Chapter Text
“Flowers or stars?”
“Hmm,” Rebecca rubbed her fingers idly along her chin, “they’re both a little cliche.”
“Hen party tattoos are cliche, Rebecca,” Sara said dryly.
Rebecca just rolled her eyes before turning back to the flash catalogue. “What’d you think, Dani?”
A beat of silence passed before Dani realized Rebecca had asked her a question, busy casting nervous blue eyes around the small tattoo shop, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle while she bit at the thumb of the other hand.
“Hmm?” she pulled her thumb from her lips, “Oh! I uh…whichever you prefer.”
“Unhelpful,” Rebecca deadpanned without looking up from the catalogue, “unhelpful, the lot of you.”
Without thinking, Dani found her thumb returning to her mouth, chewing on it passively with not a small amount of grim resignation as she watched her friend select what little black drawing was about to be pierced into the skin of her, Dani, and the other four women in the bachelorette party.
Among the emotions stirring in her gut, Dani distantly noted a pang of guilt. She’d told herself earlier in the night as she dressed herself in an admittedly boring ensemble of jeans and a baggy sweater, that she would be there for her friend, that she would be grateful Rebecca invited her to the bachelorette party and wouldn’t spoil the night, not matter what misgivings she had about Rebecca’s fianceé. She had been stressed enough about the engagement for as long as Dani had known her, and Dani knew she needed this, needed a night to have fun and forget just a little of it.
But here she was, standing just apart from Rebecca’s group all dressed in dresses and suits appropriate for a bachelorette party, if not for the lingering late March cold, having thus far failed at getting out of her head enough to socialize. From the first day Dani started working at the primary school, still shell-shocked and thanking her lucky stars she’d found a job in the UK so quickly after her sudden arrival, Rebecca had invited her to sit with her in the teacher’s lounge, and quickly became her best (and only) friend in England. She’d been a peach, a doll, an angel. Dani was a little shocked when Rebecca invited her to be a part of her bachelorette party, but so touched by the gesture she didn’t stop to think that she didn’t know any of Rebecca’s outside of work friends.
They were all lovely, but Dani simply didn’t know them, and they all knew each other. And as the night wore on, familiarity and inside jokes soon found Dani more on the outside of the group, and she found she couldn’t bring herself to be anything but relieved.
And so, even before they’d hit any pubs when Rebecca suddenly became possessed of the idea of getting a group tattoo and found the closest shop to them, Dani was already on edge. But she couldn’t be a buzzkill. Not more of one, when everyone else was having fun, Dani wouldn’t let herself drag the night down any more.
She sighed. Getting another tattoo at the behest of another friend. At least this friend wasn’t trying to marry her, just some wolfish douchebag who didn’t deserve her.
Finally, Rebecca dropped a finger from her chin to a small design of a red rose, “I think this’ll do.”
“You sure?” the ostensible owner of the Bly Street tattoo shop lifted his eyebrows, “these are permanent, you know.”
“That’s the idea,” Rebecca smirked, turning to face the group, “right girls?”
A chorus of encouragement and assent passed over the other women, and when Rebecca’s eyes met Dani’s in the back of the group, the blonde gave a tight lipped smile and a curt nod.
Well, hell, she thought. This was really happening.
“Perfect,” the shopowner clapped his hands together, an easy smile under his brown moustache. Hair buzzed close to the scalp revealed a variety of tattoos along his neck and head, a lazy mirth danced in green-grey eyes as he regarded the party. “We haven’t the staff to do all your tattoos at once, but Owen here,” briefly gesturing at a man with an equally glorious moustache giving a wave from a station just behind him, “and myself will be happy to do double duty.”
As he spoke, Dani felt the slightest bit of pride she could tell he had a slightly different accent then her friends. Northern? she thought without confidence, and didn’t want to push her luck with a more specific guess.
In quick order Rebecca and the owner negotiated the allotment of artist to client, with the owner of course taking the responsibility of the bride-to-be and the maid of honour, Sara, Owen taking Maddie and Irina, who seemed quite pleased with the assignment, and Corra going to someone called Aoife, who gave the owner a sarcastic “Yes, chef,” when their name was called.
Dani swallowed a nervous lump as she was left last, afraid, perhaps irrationally, that she wasn’t going to get an artist and the rest would run out of ink and she would be left excluded from the ritual permanently.
But Rebecca gave Dani her winning smile and pulled her gently by her arm to stand next to her.
“And last but not least, who’ll be taking care of my favourite American?” A genuine smile curled across Dani’s lips, and she was reminded again how grateful she was for Rebecca, and that maybe a little ink and pain were so little to give to make her happy.
