Mischa had walked alongside dozens of drunken men and women before, sometimes supporting their weight as they draped an arm over her shoulder and leaned a little too far onto her to be comfortable. She’d carried people bigger than her, dragged heavy and dead weight, and listened to drunken ramblings about how much people had loved her before.
But this. This is different.
“But I’m cold--” Phoebe mutters into Mischa’s shoulder, her face hidden away from the bitter chill of the cold night air, her words catching on a yawn. “You’re wearing two jackets. Gimme one.”
“It’s a flannel and a denim vest. A vest doesn’t have sleeves, it doesn’t count as a jacket,” Mischa retorted, her arm keeping most of an exhausted and tipsy girl upright as they walked down the street. “You were the one who said you didn’t want a jacket.”
“I didn’t know it was gonna be cold,” Phoebe whined, her fingers wiggling into the large armhole of Mischa’s vest to twist her fingers into the flannel Mischa was wearing.
“I literally told you before we left,” Mischa said with a soft sigh. “It’s only a little longer.”
“It’s been like forty minutes!” Phoebe groaned, twisting her head to hit Mischa’s shoulder. “A cab shouldn’t make us walk to pick us up.”
“The concert just got out and traffic is busy,” Mischa explained. “We’re probably not the only people getting cabs home.”
“This would be better if we got an Uber,” Phoebe grumbled.
“You know how I feel about Uber,” Mischa retorted. Mischa liked leaving a paper trail when it came to Phoebe, she wanted absolutely no issue with finding her if something went wrong. She didn’t trust Uber, especially when she had gone undercover as a Black Widow in a company similar to it.
“It’s just one ride!” Phoebe tripped on a crack in the uneven pavement and stumbled, her grip on Mischa tightening. “Fuck!”
“You’re okay,” Mischa immediately steadied her. “And we’ll use a different cab company next time, how about that?”
Phoebe paused for a moment to collect herself and Mischa stopped alongside her, listening to the raspy sound of her girlfriend’s breath as she tried to collect herself in the night air.
“Okay,” Phoebe finally agreed quietly. She leaned further into Mischa’s side and Mischa picked up on the shiver that ran through her.
Mischa had originally not given Phoebe her coat to be a little mean and tease her over the fact Phoebe had insisted that all the dancing and excitement of the concert that night would keep her adrenaline high enough to not need a coat. But Phoebe was more than a little tipsy and tired and it was cold at night so Mischa sighed and wiggled her way out of her denim vest and then her flannel so she could wrap the latter around her girlfriend.
Phoebe grinned up at her, fumbling for a moment to stick her arms through the correct holes before wrapping her arms around herself and sighing. “It’s nice and warm.”
Goosebumps prickled along Mischa’s exposed flesh but she brushed it off as she tugged her vest back on and wrapped her arm around Phoebe again. “Ready?”
“I love you so much,” Phoebe declared in a hum, sticking her nose into the collar of Mischa’s flannel. “You’re the best.”
“And you’re drunk,” Mischa retorted. She’d seen Phoebe drink a few times, but not to the point she did earlier that night. Phoebe had asked if it was okay with each new drink, staring up at Mischa like she was seriously considering her answer and would stop if Mischa said so.
Mischa had originally assumed it was because Phoebe worried about her being uncomfortable with her intoxicated. She hadn’t realized that Phoebe was entrusting her to keep her safe. It was perhaps the most vulnerable Phoebe had been with her.
Phoebe was entrusting Mischa with her whole self and Mischa hadn’t even had to think twice about agreeing. While Mischa held Phoebe’s drinks to keep them from sloshing when she got too excited and licked at the foam and stickiness left on her fingers when it was inevitably spilled, she never took more than a few sips and was relatively sober.
“Here.” They finally met the bench where the cab company agreed to pick them up and Mischa lowered Phoebe onto it. Phoebe splayed her limbs and stretched, yawning so wide that her jaw cracked.
