but jasmine won against angie and bosco tbh

rosenallies:

them!!!

Following the “rule” that the winner of each season wins one of the first 5 episodes

Which queen will be our next winner?

Wait for Time (To Do What it Does) (Camgeria) - Athena2

Summary: Camden and Angeria are time travelers who are unable to interact in their own time and use their time travel missions to meet each other throughout history.

A/N: Hi everyone! I’ve had an idea of doing something along these lines for a while now, and I’m so glad I was able to finish it. I’m honestly really proud of this one, which doesn’t happen often. That said, thank you so much to Writ for letting me send you ridiculously long texts about this and just letting me work through my ideas with you.

I really hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you like!!

Title from My Love by Florence + the Machine.

1. London, 1543

The gray sky blankets the world around the marketplace, and Angeria is living inside a history book.

She fiddles with the travel watch, remade into a leather cuff for the time period. The entire world on her wrist. Time is more fragile than she ever knew.

It’s a pretty easy first assignment—stocking fruits and vegetables that get sold in the marketplace. The Legion said her being here is important. She doesn’t know why, but time isn’t hers to question. It’s just part of the job: travel to a specific time and location. Slip into an assigned role that makes them blend in. Carry out a task in that role, a task that preserves time from anyone trying to mess with it. Then they leave, back to their own present. She’s surprised no other recruit was sent with her though, since it is her first mission.

The day passes as she drops off crates of apples and grapes and lemons, no one noticing her at all. She’s literally playing with time like a kid in a sandbox, touching each grain as it passes through her hands. It’s dizzying, and she’s grateful when the merchants start packing up. Her work here is done.

“Do you think eating these grapes will make time collapse? I’m so hungry.”

Angeria looks up and gasps. Someone else was on this mission with her.

Camden.

In their own present time, she and Camden received their training at Legion together, like all the recruits. But after training, recruits aren’t allowed to communicate. Legion doesn’t want the risk that a present relationship will throw recruits off their game and alter the past if they work a mission together. They can communicate on missions, but only about relevant things.

Angeria hasn’t seen her since their training days, where they were both top of the class, where her eyes went to Camden every minute. No matter how quiet she seemed, she always talked to Angeria, doing anything she could to make her laugh. Seeing her again, her red curls twisted in a braid, her cheeks flushed, makes Angeria’s heart pound.

“Should be fine,” Angeria says. “I’m hungry too. We can collapse time together.” She grabs a bunch of ripe grapes and hands it to a smiling Camden, taking another for herself.

“So I guess we go back now. Everything went okay?”

Angeria nods. Nothing went obviously wrong, and she’s assuming her actions kept time intact.

“Well, good luck.”

“Good luck to you too.”

“Who knows,” Camden says hopefully, “Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime.”

Sometime. In some other time.

“I’d like that,” Angeria says. She stares at her watch, knowing it’s time to go, no matter how long she wants to talk to Camden.

Theoretically, they can stay here as long as they like, and still be back seconds after they first left. But they aren’t supposed to stay anywhere after they’ve completed their job. The longer they stay, the greater the risk that they could alter something, no matter how unintentional. So they enter their return coordinates, vanishing within seconds of each other.

There isn’t enough time.

—

2. New Providence, 1668

The air is warm around her, and Camden hopes that means her senses are returning. She was supposed to materialize behind a church construction plot, but she can’t open her eyes yet, because everything is still spinning. It’s part of the side effects after traveling; limbs too weak and numb to move right away, head reeling with dizziness, nose sometimes bleeding from the suddenness of leaving one place and reappearing in another seconds later.

Her fingertips tingle as her body fully comes back to her. She slowly opens her eyes, knowing from experience not to rush it after throwing up on her first mission.

Sure enough, she’s on the ground, with what will be the Christ Church Cathedral behind her. It’ll be completed in two years, and though it gets destroyed several times it keeps being rebuilt, and still stands in her present. Time hasn’t beaten it.

She heads to the water, a blue-green so clear it feels like she can see straight to the bottom. Grand ships pull in and out of the harbor, their crews trekking to the boarding house. This is where Camden has her role, registering the ships and taking payment for rooms in the boarding house, though her real assignment is to make sure one ship stays docked until tomorrow. It’s one of the moments where the job seems most unbelievable to her: documenting the ships of 17th century pirates, watching them drink ale and fight over card games. She’s here. She’s really here.

And so is Angeria.

She’s at the dock with a ship’s crew, carrying bags. It grounds Camden to see her, makes things more real. Camden hoped she would see her again, and it’s nice having her here. Nice knowing they’ll find each other in different times.

Angeria runs to her. “I’m a pirate! Look, I have a sword and a puffy shirt and everything.” She poses for Camden, showing off the sword at her hip and the gold medallion around her neck.

“You’re definitely a pirate.” Camden’s slightly jealous it wasn’t her. They’re in the Caribbean in the Golden Age of Piracy, for crying out loud, and she’s stuck registering ships?

Someone barks for Angeria to get back to work, and she leaves with an apologetic smile. The day passes like this, dipping her quill in ink and sneaking glances at Angeria when she can. Things slow as the sun sets, and Camden heads to the water to see Angeria. Even if they’re not supposed to talk on missions, she’s too drawn to her not to. It was the same in training, and Angeria’s laugh was her favorite sound during those months.

Angeria smiles at her. “I love looking at the water. It’s relaxing, you know?”

“Yeah.” Though relaxing isn’t the word she’d use. The water is unbroken, unending, and it feels like Camden is drowning on dry land. “Does it ever scare you?” Camden asks.

“How do you mean?”

Camden sighs. “I mean, this water is here now, and we could come back in our time, and still see this same water, but so much will be different. The universe is so big and we’re just…”

“We’re just part of it,” Angeria says softly, and Camden nods, because Angeria understands her in ways she can’t understand herself sometimes. “Well, I’m glad I’m part of it with you.”

“Me too.” Angeria is beautiful with the sunset behind her, golden from its glow, and Camden’s about to tell her when shouts break out and pirates sprint past in a storm.