“That’ll be Jamie,” the owner replied absentmindedly while he gathered the design from the catalogue, “we’ve got a space in the back, I’ll take you in just a moment.”
“In the back?” Rebecca frowned. “Kind of defeats the purpose of a group tattoo if she’s on her own, doesn’t it?”
“It’s fine,” Dani interjected, partially not wanting to make things more difficult, and partially a little relieved at the chance to be away from the pressure of a group of strangers for a bit. “I don’t mind.”
“You sure?” Rebecca’s face serious as she looked at Dani. “We can have you go after Corra’s done up here, if you want.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dani slid her hand into Rebecca’s and tried to give her most convincingly serene smile, "really."
“She’ll be in good hands,” the owner leaned in slightly, “Jamie’s our newest artist, but she’s already one of our best, a real talent. And flowers just happen to be her specialty.”
“Her, then? You’re not gonna leave my friend alone with some bloke in the back of your shop, yeah?” Rebecca asked bluntly.
“Rebecca,” Dani hissed.
He blinked, but to his credit the shopowner kept that easy smile in place. “No, ma’am. Like I said, she’ll be in good hands. And she won’t be alone, just a few feet away, from the rest of us.”
“Thank you,” Dani said quickly, giving Rebecca’s hand one last squeeze before walking towards the back of the shop.
Dani tried to keep her breath steady as she walked into the shop itself. It was a decently sized place, less clinical and sleek than the one she went to with Eddie. The paneled walls were covered in tattoo designs lewd, morbid, and beautiful, art and posters of every size, and uncountable stickers of local events, flags, and slogans she only partially recognized. Dani saw tigers and scantily clad women, of course, but she also saw a wonderland of artistic flair it was almost hard to believe could be captured with needles and ink on human skins; crashing waves so vibrant and blue she could count the sea foam ejected from the top, sleeves of demonic smiles and grimaces that Dani could only imagine rippled and contorted uncannily when on a moving human canvas.
The art of it was striking, beautiful, but Dani couldn’t help but wonder, why on someone’s skin? They were just as lovely to look at in frames and in photographs, why put it on something that it has to hurt for hours to make, something that’s going to get old and fade and probably regret ever getting it, dread even the sight of it as clung her back to the past–
Dani shook her head. Projecting, a little? she admonished herself, fighting to pull her thoughts to her surroundings again. The main room had six stations, each slightly attuned to the idiosyncrasies of the artist who utilized it, but the owner sauntered through to the back area through a doorframe without a door, which led to some more private stations sectioned off with partitions and half walls.
At the first station on the right, the owner peeked his head through another doorless frame, knocking on it twice.
“Jamie?” Dani’s eyes shot to his face, as his voice had gained a slight edge that hadn’t been there moments before. “We’ve got some group flash needs doin’, do you mind helping out?”
All he got back was a grunt from in the station. Dani saw his jaw clench, suddenly uneasy at this tension totally absent with the rest of the artists. He looked back to her, giving a slightly forced smile and gesturing with his head for her to approach the door. As she did, she could see into the station for the first time, and she saw that this station was comparatively spartan, far less of that lived in character of the rest of the shop. The red papered walls were mostly bare, save for a pair of lonely botanical posters arranged with loose tape and a handful of pressed flowers in frames leaned against rather than hung on the wall. Dani couldn’t see the face of whoever had grunted at the owner, only a hunched figure obscured behind the tattoo equipment and chair, along with some scraping sound from the floor.
“Jamie, this is--” he stopped, again looking at Dani with a questioning look.
“Dani,” she supplied.
His eyes wrinkled just slightly at the edges, but he continued again to the crouched figure, “Dani. She’s here with some friends and they’re all getting matching flowers. Owen and I are already taking two, Aoife’s got another and Keith’s busy with the second session of that tiger sleeve. It would be a big help if you could do this for her.”
Jamie didn’t make any reply for a moment, the rhythmic scraping the only sound from the room. But then it stopped, and Dani saw her shoulders rise in a large huff.
“Yeah,” Jamie finally spoke, her voice high and gruff, “yeah, alright.” She rose to her feet, still not facing either of them. Curly brown hair curtained her head, just touching the shoulders of a long-sleeved grey shirt with the name of a band and tour dates on the back. She was holding a dust pan filled with dark brown dirt and little red shapes Dani registered were broken bits of a ceramic pot. “Just…gimme a tick,” she grumbled in the same accent the owner had, moving towards a small trashcan in the corner.
He just stared at her back for a moment, a strange mix of emotions on his face. He sighed, knocked his knuckles against the doorframe absently, and said, “Right, thanks then. I’ll be back with the stencil in just a moment.”
