Jin-Ah isn’t unaffected, no matter how much Jin-Woo may wish otherwise.
Paranoia and tendency to find fault in one’s own self runs in the family.
Warnings: None for this chapter. Except for Jin-Ah’s brief swearing at the start, and then a serious discussion between two siblings that gets emotional….well as emotional as can be when Jin-Woo’s trying to avoid emotions.
“Aren’t you tired of going apeshit?” a ten year old Jin-Ah asks her Oppa one day.
Unprompted.
Out of the blue.
Suddenly.
Jin-Woo can only blink from where he’s seated himself on the couch, phone in hand. He’s trying to process the words that just came out of his little sisters mouth. The poor eldritch warrior trapped in a 17 year old’s body.
Jin-Ah then proceeds to throw a blanket over Jin-Woo’s lap unceremoniously.
“Don’t you just want to be nice?” she asks heatedly.
Jin-Woo continues staring for a longer period of time.
“First off,” he starts, “Who taught you that language and that-” he furrows his brow as though the word that comes out of his mouth next is something foreign “-that meme?”
“You’re avoiding the question,” she suddenly flicks on a flashlight in his direction, ineffective as it is since the lights are on in the living room, and its midday, “Jin-Ho hasn’t come over in the past few weeks and it must be because you did something wrong. Jin-Ho’s too nice.”
Jin-Woo, in response, shifts his eyes away.
“…Unless I’m wrong,” Jin-Ah scrunches her face “Do I need to beat Jin-Ho up?”
Jin-Woo sighs “Jin-Ah, you’re not allowed to have homicidal urges until you’re older.”
“It’s not homicidal if I’m not aiming to kill him.”
“Jin-Ah. It’s not his fault.”
“Oh,” she briefly relaxes her face, a tension seemingly leaving her shoulders and it briefly hits Jin-Woo that Jin-Ah was serious about beating Jin-Ho up for him.
Maybe its the lack of sleep but he allows himself to feel emotions for a brief wretched moment.
“So what did you do?” she switches back to glaring at him, flashlight aimed at his direction once more.
Jin-Woo shifts his eyes to the blanket in his lap.
“What’s the blanket for?”
“You’re skin is ice cold and it’s starting to become winter. Also, you need to sleep.”
Jin-Woo hums at that “Thoughtful of you,” he says, managing to not blurt out how he can barely feel any kind of temperatures at this point.
What is considered extreme climates on Earth are mild to him at best, and he found ways to get his body to re-adapt.
Jin-Ah briefly smiles at the acknowledgement of her action, the stance she took in front of him relaxing.
And it hits Jin-Woo at that moment, completely unprompted, how observant this Jin-Ah is. How sensitive to her family she’s always been.
It’s been so long, more than fifty years, but he recalls past memories of Jin-Ah distracting him, the weakest E-rank hunter, away from thoughts about dungeons whenever he would be at home.
He recalls how Jin-Ah had made it so easy for him to leave for dungeons by being undemanding of his return.
The Jin-Ah from before had done so much for him.
This Jin-Ah was much the same.
“You’re a good little sister,” leaves his mouth unprompted.
More emotions behind the words than he intends for there to be, probably, judging by the blank look that crosses Jin-Ah’s face.
Silence stands between them before Jin-Ah speaks quietly, “Am I?”
Jin-Woo tilts his head “Yes.”
Jin-Ah lowers the flashlight, “You’re a good big brother,” she then says, flicking the flashlight on and off with intense focus, eyes not meeting his, “But it feels like we haven’t actually talked at all in a long while,” she meets his gaze “Is it something I did?”
“No,” he says, leaning forward to place his hand on top of her head, “No, I’ve just been…” he tries to find the right words “Tired lately.”
“…Of me?”
“No,” he says, keeping his hand on her head, “I’m sorry you feel that way though. It’s just a problem with me.”
“I’m sorry”
“Thank you”
Jin-Ah sniffles a bit “Are you just saying that because I’m your little sister?”
“No, I’m saying it because you’re the best little sister and all you’ve done for me is good things.”
She looks at him, expression doubtful in a way that it just…hurts.
But that’s understandable, really.
“I promise you, that’s the truth,” he then pulls his hand away, standing up and ignoring the way his head hurts “Want to go out somewhere today?”
Jin-Ah sniffs for a moment, then nods.
Going out on a walk was predictably a good choice, as Jin-Ah seems to get distracted from her own thoughts by the surroundings and aching muscles in her legs she starts to complain about half an hour later.
Plus, the further they walked, the more physically tired she felt. The further she felt physically tired, the less inclined she felt towards keeping all those thoughts in her head.
In Jin-Woo’s experience, its easier to talk when the problem feels comparably less daunting to the ache in your limbs.
