serious and strictly business at all times. Their clothes didn't clutch at their neck or shorten their breaths.
Their pride didn't die with conversation. In fact, it swelled further.
After a couple of minutes, you can feel your eyes begin to glaze over. Sleep keeps weighing on your eyelids as you try with all your might to not rub off the makeup around your skin. Glancing away, you find an antique clock set into the wall, for how much longer did you have to perform?
As you throw your gaze back towards the CEO, your eyes land on a glimpse of an eerily familiar head of hair, and stature, walking past and stopping in front of Pyxis. From the back of them, all you can see is that they wear a dark brown suit, their blazer hangs from their shoulders in a way your memory seems to remember, all too well. Your vision trails behind them, following their walking direction as you notice their hair is longer than most, tugged back halfway by a loose tie. The figure turns, to follow their own rounds of begging to higher powers. From the side of which you stand, you can just about catch a band of sleek cloth that meets at the back of their head, covering one eye. With noticing that, the small glimmer of hope that unwillingly seeded within your chest, died.
You pass it off as a coincidence, what a silly thought. It can't possibly be who you think it is. Why would they ever don an eye-patch of sorts? Feigning interest back into the conversation, you try to not forget your scripts as your mind travels elsewhere. A sense of disappointment you hadn't been familiar with for years struck you, it's not them. Why would it ever have been them?
Another forty minutes passed, and Pyxis catches you long enough to pass you over to someone else. As you look over the blonde man, who's probably in his mid-thirties, his smile sits differently. His shoulders are tightly proud in a way that screams military. Pyxis subtly pats you on the shoulder as he makes his exit, and you swear he mumbled under his breath, "You'll like this one.".
With Pyxis' departure, the blond man introduced himself as Erwin Smith, owner of the biggest hospital in the southern outskirts of the city. Introducing yourself in turn, the manner with which he speaks is almost enough to disarm you.
"Lovely to finally meet a force such as yourself," He took your hand, and you noticed that he doesn't grip your fingers towards their breaking point. Instead, he only holds your hand up to your knuckles, with the sort of polite honour a fairy-tale prince would greet a queen. "I've been interested in the Foundation for quite some time, you do amazing work."
You attempted to mask your facial staggering, though the slight raise of your eyebrows tried to betray you, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Smith—"
"Please, call me Erwin. I can't stand bureaucracy."
Words get caught in your throat, your script is thrown to the winds and you don't know whether to cry or laugh with relief. "Erwin." You continue, "I have to ask, how do you know of me?"
"Pyxis and I served together," He smiled, the skin at the corner of his eyes revealed crow's feet with his movement, "He speaks very highly of you. Claims you're the reason the Foundation is still kicking."
Damn him, you thought. You were still bitter.
"I believe we are quite similar," His words slip out with intent, like he has thought out every part of this conversation. Erwin leaned a little closer to you, his eyes darted around the room, "I can't stomach half of the people in this room."
Before you could help it, you release your first, and only, genuine laugh of the night. Your guard stays up, though, not allowing yourself the ease of vocally agreeing yet.
"They attend so they can keep pretending they aren't parasitic. I can't imagine how tired you must be."
With that, you allow yourself the space to finally exhale. It releases a good few inches of tension from your shoulders as you think about your response, "We all have to make sacrifices."
Erwin chuckled, lightly sipping on a martini glass, "There's sacrifices, and there's slaughter. I can only hope you haven't been subjected to the latter."
You swallowed nothing but empty air into your throat.
Erwin Smith is an odd man.
It isn't everyday you meet a man in his position, speaking in this manner. A part of you is concerned by how easily he seems to see through you and your act. How a man of his standing speaks as if you are his equal, matching your own disdain for the majority of 'esteemed guests' that share the hall with you. It was almost a pleasant surprise, and you find that you'd rather network solely with Erwin than any other attending figure.
