Work Text:
Helen hasn’t had any work done.
She can blame it on her perfectionist nature. The way she spends thirty minutes glaring at a single sentence, circling adjectives like they’ve personally offended her. She can blame it on her writer’s block, that cruel little gremlin in her brain that loves to slam the door shut whenever she’s just about to reach a breakthrough. She can even blame it on the fact that she’s a living corpse, rigor mortis and creative genius don’t exactly mix. There’s only so much inspiration to be found when you’re dead. Yes, she could blame it all on those things.
But it’s so much easier to blame it on Madeline.
Madeline and her mouth. When she’s not belting out opera or Broadway ballads to an imaginary audience, she’s firing off insults dipped in sugar and arsenic, the kind of barbs Helen has long since learned to translate as affection. When she’s not doing that, her mouth is everywhere else. Pressing kisses against Helen’s collarbone, nibbling her ear, whispering filth so outrageous it would make a corpse rise just to faint again. Helen’s manuscript doesn’t stand a chance, she obliges. She always obliges.
Madeline and her hands. When they’re not flung about in grand and theatrical flourishes, they’re cradling Helen like she’s spun glass. Stroking, tracing, gripping like she might vanish if Madeline ever let go. Helen tells herself she’s still fighting the good fight, but the manuscript is doomed the second those hands land on her skin.
Madeline. Madeline. Madeline.
Helen curses herself for giving in so easily, but honestly, who has ever managed to concentrate in the presence of Madeline Ashton?
Which brings her to the present. The blonde is perched right on Helen’s desk, sweeping aside her laptop and scattering carefully scribbled notes to the floor. She leans forward, eyes glinting with wicked mirth.
Helen looks up at her, already defeated. She can resist everything except this.
“It’s so hot in your office, Helly.”
“I know,” Helen mutters, “but why are you unbuttoning my blouse?”
It’s a pitiful defense, and she knows it. Especially when Madeline is giving her that look. Helen would never admit it, but it takes so very little from Madeline to make her unravel. Like she isn’t already halfway there most of the time.
“Mad, I really need to finish this—”
“Of course, darling,” Madeline coos. “Let’s get you finished first.”
Oh god,
Helen thinks, her eyes darting one last time to the glowing screen of her laptop before all rational thought is drowned out by Madeline Ashton.
By the third day of her supposed revision week, Helen decided she needed to stand her ground. Enough was enough. She was a woman of discipline and deadlines. So she locked the door to her office. She casts aside all distracting thoughts of Madeline, which is no easy feat, opens her laptop, and lets the words pour out. At last, Helen smiles. If she kept this up, she’d be finished ahead of schedule.
A turn of the handle shattered the illusion.
Helen didn’t even flinch. She sighed, long and heavy. Of course. The distraction had woken up.
The handle rattled violently, like a ghost trying to break through. Then came the knock. Too polite. Madeline never knocked.
“Helly, open up.”
“No, Madeline.” Helen kept her tone clipped and firm. It was almost convincing.
“But whyyy ?” Madeline whined, drawing the word out so long that Helen could practically hear her pouting through the door.
“Because I need to finish this chapter and you’re going to distract me like always.” She typed another sentence as she spoke, as if that would prove her point.
“I won’t! I promise I’ll be good. I won’t distract you.” A blatant lie. Helen knew it, Madeline knew it, the door probably knew it.
“Go away, Mad.”
A dramatic pause before Madeline let out a shriek of pure frustration. Helen squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. On the other side of the door, she heard furious stomps retreating down the hallway, each step performed with enough force to register on the Richter scale.
Helen exhaled, long and steady, her fingers finding the keyboard again. If this is what it takes, she thought, then so be it. The sooner she finished this book, the sooner she could unlock that door and let herself be swallowed whole by Madeline Ashton without a shred of guilt.
Click, click, click. Her fingers flew. A whole paragraph. Helen dared to believe she might just—
Clang.
She froze. That wasn’t the sound of keys under her fingers. That was metal.
Another clang. Then a scrape. Then the distinct sound of something knocking against the side of the house.
Oh no.
Helen’s head whipped toward the window just in time to see the top of a ladder thunk into view. A moment later, a familiar golden head of curls appeared, followed by the rest of Madeline Ashton, climbing determinedly in five-inch heels and a silk robe that billowed like a cape.