Three men strut toward the boathouse, chains clinking across the dock. The governor’s men, here to arrest pirates.

Camden turns to Angeria. “You have to run.”

“We both do, come on.”

Camden wants to run, but the sun glinting off Angeria’s medallion distracts her with a realization. She’s not a pirate, but Angeria is, and that means she’s in infinitely more danger. Danger Camden can help with, even as her heart pounds with fear. “You go, I’ll buy you time.”

“You can’t!”

“I just associate with pirates, but you are one. If they catch you, they’ll hang you.” Camden doesn’t like risks, but Angeria could get killed before she can even enter her coordinates to escape. Angeria was always so kind to her in training, and Camden doesn’t want her to get hurt or killed.

Angeria opens her mouth to protest, but Camden continues, ignoring the quiver in her voice. “There’s a ship. The Black Diamond. My job is to make sure it doesn’t leave the harbor tonight.”

“Camden—”

“Please, you have to make sure it doesn’t leave.”

Angeria grips her forearm, eyes intense with something Camden can’t figure out, and then she nods. “I’ll come back for you,” Angeria promises. She runs, reaching the trees the second the group reaches the dock. They tell Camden she won’t be in any trouble if she gives up the pirates she saw today. Camden refuses, and then there’s nothing but the cold grasp of iron around her wrists.

They don’t hang her, because she has information they need. Instead, they leave her in a freezing cell, chains attached to the wall. The chains feel like they’re squeezing her chest as well as her wrists, and they rub painfully against her skin with each movement. Her watch, her one escape, is stuck under the right one, no matter how she tries to get it out.

The panic is rising like a tide now. The governor is coming tomorrow, and she’s supposed to tell him what she knows about the pirates. They tell her it’ll be a polite meeting, but the guard winks menacingly at her, and she knows it won’t be. If she can’t free herself or Angeria doesn’t get here first, she won’t have a choice. But what if Angeria can’t come back for her, or doesn’t want to? What if she can’t escape from the cell or the governor? If they take her watch, she’ll be stuck here with no way home, and the thought makes her heart race. If that happens, she can only hope Angeria makes it back and tells the Legion to send someone for her—if they don’t decide to leave her as punishment for ruining the mission.

She’s stuck here. She’ll be stuck here forever, and tears fall and she gasps for breath as she tugs at her chains one last time. Panicking won’t help her, and she forces herself to breathe and think through her options. The guard has the key to her cell and chains. He’s too big to fight, but maybe she can outsmart him.

“Guard! I need water, please,” she calls. Her voice is already hoarse from not having a drink all day, and she adds some coughs for good measure. She’s always been a good actress.

It’s enough for the guard, at least, who stares at her intensely as he enters the cell and gives her a cup. Camden takes a sip and then throws the water in his face, ripping the keys from his hand while he’s distracted.

The key’s in the lock but she isn’t fast enough, and his rings gleam as his hand swings toward her face. There’s a burst of pain across her cheek and into her lip, and then she’s on the ice-cold floor with blood in her mouth, looking at him with dazed eyes.

She tries to sit up but he slams her back to the floor, pinning her there with a knee on her chest that crushes all her air.

“You’re a pretty little thing.” His hungry eyes make her heart pound, and she flinches when he touches her cheek. “Come on, be good—“

“Get the hell off her!”

There’s a smack as the guard’s club smashes into his head, then a thump as he hits the floor. Camden doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, doesn’t hope—

“Camden, are you okay?”

And Camden sobs in relief, because she knows that voice, knows the gentle hands helping her up. Angeria is all she sees as the world comes back into focus, and for the first time since being captured, she’s okay.

Because Angeria came back for her.

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

She’s shaking so much her chains are rattling, and her lip stings where his rings cut her, but she looks at Angeria, at the worry in her eyes, and the pain fades.

“I-I’m okay,” she says honestly. “Thank you. I was trying to get his keys but—thank you.”

“I told you I’d come back.” Angeria’s hand hovers by Camden’s face, like she wants to stroke her cheek, but she gives her a handkerchief instead.

Camden dabs at her lip with a wince, making Angeria scowl at the unconscious guard. “He deserves worse than a concussion,” she spits, fists clenched. Camden has never seen her so angry, and the fact that she’s this angry on her behalf makes her chest warm, much too warm for this cold cell.

“It’s okay,” Camden says. It isn’t, really, but she saw that look in his eyes, like a hunter watching prey, and a split lip is nothing compared to what he could have done to her. What he would have done to her, if not for Angeria, and Camden shudders.

Angeria nods. “Let’s get you out of here.” She unlocks the chains and Camden can breathe again. But Angeria gasps at Camden’s wrists, the skin chafed to a raw pink and oozing blood in some spots. “I’m sorry,” Angeria says. “It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“Absolutely not,” Camden says firmly. “This isn’t your fault. I mean it, Angeria. I-I’m just glad you’re okay.” She doesn’t want to think of what might have happened to Angeria if she got caught instead. Not to mention that any other recruit might have saved their own skin and left Camden here.

“I’m glad you’re okay too.” Angeria helps Camden to her feet, holding her steady when she wobbles, her hands steady and strong and comforting. They turn to their watches, and eager as she is to get out of here, Camden can’t help wondering if the watches are their own chain.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to come back, but you did.” Camden says, unsure what else to say. The simple fact is that she protected Angeria when she didn’t have to, and Angeria came back for her when she didn’t have to, and that simple fact has shifted things between them, brought them closer than recruits are allowed to be. But even with the rules, even with the blood still trickling from her lip, Camden is glad this happened. Glad it happened with Angeria.

“Of course.”

They’d say more, but they can’t.

There isn’t enough time.

—

3. Concord, Massachusetts, 1775

There’s someone near Angeria as her senses return, and the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is a blurry patch of red. Another blink, and her heart leaps.

Camden.

They’re together from the start this time, and Angeria can’t help feeling safer and more at home—even if she’s nearly 250 years from home.