(Of course, not many things managed to physically tire him these days. Maybe he’d be less afraid to sleep if the case would be otherwise.)
(He’s also aware of his hypocrisy in this whole situation.)
“One of my classmates talked about how his older brother had cut off ties with the family,” she tells him as they take a stop to sit on a bench together, “It stressed him out enough that he ended up having a breakdown during class. And then he talked about it with some friends.”
She fidgets a bit “I guess it got me thinking about how you changed since…nearly two years ago. I didn’t think much about it until now. Or at least, I didn’t think I needed to? I think.”
“But then it kind of uh, hit me-or well- no- not the right word-” she gnaws at her bottom lip “-I guess hearing what my classmate is…going through made me think about it. About you. Do you-”
She pauses, and then her voice comes out tight “I thought you…felt like running away.”
Guilt is a sledge hammer built to pummel Jin-Woo rapidly.
No amount of fighting monsters would fix this, he thinks.
“I don’t want to run away,” he says.
He’s only half surprised to realize how much that statement is true.
For all that he shouldn’t be here, he’s always been greedy.
Jin-Ah seems to at least believe him on that sentence.
“Maybe not yet,” she murmurs.
He almost sighs. Almost.
“It’s too early for you to start being paranoid,” he tells her, “Save that for high school. University, preferably.”
Jin-Ah half heartedly sticks her tongue out at him.
After they come back home, Jin-Ah is distracted by Il-Hwan offering to watch a show with her. Some kind of animated series whose name that Jin-Woo can’t be bothered to learn.
The day passes. Night begins to fall.
Before she turns in for the night, Park Kyung-Hye hugs him. In a way that makes him pause, in a way that makes him ache for reasons he can’t describe.
And she whispers, “You’re a good big brother.”
Slowly, she lets go of him, cupping his face, running her thumb over his brow.
It makes him feel as though she’s trying to hold him the best she can.
Her eyes are filled with unsaid words when she lets go completely, and when she turns to walk to the bedroom she shares with Il-Hwan.
Jin-Woo almost believes her.
Instead, he takes to walking into his room, and vanishing into his shadows before his mind could wander any further.
“…You look somewhat worse than usual,” is what Jin-Chul greets him with when he reappears on the beach.
The detective has been arriving earlier lately.
He gives a shrug instead of a verbal answer, and Jin-Chul doesn’t prod him.
“The fire incidents have been getting more purposeful,” he says instead, “I can’t find any traces of human involvement, but after meeting you I’m starting to suspect that it doesn’t have to be human.”
Jin-Woo shouldn’t be surprised as he is by the next question.
“So, are fire spirits a thing?”
Hm.
He had suspected that Jin-Chul mistook him for a supernatural entity, and the other wouldn’t exactly be wrong, but also…hm…spirits…
Actually, given everything, that’s an easier explanation than ‘Technically, aliens from another dimension’.
“I will look into it,” he says. Promises. He doesn’t think his summons are neglectful but it never really hurts to check.
No matter how much he tries to train this body he inhabits to adapt, it’s still limited in terms of power and awareness compared to before he used the cup of rebirth.
So who knows what might be slipping by him without his awareness, really?
“Aren’t you tired of going apeshit?” a ten year old Jin-Ah asks her Oppa one day.
Unprompted.
Out of the blue.
Suddenly.
Jin-Woo can only blink from where he’s seated himself on the couch, phone in hand. He’s trying to process the words that just came out of his little sisters mouth. The poor eldritch warrior trapped in a 17 year old’s body.
Jin-Ah then proceeds to throw a blanket over Jin-Woo’s lap unceremoniously.
“Don’t you just want to be nice?” she asks heatedly.
Jin-Woo continues staring for a longer period of time.
“First off,” he starts, “Who taught you that language and that-” he furrows his brow as though the word that comes out of his mouth next is something foreign “-that meme?”
“You’re avoiding the question,” she suddenly flicks on a flashlight in his direction, ineffective as it is since the lights are on in the living room, and its midday, “Jin-Ho hasn’t come over in the past few weeks and it must be because you did something wrong. Jin-Ho’s too nice.”
Jin-Woo, in response, shifts his eyes away.
“…Unless I’m wrong,” Jin-Ah scrunches her face “Do I need to beat Jin-Ho up?”
Jin-Woo sighs “Jin-Ah, you’re not allowed to have homicidal urges until you’re older.”
“It’s not homicidal if I’m not aiming to kill him.”
“Jin-Ah. It’s not his fault.”
“Oh,” she briefly relaxes her face, a tension seemingly leaving her shoulders and it briefly hits Jin-Woo that Jin-Ah was serious about beating Jin-Ho up for him.
Maybe its the lack of sleep but he allows himself to feel emotions for a brief wretched moment.