“Thanks for coming,” she suddenly stated. Mischa took a seat next to her and Phoebe immediately collected her limbs to transfer onto Mischa. “You’re the best.”
“I’d do anything for you,” Mischa said sincerely. She stared down at Phoebe’s wide eyes and blown pupils.
“I know,” Phoebe nodded solemnly. “You were worried about tonight.”
“I was worried. I’ve never been to a concert before,” Mischa agreed, her fingers tangling into the gelled fauxhawk that was starting to flop over from the wild night. “But you told me that trying things is the reason I’m all yours.”
Phoebe gave her a dopey grin. “You’re all mine,” she agreed, her fingers finding and curling into the collar of Mischa’s vest. “And I’m all yours.” After a moment she tacked on, “I hope you had fun.”
“I did.” Mischa leaned down and nudged her nose against Phoebe’s temple, pressing a kiss to her cheek, feeling the cold silver barbell of her eyebrow piercing against her jaw. “I love you.”
Phoebe breathed out, her breath smelling like cheap beer and peppermint chapstick. “Ditto.”
Mischa laughed and for a moment the world around them stopped and it was just the two of them on the old bench, Phoebe’s limbs tangling up in Mischa’s as she clung to her.
Mischa was scared that it wouldn’t last. She heard all the statistics of first loves and relationships, the way they can go too fast and burn just as hard. It was terrible to expect the inevitable end of it but even if it did come to a close, Mischa was so thankful that she got to experience it at all.
There was a point in her life, back before she lost a part of herself that told her she’d never make any attachments, that she knew she’d never love someone else. When she was freed, the thought of a relationship didn’t even cross her mind. She had sisters to help and settle down.
Mischa may be the middle child but other than her mom, she’d been free the longest. She was the first official Belova her mom took in. Yelena sent her away but Mischa came back.
After coming to terms with the fact she’d never be loved or have a connection with anyone that meant anything, having sisters and a family was new. It hadn’t even crossed Mischa’s mind over the fact that she might want something more.
She never got the typical teenage life to experience relationships and fool around. She’d seen enough movies and listened to her sisters whisper in awe about relationships that didn’t seem real. Mischa had indulged a few times in thinking about her own Prince Charming swooping in and making her fall madly in love.
But there was no dark-haired man with sparkling eyes and bright white teeth that burst into her life. Instead, it was a waiter at a diner she liked to frequent when out freeing Widows, a dead look on their face as their facial piercings offset the bright and frilly uniform they donned.
Above all, her prince was a she.
There had never been a more emotionally confusing moment in Mischa’s life than when that dead-faced waitress asked Mischa how she took her coffee, and when Mischa replied “Black, like my soul”, the tiny grin that cracked on that girl’s face made Mischa’s heart feel like exploding.
“I think your soul would have milk and sugar,” the waitress commented.
It probably wasn’t love even though Mischa heard the term love at first sight, but that might have been the moment her heart was caught.
She’d kept going to the diner. Learned the girl’s schedule. Did a bit of snooping, unable to help herself and her past. She felt like she was being foolish but seeing those tiny grins and finally hearing her laugh made Mischa want to throw up in a way she never felt before.
Mischa became a regular at the diner. The first time she heard, “There’s my favorite regular!” come out of Phoebe’s lips, she thought she might combust on the spot.
It was confusing to hold such feelings. Mischa tried to tell herself she was getting mixed up or not understanding. She had been under mind control most of her life and wasn’t sure what she was feeling at times, but she was pretty sure the ache in her ribcage was more than friendship.
Phoebe was the one who asked her out first. Mischa blurted out a no before quickly correcting it to a yes and felt like such a flustered mess but Phoebe didn’t laugh at her, merely quirking her lips up in amusement as she waited for Mischa to decide.