“Hi, Angeria,” Camden says, sitting up and massaging feeling back into her legs. She looks much better than when Angeria found her in that cell, terrified and shaking, so small beneath that guard. Angeria rarely gets angry, but that blood on Camden’s lip made her see red, and all she wanted was to make that guard pay.

“Hi.”

They’re in a deserted alley behind a tavern, on cobblestones that are digging into Angeria’s back now that she can feel them. The air is salty from the ocean, just like it was in New Providence, and hopefully this mission won’t go as disastrously.

Angeria rises to her feet, taking in the barely-risen sun. “Today shouldn’t be too bad,” she says. Her job is delivering revolutionary pamphlets throughout the town.

“For you, maybe,” Camden mutters. She’s in black pants and a white shirt the texture of burlap.

“Why, what are you doing?”

Camden smiles grimly. “Someone has to take care of the horses, or Paul Revere’s ass is walking tonight.”

Angeria bites her lip to hide a laugh, but Camden catches on. “Laugh it up. I’d laugh myself if I wasn’t about to stand in mud and who-knows-what-else.”

It’s the most direct piece of history they’ve ever been involved in; they usually deal in smaller stuff that has big ripples, like Camden delaying that ship in New Providence, which saved a crew member who later led a major exploration. Messing up here could have real, unprecedented consequences, and the part of Angeria that doesn’t always see the good in people thinks the Legion did this deliberately, as a test to prove themselves after last time. They can’t mess up, and as much as she wants to stay here with Camden, they have work to do.

“Well, good luck,” Angeria says.

“Good luck.”

Angeria takes one last look at her and then she’s off, twisting through the wide streets until she reaches the back door of the print shop, where there’s a pile of forbidden pamphlets in the trash, just as the Legion told her they’d be.

It’s too early for many people to be out, and Angeria sticks to the shadows, weaving in and out of cobblestone streets and dodging soldiers to slip the pamphlets in private mailslots.

Her job is done, and she can leave. She shouldleave.

But the sun is burning overhead, and Camden might still be in the stable. She must be starving, and Angeria knows what she’s about to do is questionable by job standards, but she has to. She steals some bread off a cart and heads to the town stables.

Angeria didn’t know it was possible for a stable, but the place is virtually spotless. Hay is stacked neatly against the wall, the horses’ manes are gleaming, and you can actually see the stone ground beneath.

“Hi,” Angeria says.

Camden arches her back with a wince before smiling at Angeria. There’s hay in her sweaty hair, mud splattered over her clothes, and dirt smeared across her cheek. Angeria’s surprised she’s standing after hours of work like this, but Camden always beat everyone in stamina rankings.

“You’ve got a little…” Angeria remembers from training that Camden didn’t like getting dirty if she could help it, and she hesitantly reaches for her cheek, wiping the dirt away. She’d wanted to wipe the blood off Camden’s lips in the cell, but was afraid of hurting her, and even now, she keeps her touch gentle. Camden stands absolutely still, and Angeria is close enough to see tiny flecks of gray in her blue eyes, see the curl of her eyelashes. There’s also a thin, tiny scar along Camden’s top lip, so small you can only see it if you’re this close to her. One of the cuts must have been too deep, and again Angeria burns with anger towards that guard.

“Thanks.”

Angeria nods because she can’t manage words yet.

Camden washes her hands in a bucket of water and leads Angeria to the pasture, dropping to the ground with a groan and devouring the bread.

“You must be tired.”

“No shit,” Camden snorts. But she leans in suddenly, lowering her voice. “I was a dancer. Before, I mean. So I can handle hours of work like this.”

Angeria processes it with wide eyes. Camden is talking about her life before the Legion, which they aren’t allowed to do. Camden trusts her, and it warms Angeria’s chest. Camden wants Angeria to have this piece of her, and she’ll treasure it forever.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Camden says, biting her lip. “I just–I like talking to you. Too much, maybe.” Her cheeks are red even in the shade.

“I won’t tell anyone. Besides, I like talking to you too.” There’s such an ease in talking to Camden. She always listens to every word, and sometimes she flashes that smile that always keeps Angeria wanting another. But there’s also a sense of safety, and Angeria realizes she trusts Camden just as much as Camden trusts her. Angeria wants to talk more, tell Camden how she’d be a teacher if she didn’t get mixed up in this, but maybe she can give Camden something else. A silent acknowledgement of today, a memory to keep.

Wordlessly, she taps Camden’s shoulder and extends her hand. Camden takes it, her touch cool and soft and more real to Angeria than anything around her. It was probably a stupid idea to dance, considering she steps on Camden’s foot in seconds, but Camden only smiles. She’s free in a way she isn’t on missions, and Angeria wants to have this moment. Wants to take something from time, when time only ever takes from her.

The dance is more than a dance; it’s also a risk. They have debriefings with the Legion after each mission, where they give every detail of their actions. If it ever slipped out that they’re lingering beyond their assignments, growing closer than they’re allowed, it would mean a world of trouble. They’d have their watches destroyed and be sent adrift to some random time, never able to go home. But one look in Camden’s eyes and Angeria has to. What’s a minute to a time traveler?

And a minute is all they get, swaying gently together, before fearfully going to their watches.

There isn’t enough time.

—

4. Como Bluff, Wyoming, 1877

Camden stares at the mountains and dreams.

They’re as tall as the ocean is deep, free and undisturbed in the sky. They’re so big, another big part of this bigger universe, and it makes her heart yearn for something she can’t name. It makes her want to run away from her life, from her own present, from the world, just run away and share a cabin with Angeria, create a life of carved wood and hand-knit quilts and a roaring fire in the hearth. A life where they make their own history, just for themselves.

But she can’t. She’s here for a job, nothing else.

They’d materialized together again, behind some shrubs, joking about being cowgirls before Angeria stayed to develop a map and Camden left to go to the tiny town’s even tinier post office, where the scientists who dig for dinosaur fossils in the mountains will eventually need her to box up the bones to send to a colleague.

Everything is dusty and dry, an old photograph come to life. Aside from the mountains, there’s nothing much to this little town. Camden almost can’t believe so many dinosaur discoveries will come from it. History isn’t always as grand as people think.