“So what did you do?” she switches back to glaring at him, flashlight aimed at his direction once more.
Jin-Woo shifts his eyes to the blanket in his lap.
“What’s the blanket for?”
“You’re skin is ice cold and it’s starting to become winter. Also, you need to sleep.”
Jin-Woo hums at that “Thoughtful of you,” he says, managing to not blurt out how he can barely feel any kind of temperatures at this point.
What is considered extreme climates on Earth are mild to him at best, and he found ways to get his body to re-adapt.
Jin-Ah briefly smiles at the acknowledgement of her action, the stance she took in front of him relaxing.
And it hits Jin-Woo at that moment, completely unprompted, how observant this Jin-Ah is. How sensitive to her family she’s always been.
It’s been so long, more than fifty years, but he recalls past memories of Jin-Ah distracting him, the weakest E-rank hunter, away from thoughts about dungeons whenever he would be at home.
He recalls how Jin-Ah had made it so easy for him to leave for dungeons by being undemanding of his return.
The Jin-Ah from before had done so much for him.
This Jin-Ah was much the same.
“You’re a good little sister,” leaves his mouth unprompted.
More emotions behind the words than he intends for there to be, probably, judging by the blank look that crosses Jin-Ah’s face.
Silence stands between them before Jin-Ah speaks quietly, “Am I?”
Jin-Woo tilts his head “Yes.”
Jin-Ah lowers the flashlight, “You’re a good big brother,” she then says, flicking the flashlight on and off with intense focus, eyes not meeting his, “But it feels like we haven’t actually talked at all in a long while,” she meets his gaze “Is it something I did?”
“No,” he says, leaning forward to place his hand on top of her head, “No, I’ve just been…” he tries to find the right words “Tired lately.”
“…Of me?”
“No,” he says, keeping his hand on her head, “I’m sorry you feel that way though. It’s just a problem with me.”
“I’m sorry”
“Thank you”
Jin-Ah sniffles a bit “Are you just saying that because I’m your little sister?”
“No, I’m saying it because you’re the best little sister and all you’ve done for me is good things.”
She looks at him, expression doubtful in a way that it just…hurts.
But that’s understandable, really.
“I promise you, that’s the truth,” he then pulls his hand away, standing up and ignoring the way his head hurts “Want to go out somewhere today?”
Jin-Ah sniffs for a moment, then nods.
Going out on a walk was predictably a good choice, as Jin-Ah seems to get distracted from her own thoughts by the surroundings and aching muscles in her legs she starts to complain about half an hour later.
Plus, the further they walked, the more physically tired she felt. The further she felt physically tired, the less inclined she felt towards keeping all those thoughts in her head.
In Jin-Woo’s experience, its easier to talk when the problem feels comparably less daunting to the ache in your limbs.
(Of course, not many things managed to physically tire him these days. Maybe he’d be less afraid to sleep if the case would be otherwise.)
(He’s also aware of his hypocrisy in this whole situation.)
“One of my classmates talked about how his older brother had cut off ties with the family,” she tells him as they take a stop to sit on a bench together, “It stressed him out enough that he ended up having a breakdown during class. And then he talked about it with some friends.”
She fidgets a bit “I guess it got me thinking about how you changed since…nearly two years ago. I didn’t think much about it until now. Or at least, I didn’t think I needed to? I think.”
“But then it kind of uh, hit me-or well- no- not the right word-” she gnaws at her bottom lip “-I guess hearing what my classmate is…going through made me think about it. About you. Do you-”
She pauses, and then her voice comes out tight “I thought you…felt like running away.”
Guilt is a sledge hammer built to pummel Jin-Woo rapidly.
No amount of fighting monsters would fix this, he thinks.
“I don’t want to run away,” he says.
He’s only half surprised to realize how much that statement is true.
For all that he shouldn’t be here, he’s always been greedy.
Jin-Ah seems to at least believe him on that sentence.
“Maybe not yet,” she murmurs.
He almost sighs. Almost.
“It’s too early for you to start being paranoid,” he tells her, “Save that for high school. University, preferably.”
Jin-Ah half heartedly sticks her tongue out at him.
“Aren’t you tired of going apeshit?” a ten year old Jin-Ah asks her Oppa one day.
Unprompted.
Out of the blue.
Suddenly.
Jin-Woo can only blink from where he’s seated himself on the couch, phone in hand. He’s trying to process the words that just came out of his little sisters mouth. The poor eldritch warrior trapped in a 17 year old’s body.
Jin-Ah then proceeds to throw a blanket over Jin-Woo’s lap unceremoniously.
“Don’t you just want to be nice?” she asks heatedly.
Jin-Woo continues staring for a longer period of time.
