Hearts Like Ours
Had a chance to sit down and write out some Pearl Feelings, shoutout to @jeejyboard for the enabling encouragement.
Contains pearls cuddling and having important and long-needed discussions. Incipient VolleyPearl, with vagueish mentions of Pearl/Rose, Pearl/Bismuth, Pearl/every wlw in the tri-state area. Post-Volleyball and spoilers for same. No warnings. ~3200 words.
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Hearts Like Ours
With the understanding comes an entirely novel type of relief.
Pearl remembers - will vividly remember for as long as her gem endures - how it felt, years ago now, to finally work around that one last order and tell Steven, tell all of them, what they should have known for so long. The immense unburdening of the last, biggest secret just being gone, and the feeling of her gravity adjustment being just a tad off, a new lightness and ease to every step and every move she made.
This is new, and different. So much finally makes sense, and somehow, somehow, it makes everything just that last bit easier to deal with. The whys mattered a fair bit more than Pearl would have thought, perhaps.
The awkward silences in the Moon base, and the odd looks she could never parse despite being made for whim-fulfilment, and the hiding, the near-desperate burying, the secrets, the hands over her mouth, pressing, holding in--
The baby, wiggling in her arms, and the snow outside, and the mist catching on the windows of the van, and the bitter, bitter tears, and--
“She wanted this so much...”
Well.
A soft, satisfied hum comes from her right, in that voice that’s so much like hers while sounding nothing like her at all, and ah, this blithe, oddly endearing little puzzle piece she has found at long last, busy snuggling into the side of her neck as they sit overlooking the beach, soaking in another remarkably calm evening.
(A fascinating, if passing, thought: that pearls of all gems served as the impetus for so much.)
It is a tad strange, to have someone’s head on her shoulder while they are side by side like this. For the other to not have to bend down, or be kneeling next to Pearl standing, or any special arrangement needing to be made at all.
Not better, or worse in any way Pearl can begin to quantify. Just different. And how oddly wonderful, to still be discovering something after so many years and so many experiences.
The other pearl is pressed comfortably close. It’s nothing like the rich, vast softness, just made (dreamt up) for Pearl to get lost in like in a relentless storm of lush, rosy petals… or like the overflowing lava-heat radiating off arms and work-roughened hands both unspeakably strong and unspeakably gentle… or like the wide variety of textures and sensations and the odd complexity and fragility and endurance and fascinating inherent contradictions of the very human women she has had flit in and out of her life in recent times.
This is something new, again. Something Pearl has so far never really had. Made as she was just a tad too late - oh, bad timing is certainly part of it, but a part of it, too, is that that’s just how it was for pearls. The specific sort of loneliness.
Well, she supposes Yellow and Blue were… colleagues and acquaintances, for as much as their paths happened to cross, but the Moon base came so quickly, and with it the Earth, and then… all the ages of isolation after that.
Despite Pearl’s best efforts, only a few pearls had ever joined the rebellion, and their stays had been tragically short. And much to her continued dismay and even after thousands of years of searching, none of them have surfaced among the corrupted.
Not yet, she amends internally. Not yet, is all.
It causes an odd twisting deep where her stomach might be, if she ever bothered to form one. Once, all of these pearls would have been considered too precious - or at least too inconvenient - to shatter. Repair and rejuvenation, as many times as was needed. But at least they’d still be, and not in… in the Cluster, or some horrible experiment, or who even knew where...
Pearl shakes her head, tries to shake the heaviness off altogether. Comparing fates like this is… difficult. And ultimately pointless.
It was their choice to come, Pearl recites to herself again and again and again, and finds that she always needs the reminder. Her encouragement had not been coercion. Ever. After all, so many had looked her in the eye and outright rejected the very idea of abandoning their posts, owners - lives, such as they were. And it was only some deeply ingrained pearl-loyalty and strange sympathy that made them reluctant to report and denounce her trouble-stirring outright.
“What are you thinking about?” Oh, how does she always sound so impeccably sweet? Where Pearl would surely be termed shrill and inappropriate and lesser according to yet another one of the labyrinthine, nonsensical sets of pearl standards. And- ah, there is a hand curling gently over hers now. “Seems serious.”
