first
“I don’t even remember what it was like not to feel nauseous” Leonora whispers into the dark room and takes a deep breath through her nose. With her head resting on her girlfriend’s hip and both feet firmly planted on the cold stone ground she can tell that the world around her isn’t spinning, which fortunately helps a lot, but it doesn’t get rid of the queasy feeling in her stomach and the threat of bile rising.
A warm hand finds the woman’s curls and brushes them back. When Clarissa’s fingertips are making their way over the redhead’s scalp she can feel tension hesitantly releasing its right grip on her shoulders. “It’s been a week, Love” she replies quietly and adds gentle pressure, finding spots that calm the other woman’s stomach. “You should see the healer.”
“The books say that it won’t last long.”
“They also say that it varies and you are already awfully slim. Please just talk to her. There is no need to be so defensive, she won’t hurt you.”
Leonora exhales. “I don’t need her. Everything is fine, and even if it wasn’t I could run my own diagnostic spells.”
“But you shouldn't,” the other woman argues softly. It worries her — Leonora refusing to see the school’s healer — and she knows enough of her history to know that there has to be a reason for her behavior, but this is neither the right time nor the right place to ask about details or an explanation, she doesn’t want to start a fight. Still, she feels the need for her partner to see the medi-witch as soon as possible.
This isn’t the first time she brought up the topic. There have been several occasions already — the flu that had forced Leonora to her knees, that one time she had run into a yeti on her travels and came home covered in her own blood just to name a few — and yet every time, no matter how severe her injuries were, she had refused help from their colleague.
It had been different with Clarissa. In the beginning Lesso had refused her help, too, simply because she didn’t allow herself to admit physical, emotional or mental weakness, but the more she had gotten used to her and the trust her opposite had displayed the more she had opened up. Something that had started with her admitting that maybe she was out of cough drops and if she had some to share because there wasn’t any way Lesso would be getting sleep at night in the state she was in to allowing her partner to remove the bloody blouse and spend over three hours sitting there and having Clarissa stitch the wounds on her back she had inflicted on herself after a bad, terribly, horrible day. Without any numbing potions or anything, because she didn’t allow herself any. But that’s a different story.
Clarissa isn’t a trained professional. That’s a fact. She knows bits and pieces here and there and helps where she could, especially with Leonora pushing anyone else away no matter how bad she was feeling, but she is by far not qualified to treat more than cuts and bruises.
And she doesn’t trust herself enough to treat whatever issues could potentially arise during her partner’s pregnancy that aren’t fixable with a mug of hot tea, some crackers or gentle words and touches.
It had taken over a year to work. Leonora had spent months in her lab and the library, researching and brewing and experimenting for days on end without any sleep until it had worked, until a potion had changed Clarissa’s anatomy just long enough, until her body had merged their genetic information, until the fertilized egg had been allowed to grow. Risking all this and the woman’s help due to her refusal to agree to a simple check up just wasn’t worth it, something Clarissa had told her several times already.
“I’ll come with you” she offers and feels the redhead shifting. It’s a good sign, her moving a bit, but her head settles again on her thigh and she is afraid to lose the gentle touch. “We’ll go tomorrow morning.”
“Clarissa—”
“Do it for me? Please. I’ll be there and maybe she doesn’t even have to touch you, maybe she can check through your clothing.”
“It’s not about being touched or- or me undressing or anything. I—” Leonora hesitates. She shifts again, gently tugs on the throw blanket to pull it over her now shivering body. There are bad memories coming up, Dovey can tell, and letting her breathe and sort her thoughts until she is ready to speak up is important. That’s how it usually works. “She refused to treat me when he hurt me. Rafal. When he hurt me to the point where I was bleeding out like an animal. She stood there and watched, and then turned her back on me.”
It should shock her. Dovey should be shocked and to a certain point she is, really, but after being by Leonora Lesso’s side for so long — as a classmate, colleague, co-dean, friend and now partner — and hearing more of the stories that define the woman’s past they don’t surprise her anymore. It still hurts when she hears things like that and realizes that the redhead had been through more than she could imagine in her worst and wildest dreams, but it doesn't shock her. Arguably it’s kind of sad.
“I’m so sorry.”
Leonora nods. “Thank you” she replies quietly. “I’m— she hesitates, “I might be okay with seeing a different healer but I don’t trust her.”
“Was she devoted to him?”
“I don’t know, possibly. I am certain that if she wasn’t he forced her to stay away from me. The few of my classmates who were allowed to see her when they were hurt spoke highly of her, how kind she was to them even though they were Nevers and that she had healed them without even the faintest of scars marking their skin.” Another deep breath. “I remember lying in bed late at night wondering if she could fix my leg. The following day he beat these thoughts out of me.”
It’s enough to make them both shift. The nausea is bearable, Leonora turns on her side and curls up, gets her feet off the cold floor and draws her knees to her chest, and Clarissa does the same, turns to face her, draws her closer.
There are no words in any of the worlds she knows that would be suitable but touch is good, perfect, provides comfort, more than words ever could.
“I love you” the dean for good mumbles into the dark room. It’s not much but it’s all she can give her at the moment without making her dig deeper, keep talking, and it’s comforting. She needs them, even if she wouldn’t admit it, and it taken Leonora long enough to accept them. “You should’ve said something before summer, we could have replaced her already.”
“She is talented and one of the best healers. Just because I don’t get along with her doesn’t mean we should kick her out. We would never find a worthy replacement, not in a thousand years.” There is no need for her to keep her eyes open. The room is pitch black anyway, not a single candle has been lit, and the comfort Clarissa is providing soon takes her to sleep. They can talk about work and the staff on a different day.