When the men do burst in, covered in dust and bearing heavy wooden crates, her excitement tears her thoughts away from the mountain. She’s packing up actual dinosaur bones, the kind she’s only ever seen in museums. She’s holding history, holding time, in the palm of her hand.

But what’s the good of holding history in the palm of your hand when all that hand wants is to hold someone else’s? What’s the good of moving through time when you can’t have any with who you want?

She’s at the top of a dangerous slope. The whole point of not communicating with another recruit is because emotions complicate things; it’s more dangerous to do a job with someone you like, more likely to make you complacent and cause mistakes. She can’t ruin this mission, or future ones, because she’s thinking of Angeria in ways she shouldn’t.

She secures the last crate and the scientists leave. She can leave too. She can be strong and leave without telling Angeria goodbye, without breaking the rules by taking those extra minutes with her.

But then the door opens, and Angeria’s groan of pain is all she hears.

Camden can’t tell what’s wrong at first. There’s no blood, no obvious sign of injury. But Angeria is staggering and her face is ghostly pale. She’s definitely not okay, and Camden’s breath hitches.

“Angeria?”

“S-snake,” Angeria mumbles. She collapses into Camden’s arms, and part of Camden’s heart collapses with her.

This doesn’t happen; their roles are purposely small, nothing that will get them drawn into major historical events, nothing that will get them hurt or killed—though the tiny scar along Camden’s lip says otherwise. History is often made in the shadows, and it’s safer to live in those shadows than in the light. Until today, anyway.

“You have to go back, right now.” Camden’s basic first aid skills aren’t enough for this. The Legion keeps doctors on hand in case missions go wrong, and one of them should be able to help Angeria. Though she’s trembling now, her eyes fluttering shut.

Camden lowers her to the floor as gently as she can, trying to stay calm. She can see the puncture marks in Angeria’s leg, just above the cowboy boots they’d laughed at together hours earlier. This isn’t a cut Camden can bandage; this needs a real doctor. Camden’s basically helpless, and she wants to scream. For Angeria to be like this, the snake was either venomous or she’s having an allergic reaction, and either way, all Camden can do is keep her alive long enough to get back. And she has to. Even scared and in pain, Angeria came to her.

Camden won’t let anything happen to her.

“Angie, stay with me.”

Angeria lets out a whimper that breaks Camden’s heart.

“I’m gonna do your coordinates.” She’s trying to keep Angeria conscious, but her eyes have fallen shut. Camden taps her cheek gently. “I need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?”

“For you,” Angeria slurs.

Camden’s hands are somehow shaking and numb at the same time, and she forces in a steadying breath as she grabs Angeria’s watch and types her return coordinates.

“Camden, I–I don’t know if I’ll make it back.” Angeria’s breathing is labored, like she’s fighting for every bit of air. Sweat runs down her face and her eyes blink in and out of focus. She’s always so steady, so strong and confident. Camden has never seen her like this, and it hurts. She just wants to fix it, make Angeria better and take her pain away.

“Yes you will,” Camden says firmly. “You’ll be okay, I promise.” She whispers it over and over, hoping to soothe Angeria, and suddenly she understands the no-relationship rule, because right now Camden would probably do anything to make sure Angeria lives, history be damned. She cares for her so much more than she was ever supposed to.

“I’m sending you back now, okay? Just hang on.” She presses the button on Angeria’s watch, and then she’s gone.

Camden can still feel Angeria’s wrist in her hand, feel the beat of her dangerously slow pulse. She imagines Angeria reappearing on the cold floor of the launch room all alone and wishes she could be with her, holding her hand. The feel of her beneath Camden’s hands is already fading; by the time she gets back, it’ll be gone entirely. Just a memory. She’s trying to hold onto time, but it’s slipping through her hands like water. She didn’t have much time with Angeria here, but she won’t have any time with Angeria at all when she returns to the present. She won’t even know if Angeria survives after getting back, since recruits can’t see each other and Legion won’t tell them anything. She won’t know until they have another mission together.

If they have another mission together, and tears are rolling down her cheeks.

Her knees ache on the floor, and she wants to just stay here, let her tears flood the town. Hide in the past to avoid the present. But she can’t.

There isn’t enough time.

—

5. Paris, 1922

The lights in the theatre dim, and as the red velvet curtain swings open, Angeria gasps at Camden centerstage when the ballet begins.

She hasn’t seen Camden since their mission in Wyoming, and even though it was really only three months ago in their present time, it feels longer; it feels like over a century since Camden held her hand and told her she would be okay. She touches her calf absent-mindedly, thinking of a wound simultaneously a century and three months old.

Part of her is surprised. Their roles aren’t supposed to be showy, nothing that would be documented or noticed in history. But it must be important, and a different performer for one show won’t be remarked upon after a few days, especially because the Legion can cover their tracks if needed. No one will remember the gorgeous dancer that had the starring role and disappeared.

No one except Angeria.

She won’t ever forget Camden in her pink tutu, all of time stopping around her as she moved through the air like she was born to do it. This isn’t some clumsy dance in a stable. This is Camden floating on air.

Angeria is so entranced by Camden that she almost forgets her job, and she leaps to her feet when the crowd leaves. She has to slip an envelope in the pocket of one of the audience members, and this saves a life somehow. The way things ripple doesn’t always make sense to Angeria, but she still does her job, throws her rock in the pond so that each bounce of the water of time can happen as it’s supposed to.

Job done, Angeria runs to the stage door. Camden might have left but there’s a chance she hasn’t, and when you walk amidst the chances of time, you know both how big and small a chance can be.

Her feet slam over the sidewalk, and the door swings open to reveal Camden, her eyes widening when she sees Angeria. Her hair is in a loose bun instead of her tight dance one, her face scrubbed pink from removing her makeup, and it might be the most beautiful she’s looked in any century. She’s softer, somehow, and it tugs at Angeria’s heart.

“Cam-–”

“You’re okay!” Camden throws her arms around Angeria, trembling, and Angeria realizes.