Turning to walk away, he stopped and looked quizzically at Dani one last time.
“What’d you say your name was, again?”
“Uh…” Dani mumbled, still puzzling over the tension in the small room and caught off guard by the question, “I–Dani? Danielle? Clayton?” floundering for the right answer to the man’s riddle.
He just nodded with an amused smile and walked off through the doorway into the main shop.
Thoroughly discombobulated by the turn of events, Dani just watched him make his way to the frontmost station where Rebecca and Sara were sitting.
“It’s almost his name,” Dani’s head snapped back to the woman’s voice behind her, nearly forgetting she’d been there. She was just finishing up cleaning the floor, discarding the bits of ceramic and gathering what soil she could into a mug Dani now saw had a small plant sticking out of it.
“Denny’s his name,” Jamie huffed, still focused on the little plant in front of her, “must have thought he’d heard you say ‘Denny’, too.”
“Oh,” was all Dani managed to say. It seemed like it could have been a funny little comment, but the tightness in Jamie’s voice made it sound like this fact annoyed her more than amused her, and Dani, perhaps irrationally, felt like it was her fault for upsetting Jamie. “I, uh…sorry.”
“What?” Jamie now sounded puzzled, wiping her dirt covered hands on her dark jeans as she finally turned to face Dani, “it’s not your fault, I…”
Oh goodness, Dani thought.
Jamie only missed a single beat, oddly familiar grey-green eyes holding on Dani’s for just a moment too long to be natural, until she looked down at the floor, shaking her head slightly.
“You, uh…” she stammered, before she suddenly pushed past Dani, who hadn’t even realized she’d been standing in the doorway the whole time, stopping only to mumble, “have a seat, yeah?”
Dani did just that. She had to, lest Jamie return any minute to find her still standing in the doorway, eyes wide, bottom lip between her teeth. God, had she been staring? She must have, why else would Jamie have been so flustered.
Dani groaned to herself and rubbed her eyes, feeling in her fingers how hot her face had gotten. What the hell is wrong with me? How many strange people must Jamie have seen as a tattoo artist, and Dani still managed to throw her off with her weird behavior. By staring, probably like a freak, just because Jamie happened to be the most–
“Got the stencil here,” Jamie appeared suddenly, Dani sitting up ramrod straight and cutting off her last thought as if it were loud enough for Jamie to hear. Dani kept her posture stiff like she was in etiquette class, but Jamie wasn’t even facing her, fiddling with her tattoo equipment to Dani’s right. Dani didn’t say anything, and an uneasy silence settled in the small room as Jamie wordlessly retrieved various bottles, disinfectants, and needles from a little wheeled cabinet by the tattoo gun.
As Dani watched (tried not to, but did) Jamie go about her space, Dani felt…curiosity. Along with a mix of incredulous shame, because how could she develop such a burning curiosity that tingled at her fingertips about a stranger she met a number of minutes ago she could count on one hand. But she couldn’t deny it, she was so curious about this woman, felt questions bubbling up in her she knew weren’t appropriate for someone she literally just met, and didn’t seem to like her at all. She wanted to ask about the broken pot, about the owner with the same green eyes, about Jamie’s clean, seemingly new space, about her haunting, gorgeous eyes, not quite grey, not quite green
“Of course it’s a fucking flower.” Somehow Dani went even stiffer at hearing Jamie grumble to herself. Are you not supposed to do that? Dani thought to herself, are flower tattoos lame? Or illegal?
“I…do you not want to?” she heard herself ask.
“What?” Jamie asked absentmindedly as she rolled up her sleeves with gloved hands, revealing a litany of expertly crafted black and coloured lines of tattoos running all up her forearms. After a moment her eyes shot up to Dani’s, as if just registering that Dani had heard her previous comment.
“Oh! God, no I–I’m sorry I just…Denny’s always sendin’ me people who want flowers.”
“Oh…” Dani felt guilt seep into her chest, like this was somehow her fault, “well…my friend picked this one out, not Denny.”
“Right…” Jamie sounded almost skeptical, as if Dani had been put up to this by Denny. Pulling up a swiveling stool to sit next to Dani, she continued, “so, this is for a hen party, then?”
Dani swallowed. “Yeah…is that, I don’t know, weird?”
“Fairly normal for a shop like this,” a faintly bitter tone in her grumbling. “This isn’t your first tattoo, is it?”
God, am I sweating? Dani thought desperately to herself. Somehow everything this woman said sounded like an accusation or an offense, like whatever Dani did made her more and more angry and in a few minutes she’ll have decided Dani is her worst enemy.