“Darling,” Madeline called sweetly as she scaled, “open this window.” She tapped on the glass with her manicured nails, wiggling her fingers in a triumphant little wave.
“Madeline!” Helen shot to her feet, horrified, nearly knocking her chair over. “What the fuck?!”
“Call me Flynn Rider and you’re my Rapunzel,” Madeline crooned, batting her lashes as she hoisted herself another rung higher.
Helen practically lunged for the window, slamming both hands against the glass to keep it shut. “Go back down, Mad! You’re going to fall!”
“Oh please, like I haven’t done that before,” Madeline quipped breezily. She smirked, perfectly at ease. “But you know, I fell for you the hardest.”
“Not the time, Mad!” Helen hissed, bracing herself harder against the frame.
Unbothered, Madeline pressed her face flat against the glass. Her breath fogged it up as she sighed theatrically, giving Helen her very best tragic-heroine eyes. “Helen Sharp, are you really going to make me stand out here? On a ladder? In these shoes? My arches are screaming.”
“Good,” Helen snapped, refusing to relent. “Let them scream. Maybe they’ll drown you out for once.”
The ladder shifted with a loud creak and Helen’s stomach dropped as if she was shot again. Madeline let out a little gasp and wobbled, silk robe fluttering like a flag in the wind. Helen yelped, throwing the window open and grabbing her shoulders in a panic.
Madeline immediately perked up, grinning like a cat with cream. “So are you finally letting me in?”
“Madeline, if you don’t go down this instant I swear I’m going to push you!”
“Aww,” Madeline purred, utterly unruffled. “Remember the first time that happened, Hel? You pushed me down the stairs as an act of love confession. You’re always so romantic—”
“ Damn it, Madeline !” Helen barked, red in the face.
“Alright, alright, jeez, no need to shout,” Madeline relented with a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as though she were the one being inconvenienced.
She clambered back down the ladder, step by precarious step, while Helen leaned halfway out the window to hold the rickety thing steady. The moment Madeline reached the bottom, she struck a little pose, one hand on her hip and the other waving as if she’d just descended from heaven itself.
“And stay down! Don’t climb again!” Helen shouted after her, pointing accusingly.
Madeline only blew her a kiss, unbothered, before scurrying off across the lawn. Helen groaned and dragged the window shut again, pressing her forehead to the glass.
Why do I even try?
she thought, staring at the lipstick print Madeline had left smudged against the pane. She thinks about kissing it.
The following hours were filled with Madeline’s failed attempts at trying to enter her office. Honestly, the lengths this blonde would go to were nothing short of astonishing. Helen often wondered if she’d missed her true calling as a circus act.
So far, she’d tried the following:
First came the singing at the door. Opera, of course, because if Madeline Ashton was going to serenade a wooden slab, she was going to do it with full vibrato. Helen nearly choked on her tea when the soprano note cracked right at the climax, followed by a muffled, “ Damn it, Helly, you made me lose my pitch!”
Then came the offers. “ Darling, if you open this door, I’ll give you the massage of your dead life. I’ll use both hands. ” Helen rolled her eyes and typed faster.
When that didn’t work, Madeline resorted to threats. “ I swear to God, Helen Sharp, if you don’t let me in this instant, I’ll break down this door. I’ve done it before! Don’t think I won’t do it again! ” The ensuing thump against the wood was less intimidating and more comedic. Helen pictured Madeline rubbing her shoulder dramatically.
And then, of course, there was the window encore. No ladder this time, but Madeline wasn’t deterred. She stood below, arms outstretched, shrieking in her best impression of Rapunzel’s prince: “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me!”
Helen laughed so hard she had to set her laptop aside, clutching her stomach.
Through it all, she resisted. She kept her door locked, her eyes on the screen, her fingers on the keys. She’d made more progress in a single day than she had in weeks, and she was proud about her newfound resilience.
Her win didn’t last long, like it never did.
For the past hour, there had been no sign of Madeline. Not that Helen was looking forward to it , absolutely not, but the silence was strange. She was used to the background noise of whining, stomping, or a muffled Broadway song bleeding through the wood. The quiet almost unnerved her. Still, she brushed it off, taking it as a blessing. Perhaps, by some miracle, Madeline had given up or took a nap. Or both.
And then she heard it.