Camden didn’t know she survived. Angeria assumed that surely someone would have told her, but of course they didn’t. The last time Camden saw her, she was dying from a snake bite, and for all Camden knew, that might have been her last moment with Angeria ever. Angeria was stuck in bed for days and had to deal with the pain and dose after dose of medicine, but she knew she was alive and recovering. Camden had no idea. Angeria can’t imagine what Camden went through, and she understands the wildness in her eyes, the desperate way she’s holding Angeria, to prove that she’s real.

Angeria pulls away gently, but lets Camden hold her hand. “I am, thanks to you. If you didn’t do my coordinates…” she doesn’t need to finish.

“I wouldn’t let that happen to you.” Camden squeezes her fingers. “I knew you would make it. It’s just…now I can see you.”

“I wish I could’ve told you somehow. I thought someone would’ve…” The chime of a clock cuts through the moment, reminding Angeria how much time owns them. She needs to say what she came here for. “I know we have to go,” she says breathlessly, “But I…I just wanted to tell you how incredible you were.”

“Thank you.” Camden blushes, her cheeks even pinker, a wide smile on her face. “Legion just told me to give the best performance I could, that it’d get me backstage with this politician after.”

“You gave the best performance I’ve ever seen,” Angeria says.

People brush past on their way to the Eiffel tower, their conversations so animated, so alive. There are famous writers and artists thriving here right now, but there’s also ordinary people worrying about what to make for dinner. Everything here exists, yet when she gets home, this is nothing but a page in a history book.

Time really is fragile. Life really is fragile. A thread constantly seconds from unraveling.

And Angeria looks at Camden, at the stray hair that escaped her bun and sticks to her cheek, and feels herself unraveling.

“Camden,” she says before she can stop herself, “Can I kiss you?”

Camden nods frantically, pulling them back inside the stage door. It’s dark inside, but it doesn’t matter because their lips meet and the entire world—all of time itself—fades anyway. They hold each other too tight, because they don’t know if they’ll ever get to again.

In some ways, this is the worst part of the no-relationship rule. Because she and Camden have a past that effectively doesn’t exist in the present, since their present lives can’t interact. A past they can’t acknowledge until the future, when–if–they’re released by the Legion. Until then, their feelings exist only in stolen pockets of time.

There isn’t enough time.

—

6. Berlin, 1980

The lounge is crowded with tiny tables, the air thick with smoke and the scent of liquor.

Someone is singing, and their voice is familiar to Camden as it reaches through the haze. She sips a glass of water and lingers in the corner, eyes turned to the stage, her heart knowing who she’ll see before her brain does.

Angeria looks so natural on the stage, in a long pink dress that shines in the dim light. Camden can easily picture her as a star, getting all the adoration and love she deserves. But Angeria is always a star to her.

It’s a bit flashier than normal, like Camden’s last mission, but she isn’t going to ask questions—especially not when she’s enjoying watching Angeria like this, such power and beauty in her. Angeria singing in this lounge must be part of her job, just like Camden’s job is to spill her drink on the blonde man at the table near her when he gets up, because he’s in a spy ring and the delay will prevent him from running into an enemy that wants to kill him. Time is just a fragile string, and Camden dances along its edge.

The man heads toward the exit, and Camden springs into action. With all the grace and drama of her dancing days, she pretends to trip and stumbles into the man, her drink splashing over his suit.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir.” She hams it up, dragging the man to the bar and raining apologies on him as she wipes his shirt with napkins. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Angeria head behind the stage.

Wait for me, Camden thinks, finishing her scrubbing of the man’s shirt and letting him leave, with information about the next supply airlift slipped into his pocket.

She follows Angeria behind the stage, into a dim hallway. Angeria is waiting for her, and Camden sighs in relief. The band’s music plays faintly from the lounge, and Camden takes Angeria’s hand. “May I have this dance?”

Whatever century they’re in, Angeria isn’t the best dancer, but Camden guides them both. Angeria only steps on her toes twice this time, and Camden doesn’t even wince.

“Can’t believe Legion made me sing for this,” Angeria mutters. “This place is a front for a spy ring. The performers all smuggle in supplies that the owners give to people who need them. I was so busy with that I forgot about the singing part. I figured I’d blow my cover if I tried to back out of it.”

“At least you didn’t have to clean eighteenth-century horses,” Camden laughs, slightly bitter because she’s still mad about it. “Besides, I think you’re a good singer.”

“Just good?” Angeria teases.

“A great singer,” Camden corrects with a smile. “Really.”

She wants to kiss Angeria so badly, return the kiss from Paris. Technically, that kiss was almost sixty years before this moment, but in the present, the Paris mission was only two months before this mission. It makes Camden’s head spin if she thinks about it. She wants to kiss Angeria even more now, steal a kiss from the past to treasure it in the present. It’s dark here, but anyone can come around the corner, and dancing is already enough of a risk. A kiss is even more dangerous if they’re caught. This whole thing is dangerous, really, and they have to leave. They’re tempting destiny with every second of this stolen dance.

She’s always resisted the power attached to her wrist. She’s done her missions and gone back, never straying from the assignment, even if she could have gone anywhere she wanted—to see the dinosaurs or watch the moon landing or be in the crowd at Live Aid. But when she’s with Angeria, that resistance weakens, a thin string about to snap that makes her want to jump to another time, destroy the watch, and live with Angeria, rather than go back to her empty apartment in the present. It’s only the fact that the Legion would probably find them and make them pay that keeps her from doing it. The only thing that keeps the string intact.

“I wish…” Camden trails off, her eyes saying everything she can’t. I wish we could spend real time together. I wish we could finish a dance.

“I know,” Angeria says softly, wiping the tears Camden was trying to blink away. “I know. Maybe sometime.”

She thinks of what Angeria said, about being a part of the universe. Well, I’m glad I’m part of it with you. And even if she and Angeria can’t be together in their own time, they’re still part of the same universe. A universe that will maybe align and release them from the Legion soon, so they can be together in their time, not someone else’s.

Sometime. In some other time.