It had been going so well that by the time they were at the girlfriend stage and Mischa felt ready to tell her family, it hadn’t occurred to her that she was doing things wrong. Girls were supposed to have princes, not princesses, and suddenly her rambles to her mom about her partner stopped.
She heard about Phoebe’s mom and the reason she didn’t live at home, why her girl relied on tips and worked endless hours at a dead-end job, why she didn’t have money for school nevertheless rent.
Phoebe once had a mom that loved her. Then she didn’t.
Mischa couldn’t comprehend carrying and bringing a human being into the world, loving it and watching it grow, and then having it all stop just because they liked someone of a specific gender. How could so many years of love just stop?
Mischa didn’t have all those years. Yelena didn’t carry her, she didn’t even know she existed for the first nineteen years of her life, but she was her mom and the last thing Mischa wanted to do was disappoint her, nevermind do something that could take that love away.
Then again, the thought of bringing an unknown man home to her family, where her sisters were, also seemed like something that would hurt them. Her baby sisters who were scared of men, the trauma they held and the fear they carried.
If asked to pick between them, Mischa would pick her family. She always would. They would come first every time. But it would hurt. Phoebe would be a scar no one could see on her body, another name of people she’d hurt tucked in her mind. For Phoebe, Mischa would just be another person who let her down.
But it didn’t come to that. Her family welcomed Phoebe into the fold. Her sisters called Phoebe theirs. Varvara adored her because of her piercings.
Phoebe attempted to learn sign language and Russian to connect with them. She let them teach her how to protect herself. She didn’t shy away from their scars or oddities or behaviors.
Yelena called Phoebe one of her girls. Just like Mischa was out of depth with relationships, Phoebe was out of hers with families.
When Mischa took a break from freeing Widows and slowly stopped coming back home, moving in with Phoebe without really announcing it, slowly transitioning in until Phoebe eventually started calling it their home, she hadn’t intended to do it at all.
And then Yelena sent money.
Phoebe freaked out over it, demanding to know why Yelena had sent her some money, wanting to know what it was for and practically screaming at Mischa to tell Yelena to keep her nose out of their business. Mischa, overwhelmed at the raised voice and unsure why she was upset, didn’t understand and tried to tell her so.
Money wasn’t a good concept for Mischa. She knew things cost money, she knew you had to pay to stay alive, but everything had been covered for her in the Red Room. Food, clothes, bed, medical care, everything she needed had been provided to her. She was still learning what appropriate amounts things cost.
It took nearly the whole day for Phoebe to emerge from their shared room shame-faced and quiet with the money in hand.
Mischa hadn’t realized how lucky she had been to never have to worry about such a thing. Yelena covered such costs, and so did the Widows at the farm when Mischa stayed there, and having necessities had never been a concern for her.
Phoebe didn’t have a mom to send her money. Phoebe worked overtime at a diner because she dropped out of school when her mom kicked her out. Phoebe bled and sweat to keep herself alive and it was such a foreign concept to Mischa that having it explained to her made her feel foolish.
“My mom’s not trying to do anything. She doesn’t want anything from you,” Mischa attempted to explain to her. She gestured to the envelope of money. “She makes sure all her girls are taken care of.”
Phoebe stared at her wide-eyed. “She’s got seven of them already!”
“Eight with you,” Mischa replied quietly and hoped that she wasn’t overstepping. “If you don’t like it then I’ll tell her to stop.”
“I don’t understand,” Phoebe admitted with a tight-knuckled grip on the envelope, tears of frustration on her face.
Mischa thought of nights when Phoebe came home late, exhausted and nothing more than a pile of limbs as she collapsed into bed without even taking her shoes off. She thought of the textbooks rented from the library on GEDs. She thought of bulk bags of rice and coupons and threadbare fabric and empty fridges.
“I live here too,” Mischa reminded her. “We’re in this together, yeah?”
Phoebe’s shoulders slumped and she stared at the money in her hand with something akin to relief. “Together.”
