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Heather McNamara is slowly tugged out of sleep, surrounded by the smell of Veronica. She smiles to herself and nuzzles closer, unable to resist the urge to press a kiss to the back of Veronica’s neck, and maybe take a quick sniff and lick while she’s there, just to make sure.
It’s not that she’s come out of another bad dream, where everyone’s turned against her again, led by a cold eyed doppelganger, who looks like Veronica but isn’t, who doesn’t smell or taste anything like her. But they’re frequent enough that it’s calming just to make sure.
She props herself up on one arm and looks down at Veronica, tracing the lines of her body that have become so familiar in what seems like such a short space of time. Veronica’s face is half buried in the plush pillows piled on Heather’s bed and she’s got a cutely determined look on her face, like even in her sleep she’s ready and willing to wrestle slumber itself if it means she’ll get one ounce more rest. Heather brushes Veronica’s hair away from her face, presses a kiss to her cheek and whispers, “I love you.”
It’s not something she’d dare say when Veronica’s awake, knows it’s way too soon and ridiculous besides. It’s not like… Veronica probably doesn’t…
But it feels safe — safe like Veronica — to whisper it into the quiet of the night.
She’s so glad that her parents have been more than happy to let Heather have as many sleepovers as she wants. Her mother has even said, “We’re glad that you’ve got a good group of friends around you, Bunny.”
Even if her mother does look a little confused every time she sees Martha, which on the one hand Heather can understand because it’s not like Martha’s like any of her other friends, and on the other is really unfair because Martha’s so kind and friendly and Veronica thinks she’s wonderful which must mean she’s amazing.
And then the reason she woke up makes itself known again.
Ugh. She really doesn’t want to leave the warm confines of the bed where she’s pressed up against Veronica like this. But it looks like she doesn’t have a choice.
She rolls out of bed, springing effortlessly onto her feet and pads out into the corridor and down towards the nearest washroom. She rounds the corner and sees a figure huddled underneath a bedsheet on the window seat, staring moodily out into the darkness. She knows who it is, of course, even without being able to see even an inch of their skin or a strand of their hair.
There’s only one person it could be.
Heather Duke. It’s something she’s done before, when there’s something bothering her.
The last time she did it was when she stayed over after Heather Chandler’s funeral.
She debates going over, but there’s another pulse of pressure between her legs and she really doesn’t have time to talk right now, so she scuttles into the washroom instead, and attends to business.
The figure hasn’t moved by the time she comes out again, and she wonders if Duke’s fallen asleep, if she even dares to go over and disturb her. Duke can get awfully grumpy when woken up, after all. But — despite everything that’s happened — the thought of Duke being all alone out here tugs at something in Mac’s chest and she pads cautiously over.
“Heather?” she whispers when she gets close.
The sheet twists towards her, revealing Duke’s face shrouded within. “Heather?” she says, eyes glittering damply in the half light of the corridor as she looks up at Heather like… like… like Heather doesn’t know what. Her voice is slurred by drink, presumably the bottle she’s clutching in one hand.
It’s… Heather debates just smiling and scampering. It’s not Duke’s fault — it really isn’t — but it also kind of is, because although Duke just seems to be part of their friend group again, and Heather’s good with that, she really is — Heather can’t help remembering her leading the mockery against her, and she’s drunk and they’re alone, so who knows what she’ll do?
There’s a whisper of material and then she’s being hugged. For a moment she just relaxes into it and the whispered, “There, there,” and the old familiar smell of Duke under the smell of wine before she remembers and pulls away.
“You can’t do that anymore!” she snaps, then cringes. “Sorry. I’m—” Jesus. Just stop apologising all the time, a dead girl tells her, and she snaps her mouth shut before she can apologise again.
It doesn’t matter. Duke steps back, but she doesn’t look like she’s angry at Heather. Instead, she sniffles, then lets out a harsh chuckle and says in a thick voice, “Yeah, I guess I deserve that.”
There’s a part of Heather that wants to say something rude, like No shit, but her heart can’t help tugging her back towards Duke. It’s all very confusing. She can’t quite bring herself to wrap her arms around Duke, like she might once have done, but enough to catch one of her hands in one of her own.
“Come on,” she says, tugging Duke along with her. “Let’s get you to bed. We can talk in the morning.” When Veronica is there, she adds but doesn’t say. When there’s someone there who’s better at people stuff than she is.
Thankfully, Duke lets Heather take her back to Duke’s guest room. Even lets her tuck her in. For a moment, as Heather leans over the bed, Duke’s eyes glittering up at her, it’s almost as if everything is as it was before. For a moment, she almost…
She jerks away, and Duke gives her a broken up smile. “Do you think we would have ever had a chance?”
Heather… blinks. “What?” she says, sure that she’s missed something. She gets that feeling a lot, but…
What?
“You know,” Duke continues, as if Heather has any idea what she’s talking about. “If things hadn’t happened and I hadn’t…” She winces. “I know you’ve got Veronica and I did, but do you think there’s a world where…” She trails off.
“Where?” Heather asks, completely lost at sea. The mention of Veronica makes her want to dart from the room and grab her, see if she can decipher what’s going on.
Duke frowns, as if Heather’s the one being unreasonable here. “Where we got together, instead of you and Veronica.”
Heather blinks. Duke… “You like me?” she says, bewildered. It’s… there was a time, not so long ago, when she’d have given anything to hear that. Times that she’d wondered if there had been anything she could do to make Duke look at her the way she wished that she could look back at her.
But not now.
“Oh,” Duke says, looking like Heather had just punched her. Then her face twists into that mean look she gets just before she’s about to rip into someone and Heather’s flinching even before she opens her mouth. “God, Heather. Do you still use like like you’re a middle schooler. Is that what you’ve got going on with Veronica? Do you like her?”
And that’s why not. There had been a time — not so long ago — when Duke had been her safe space. Her safest of spaces, even more so than Chandler in some ways. When, sure, sometimes she’d be the target of some incidental mockery, but she’d know that Duke didn’t mean it, not really, because she liked her and they were friends and…
But she can’t be sure of that now, not ever again. Doesn’t know what Duke would do if Veronica wasn’t there to protect her.
Her eyes fill with tears, not so much at the words — well, not much at the words — but more than the reminder of what she’s lost, what she’s lost and can never have back.
She scuttles out of there, back to Veronica and her warmth and her safety, and wraps herself around Veronica, holding her close, and sniffles a little, where she can be sure that no one will mock her for it.
And wonders what it says about her that, even with the best girlfriend in whole wide world right here in her bed, there’s maybe a little of her is warmed by the idea that there’s a world out there where Duke could like her.
Even if it’s not this one.