It was soft at first, so soft she almost thought she imagined it. A tiny hitch in the air. Like something muffled, smothered. Like it wasn’t meant to be heard.
A sob.
Helen froze. Her whole body went rigid.
Oh no. Oh no no no. Anything but that.
She tried to shake it off, tried to type another sentence, but her fingers wouldn’t move. The sob came again, a little louder this time, trembling, broken.
“Helly?” Madeline’s voice cracked on the other side of the door, small and fragile in a way Helen had only heard once before.. “Do you…. do you not love me anymore?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against them. Don’t fall for it, Helen. It’s a trick. It’s always a trick. But then another sob rattled through the door. Wet. Miserable. Pathetic.
“I just wanted to spend time with you. I’m… I’m… so… sorry.”
Helen’s chest clenched painfully. Sorry was never uttered so easily by Madeline. Helen could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard it in their entire, absurdly long history together. Now here it was, trembling and broken, spilling from the other side of the door.
“Helen , please ”
She could already picture it in her mind, the scene playing out in cruel detail: Madeline crumpled in the hallway, mascara smeared down her cheeks, silk robe clinging in defeated folds, hair a tangled halo of despair around her perfect, miserable face. She probably had one hand pressed dramatically to her heart, the other reaching for the door as if Helen’s absence had physically wounded her.
She was already standing. Already unlocking the door. Already surrendering, like she always did. Helen groaned aloud, dragging a hand down her face. Goddammit.
As soon as the door swung open, the blonde was on her, sweeping Helen into a feverish embrace, arms coiled tight like she’d been waiting a lifetime instead of, humiliatingly , just one day. Helen melted into it before she could stop herself. Damn it, she’d missed her too .
Her hands slid into Madeline’s hair, stroking the soft curls as she whispered comforts, shushing the trembling frame against her chest. She was even about to say something dangerously foolish, something she’d regret forever, like I’ll never lock you out again , when she felt a grin curling against her shoulder.
Helen stiffened. She grabbed Madeline by the head, pulling her back just far enough to look her in the eye. And there it was: streaks of tears smeared across her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled like diamonds, bright and triumphant. Her lips curved into a wicked, victorious smirk as she cradled Helen’s face in her hands.
“Thank you, darling,” she purred, voice smooth and velvety, all traces of that broken sob vanished.
Helen gaped, utterly betrayed. “You—!”
But Madeline didn’t let her finish. With one swift, devastating kiss, she swallowed Helen’s outrage, her thoughts, her work, her day. Any chance of returning to that manuscript was gone, locked away as securely as Helen’s office door had once been.
And just like that, Madeline won.
Again.
Later that night, Helen lay flat on her back, sheets twisted around her legs, utterly spent. Madeline was draped half on top of her, chin nestled against her collarbone. Helen stared at the ceiling. Her laptop was probably still open, abandoned on her desk. All that progress, gone. All because of one conniving, manipulative, unbearably gorgeous blonde.
This bitch.
She sighed, fingers tracing lazy circles into Madeline’s back. She could never really stay angry, not when Madeline clung to her like this, soft and deceptively innocent.
Still something had to give. She couldn’t go through another week like this, doors rattling, ladders scraping against the siding, fake sobbing fits outside her office. Helen was a writer, damn it. She had deadlines. She had pride. She had dignity.
Her gaze slid down to Madeline’s sleeping face, serene and angelic in a way that was criminal. Helen’s chest softened in spite of herself. She brushed a thumb over Madeline’s cheek, muttering under her breath. Madeline, eyes still closed, smiled wider.
Helen pressed a hand over her own face. No, enough was enough. She needed reinforcements. A plan. Something to keep Madeline’s endless appetite for attention occupied long enough for her to finish her damn book.
An idea flickered. A small, furry, purring idea.
Helen tilted her head back against the pillow and smirked to herself. Yes. That just might work.
At noon the next day, Helen entered the house just in time to hear Madeline’s frantic screams echoing through the halls.
“Helen! Helly! Where are you?”
Helen shut the door with deliberate force to announce her presence. It was immediately followed by the sound of pounding footsteps, and then Madeline herself, thundering down the staircase like a stampede, dressed in lace and a camisole, hair half-pinned and wild.
“Where were you?” she demanded the moment she reached Helen, eyes wide as though Helen had been missing for years instead of an hour or two.