The money made things better. Phoebe stopped working such long hours, the fridge was full, and there were no more red stamped envelopes from companies showing up in the mail. There was a bit of breathing room and suddenly Phoebe had some spare time to spend with Mischa.
When the offer of free concert tickets fell into their lap from one of Phoebe’s friends, she asked Mischa to go. Pleaded when Mischa hesitated. Begged her that night. Then apologized and told her she didn’t have to go.
Her Aunt Nat once called her mom a worry wart because her plans had plans but Mischa learned from the best and Phoebe was patient and understanding as Mischa ran through her worries and solutions to issues that could pop up.
“Plan for the worst but hope for the best,” Phoebe told Mischa when they were done and kissed her nose. And she was right because they hadn’t needed any of it and Mischa had an outstanding time.
A yellow cab finally pulled up in front of them. Mischa nudged her girlfriend and she gave a sleepy grumble. Mischa got her settled in the back and gave directions to the cabbie before sinking into the warm car.
It wasn’t too long before Phoebe was out cold, held up by Mischa’s shoulder as they drooped into her.
Mischa brushed her fingers over their hair and swiped away a smear of eyeliner that got smudged as she observed the face she adored.
When they arrived, Mischa dug out her wallet to pay the man before collecting her girlfriend up. Phoebe was too exhausted to wake up fully and was content to let Mischa carry her to the apartment building, to the elevator, and then up to their floor.
“Come on, you gotta wake up to at least wash your face and get changed, Phee,” Mischa coaxed as she set her sleepy girlfriend down on their bed.
“Don’t wanna,” Phoebe mumbled, flopping down on her back with a deep sigh. “Come snuggle, Cha-Cha.”
Despite the promising lure of the bed, Mischa instead reached for Phoebe’s left leg and started to undo the laces. She got their shoes off and then changed into her own pajamas before grabbing a set for Phoebe. She got as far as getting her flannel and Phoebe’s pants off before Phoebe refused to cooperate and Mischa was content to leave her be in the shirt for the moment, knowing she’d likely wake up in the middle of the night to wiggle out of her bra.
Mischa then wet down a washcloth and held Phoebe’s head still to wipe away the makeup she had on, eyeliner and mascara staining the fabric as Phoebe whined and wiggled.
“Almost done--” Mischa said, giving one last swipe over her face before pulling away and deciding it was good enough. “And finished!”
“You’re such a meanie,” Phoebe mumbled and stuck her tongue out at her.
“Love you too,” Mischa huffed, grinning when Phoebe clumsily reached out to grab her shirt and yanked her down to press their cheeks together.
“I do love you,” Phoebe said quietly into her ear.
“I know,” Mischa softened. “Ditto.”
She pulled away one last time, much to Phoebe’s displeasure, to ensure the house was locked up and get some water for the inevitable hangover.
She came back to her girlfriend drunkenly rambling about how Mischa left her all alone to wither away in the cold and sleep alone in the dark like a meanie.
“I’m right here you big baby,” Mischa said as she sat on the bed.
“Mischa!” Phoebe’s face lit up when she saw her, reaching up and making grabby hands. “Come snuggle now!”
“Drink some water first,” Mischa bargained, guiding Phoebe upright.
“If I drink all that then I’m gonna have to get up and pee in the middle of the night,” Phoebe pouted.
“Then you can take off your bra and change your clothes like you should have,” Mischa retorted and nudged the cup toward her. “Drink.”
Phoebe moaned about the horror of having to get up in the middle of the night to pee and how she’d purposefully make Mischa wake up with her to share the misery but she drank the water.
“Cuddle now?” Phoebe asked in a miserable tone.
“Yeah,” Mischa agreed and Phoebe’s face lit up as she reached up for her.
Mischa tugged the covers over them and let their limbs become a tangle, playing with the locks of Phoebe’s hair until the girl was asleep not even minutes later.
Mischa fell asleep not long after that, warm and soft and perfect.