“No, I have one other one on my…” Dani’s voice failed her as she ran her hand over her upper left arm. Suddenly, Dani didn’t want Jamie to know about the other tattoo, about where she’d gotten it, about what it meant (or was supposed to mean), about who she got it for. Like just the sight of that little black brand would tell Jamie everything she thought about Dani was true, was worse than she’d probably already thought.
“Alright then…” Jamie’s voice pulled Dani out of her head, and she saw Jamie’s eyes searching her face, evidently picking up on the tension at the mention of the old tattoo. Something that might have been concern appeared in her pinched brows, or maybe just another form of distaste. But after a few seconds of staring she blinked it away and diverted her eyes to the stencil in her hand. “So you, uh, know where this one’s going?”
Grateful for the change in subject, Dani nodded her head a little too vigorously. “I uh…I think we said right forearm?” rolling up her own sleeve to show the area.
Jamie nodded absently, now eyeing Dani’s arm carefully, before placing the stencil just below the crook of her elbow. “There?” she asked without looking up.
Dani nodded again, before remembering Jamie wasn’t looking at her, and affirmed vocally.
Jamie didn’t say anything this time, just replacing the stencil on her wheeled drawer and wrapping her gloved fingers around Dani’s arm to adjust it. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Dani could have sworn she felt a sudden electric warmth at the touch. She must have jumped, because Jamie looked up at her.
“Sorry I…sorry,” was all Dani could offer up in explanation, cursing herself as she felt her face warm up instantly.
Dani kept her eyes on her lap, but she could feel Jamie looking at her for a few more seconds. Was there anything else she could do to put this beautiful woman off? Maybe spit in her face and put a curse on her whole bloodline.
She kept her eyes down as Jamie eventually went back to work, her gloved hands now feeling cold and clinical as they handled her arm, cleaning the tattoo area with alcohol, running a disposable razor over it, then applying the stencil fully onto her skin.
She only looked up after Jamie’s hands had left her arm for a minute, Dani half expecting Jamie to be staring at her with those discerning grey-green eyes. But Dani saw, with a strange mix of relief and disappointment, Jamie’s eyes were instead cast down at the mechanisms of the tattoo gun, her face contorted in frustration.
“Stupid fuckin’...” she mumbled under her breath, swiveling her chair quickly to get at something Dani couldn’t see. But in her irritation, her stool hit the metal table behind her, hard enough that the soil-filled mug sitting at the other end lurched, spilling much of the dirt and the little green plant onto the stainless surface.
Jamie’s head snapped up at the impact, her free hand reaching up to uselessly steady the table. When she saw the tipped mug, Dani saw her jaw clench, and her eyes slammed shut. Dani’s eyes darted between the sad little pile of dirt and Jamie’s face. It seemed a relatively small calamity, almost literally spilled milk, and the contents could almost certainly be put right back in the mug. But as Jamie’s chest rose in tight, labored breaths as she tried to contain whatever emotions she was experiencing, Dani could tell this wasn’t about a spilled plant.
She wanted to say something, to ask if Jamie was okay, but she wasn’t sure if she should. If her voice would be an intrusion, another layer to this private tragedy afflicting Jamie. As the seconds dragged on though, that feeling, that need to do something to comfort this stricken woman grew, until Dani was just beginning to find enough courage to feel her hand lifting slowly, inching towards Jamie’s, words of assurance attempting to form in her mouth.
But then Jamie’s head shook slightly, her eyes still closed but it was still enough to instantly dissipate Dani’s bravery and send Dani’s hand shooting back to its resting place as if she’d been caught stealing.
“Fuck it,” Jamie finally whispered, and she reached over without another word to turn on the tattoo gun and swiveled back to Dani’s chair. Her fingers wrapped around the back of Dani’s elbow, and suddenly her attention was now totally on the purple stencil on Dani’s arm.
Somehow, in the slow unfolding disaster this night had been since Dani walked into Jamie’s station, Dani had almost forgotten she was getting a tattoo. Needles, potentially lots of needles, pricking and piercing at her skin for who knew how long. She was alright with pain, she didn’t love injections or blood tests, but she remembered being quietly terrified about her first one. But her artist at the time kept her talking through the initial shock of pain, asking about her classes and hobbies until, eventually, the pain dulled out and she could stand it much better. He’d told her later that artists usually try to keep the client focused on talking for the initial part when the pain was still new, something she had to explain to Eddie afterwards while he sulked at her and the artist's easy conversation.
Now, in the tense and unfamiliar setting of Jamie’s tattooing station, the buzzing of the tattoo gun was all the more intimidating, all the more portenting pain she couldn’t take. Suddenly, that grating buzz being the only sound in that tense was totally intolerable, and Dani found herself with the inexorable need to fill that growing void.
