Admit It II
The others were long asleep.
Clara was tired.
Her eyes didn’t want to focus; her limbs felt heavy. Ezri’s favoritism came with even higher standards, and the hatred of most of the other trainees. Up last, trying to meet those standards, she ended up with the chores delegated to whoever was awake the latest.
And now, even when she could have finally gone to bed, she found Ezri in her office and knelt in front of her. A quiet, private moment after a long, chaotic day.
This final check in they had was not ritual or protocol, just a habit formed by wanting a minute alone without their mutual disappearance noted. Often, little happened. They touched in the most innocent ways. Punishment happened with strange frequency, Ezri checking her work and finding fault. She wasn’t required to come here at night; if she didn’t, it was likely Ezri wouldn’t have checked, wouldn’t have found fault. Yet, she came anyway. The cane hurt and she didn’t like facing her flaws, but she felt more gratitude and love than pain in the end. She was very aware that it was perhaps the most key part of being Ezri’s favorite.
Ezri pet her hair for a moment tonight, then stood, and paced around the house, and Clara followed her dutifully, looking at every checkpoint one more time as Ezri would see it, still finding nothing out of place. Back in Ezri’s office, all she said was, “You look exhausted,” caressing Clara’s cheek.
Clara shrugged, not sure what to say to that. To agree was possibly to complain and to disagree was to argue. They had woken at about the same time, but Clara’d had the busier day, including being in charge of overseeing the preparations for meals, which made the others resent her more.
Ezri had admitted to her, in one of her more open moments, that she had low hopes for the others, though she cited that entry training was not quite what she thought and perhaps that was in part her own failure. She’d managed to sell most of them, though. Now, there were just the three of the original seven.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” said Ezri now.
The same thing that was always on her mind when she was this close to Ezri. Why won’t you admit you want this?
The fact was, if Ezri’d wanted to, she could’ve sold Clara by now.
“I’m just tired. Like you said.”
Ezri didn’t buy it. Her touch was gentle, but nudging her into looking up at her. Clara did. “You may speak freely,” Ezri reminded her.
So she said it. “Why won’t you admit you want this?”
Ezri closed her eyes. “Go to bed, Clara.”
“No.” Emboldened by the utter nonresponse, she said, “You’ve been avoiding it. You can’t deny you do. I know you do. Why won’t you say it?”
“Clara—”
“The others already hate me. It wouldn’t change anything with them. You’re not trying to sell me. You treat me more and more like I’m—” she sighed “—something that’s not what the others are.” She lost her nerve. Went quiet. Ezri watched her as she lowered her head and avoided her gaze.
“It would be… irresponsible. You don’t want this long term. You’ve said that. So all it would do is complicate your training.”
“But you won’t sell me.”
“I will. I just haven’t been approached and haven’t prioritized finding someone.”
Quiet. Then, “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
Ezri sighed. “You don’t want this, Clara. You know that. I know you’ve—we’ve... become attached. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s not that I don’t—” she cut herself off. “I want you to be happy. And this isn’t the dynamic you want. You’re right, it’s unfair of me to treat you differently than the others and not prioritize selling you. But… that doesn’t change what you want.”
“Then what do you want?” Shifted to kneeling up in front of her, grasping her hands in her lap.
You. I like to pretend we could make it work, too. “I… want you to be happy.”
And she did. God, that was exactly why she couldn’t do this—because if she asked, Clara would say yes, and she would be miserable. Pretending could only take them so far. But it was hard to resist. Clara wore the role Ezri wanted from her beautifully—but the longer she was in it, the more she hated it. There was resentment behind every, “Yes, ma’am,” every curtsy, every kneeling position, every service she provided. It was building and building and soon it would overpower the love and trust and respect between them.
“You have needs—reasonable needs—that I won’t meet,” Ezri reminded her. “And I have needs that you don’t want to fill. And we both deserve to get what we need. From other people. It’s not—” slightly shaky breath “—yes, I care for you a great deal. But that’s not enough. And it’s not your fault. You’re kind and you’re clever and your talent and passion is obvious. But I need structure, and you need ebb and flow and push and pull, and that’s fine, but it’s not—for me. And I have my limits on what I’ll do, and you need a real sadist. Don’t you see all that?” Her tone was pleading.
Clara considered. “Tell me you don’t want this,” she said softly.
“Clara—”
“—No,” she cut her off, sharper. “Forget the rest of it. Go back to where we started. Not should we or will we or could we—admit you want this. Or tell me I’m wrong.”
Ezri couldn’t look at her, looked at where Clara’s hands were in hers. She was very close. Ezri leant her forehead on hers. “I love you,” she said, as if a slightly different confession would do. “But I don’t want any possible version of this.”
Clara kissed her and Ezri let her, kissed her back, a long, slow kiss, her fingers at Clara’s cheek, the insatiable desire between them. She drew back from her, but barely, their faces nuzzled together. Kept her eyes closed. “Go to bed, Clara,” she said again. “Please.”
Clara gave in, stood; Ezri’s eyes followed her. She offered a slightly too low curtsy and then looked at her for a long moment, on the edge of tears, restrained, but barely, the bitter look of having always been the strong one. “If you ever get your shit together enough to be honest with yourself, let me know, ma’am,” she said, and slammed the door loudly enough to wake everyone on her way out.