“First off,” he starts, “Who taught you that language and that-” he furrows his brow as though the word that comes out of his mouth next is something foreign “-that meme?”
“You’re avoiding the question,” she suddenly flicks on a flashlight in his direction, ineffective as it is since the lights are on in the living room, and its midday, “Jin-Ho hasn’t come over in the past few weeks and it must be because you did something wrong. Jin-Ho’s too nice.”
Jin-Woo, in response, shifts his eyes away.
“…Unless I’m wrong,” Jin-Ah scrunches her face “Do I need to beat Jin-Ho up?”
Jin-Woo sighs “Jin-Ah, you’re not allowed to have homicidal urges until you’re older.”
“It’s not homicidal if I’m not aiming to kill him.”
“Jin-Ah. It’s not his fault.”
“Oh,” she briefly relaxes her face, a tension seemingly leaving her shoulders and it briefly hits Jin-Woo that Jin-Ah was serious about beating Jin-Ho up for him.
Maybe its the lack of sleep but he allows himself to feel emotions for a brief wretched moment.
“So what did you do?” she switches back to glaring at him, flashlight aimed at his direction once more.
Jin-Woo shifts his eyes to the blanket in his lap.
“What’s the blanket for?”
“You’re skin is ice cold and it’s starting to become winter. Also, you need to sleep.”
Jin-Woo hums at that “Thoughtful of you,” he says, managing to not blurt out how he can barely feel any kind of temperatures at this point.
What is considered extreme climates on Earth are mild to him at best, and he found ways to get his body to re-adapt.
Jin-Ah briefly smiles at the acknowledgement of her action, the stance she took in front of him relaxing.
And it hits Jin-Woo at that moment, completely unprompted, how observant this Jin-Ah is. How sensitive to her family she’s always been.
It’s been so long, more than fifty years, but he recalls past memories of Jin-Ah distracting him, the weakest E-rank hunter, away from thoughts about dungeons whenever he would be at home.
He recalls how Jin-Ah had made it so easy for him to leave for dungeons by being undemanding of his return.
The Jin-Ah from before had done so much for him.
This Jin-Ah was much the same.
“You’re a good little sister,” leaves his mouth unprompted.
More emotions behind the words than he intends for there to be, probably, judging by the blank look that crosses Jin-Ah’s face.
Silence stands between them before Jin-Ah speaks quietly, “Am I?”
Jin-Woo tilts his head “Yes.”
Jin-Ah lowers the flashlight, “You’re a good big brother,” she then says, flicking the flashlight on and off with intense focus, eyes not meeting his, “But it feels like we haven’t actually talked at all in a long while,” she meets his gaze “Is it something I did?”
“No,” he says, leaning forward to place his hand on top of her head, “No, I’ve just been…” he tries to find the right words “Tired lately.”
“…Of me?”
“No,” he says, keeping his hand on her head, “I’m sorry you feel that way though. It’s just a problem with me.”
“I’m sorry”
“Thank you”
Jin-Ah sniffles a bit “Are you just saying that because I’m your little sister?”
“No, I’m saying it because you’re the best little sister and all you’ve done for me is good things.”
She looks at him, expression doubtful in a way that it just…hurts.
But that’s understandable, really.
“I promise you, that’s the truth,” he then pulls his hand away, standing up and ignoring the way his head hurts “Want to go out somewhere today?”
“Anywhere else bothering you?” She squeezed his hand as her eyes roamed anxiously over his form.
Holding her hand still, he brought her palm up to his torso against his rapidly beating heart.
Chest tightening, she gently twisted her hand out of his grasp as her heart sped up. “You’ll need a healer for that. Tachycardia and arrhythmias are beyond my ability.”
✨Link to Nurchie’s Deviantart. Please check out her other incredible HP fanart. I can’t thank her enough for this one, it’s beyond beautiful and perfect ♥️!
Ahhh I am an hour and a bit past my posting date but I haven’t gone to sleep yet so I am STILL COUNTING IT!! Darn photoshop crashing on me while I’m trying to meet a deadline…
ANYWAY, for the @murder-husbands-big-bang this year I got paired with the incredible @thesilverqueenlady who wrote a stunning fic titled My Only Constant is You. In this fic, Hannibal is an immortal who can never die, and Will is a time traveler with no control over when and where he travels. Its an absolutely gorgeous story and I am THRILLED I got to do the art for it. Please do yourself a favour and go read it immediately!
I did three pieces of art for this fic. The first is the cover image for the story, depicting the iconic flower blooming in both Hannibal and Will’s minds. The second piece is from chapter two, and depicts Will’s first meeting with Hannibal. Finally, the last piece depicts Hannibal’s first meeting with Will, from the third chapter. I really hope you enjoy!
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.