“Out,” Helen said calmly, hefting the carrier in her hands. “I brought you something.”
Madeline’s eyes lit up instantly, all suspicion gone. “A present?” she gasped, practically vibrating with glee. “Oh, Helly, you shouldn’t have! No, actually, you should have, I deserve it—oh!” Her head tilted, curls bouncing. “Why is it moving?”
Helen crouched and unlatched the carrier. Out padded a small, white kitten, its fur pristine and soft as snow, blinking up at them with enormous blue eyes. It let out the tiniest, most pitiful mewl.
Madeline gasped so loudly it might have cracked a chandelier. One manicured hand shot to her chest, the other outstretched like she was receiving communion.
“Is that—? Helen Sharp! You brought home a baby!”
Helen chuckled under her breath. “Not a baby. A cat.”
“A baby!”
Madeline swooped down instantly, scooping the kitten into her arms with the dramatics of a woman accepting her first Oscar. She held it aloft for a moment, radiant, before cradling it against her chest like it was an award.
Helen knew Madeline adored cats. She’d had her fair share before, poor Stefan had spent years cleaning cat puke out of her Birkin bags. Why this idea hadn’t come to Helen sooner, she couldn’t say. Madeline was practically feline herself."
“Oh, look at her little face! Look at her paws!” she gushed, showering it in kisses. “Oh, she loves me already, I can feel it. Helen, do you see this? She’s my child.”
Helen folded her arms, watching the scene unfold with a smirk tugging at her lips. Exactly as planned.
“Well, I’ll leave you both to get acquainted,” she said amused, already turning toward her office.
But Madeline wasn’t listening. She was far too busy parading around the living room with the kitten, showering it in kisses, crooning pet names. Helen caught snippets of her voice floating after her “angel,” “darling,” “my perfect little snowdrop” until she shut the office door with a decisive click.
Finally, at last!
Helen sat down and pulled her laptop toward her. The keys felt like salvation under her fingers. She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. This was it, the freedom she’d been chasing all week. She’d finish this chapter, maybe even the next.
A knock destroyed her fantasy.
Helen froze. Her head jerked up. She gaped at the door as if it had just personally betrayed her.
A fucking knock.
One, she thought the kitten would’ve been enough to keep Madeline busy. Evidently, she’d underestimated the woman’s infinite capacity for mischief. Two, this was the second time in history Madeline Ashton had knocked.
Helen pressed her palms to her eyes and groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake. What is it, Mad?”
Madeline poked out of the door, opening it just enough for her to lean against the doorframe, not fully entering the office yet. The kitten was now sleeping and purring peacefully against her chest. The blonde held a coy expression, pursing her lips to the side as if she was second guessing.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” Madeline said quietly.
Helen blinked. That wasn’t in the script.
There was a pause, followed by the faintest sound of purring. “She’s perfect. Really. I didn’t know how much I needed her.”
Helen’s fingers hovered uselessly above the keyboard. Her dead heart gave a traitorous little squeeze. It wasn't theatrics. No shrieking, no stomping, no absurd declarations of abandonment. Just Madeline Ashton, sounding small and sincere, cradling a kitten, leaning against her doorframe.
Helen swallowed hard and whispered back, “You’re welcome, Mad.”
“Can I come in?”
Well, there it was. Helen looked at the door deadpanned. She should have known.
“I won’t do anything, I swear! I just want to be here. Please.”
Madeline was really pleading now. Her voice carried that soft lilt Helen had never been able to resist.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But if you do something, I’m kicking you out.”
“Wonderful!” Madeline’s delighted squeal nearly rattled the hinges. She beamed as she waltzed in, her robe trailing dramatically behind her, and plopped herself onto the couch. The kitten was set beside her, and Madeline propped her head on one elbow, lazily tracing the soft white fur with long, painted fingers.
Helen returned to her desk, though her senses stayed sharpened, waiting for the inevitable moment Madeline broke her promise. She could feel eyes on her every so often, prickling the back of her neck. Each time she glanced up suspiciously, narrowing her gaze, she found Madeline watching her. But Madeline just smiled. Soft, almost reverent, like Helen had strung the moon and stars across the ceiling just for her. And every time their eyes met, she murmured something absurdly gentle.
“You’re brilliant, Helly.”
“Look at you go.”
“You’re magnificent when you’re working.”