“So, uh…” Dani heard her shaky voice break the silence, but then realized she had no idea what to talk about. Maybe ask about the plant? Ugh, no, judging by Jamie’s reaction that was a sore subject. Comment on the posters on the wall? Dani was never good at articulating her thoughts on art, and she was sure all she’d end up saying was, I like it. God, oh god, she’d already started talking, and that godawful buzzing emanating from Jamie’s hand was hovering just above her arm expectantly. Dani said the next thing that came into her mind.
“So you and, uh, Denny, the owner, are you two, umm…like, related?” Dani winced as soon as she finished babbling, almost instantly aware that was the wrong thing to ask.
Her perceptions were rewarded when Jamie gave a quick huff through her nose. “Yeah,” she muttered, “he’s my brother,” and left it at that. Dani nodded idly, clearly having failed to strike a rich vein of conversation to fill the air, as Jamie settled back in her tattooing posture. She was hunched just slightly over Dani’s arm, her free hand holding her elbow loosely while the needle hovered with mechanical menace over her pale skin.
Dani looked away just in time as the first prick of the needle hit her. It, well…it hurt. Dani didn’t jump, or at least she didn’t think she did, but she saw Jamie’s head look up out of the corner of her eye. “That alright?” Dani was surprised by the sudden soft quality in Jamie’s voice, and she almost couldn’t believe that soft voice could have come from Jamie.
“Yeah, I…yes, I’m fine,” Dani tried to keep her voice even, desperate to not have Jamie think she was a lightweight. That she was delicate and helpless, the way everyone seemed to. The way Dani tried hard not to let herself feel like. It didn’t even hurt that bad. She could do this.
Jamie didn’t reply, but Dani knew she’d bought it when that aching pinch returned.
God, it hurt. She kept her breath steady, closing her eyes but managing to stay still. She could do this, she knew. But she didn’t want to sit in total focus of the discomfort.
So she tried again.
“I…I like your decorations,” Dani had to fight to keep her face from forming a cringe. She was so busy enunciating her words to keep any tremble out of her voice, she couldn’t stop herself from expelling the exact kind of platitude she knew she’d make.
At least this time Jamie didn’t have to stop tattooing to look at her incredulously. She kept her head over Dani’s arm, the scratching ache traveling in a slow line of skin Dani couldn’t see, answering without any inflection, “Thanks.”
Before Dani could even register how embarrassed she should be, the tattoo gun lifted for a moment and Jamie added with a little more intonation without looking up, “Uh…thank you.”
She went right back to work without offering any other direction for that conversational thread to follow, just as a particularly sharp pinch had Dani clench her toes to keep herself still.
“You don’t, umm, have a lot of them,” her voice rising at the end like it was a question because she wasn’t sure if it was a rude observation to make.
Jamie didn’t say anything for a few beats, running that scratching needle back and forth so seamlessly Dani thought Jamie didn’t hear her, or wasn’t dignifying the comment with a response. After a few long moments, though, Jamie sighed through her nose, her face so close to Dani’s arm she could feel her warm breath on her skin. Dani had to fight to suppress a shudder, as Jamie grumbled out, “You sound like Denny.”
Shit, Dani scolded herself. Another conversational landmine struck. Maybe if she babbled on long enough she’d hit them all and have nowhere to go but up.
“Have you and Denny worked together long?” Dani knew she should probably pivot away from the topic, but she couldn’t think of any other information she had related to Jamie. And…well, she was still curious. Curious about everything related to this woman. But part of her was particularly curious about this tension between her and Denny, about the pain apparent in both their eyes in the few minutes she’d known them.
Maybe it was just a coincidence, but Jamie shifted slightly in her spinning stool, and Dani felt the hand holding her elbow readjust to hold just a touch more tightly. “No,” Jamie answered in a tight voice.
“It just feels like a long time,” she added in a quiet, almost bitter voice.
“I…I don’t have any siblings,” Dani commented, desperate to not let the anger in Jamie’s words sit too long in the air. “Or, at least not any, real siblings. Like, blood siblings, I guess.”
Dani swallowed, realizing too late that she’d just opened up her own can of bitter worms. But Jamie didn’t make any reply to Dani’s vague statement, and still looking to clear away the tension, she stammered on.
