First Things First
Someone rang the doorbell.
Clara opened the door.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Is it an okay time?" Ezri asked.
"Yeah, yeah, come in." Clara stepped back, closed the door behind her, gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Something wasn't right, though. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I just—do you want to go for a walk?" Which meant, I want you alone, in person, which did nothing to help her think this was just a normal visit.
"Sure." She played along. "I'll just get shoes and, stuff." She did. She also texted Jen that it was Ezri, and they were going for a walk. Then found Ezri and stepped outside and shut the door. They set off down the street. Ezri seemed suddenly very interested in their neighborhood, though she took Clara's hand as, dare she say normal, if they happened to be alone, strolling. It was the purposefulness that felt wrong.
"What is it?" she asked.
Ezri considered. "I'm getting really tired of not doing entry training," she said finally.
"Um. Okay." She hadn't really expected anything, but that still wasn't it. She knew Ezri was itching to do entry training again. That had been true for years. That wasn't a secret. She didn't need her alone for that.
"But it was so much last time. I really don't want to do it without help."
"I know." She'd been there. She'd seen the failings of Ezri trying to handle it alone. But there was a hint of a question mark on the end.
"And I haven't found..." The One. Sometimes Clara felt guilty for that. She felt like when things had gone south, Ezri had found her The One, and she hadn't found Ezri anyone. Which was kind of the agreement they'd made, but she felt like she'd gotten particularly lucky, and, years later, Ezri was still alone. Not entirely. She squeezed her hand. "It's not the sort of thing I'd do with a stranger, and I really don't want another left side of the slash type to manage coleading with, per se."
"Yeah." Sometimes people found Ezri so likable, so reasonable in public, at parties—that they forgot exactly how little she liked to compromise, when it came down to it. Still, the half question mark remained.
"Clara..."
Oof. She didn't like that Clara... That was the I want something hardfrom you, Clara... Oh, shit. It was suddenly very clear where this had been leading, something she couldn't have even imagined being the conclusion until right now. "You want." She stopped. Talking. Walking. Me.
"If... you're willing—"
What a thing to say, and with the request still not even said aloud. Yes, she'd still do anything for Ezri, wouldn't she? Die, live, suffer, not suffer enough. Always.
"—then I'd talk to Jen."
"Of course."
...
Clara rang the doorbell.
Ezri let her in.
Clara remembered this feeling. Kind of. It was a mix of the first day of school emotion combo from childhood, of the feelings from her own first day as a trainee, of serving at Ezri's high protocol parties, of their quiet, ritualistic moments in between. Shoes, jacket, bag swiftly found places by the door, and, still in silence, she knelt at Ezri's feet.
The position was familiar, in a strange way, like the emotions that came with it. An old favorite sweater you'd lost, managed to forget about, and just found again, that fit differently now, but... right?
Ezri draped the gray ribbon around her neck, wove it carefully around her collar, tied it in a neat bow. Offered her hand, more of a cue than a logistic; Clara didn't need it, but she took it anyway, stood.
This was the ritual they'd agreed on.
They'd negotiated a lot in the last few weeks. Really, Ezri and Jen had negotiated a lot in the last few weeks. The first stipulation was that Clara would help Ezri with training—on the far side, that meant not sale or takedown or further logistics, and on this side, not selection, not paperwork or planning or setup, nothing until the trainees were almost in the door. They'd be here in about two hours.
Clara would arrive at Ezri's no earlier than eleven in the morning, leave no later than nine at night—fitting well enough both her natural rhythms and the training schedule Ezri had in mind—and was not to be tasked with anything, including training related discussion, outside of those hours. She'd get at least all Sundays off. She was to go straight to Ezri's and come straight home unless told otherwise, by Jen. All other outings were to be approved, and she had to take the entire time off work—this was a big enough distraction. She could talk about training related things for an hour after getting home, and as strictly needed or asked about, and otherwise, Jen wanted to hear nothing of it. One extra complaint, and she was over this whole stupid idea.
There were other things, of course, but those were the big ones.
Two hours until the trainees arrived.
They had a lot more to talk about.
...
First things first: position training.
Once the trainees were welcomed, given the first day orientation, and vaguely unpacked, they largely got handed off to Clara. Ezri was mostly there to observe.
While not sounding crucial, positions were what Ezri deemed the best place to start. They would come up quickly and frequently, and she didn't want anyone developing muscle memory of doing them incorrectly. It was a nice place to start for headspace. It was a particular strength of Clara's—doing and teaching. The trainees' attitudes, attention to detail, reactions to feedback, on practicable protocol like this would give them a lot of information, and there would be room to chat a little.
Clara couldn't help but play comparison at every step. This tiny, dark part of her, which she kept telling to shut up, wanted this to be a disaster. But even an hour in, it was obviously much less of a disaster than her own entry training run had been. She had to give Ezri that.
She'd done the lecture, demo, warmup—stretching and meditating—which all felt strangely familiar, and now the trainees were free to practice in the mirror wall for a bit, and she was supposed to give feedback.
She was cautious, though. It hadn't taken long for almost all of the trainees to hate her when she was one of them, just for being the favorite. It had to be worse as the in between. She mostly taught dance to elementary schoolers at this point—she remembered how to be gentle. But she was also trying to just not get attached, in a way. She didn't want to want them to like her, to care. Back then, she'd taken the hatred as flattery, used it as fuel.
Ezri gave some feedback, too, always put kindly. She cared. It was easy, watching her, to believe that she just didn't have any tiny, dark pieces of herself to battle. Yet Clara knew better than anyone that wasn't true. She'd probably gotten the worst of them, because she'd invited it. Ezri would've needed more selfishness and sadism and deviousness for their dynamic to function. But it didn't. The pieces stayed tiny and managed. Even now, let out enough to play pretend for a few months—managed. But always there.
"Lovely," Ezri smiled at one of the trainees, practicing a smooth, quick curtsy. The trainee in question beamed, excited and maybe a little surprised at the praise, and even remembered:
"Thank you, ma'am," with a little bow of her head, all seeming surprisingly natural.
Yet Clara swore she saw the tiniest hint of an I know smirk, but maybe she was projecting. Thus far, she'd found that one shy, especially eager to please, quick on the uptake. She turned her gaze back to Ezri, who was still watching the same trainee interestedly even as she turned back to the mirror to practice.
Clara didn't know exactly what it was—maybe just that she did know Ezri better than anyone—but the way she watched that girl made her stomach turn over with several years' worth of repressed emotions, and anticipation. Once Ezri knew what she wanted, it was hard to stop her—which was why Clara was here.
And what Ezri wanted now was the little ginger-blonde girl practicing that perfect curtsy in the mirror.
Clara forced a smile. "Great job, Lalia."