Helen would scoff and roll her eyes, but her fingers flew faster across the keyboard, paragraphs pouring out as if summoned by Madeline’s words.
She hadn’t looked up in some time, too caught in the rhythm of her work, until at last she leaned back to stretch her neck. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and blinked again, as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
The blonde was curled into the couch, the tiny white kitten tucked beneath her chin, both of them nestled together in a picture of serenity. One of Madeline’s arms cradled the kitten protectively, her painted nails resting delicately against its fur, like she was afraid to let go even in her dreams.
Helen’s phantom breath caught. For a fleeting moment, she almost forgot her manuscript entirely. Helen should have gone back to work. But she couldn’t look away.
This wasn’t the Madeline Ashton who owned every stage she walked onto, who demanded the spotlight with every breath. This was
hers,
her Maddie. This was a secret, precious version of her, revealed only in quiet moments, and Helen was the only one who had the privilege of keeping it.
Helen’s throat tightened, and her fingers hovered uselessly above her keyboard. It was humiliating, really, how easily Madeline could undo her. She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying and failing to hide the helpless smile spreading across her face. “God help me,” she whispered, voice trembling with affection. “I love you. I love all of you.”
And it was true. She loved her in all her chaos and softness, her glory and her ruin. She always had. She always would.
At first, it was glorious.
For two whole days, Helen worked in blissful silence. No operatic interruptions, no ladder scrapes against the siding, no sobbing fits at her office door. Whenever she peeked out, she’d find Madeline in their living room with the kitten sprawled across her chest, crooning lullabies or reading fashion magazines aloud like bedtime stories.
She spoiled the kitten rotten. One of the guest bedrooms had already been renovated, Madeline called it the kitten’s “apartment”. Every day, packages arrived at the door: premium cat food, scratching posts, a sprawling cat tree that was bigger than the feline could climb. She even bought
outfits
. Tiny couture dresses, sequined collars, and an obscene little version of her leopard-print jumpsuit.
Helen had caught her once kneeling on the floor, holding up two different miniature hats for the kitten to
choose.
“Darling,” Madeline had said seriously, turning to Helen like this was a matter of life and death, “she’s clearly a winter palette. The lavender clashes.”
The kitten meowed. Somehow, Madeline took that as agreement.
Helen got chapters done. Whole chapters. She was unstoppable. But the longer she watched, the more she wondered if she’d created a problem far worse than before.
Madeline, who used to burst into her office uninvited, now didn’t even glance at the door. This irked Helen so much that she started leaving the door open on purpose, practically inviting disaster. But Madeline would only drift past every now and then, cradling the kitten like a porcelain doll, pausing just long enough to chirp, “Hi, Helly!” before disappearing again.
When Helen neared the end of her manuscript, she tried to bait her back with an olive branch. She brought Madeline tea, expecting her usual radiant smile, the kiss on the cheek that always derailed her completely. Instead, Madeline took the cup absently without even looking up, murmuring, “Thank you, darling,” as she nuzzled the kitten’s ears.
It got worse.
Once, she walked into the living room to find Madeline stretched dramatically across the chaise lounge, the very picture of decadence. Her voice was low and honey-sweet as she whispered, “You’re my favorite girl in the whole world.”
Helen froze mid-step. Her heart fluttered, until she realized who the words were for.
“Excuse me?” she barked.
Madeline blinked up, startled. “Hm? Oh, not you, Helly. Her.” She planted an obnoxiously loud kiss on the kitten’s head. “Isn’t she just precious?”
Helen stood there, mouth open, entirely scandalized.
She had hoped this nonsense would vanish at night, that in the sanctuary of their bedroom she would reclaim her rightful place.
But no.
That little menace had invaded that part of her life too.
“Baby, come here now,” Madeline called one night, voice sultry in the dark.
Helen’s heart leapt.
Finally, finally, her turn
. She pushed back the covers with a smile, only to be brushed past by a tiny blur of white fur, scampering eagerly toward the bed.
The kitten climbed the mattress and nestled itself squarely on Madeline’s chest. She cooed, kissing the top of its head.
Helen sat frozen at the edge of the bed, glaring daggers.
That’s my spot! I was here first!
She buried her face in her hands. She had done this. She had created her own rival.
Outsmarted by my own plan. Jealous of a cat. This is my life now.