“Growing up, I didn’t, uh…my house wasn’t, you know…so, I spent a lot of time with my neighbors. They had kids, too. A lot, if you think four boys is a lot. Two are five years older than me, a youngest two years younger than me, I think, and then Eddie’s my age. Their mom, Judy, she always treated me like the daughter she didn’t get, so I was always over there, when my mom…was busy, I guess. I ate dinner with them most nights of the week, we teased each other and roughhoused and played games, you know. We’re really–well, I-I guess, we were–close, but, umm…yeah, I guess I just, you know, always wondered, what it’d be like, to have actual siblings, you’re, like, related to. How we’d get along, if we’d fight, or–”
“Hey, uh…” Jamie interrupted, finally looking up from the tattoo. Dani was almost grateful for an excuse to stop herself, mortification setting in at how much she’d just told a near total stranger, one who might not even like Dani.
“Do you mind if we, uh…don’t…talk?”
Oh.
If Dani thought she was mortified before, turns out, she didn’t know the meaning of the word before this moment. In sheer shock she held eye contact with Jamie in silence, whose own eyes seemed to widen a little as well.
“Oh my god,” she found her voice again, meek and small, as her body slowly began to awaken to the weapons grade shame she’d dumped on herself. “I–y-yeah, of course, I’m–god, I’m so sorry, I–” she had to force herself to look away, had to force herself to not to apologize or explain or make a single new sound.
“Dani, no,” somewhere over the pulsing heartbeat in Dani’s ears, somewhere beyond this restless body starting to break out in sweat and a face burning hot, she heard Jamie’s voice, oddly strangled as it spoke, “I didn’t–I’m sorry, I just–”
“It’s fine,” Dani sputtered loudly, as if the increased volume would make it more convincing. She waved her free hand stiffly, looking briefly at Jamie to give what was probably the least sincere smile she’d ever given anyone. “I-I get it, I’m sorry–”
Every word felt heavy in her mouth, and she knew beyond any doubt her nonchalance wasn’t the slightest bit convincing. Just before she diverted her eyes, diverted them away from Jamie for what she resolved would be the rest of her life, Dani could see a totally unknown mix of emotions swirling in Jamie’s face. Her brow was deeply furrowed, her eyes wide as they peered pleadingly into Dani’s, her mouth open at a wordless loss as her throat bobbed.
Dani wasn’t in a state to parse what any of that meant, it only registering in her head as a vague miasma of all the negative possibilities. Hate? Disgust? Morbid curiosity? Even surprise at Dani’s dramatic reaction?
God, god, oh god, was all she could think, clamping her eyes shut to calm herself down and to preempt the pathetic stinging shame behind her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of this woman. That would be too much. This was already too much. If she wasn’t literally holding her arm, slightly tighter than she had earlier Dani noticed distantly, Dani would have run off, away, anywhere, hid in Rebecca’s purse until they left the shop.
No, she thought to herself firmly. She wasn’t going to run, she wasn’t going to freak out. She’d already embarrassed herself enough in front of Jamie. Dani took a fortifying breath through her nose, praying it was subtle enough not to be too noticeable. She would sit, she would see this through, like an adult, and then leave and never think about or talk about this ever again, like an adult.
It was a long series of silent seconds that followed, as if Jamie was waiting for Dani to open her eyes and look at her. But Dani didn’t, she wouldn’t, and after what seemed a silent eternity, Dani heard the other woman give a ragged sigh, heard her chair squeak and clothes rustle as she adjusted, and then that aching scratch was back on her arm.
At the very least, the worst of the pain had passed. Dani sat in abject, utterly stiff silence, eventually opening her eyes but pointedly keeping them away, far away from Jamie. As the brunette continued the tattoo for several long, laborious minutes, the pain truly did subside to a dull ache, present but now distant. It was a welcome sensation, even, something to focus on instead of Dani’s stupid rambling or her stupid life or her stupid anything.
Eventually, eventually, after what could only have been three years of silence and aching, the hot sensitive skin of Dani’s arm was suddenly cooled as a damp cloth washed away the excess ink. Thank fucking god, Dani could almost taste the relief as Jamie pulled out a roll of saran wrap and covered the top half of her forearm in the sticky plastic.
“Right,” Jamie’s voice was strangled as she pulled off her black gloves and threw them on the metal table, running her hands roughly through her hair. “She’s done, then.”
She paused. “Look, Dani–”
“Thank you so much,” Dani interrupted, the words blurring together as she shot up to her feet. She was at the doorway in two quick steps, but for some reason, she stopped before she was fully outside of it. She still couldn’t look at Jamie, so she aimed her words at the other woman’s scuffed boots. “And, uh–sorry, again.”
She didn’t give Jamie any chance to respond, and felt more than saw her watching her head back into the main area.