“Us,” Pearl replies without a second thought, then feels the blue rush to her face as she realises what she made it sound like.
“Oh?” Hopeful, almost, and the head lifts gently off Pearl’s shoulder, turning to face her better. Moonlight plays over the edges of the webbing cracks, and Pearl entertains an odd little thought about the inappropriateness of calling it her ‘bad side’ when, really, all sides of her were very good, if Pearl had any say in the matter--
“Us - all of us,” she stumbles to correct, “Pearls.”
It might just be her imagination, but there is a slight downturn to that mouth now, usually so stubbornly bent on smiling.
It’s far too early to classify their relationship properly, no matter how excellent Pearl is at sorting and categorising things. But there is clearly something behind the insistence on closeness with a very noticeable eagerness, something about the timing of her (rosy, rosy) blushes and fluttery gazes, the singling out of Pearl in particular…
Hm.
There is something to be said, too, for the comparisons Pearl’s own mind insists on making, the contexts she finds herself placing it all in near-constantly. And Volley - Pearl has, with her approval, shortened the nickname to a rather interestingly martial-sounding variant, significantly easier to wrap her mind and mouth about - insists on holding on to some part of Pearl at every moment available. It is certainly incredibly endearing. And perhaps it is something more, too.
“Do you have a type?”
One of those silly human concepts, perhaps, but, oh, does she ever. A few swipes through her cellular phone, a quick look through the lovely ‘selfie’ images provided by the various equally lovely human women over the past couple of years... the pattern is immediately, glaringly obvious. It is not something to be concerned with or ashamed of, she’s learned - Sheena, who has been a gift in so many ways, reinforced that in her usual teasing manner several times, and so have a few since--
Well. The unbubbled rose quartzes were certainly a terrible challenge in a myriad of ways.
“Do you have a type?”
Certainly. And this is nothing like it.
(Well, there is pink, of course, in abundance.)
A type.
All gems of the same type are… more or less… the same, in many significant ways. Are certainly considered the same. And all the accessories and appearance modifiers available, all the vast, varied selections and whimsical seasonal rotations, cannot really mask this, the essential sameness of pearls. The narrow shoulders and barely-there hips, a wisp-thin figure, bony, in human terms, though of course their forms contain nothing of the sort. The long, long limbs, prominent pointed noses, inherent floaty grace and almost exaggerated elegance, the array of shared mannerisms...
Pearl hasn’t felt this aware of her own self and her own projection in eons. Maybe ever. But here she is--
And here is another pearl. Just like her. But nothing like her at all.
She has learned, for example, that Volley loves when Pearl very chivalrously puts her jacket around her shoulders under the pretense of helping her keep warm - though naturally Gems do not feel the cold at all. She also seems to be quite fond of the casual arm slung around those same shoulders, and Pearl finds herself all too happy to oblige.
Something about the other pearl seems to prompt a spike of almost ridiculous protectiveness. Pearl wants so badly to protect and shelter and she doesn’t even know what from, but she does know that though she might not need to, not really, it feels… right. Good, even.
It occurs to her, as she lifts her right hand and traces her fingers lazily down a bare segment of a pale pink back - not actually bare, of course, or any different from any other part of a Gem’s projection, but Earth has its way of sneaking into your thinking - that she is affording another, this other pearl, this other Pearl, a level of gentleness and consideration she has never quite managed to afford herself.
An odd avenue for something like... self-love? Strong word, perhaps. Oh, but Bismuth would adore it, would joyfully crow about what a wonderful and utterly radical concept in the eyes of Homeworld it is, and what a terribly renegade-suited thing it would be, for Pearl to master it.
Perhaps? Again, it’s all still very new.
“Well I don’t see any other pearls around right now,” comes an almost-chirp from her side, jarring Pearl from her increasingly convoluted musings and into a chuckle.
Oh, Volley, always ready to fire one! A witty little thing she’s shown herself to be in the past few days - though of course the ‘little’ part is simply a very human term of endearment, as they are of exactly the same size in any dimension considered. Of course.