There isn’t enough time.

—

7. The Present

Angeria wakes to the moon shining on an empty bed. Fear erupts in her chest as she thinks of all those times returning to her senses in the Legion’s launch room completely alone, then going home to her silent apartment. She draws in a breath, because she’s not there anymore, and she gets out of bed to find Camden.

She strokes Freddie’s fur for comfort on the way out, the corgi curled up snoring at the end of the bed. Camden saw him at a local shelter and begged Angeria to get him, and when he licked Camden’s face and made her all giggly—‘Look, Angie, he loves us so much already!’—Angeria was sold. Angeria even let Camden name him, though she picked out his bright red collar.

She wanders into the kitchen, expecting to find Camden sipping tea—her cure for sickness, sleeplessness, and stress—but finds it empty. The TV glows faintly from the living room, and there Camden is, empty mug on the coffee table.

“Bad dream?” Angeria asks, sitting next to her on the couch. Camden occasionally woke up gasping from nightmares of being trapped somewhere, but Angeria usually woke up with her and would soothe her back to sleep.

Camden sighs. “Just can’t sleep.”

Angeria understands. She’s had her share of bad dreams too. It’s hard at times, to have memories of things that happened hundreds of years ago, when you traveled to all those times within a few years of the present. To feel like you’ve had multiple lives all stuffed into your own, sometimes threatening to burst at the seams.

It’s easier when you have someone who understands.

“Want to dance?” Angeria asks, hoping it will help relax her.

“I’d love to.” Camden turns off the TV and sticks an Elton John record on their record player, grabbing Angeria’s hand as “Your Song” comes softly through the speakers. Angeria still isn’t much of a dancer, but she lets Camden lead as they sway in the middle of the living room.

Angeria can’t help marveling at how far they’ve come since 16th century-London.

It’s been three years since their last mission. Three years minus one day since they found each other in their own world, their own time, and got to know each other as themselves, not posing in some role in another century. Three years minus one day since Angeria asked Camden out for coffee at the same time Camden asked Angeria out for breakfast, and they shared a kiss that was sweet with coffee and syrup. A year and a half since they moved in together, piecing together a home of coziness and safety.

But she’s trying not to get so wrapped up in history, in time, in numbers.

Right now, it’s just her hand in Camden’s, her other hand stroking Camden’s back as they sway. It’s just those blue eyes that hold something new every time Angeria looks at them. It’s just them, existing in a moment that’s theirs alone. They don’t have to rush, don’t have to lose their hold on each other to type numbers in a watch.

Their wrists are bare, have been for three years.

The song ends, and Angeria thinks of how amazing it is to finish a dance.

“I think someone feels like sleeping now,” Angeria teases, watching Camden yawn. Her plan worked perfectly, and all the knots of tension in Camden’s back and shoulders have loosened.

“Yeah.” Camden gives her a sleepy smile as they walk to bed and snuggle under the covers.

“I got you,” Angeria whispers, and as she wraps a protective arm around Camden’s waist, all of time falls into place, and everything is okay. All those times they had to let go of each other in the past and come to the loneliness of the present were worth it, because now Angeria can hold Camden and not have to let go.

Camden looks like an angel as she sleeps, and Angeria can’t help but think of the ring tucked away in her dresser, waiting to surprise Camden on her birthday. It’ll be a big moment when it happens, but it’s the little moments that often count the most, the little moments that make history. It’s the little moments that Angeria clings to: The warmth of the first mug of tea she ever made for Camden when she was sick with a cold, chest bursting with pride when Camden said it made her feel better. Laughing so hard they had to lay on the floor when they were joking around as they decorated Angeria’s new classroom. Rain pounding on the roof while they spent the day safe under a quilt in bed, Freddie at their feet, cuddling in between breaks of reading.

It really doesn’t matter when she asks Camden, because the moment will become perfect with the action itself.

They’ll make their own history.

They have all the time in the world.

She Smells Like Honey and Looks Like Lace (Camgeria) - Mar

A/N: This whole series is a collection of “ficlets” which start out short enough for the mayhem challenge, and then they get off the rails.
Either way, this is for day 21 of the Mayhem challenge: a bakery setting. Let me know your thoughts on the ship; I’m trying to get their characters.
Title from ‘give me flowers’ by Julianna Zachariou.

Tags: rpdr fanfiction, may trope mayhem, angeria paris vanmicheals, lady camden, angeria x camden, bakery au, fluff, lesbian au, mar -@duckprintspress

Summary:

The morning had been thankfully calm. Not many people dared brave the heavy snow, so Angeria was able to stay in the kitchen with all her idea notebooks open, testing the recipes that had been on the backburner for too long. The oven in the back room was a safe haven from the cold, and nothing could take Angeria away from it. Nothing, that is, except her three o’ clock.

Camden entered the bakery wearing a light coat and a smile warmer than the sun, untouched by the weather.

“Afternoon, darling!”

“Hi, Cam. Did you know it’s snowing outside?”

“I’m wearing a hat,” Camden defended herself, then took off the hat and shook her curls, shedding snow on the wooden floor.

“You’re off your gourd.”

Even after opening the shop, Angeria still sought comfort in the act of baking. Sugar, butter, flour and heat had a special brand of magic, and she turned to them in times of stress, or sadness, or just plain boredom. Although lately she had no time to be bored, and baking for pleasure had been put on hold to keep up with the demands of the holiday season. Word of her business had gotten around after she catered for a friend’s wedding, and her used-to-be-little shop was hard at work to match the avalanche of new customers. Angeria was grateful, but also itching for any bit of free time to bake just for fun and create new recipes.

That day, the city found itself in a sudden winter, snow and everything. Angeria had woken up shivering, opened her curtains and saw the ground white. She put on two more layers of clothes and went back to sleep, dreading the day.

The morning had been thankfully calm. Not many people dared to brave the heavy snow, so Angeria was able to stay in the kitchen with all her idea notebooks open, testing the recipes that had been on the backburner for too long. The heating at the front of the store was doing its best, but the big windows that faced the sidewalk and made her shop sunny and beautiful also made it really hard to keep warm. The oven in the back room was a safe haven, and nothing could take Angeria away from it. Nothing, that is, except her three o’ clock.