---
It was another thirty minutes before Owen and Denny finished their tattoos. Dani sat with Rebecca and Corra, their right arms also wrapped in saran wrap, in grateful silence as the rest of the bachelorette party was focused on Irina, who’d managed to hide that she was terrified of needles until after Owen had already started. Through tears she insisted she wanted to see it through, and Rebecca held her hand as Owen gently guided her through the pain with bad jokes and good stories about passing out during his first tattoo.
Dani swallowed a thick lump in her throat as she saw Irina slowly relax under Owen’s care. Maybe she really had done something to upset Jamie. Maybe Jamie was this calm and comforting with other clients, and something about Dani just made her too uncomfortable, too angry or upset.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it, knew she’d be stewing about this for days and didn’t want to get so in her head about it while she was still with Rebecca. Dani looked up to see Rebecca’s attention still elsewhere, dutifully holding Irina’s hand as the two laughed lightly at a pun Owen was making (“you really rose to the occasion”).
Thankfully, Dani saw that Jamie hadn’t come into the front room. But as she double-checked to make sure, she did notice Denny watching her, a concerned look in those Jamie-adjacent eyes. Dani looked away quickly, trying to hide any emotion that could betray her sorry state.
She held the bottom of her chair in a white knuckle grip to keep herself still until finally Owen wiped down and wrapped Irina’s arm. She just wanted to be gone from here, be home and alone and to begin the long process of forgetting this ever happened. Maybe this would make a funny story one day. Maybe Rebecca could make this into a joke, and Dani could turn it into a good memory.
Dani groaned to herself as the group made their way to the front of the shop to pay for the tattoos. The idea of telling anyone about this, even Rebecca, made her back break out in a cold sweat. And, as she watched Rebecca roll her eyes in good-natured surrender as the rest of the group insisted Sara, the maid of honour, pay for everything, Dani could tell Rebecca was happy. That she was relaxed, not worrying about the wedding, or stupid Peter, just happy having a fun night with her friends, and Dani knew she felt guilty enough about Irina, even if Irina was smiling affectionately at Owen now.
Dani took a deep breath, quietly resolving to keep this to herself. Or at least until far, far in the future.
“Pictures!” Sara’s voice cut through Dani’s contemplation. “We need pictures.”
Dani just sighed in resignation, preparing to put on a good fake smile. Until Sara continued, “You lot have to be in them as well,” and she was talking to the artists.
Oh god. God no.
“Where’s Dani’s artist?” Sara asked, “I didn’t even see them. Can you bring them out?”
“Of course,” Denny formed the words around a carefree smile, and he turned to amble towards the back of the shop. But Dani noticed him rubbing his hands together in slight agitation, and she could see the profile of his face as he turned to look into Jamie’s station. He wasn’t smiling then.
Sara started arranging them all in two rows for the photo, artists standing behind their human canvases, which meant–
God, god, oh god.
It took just long enough for Denny and Jamie to make their way to the group that Dani felt herself begin to sweat again, her heart rate increasing. Without even looking Jamie’s presence took its place behind and to Dani’s right. She didn’t turn her head to check, still hoping to never need to see that distaste she was so sure she’d seen in Jamie’s face before.
The women of the party were bent slightly forward with their right arms facing up to show off six matching flowers. A disgruntled artist that could only be Keith, interrupted from his tiger sleeve, stood in front of them with Sara’s phone to take a few quick photos. Dani wasn’t sure if her smile was convincing as she hoped it was. She could feel Jamie behind her the whole time. They didn’t even touch, but Dani could have sworn her presence was heavier than any contact she’d ever felt.
While Sara’s face hovered doubtfully over the photos on the screen, Keith already long gone, Dani heard a throat clear behind her. At first she was terrified that it was Jamie, but she already could tell from where she knew–where she felt–Jamie was standing, it wasn't her.
Dani turned her head to see Denny looking at her. His face had a neutral smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and his hands were once again clasped together in front of him.
“Everything went alright, then?” His voice was carefully light. “With your tattoo, everything went okay back there?”
Dani blinked at him. He was looking at her, but she could tell he was only half-aiming the question at her. Jamie was still standing just behind and to her right, and Denny’s eyes darted just once over Dani’s shoulder to where she knew Jamie was.
Almost instinctually, Dani found her head turning to follow his eyes. And there she was, just where Dani knew she’d be.
When she turned, Jamie’s eyes were still fixed on her brother. She was frowning, her brow pinched in an expression that read full of bitterness, anger and annoyance and not a small amount of shame. But when her eyes met Dani’s, all of that melted away instantly, her eyes opened up slightly from their scowl and eyebrows relaxed into…
Guilt? Or something like it. Something sad far more than the anger for her brother. Dani saw her throat bob as Jamie looked down at her feet, resigned like a guilty child about to be punished.