She thinks bitterly.
By the third night in a row of being replaced by a six-pound ball of fur, she’d had enough.
She slid under the covers, inching closer and closer until she was level with the kitten curled against Madeline’s chest.
“Move over,” Helen hissed.
The kitten gave a long, slow blink before burrowing deeper into Madeline’s chest
Helen scowled. “Don’t look at me like that. She’s my girlfriend.”
Madeline reached down and stroked the kitten’s fur. “Look at her, she came to bed all by herself. Isn’t she the sweetest thing?”
Helen’s jaw dropped. She sat up on her elbows, incredulous. “Madeline Ashton, are you seriously choosing her over me?”
Madeline cracked one eye open, lips curling into that infuriating smirk. “Darling, she doesn’t slam doors in my face. She doesn’t shout at me from her office. She simply adores me.”
Helen sputtered. “I adore you!”
“Yes, but she doesn’t complain while she’s doing it,” Madeline purred, snuggling the kitten closer.
The kitten purred louder, as if in agreement.
Helen’s mouth opened and closed in outrage. Finally, with all the dignity she could muster, she muttered, “This is humiliating,” and flopped back against her pillow.
Helen had truly sunk to new lows.
She tried everything to win Madeline back from her furry rival. If Madeline kissed the kitten’s head, Helen would immediately lean over and demand one too. If Madeline scratched behind the kitten’s ears, Helen would tilt her head, offering herself on a silver platter. When Madeline called the kitten her “sweetest girl,” Helen practically shouted, “
I’m your sweetest girl!
”
The kitten, smug little thing, only purred louder.
One evening, Helen even plopped herself directly onto Madeline’s chest before the kitten could, arms crossed like she was guarding her rightful throne. “Mine,” she declared."
Madeline only raised a brow, lips twitching. “Darling, you’re being ridiculous.”
“I was here first,” Helen snapped. “By decades!”
Madeline giggled, scooping Helen into one arm and the kitten into the other like some absurd Goddess of abundance. She kissed the top of the kitten’s head, then leaned over and kissed Helen too.
“And yet she’s cuter.”
She nearly combusted.
The day Helen finally typed the last sentence of her manuscript, she sat back in her chair with a triumphant sigh. It was done. After weeks of struggle, after ladders and sobbing fits and one very ill-advised cat adoption, she had finished.
She stretched, already rehearsing in her mind the little speech she’d give Madeline, how it was time to put the cat down (figuratively) and lavish her with all the attention she’d been cruelly denied. She stood, ready to bask in her well-earned reward.
She entered the living room, Madeline was on the chaise with the kitten nestled against her chest, stroking its fur like a queen with her crown jewel. She didn’t even look up.
She dropped into the armchair with all the weight of her indignation. For several minutes she sulked, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the oblivious feline.
This was supposed to be my victory. My moment."
“Madeline,” Helen said at last, voice low and dangerous, “it’s time to put her down.”
The blonde’s head snapped up, eyes wide with horror. She looked at Helen like she’d just push her down the stairs all over again.
“
Helen Sharp!
” she gasped, clutching the kitten tighter. “How dare you!”
Helen sputtered, waving her hands. “No, I don’t mean it like that! I meant, f
or God’s sake
, I meant to put her down on the couch! Stop holding her like she’s the second coming!”
Madeline narrowed her eyes, suspicion dripping from every syllable. Helen huffed, crossing her arms again. “Honestly. You’d think I suggested kicking her out a window.”
The kitten chose that exact moment to yawn and stretch in Madeline’s arms, then wriggle free. It hopped daintily down onto the cushions, toddled across the room, and with perfect comedic timing, leapt straight into Helen’s lap."
Madeline squealed. Helen froze in horror.
“Oh my god."
The blonde shot up like she’d been electrocuted, frantically rummaging for her phone. When she found it, she pointed it straight at Helen, snapping pictures as though she was the paparazzi.
“Oh my god, Helly! I could cry right now, you both are so adorable!” Madeline gushed, bouncing on her heels as she inched closer. “Go on, pet her! Do it for the camera!”
Helen blinked down at the kitten, still purring in her lap, completely at home. Her hand hovered uncertainly above its snowy fur. Slowly, very slowly, she let her fingers trail across its back.
The kitten purred louder.