Angeria got behind the counter just as the door bells chimed.

Camden entered the bakery wearing a light coat and a smile warmer than the sun, untouched by the weather.

“Afternoon, darling!”

“Hi, Cam. Did you know it’s snowing outside?”

Camden took her usual spot on the stool by the counter. Angeria reached over and brushed the white dust from Camden’s shoulders.

“I’m wearing a hat,” Camden defended herself, then took off the hat and shook her curls, shedding snow on the wooden floor.

“You’re off your gourd. I’ve been away from the oven for two seconds and already I can’t feel my fingers.”

“Poor baby,” said Camden in a teasing voice, but still took Angeria’s hands in her own to warm them up.

Angeria hissed and pulled away.

“I got burned earlier,” she quickly explained to dissipate Camden’s fallen expression. “See?”

She showed Camden the side of her hand, where an angry mark ran from the base of her finger to her wrist.

Camden laid her hands palm up on the counter and looked at Angeria, who placed her injured hand on them. With careful movements, Camden examined the mark. Angeria wanted to tease her for trying to roleplay as a doctor, but Camden had that little crease between her eyebrows she sometimes got and it was clear it wasn’t a joke to her.

Camden traced her thumb down Angeria’s palm along the mark, unbearably soft, resting on Angeria’s fingers.

Angeria couldn’t look away.

The moment stretched. Camden looked at Angeria and woke up from her reverie.

“Sorry.”

She took back her hands and laid them crossed, the thumb nail of one hand digging into the skin of the other.

“It’s okay,” Angeria said, breaking the contact between nail and skin and tracing the red half moon to soothe. “I don’t want you to worry. I’m a baker, baker’s get burned all the time.”

“That is not reassuring at all.”

Angeria was sure nothing could be as cute as the little pout Camden did.

“Coffee?” said Angeria, anticipating the answer and getting it started.

“Yes, please.”

Camden was back to her usual peppy self. Whatever that was, it had passed.

“Thanks, love,” said Camden as she got her coffee, blowing on the surface.

Angeria brought her own cup to her lips and burned her tongue to hide the fond smile she got at the pet name, still, even though Camden had dropped it in every conversation since they met, so many months ago in that same spot. It still made Angeria’s heart glow.

“What do you have going back there? It smells like heaven.”

“New recipe!” Angeria explained, excited. “Remember those little chocolate pudding cups with cream on top they sold like, ten years ago? A little transparent cup. Did y’all get those in England?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Is that what you’re making?”

“But in cake form. Maybe muffins, who knows. I’m making a cold oven cake, so the large air bubbles have time to escape and the final texture is denser, almost fudgy, you know what I mean?”

Camden did not, but she still hung onto every word as Angeria tied the world of baking to the laws of physics with her hand gestures, coffee cup forgotten.

“Hope I get to try it,” Camden smiled.

“It should be about done,” said Angeria, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Come with.”

She led the way to the kitchen. Camden stayed in her seat for a moment, but then she followed Angeria and crossed that unspoken boundary between the space for customers and something different, something more.

Angeria got her oven gloves on, more careful this time.

“Want me to do it?” said Camden, some worry in her voice.

“I’m good,” Angeria smiled at her.

She scrutinized the cake through the oven window and deemed it ready. With a warning nod at Camden to step back, she lifted the heavy mold and set it on the stove.

“We gotta give it time to settle,” said Angeria as she took off the gloves.

Camden glanced at the kitchen door but made no move to leave. She had her arms crossed, seemingly at a loss of what to do with herself in this room. Angeria scrambled to find a reason to keep her there. Once she had brought Camden into her personal space, she was reluctant to let her go back.

“Want to try something else? It’s cardamom heavy.”

Camden nodded, delighted at the mention of her favorite flavor. It was a recent addition to the teas offered in Angeria’s shop, one she’d had to ransack every last bodega in her neighborhood to find without the addition of ginger, which Camden despised so much. Even then, she’d only found a small bag of it. Thankfully, no one but Camden ever asked for it, so Angeria had kept it off the menu and only served it when Camden entered the shop particularly tired or stressed, or whenever Angeria wanted to see the smile Camden got when Angeria remembered something about her. The one she was wearing now, which Angeria had some trouble looking away from.

Stored on the shelves, guarded from air and sun, the batches of cardamom cookies waited to be decorated and boxed up. Angeria put two dozen on a tray and set them down on the counter, as she waved at Camden to grab a chair and sit with her.

“These are new, for the birthday party of a little kid with weird tastes.”

“Now, then, don’t go judging us odd ones. We’re the spice of life,” said Camden, smiling widely at her own joke.

“Oh my God,” Angeria whispered, her eyes closed in annoyance but unable to tamper down her smile.

Camden grabbed one of the cookies and broke it in half, then took a delicate bite, living up to the nickname of Ladythat Angie had given her. All the good natured teasing only made Camden laugh and amp up her prim-and-proper ways.

“Oh, so good,” said Camden, eating the rest of the cookie in one bite. She grabbed another, then paused and looked at Angeria.

“Go ahead,” Angeria said. “I made enough; the ones for the party are in those tins over there. Leave room for the cake, though! I need your opinion,” said Angeria, standing up.

“Angie, you know that I don’t know a single thing about baking. My understanding is that your food is good, and that’s it.”

“And that’s all I need to hear,” Angeria said as she covered the cake mold with a plate. “Pray this goes well. One, two, three!”

The cake unmolded perfectly onto the plate, as expected. Camden still humored Angeria and applauded.

“Ta-dah!”

Angeria set the cake on the counter and grabbed a knife.

“Moment of truth.”

She cut a slice, and the cross section showed a perfectly uniform crumb of small air bubbles.

“Looking good, looking good. Now… here.”

Angeria handed a fork to Camden and they took a bite at the same time. Camden immediately brightened up and went back for seconds, but Angeria chewed it over, taking her time. A moment later, she gave her verdict.