Look at that smirk, though, intolerable! Such quiet audacity, it’s utterly… charming.
Pearl draws little circles on the long palm, barely touching, and feels her own mouth pull irresistibly into a smile. “Hah! You got me there.”
Volley doesn’t comment, but winds her arm around Pearl’s in return, and Pearl for her part finds herself considering… sharing.
She traces another circle, then a more elaborate spiral branching out, as their hands rest gently against her thigh. Volley doesn’t seem to mind - seems to be quite content just following the lightly dancing fingers and imaginary shapes with a soft gaze. It’s a comfortable silence, one Pearl feels slightly reluctant to interrupt. The growing desire to share and maybe, just maybe, connect a bit more wins out.
“You asked me what she got me.”
The Oh? she gets in reply sounds mildly uncertain, but also curious.
Pearl clears her throat, very unnecessarily. “She didn’t-- well. Pink Diamond never wanted too much to do with me, back when- when I was her pearl and when we were still- erm, behaving like it? Except she didn’t want to - behave like it, that is. But not like later,” Pearl rushes to amend and clarify, “with Rose, not that kind of, er, non-behaving. I mean--”
She huffs. Stars, always so damnably difficult to put into words, all of it! Even without any… restrictions in place.
“I mean... she never wanted me, really, not the way she was supposed to - me, the replacement. It’s quite clear to me now, in retrospect.” Especially after the- after our fusion. But that still seems oddly difficult to talk about with mere words, when the experience had been so… much. “She never changed any customisation settings, she never picked out any accessories…”
“Oh no, that sounds awful!”
And Volley sounds so sincere and filled with such concern, and her arm tightens around Pearl’s in what is clearly an attempt at reassurance, but...
In the end it was a very particular and peculiar sort of… relief, or unburdening, almost, to have not been wanted like that. Oh, it was terrifying at first - failing at her very purpose, an unwanted pearl - may as well have been a shattering sentence! But then the Earth with its wonders, and the rising, yearning chorus of I’m not yours, I’m not yours, I’m not yours after that day in the clearing, the daily struggle of becoming (and of wanting so very badly to be) the Terrifying Renegade, right-hand Gem and indispensable confidante of Rose Quartz, while still routinely playing Pink Diamond’s Dutiful Pearl whenever needed--
Stars, it’s no wonder she still has a giant mess of things to work through!
“You know, the only time I ever saw the Reef, aside from when they came to pick me up in the first place, was this one incident where I got damaged in a battle with a topaz, and we, the Crystal Gems, took over the spire we’d been besieging, but we - that is, Pink and I - were already late for a meeting with Blue and Yellow Diamond, when we were still supposed to keep up appearances, and, ah--”
She stops herself, and glances to her right. Volley is gazing at her, unblinking and unreadable.
“I’m sorry! I do tend to… ramble on.”
“I don’t mind.”
It’s a simple enough statement. Now, as Pearl looks up to meet Volley’s eye once more, she thinks about how very funny it is, how things end up happening, how fates work out - could she have been the one cracked, bleached under millennia of direct control? Would Volley have risen to the occasion of an interplanetary war, with all the confusing subterfuge piled on top?
Pearl hums thoughtfully, and tucks a stray strand of hair neatly into a pink bun, slightly dishevelled due to its bearer’s recent insistence on cuddling into Pearl’s side, or under her chin, or anywhere within reach, really.
Sure, Volley may seem as unassuming and frivolous as a pearl can be to the casual outside observer, but Pearl finds she has very little doubt. And she finds she doesn’t begrudge her insistence on some rather sensitive lines of questioning, either, back at the Reef.
“I’m sorry I was… abrasive towards you, when we were going to the repair centre. Or demeaning towards things that clearly meant a lot to you. These are all difficult subjects for me still, as, ha,” Pearl leans in conspiratorially, “you’ve no doubt noticed by now.”
“I have,” Volley agrees with a tiny nod that almost makes her cheek brush against Pearl’s. Almost. “And I’m sorry I was trying to make you feel like you were... less important somehow. It was a very silly competition, wasn’t it?”