She could, Dani thought distantly. She could be honest with Denny. Hell, she could probably tear Jamie apart, and she had a feeling Denny would believe whatever she said.
But even as she turned around to face Denny again, his own brow now wrinkled just slightly, Dani knew what she would say. Whether because it was just the path of least resistance, or because Jamie deserved it, or because Dani really didn’t know if this whole night was her fault, Dani forced the corners of her lips to raise in a wide smile.
“It was perfect!” her voice sounded more sincere than she expected, “Yeah, Jamie was lovely, I–I’m so happy with how it turned out.” She whirled around in time to see the bewilderment on Jamie’s face, which didn’t help Dani’s story at all. But still, Dani gave her a smile, a smile Denny couldn’t even see, and said with an evenness she didn’t think she felt, “Thank you, Jamie.”
Jamie’s eyes were wide and she swallowed thickly again, but she didn’t turn away from Dani’s gaze. After a few moments, she managed a curt nod in acknowledgement.
“Right, then,” Denny’s voice cut in, skepticism dripping off every word, “well…glad to hear it. Jamie’ll give you her info and you can reach out if you’ve got any questions about aftercare or if you need any touch ups, no charge on those.”
Dani nodded again, that same smile digging just slightly into her cheeks. Denny’s smile seemed genuine as he went to walk away, but he didn’t look at Jamie as he left.
A moment or two passed, the idle chattering of the party and the remaining artists with phones and pens and papers accompanying Dani’s thoughts, until she heard another throat clearing. This time, she knew it was Jamie, and when she looked at the brunette she was holding her own slip of paper.
“This, uh…” Jamie swallowed, a beat of silence before she just gestured weakly with the paper. “...yeah.” she finished.
Taking a fortifying breath, Dani silently reached for the little paper, hoping her fingers didn’t tremble as she grabbed it. As she tried to take it, though, there was resistance as Jamie didn't let go, and Dani’s eyes snapped up to see Jamie staring at her intently.
Now she was sure Jamie could feel her fingers trembling through the little paper tether between them, but if she could Jamie made no sign of it. She swallowed again, and her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, that pleading look back in her eyes as she looked like she was desperately trying to force herself to do something, say something maybe, but…
Jamie’s eyes cast down, and she let go of the paper. Dani’s hand, however, didn’t move, hovering in the same place where she’d grabbed it.
Dani spent one…two…three seconds looking at Jamie’s face, waiting for her to turn her gaze up to hers. A minute before Dani had all but prayed to never be caught in Jamie’s gaze again, but now, suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for those grey-green eyes to raise up to hers, for her mouth to form whatever words Jamie tried to make.
But now she didn’t seem able to meet Dani’s eyes. Jamie’s eyes strayed left, and right, down at her feet, but never at Dani.
Dani dropped her hand, a long, ragged breath escaping her lungs.
Okay, then.
She turned around, for a final time, and she went stiffly to Rebecca’s side. She didn’t leave her until they all walked out a few minutes later, didn’t look anywhere that tattoo artist or her beautiful face or biting distaste might be. Dani didn’t look back when they were at the door, didn’t look back when they were outside, didn’t look back as they packed into an Uber van and started off on the long pub crawl that would make up the bulk of the evening.
But before it arrived, while everyone else was distracted, Dani took the paper with Jamie’s phone number and threw it into the nearby trashcan.
In the din of the excitement from the other women, laughing at Sara’s grumbling about Keith’s photos, or teasing Irina about Owen until she was beet red, Dani felt a sting of regret, of some strange species of guilt at throwing away the paper, but quickly smothered it with a sharp breath. She simply wasn’t going to need it, and she quietly resolved to simply never think of this night, of all the things she did wrong and said wrong and felt wrong, of Jamie, ever again, so long as she lived.
But as the thought had finished forming in her head, someone leaned over and looked at Dani’s tattoo.
“Fuck, Dani,” Rebecca craned her neck slightly, “yours looks really good.”
Soon the whole party was also cooing over Dani’s arm, and somehow, for the first time all night, Dani allowed herself to look at the black and red ink that would be on her body forever.
Jamie used the same stencil as the other artists, and the rest of them did good jobs as well. But there was a crispness to the linework on Dani’s rendition, a certain sharpness to the particular red Jamie had chosen. And there were little embellishments, almost imperceptible deviations from the stencil that Dani wouldn’t have ever noticed if she didn’t have five other versions to compare it to. Things that made it unique, made it…made it Dani’s.
Dani sighed so heavily she felt her shoulders sink at least an inch.
Fuck. It really was beautiful. There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to forget this, was there?