“It’s good.”

“Just good? Are you crazy?” said Camden, licking her lips. “You made baked fudge. That is not short of a miracle.”

Angeria smiled, clearly pleased with herself.

“Fine, alright, I’m incredible. You want whipped cream?”

“God, yes.”

Angeria got a bowl of whipped cream from the fridge and two knives, and they spread the cream on their slices of cake like butter. Angeria was experimenting with different ratios, but Camden was just enjoying the treat, and making it harder for Angeria to focus over the pleased little noises she let out. She felt herself getting a little flustered and tried to throw anything at the silence.

“So, um,” she started, without much of a plan. Camden looked up, expectant. “Do you have somewhere to be right now?”

Camden blinked and put down her fork.

“No, I don’t think so.” She straightened her back and crossed her ankles. “Why?”

“I’m gonna be trying some designs with icing pipes on these cookies, to pick some for the party.” Angeria took a deep breath. “Maybe you’d like to stay for that?”

Stay with me? she thought.

“Really?” Camden said, a smile blooming. “You’ll let me play with your fancy baking supplies?”

“They’re not fancy,” Angeria laughed. “Okay, perhaps the newer set of noozles is. You can use the old one.”

Camden gasped in fake offense and threw a small crumb of cake at Angeria.

“This is why you don’t get the fancy utensils. Childish behavior.”

Camden smiled with her tongue between her teeth, but then her face softened and the smile turned warm.

“I’d love to stay.”

Angeria nodded. It was probably time to get up and start the icing, but Camden’s eyes were darker in the light of the kitchen and hard to look away from.

“Do we start now?”

Angeria jumped up to get everything ready, and maybe to settle down a bit.

“Yes, I’ll make the icing.”

“Alright. How do I help?” said Camden, taking off her coat and rolling up the sleeves of her sweater.

That was something Angeria liked a lot about Camden, and the thing that first made them go from baker and buyer to friends. She was always there with willing hands, always ready to help, never hesitating before grabbing a mop or the broken pieces of porcelain from the latest incident at the bakery. Angeria had tried at first to dissuade her, to get her to sit down and let her handle it. After all, it was her shop. But Camden was so kind in her insistence that it was hard to deny her anything. Almost every day at three o’ clock, the bakery gained a little helper, and Angeria started giving Camden increasingly bigger discounts on food and drinks until she stopped charging her altogether.

“Pick some colors,” said Angeria as she set down the tidy box of food colorings. She put the icing into separate bowls, and once Camden had mixed the colors in, they scooped them into piping bags.

“Angie? I don’t think this one is working,” said Camden, squeezing the bag she held, which refused to pour out any icing.

“You’re being too soft. It’s cute that you’re so dainty, but you gotta be firmer than that. Here,” she said as she circled Camden with her arms and corrected her grip, getting the icing to fall.

Camden had become tense, so Angeria pulled back, thinking maybe she had hurt her.

“Sorry,” said Angeria, going back to her own supplies.

“‘S okay,” Camden said, her eyes fixed on the task.

Camden must really run hot, thought Angeria, because her neck was getting a little flushed.

They tried out different designs, Angeria’s neat and practiced, Camden’s a little shaky but just as pretty. They covered the whole tray of goods in hearts and flowers, and the counter (and their own arms) in droplets of color. Angeria picked the best of the best and stored them with the cookies that would make it to the party, to replicate the designs the day of. The rest went in a to-go box, tied with a neat little ribbon and handed to Camden.

“These are for you.”

“Really? Angie, it’s too much, I can’t accept them,” said Camden, but still took the box.

“Please, do.”

Camden started to protest, but Angeria stopped her.

“Really, Cam, take them. I made them with you in mind.” Angeria felt the words coming, and was unable to stop them. “I do that a lot, actually. I think about you a lot.”

“Oh.”

The kitchen fell silent.

Angeria had been careful, always so careful with Camden. She noticed the looks, the blushes, the hand holding and explained them away everytime. Because if she was wrong, if she took that final step and it turned out it was all in her head, things would be ruined. Camden would leave.

So Angeria waited and held her tongue, and basked in the growing friendship with Camden, and it was enough.

And then she had to go and run her mouth.

“I mean, they’re your favorite flavor, so obviously I was thinking about you,” Angeria tried to correct.

“I see,” Camden said, eyes still squinted and sparkling. “Say, Angie?”

This is it, thought Angeria. This is where she leaves and never comes back.

“Yeah?”

“Once you’re done here, would you like to come to my place and help me finish these?” said Camden, shaking the little box carefully.

“To your place?” Angeria repeated, her voice hopeful and high pitched.

“Yes,” Camden nodded too quickly. “It’s close by, don’t worry.”

Angeria smiled at the deflection. She wasn’t the only one with doubts, it seemed.

“You know that’s not why I asked.”

Camden had pulled the ribbon apart with all her fidgeting.

“I guess it would be a date. If— if you want it to be, that is.”

“I do,” said Angeria.

Now that she knew Camden’s intentions, all her shyness dissolved. She left the shyness to Camden; it looked better on her. She kept her eyes on the ground and had the cutest blush on her cheeks. Angeria took one of her hands, saving the ribbon from further damage, and stepped closer.

“Help me close up?”

“We’re leaving now?” said Camden, surprised.

“Yes. Why? Any dead bodies at your place that you need to get rid of before?”

“It’s a little messy, but that’s fine. I’ve just never seen you close early.”

“I’ve never had a good reason before now.”

Camden’s smile was blinding. Good thing it was almost hidden behind her curls.

They rushed through the usual routine. Angeria did the dishes, wiped the counter, and put everything back in place. Camden swept the whole place and locked up the cabinets, thrilled to be trusted with the keys.

The last things to go were the music and the lights, and with everything quiet and dark, Camden dared to take Angeria’s hand again and lead her outside.

With Camden by her side, Angeria braved the snow. She barely felt the cold.

rosenallies:

them!!!

Some gals of s14 ❤️❤️

Season 14