“I’m certain by now that competition between pearls serves nothing,” Pearl huffs disdainfully, “except to reinforce insidious Homeworld ideas and drive us away from each other when what we should be doing is drawing closer together.”
“I agree! That sounds just like what Bismuth and I ended up concluding!” Volley sounds increasingly enthusiastic, and her free hand comes up to gesture excitedly. “It was a very interesting and lively discussion. I enjoyed it a lot!”
Pearl blinks. “You’ve been talking to Bismuth?”
“I have! She’s very nice. Very passionate, and very thoughtful, too.”
Pearl raises an eyebrow at that. Not a disapproving one, she’d have to admit. “Yes, yes she is.”
She files her entirely-not-disapproving line of thought away for another time, and looks down. Their fingers have become entwined without Pearl even truly noticing.
“Oh, all this talk, when I just wanted to say that no, I don’t have any ribbon wands or fans or hoops to show you. But I do have a great many souvenirs of… a different nature. Ones I very happily personally prefer, and treasure a great deal.”
She doesn’t doubt she’s already shared some of it, in their hasty, desperate, utterly amazing fusion - hard to be completely certain when that part is still a bit of a blur of sensation. But there would have been at least some quick thoughts of a few favoured sabres, rapiers, and spears while settling on a weapon best suited to their dramatic escape, with some flashes of feeling and memory tied to each.
“I can show you-- I would very much like to show you some of the things that mean a lot to me.”
“I would be honoured!” Volley blurts out with almost a squeak of delight and a little bounce, and the sincerity with which she clearly means it makes Pearl feel all fluttery again. “I-I mean… I would like that very much.”
“It took some time to figure out some of the more complex feelings involved, I can tell you!” Pearl waves a hand, trying to somehow encompass the entire contradictory tangle. “Receiving things - gifts, or weapons - or, well, both at the same time, usually, with what utter works of art Bismuth’s always insisted on making. All useful items, absolutely nothing like the decorative accessories one would associate with… things I was so, so eager to distance myself from. And yet!”
And oh, there it is, another novelty - sharing this with someone who is very uniquely poised to understand. Of course Garnet is an excellent listener, and always ready with her brand of steady reassurance. And Bismuth has always been the best person in the universe to vent to, and a great proponent of the benefits of the old frustration- and anger-releasing sparring match. There is empathy among all of them, parallels to draw from between all their varied experiences and doubts and struggles, and a tight-knit solidarity that’s had years and years to develop.
This is a very… particular thing, though. And Pearl is, er, pushing it a bit, perhaps - the last thing she wants is to inadvertently shut Volley down in some way by being overbearing.
“Oh, look at me going on and on and on, again! Do feel free to stop me. You can’t get a word in edgewise, poor thing.”
She tries to laugh it up and laugh it off - but Volley is oddly sombre at her side, looking into the distance, seeming lost in thought.
“You sound like you’ve done a lot of it, though,” Volley says. “Figuring out.”
The cracks on her face have stopped growing. Have receded a bit, even - not that Pearl is too ready to admit careful study of said face. Not quite yet.
“I have quite a bit to do myself, don’t I?”
“Probably,” Pearl agrees, all feigned casualness, “but you have all the time in the world to do it. Trust me when I say it can... take a while. And you’re welcome here, of course, for as long as you like.”
“Thank you,” Volley murmurs, barely audible over the sea breeze and lapping waves. “You’ve already been such a help.”
“So have you!” Pearl replies, voice softened to match, taking her hand between both of hers. Enveloping, but not stifling. “I’m glad. I hope I can continue to be.”
Volley doesn’t say anything to that, but somehow manages to squirm even closer, head coming to rest against what is clearly shaping up to be her favourite spot on Pearl’s shoulder. They’re both tangled up in Volley’s diaphanous skirts like this, and it feels like, oh - yes, that was definitely some gentle and oddly delightful burrowing into the side of Pearl’s neck just then.
Pearl lets her own cheek press lightly against a pink bun. When she starts to hum, nonspecific and soothing, she hears a light counterpoint slowly weave in.