Madeline squealed again, practically collapsing against the chaise in delight, mock-sobbing with all the drama. “That’s it! Oh, darling, you’re perfect. You’re both perfect. I could frame this
. I will frame this!
”
Helen groaned as Madeline snapped picture after picture, but the sound of the kitten’s purr thrumming against her lap softened her scowl. The little thing leaned into her touch with such simple, unguarded trust that something in Helen’s chest unclenched.
Madeline was still babbling, “My two favorite girls, I can die again happily!” when Helen finally let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. The kitten mewled again before trailing up Helen’s torso, tiny paws pressing into her blouse.
“Aww, look at her climbing you. She’s so like me,” Madeline cooed.
“Yes, I can see that,” Helen replied, voice calm but panicked, her hands hovering protectively like a safety net in case the kitten slipped. But the little thing reached the crook of her neck and curled there contently, purring like a motor.
Madeline clasped her hands together, misty-eyed. “This is the best day of my afterlife.”
Helen groaned. “What did you name her again?”
“Oh, I didn’t. I just call her pet names.” Madeline waved a dismissive hand, as if names were beneath them both.
Helen blinked at her. “What do you mean you didn’t give her a name?”
“I just can’t seem to settle on one, okay?” Madeline huffed, tossing her hair. “Every time I think I’ve found the perfect one, I change my mind. She’s more of a mystery, a muse. You can’t name a muse.”
“Mad, we can’t just keep calling her pet names. She’s gonna get confused.”
“Look at you defending her, aww,” Madeline teased, her grin wide and wicked. “You sound like a real mother hen.”
“Well, I did get her."
Madeline gasped, pointing at Helen like she’d just confessed to a crime. “Don’t you dare try to steal credit for my child.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “Your child? You didn’t even name her.”
“I gave her love, Helen! Isn’t that enough?”
“She’s not going to respond to ‘angel face honeybun darling precious’ as a proper name.”
“She does!” Madeline insisted, then leaned in to coo at the kitten. “Don’t you, my little sugarplum pumpkin pie?”
The kitten purred louder, as if in agreement.
Helen gaped at them both. “Unbelievable.”
Madeline only laughed, settling down gracefully on the armrest beside her and wrapping both Helen and the kitten into her arms like she was claiming them as a set.
“Did you finally finish your book, baby?” she asked, voice low and affectionate.
“Yes, I did,” Helen said, lifting her chin with mock pride. “Thanks to your cooperation.”
Madeline gasped, hand to her chest. “Darling, I was a saint. Do you know the restraint it took to not serenade your office every hour?”
Helen smirked. “You still did.”
“Whatever” Madeline waved it off. She leaned closer, eyes glittering. “Ready to admit you missed me?”
“Never.” Helen’s answer was immediate, clipped, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a twitch.
Madeline gasped dramatically, then softened, brushing her lips against Helen’s temple. “Let’s not argue in front of the child.”
Helen snorted despite herself. “I got her so you’d be preoccupied and not distract me for awhile while I finish my book, you know.”
“Yes, I did. I’m not stupid, Hel.”
“Shh, no negative words around the child,” Helen retorted back, arching a brow as the kitten purred between them, perfectly pleased with herself.
Madeline only smiled, her voice dropping into something soft and honey-sweet. “I know I can be such a bother, but it’s honestly your fault for being so irresistible. What am I supposed to do when I’m in your presence?"
Helen’s lips parted, ready with a sharp remark but Madeline was already speaking.
“But I truly felt guilty,” she admitted, her gaze flicking away. “So I spent all that time with the kitten. Tried to keep myself busy. Still didn’t help. I was always thinking of you.”
Helen blinked, her chest tightening. The dramatics, the antics, they were all real, but so was this. That longing. That need.
Her hand lifted, cupping Madeline’s cheek with surprising gentleness. “You did so good, baby,” she murmured.
Madeline practically melted, sighing with relief. The kitten now laid between them, blissfully unaware of the comedic tension it had stirred in the house.
Helen stroked its snowy fur once, then tilted her head, mischief glinting in her eyes. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of Madeline’s ear.
“Besides” she whispered, her voice low and wicked, “I’m planning to distract you now.”
Madeline’s gasp was loud enough to startle the kitten. She clutched her chest dramatically, eyes wide with mock horror. “Helen Sharp! Not in front of the child!”