As you chat for a little while, Erwin shares his acknowledgement of a recent cultural shift, switching from philanthropy, however fake it had been, to unashamed expediency. His open nature slowly eased you of the falsities you'd kept up all night. Finding relief in actually seeing eye to eye with someone who agrees, you see him as someone you could actually work with.
"I am curious, as to why you've never worked with Pyxis before?"
"My answer is probably nowhere near as exciting as you might be thinking," He laughs, "Simply put, I was never in the position to financially support charities. I've had to be selective in who I hire, and what we do. Recently, I seem to have struck gold, metaphorically speaking, with my employees— they have surpassed more than I could ever imagine." You could see it in his eyes, the pride in his work, the faith in his employees, "Now, we are able to finally give back. Which brings me to a proposal I have for you..." His voice tapered, as he met your eyes expectantly.
Bracing, you stayed quiet, ready for the moment Erwin Smith revealed himself to be as sleazy as the rest. Though, it seems to be an unexpected night of surprises.
"We want to support the Foundation. I believe in your work, and it is of utmost importance to support those most vulnerable. Wholeheartedly, I will support those goals, however I can."
Your stunned silence didn't astonish him in the slightest, Erwin knew who he was talking to. He knew of Pyxis' unorthodox ways. He had meant every word he said, he could see the exhaustion that was hidden beneath layers of concealer.
"You will invest?" You spluttered out, embarrassed to be reduced to this low level of eloquence.
Erwin nodded, "And then some. I want to be an active sponsor, and maybe one day, Pyxis and I will talk about partnership."
"That's amazing, Erwin, I'm sure I couldn't thank you enough for such an offer."
"Should our teams align, you'd be spending a lot of time with our elected Representative—"
Across the room, Yelena had been observing. She had caught wind of you in just one conversation for much longer than usual. Burying her concern, she masked it as being cautious that you were being cornered— it wasn't unusual for that to happen in these social spheres. Ever the saint, Yelena pushed herself from against the wall and made her way to join your conversation. Her presence effectively interrupted Erwin whilst he spoke, though he recovered quickly enough, greeting her with a polite nod before continuing.
The offer is gracious, Erwin sells it incredibly well, though, you still have your reservations. It's too altruistic, too giving—
"The only... con, I suppose, would be putting up with our Rep. They can be... a lot." He laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Yelena turned to you, curious, her eyes were trying to fill in the missing gaps of what she missed. You didn't seem to be disturbed, or uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, you were smiling.
As she gauged the situation, Erwin's attention gets grabbed by a passing body.
"Oh—there you are! Come, there's someone I'd like to introduce you to."
The body turns, and in response, your stomach twists with something ugly. As Erwin introduced you by name, you meet their eye.
No. There's no way.
Erwin continued, "And this is our illustrious Dr. Zoë, their work is truly incredible and has made unprecedented improvements to obstacles we never thought possible to change." Honestly, Erwin's words were going in one ear, and out the other, as you stood face to face, with the ghost from your past.
You should've heeded your intuition. It had been Hange moving through that room with you, all along. Seeing the cloth that now elegantly covered what you could only assume was a missing eye, had allowed you to be deceived.
How did that even happen to them? The visage of them in your head, that you carried with you all these years, was updated. Instead of two amber-shaded eyes, Hange now sustained only one. Their face looked older, now. With the maturity that had also struck you before you could even notice it. Hange's jaw was tighter, more defined, the skin around their eye more hollow. Almost void of the animated nature you always associated with Hange, in your memories. They look... different. Hardened. Dare you say, weary?
In all levels of equal shock, there they stood. Hange gaped at you, almost horrified. Their expression probably matched yours, mouth agape and eyelid wide. You noticed them swallow, before joining their lips together again. Both of you seemed to agree in that moment, as wordlessly as it was, to continue forth with this interaction as simple strangers.
Hange, or Dr. Zoë, held out their palm. A professional form of greeting that you wouldn't have batted an eye at if it came from anyone else. Stunned, you held your own out to meet theirs in turn.
It was the first time you had touched Hange's skin in eight years.