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[lethalneuroses]

femslash february day 20

Teresa/Irene, modern AU

It’s nostalgic.

The two of them lie together for more than an hour, saying very little. The sweat dries and the sheets become less stifling. They kiss, languid, and Irene traces her fingertips over the body she used to know almost better than her own. She isn’t lustful this time but thoughtful. Exploring. There is the old pale bullet scar on Teresa’s side, a souvenir from one of their first missions together. Uncountable others. There are some that Irene doesn’t recognize, and that bothers her. It makes the years between them seem all the broader. When she first saw Teresa again she felt as if it could have been minutes since they last parted. But her body, her house, her life are reminders that her world no longer includes Irene.

Teresa gets up first and heads for the shower. She throws out the offer of sharing, and tempting as it is, Irene shakes her head. She needs a few minutes alone to clear her head. But that doesn’t stop her staring after Teresa and admiring the way her long black waves fall right down to her tailbone.

Teresa notices, if the little smirk over her shoulder is any indication.

When the bathroom door is closed and the water is running, Irene rolls over. She isn’t ashamed now to bury her head in the pillows and breathe in deep through her nose. It is a scent that she has attempted to imagine again and again and failed to recreate in her imagination. She never thought she would be allowed the luxury of smelling it again. Of seeing Teresa again. Of touching her again.

This is a fantasy into which she could lose herself. She could forget exactly why she came here and neglect to tell Teresa as well. She could have a few selfish hours, days, perhaps, before consequences caught up to her.

Or she could greet her old lover and partner with a bullet when she steps out of the shower, as she was sent to do.

She wraps a blanket around her shoulders and wanders down the hall. The house is so peaceful it’s almost sickening. Is this really the life Teresa has chosen? There are pictures hanging on the wall. Teresa and a child whose face is not unfamiliar to Irene. The girl Teresa chose over her.

Teresa has an office. Irene shuffles through papers but finds nothing of interest. Just papers documenting the life of a legal assistant.

A legal assistant? Of all the covers, all the lives she could have chosen, that’s the one she went with? An unpleasant feeling rises in Irene. She labels it contempt.

In the corner of the office, there’s a gun safe. That, at least, feels more in place, more in line with the woman Irene remembers. She pulls the handle and discovers, to her surprise, that it’s unlocked. When the door swings open she realizes it’s empty too.

“Not a fair fight,” Teresa says from behind her.

Irene spins around. Teresa stands there in her bathrobe with her face calm and her .22 in one hand. She always was good at getting the draw on her.

“Did you know since I showed up?” Irene asks stiffly. She digs her fingers into the fleece of the blanket and pulls it tighter around her body.

“I suspected. I didn’t expect you to be so...happy to see me, though. So I thought we could catch up.” Teresa shrugs.

Irene’s eyes rove around the walls. The shades are drawn on the only window, but slanted so that sunlight comes through. It’s late in the afternoon; the girl will be home soon. Will there be a corpse in the house she comes home to?

“I won’t kill you,” she says. “I can’t.”

“No, you can’t,” Teresa agrees, and there’s a laugh in her voice. Irene resents it.

“You know it’s follow orders or die.”

“Or run.”

“Or run. But if I ran, there would be nobody to warn you.”

Teresa steps closer. She’s still holding the pistol. The bathrobe has slipped open, showing off her collarbones. This close, she’s almost too beautiful to take in.

“You didn’t come to warn me. You came because you missed me.”

Irene swallows.

“Yes.”

“How many others?”

“Sophia, Noel—Priscilla.” Irene knows that she got the jump on all of her colleagues, but she doesn’t know how far behind her they are. At the worst, a few hours. No more than a day. They’ll be expecting her to meet up with them at the prescribed time and location tomorrow.

“Priscilla?”

“She’s new. Prodigy.” Like you, she wants to add but doesn’t.

Teresa raises an eyebrow.

“Do you want to run now?”

The answer is yes before they kiss, before there is a hand rough in her hair, before her blanket hits the floor. The answer has been yes since the Organization dispatched her to kill Teresa. It has been yes for years, ever since the woman she loved disappeared without a word or a trace and left her behind.