Dead-ication || Morgan & Grace
TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @silveraccent & @mor-beck-more-problems
SUMMARY: Grace and Morgan just want to bake pie and be okay, but you can’t always get what you want.
CONTAINS: discussion of a car accident
Grace sat in her car, the buzz of the steering wheel still sending electricity through her fingertips. The sound of the engine settling into silence was barely recognizable. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared at the house. Morgan had invited her over, and while Grace had appreciated the concern and newfound… friendship, she still felt awkward imposing on somebody else’s time. Still, she had been invited, and it would be rude to decline such a thing as baking together. She finally got out of her car, the bitter cold burrowing into her bones as soon as she stepped out. Grace looked up to the house, her nerves suddenly growing. She had been absent lately, taking more time for herself-- but after Kaden had explained that Morgan helped with a lot of the pies that he passed around, she felt slightly more inclined to trust her. Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket, texting Morgan that she had arrived. There was doubt and embarrassment pooling in the pit of her stomach now. She looked down at the dead grass beneath her shoes, stubbing her toe against it.
Morgan ambled out of the studio in her puffer jacket, nudging the fresh snow on the grass with her boots as she crossed the garden to meet Grace. She didn’t know if she was playing human-in-the-cold right, but the faint prickle of snow on her hands was the closest thing she had to feeling anything, and she wouldn’t give it up even for appearances in single-digit temperatures. “Hey!” She called, waving to Grace as she came out of the side gate. She beamed, relieved to have some new company. “Come back through the garden with me, I’ve got a new workspace set up, and there’s just barely enough room for trying out something I found online: cherry and pecan pie, with a chocolate glaze. It’s either going to be the most amazing thing I’ve attempted or the worst.” She draped an arm around Grace and started ushering her toward the blue cottage studio, having just enough sense to keep from loitering in the cold.
Morgan’s voice was loud enough for Grace to be pulled from her thoughts. She looked up from the grass and let a smile pull at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t sure where she and Morgan landed in the grand scheme of things-- pies or not, Grace had cried and unfolded in front of her while she was a stranger, and even Grace knew it was hard to break that kind of bond. “Oh, okay!” She followed Morgan’s directions, leading after her closely, leaning into the woman’s touch when she draped an arm over her shoulder. “That sounds…” Grace wanted to be optimistic so instead of saying what she thought, she simply nodded, “good, if you do it the right way.” She looked towards the cottage, “that’s really cute-- but--” She looked towards the larger house, deciding not to ask questions. “How have you been?” She asked instead, ducking in through the doorway, taking off her shoes.
Morgan caught the dip in Grace’s voice. Her smile tightened as she led her across the garden and into the small building where she now devoted a few hours of each day, and sometimes more, to rebuilding a world of her own. “Okay, yes, there is a perfectly good, roomy kitchen in the house, but I am really desperate to break in the oven in here. I have a lot of pie-themed aspirations, and the sooner I get started the better, right?” She opened the door and hopped inside, holding it open for Grace as she welcomed her into the space. “I’ve been good!” She said, a little too brightly, even to her own ears. “Busy, kind of? But mostly good! It really does feel like a whole new time. How about you, Grace?”
“That’s… true.” Grace offered Morgan another smile, this time a bit more heartfelt. Despite not being able to feel anything off of the woman, she could tell there was something genuine in her, if not a bit sad. Though, she had suspected that was likely for all of White Crest’s residents. “It’s very cute,” she admitted as she looked around. The cabinets were low for either of them to reach-- more than she could say for her own apartment. It looked like something out of a story book. “Busy isn’t a bad thing,” she said. She kept busy mostly to keep her mind off of other things. “Better.” Better than the last time we met. Grace tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she ventured further towards the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if she should address the elephant in the room, that the last time they had talked, or even met, Grace had been full of tears and self-depreciation. Now, there were no tears. “Excited about um, the pie?” She smiled faintly.
“You know, I guess that’s true!” Morgan conceded, her voice a little off key. Grace was right, in general, but Morgan had been busy saying goodbye to her closest friends, botching opportunities to make new ones, pulling her sense of self back together again, and grieving the destruction her midlife angst had wrought on the town. It wasn’t a kind of busy she relished in, but making a pie was supposed to change that. “Better is good,” she said, a reminder to them both. “I was a little worried for you there, for a second.” She knelt down and fetched the bowls and tins they would need, then picked through the small fridge. There was only space for them both with Grace on the other side of the counter and one of the bar stools used to rest the items they weren’t using. It reminded Morgan of the studio apartments she used to live in full time back in Houston and the desperate contortions she’d put herself through to get her books out of their cabinets and squeeze something that was almost a life together.
Morgan pushed the thought out of her head. “Anyway, I am actually excited. If you want, you can get going on the crust and catch me up? I wouldn’t mind hearing some good news out of this place for a change.”
Grace let her gaze remain on Morgan a beat of a second too long, still unsure of why she couldn’t feel anything. As for others, it was faint, but from Morgan, she received nothing. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as Morgan began to work at collecting their supplies. She felt awkward, not knowing what to do. “There really wasn’t a reason to be, I was just…” Devastated? Angry? Scared? “I mean, you know how it is.” Grace dropped her arms to her side, a nervous laugh escaping her. It’d be her luck that Morgan would know she was full of shit. She glanced down at the ring. Anxiety. But something yellow-- or maybe orange, began to peek through. She couldn’t be sure what it was, so she pulled her gaze back to look at the contents of Morgan’s cabinets and fridge beginning to make an appearance on her counter.
She finally took a step forward and stood just next to Morgan. “Um, yeah--” She looked down at the ingredients. She had made pie once or twice, but the crusts typically came in plastic, already made. “Sure.” She forced confidence in the word before she started incorporating the proper ingredients. Morgan wanted good news. Grace wasn’t sure if she had any-- at least, not exceptionally good news. “Work is better,” she said after a moment, glancing over at Morgan as she worked. Except for the fact that Cece was now gone and Regan was still not speaking to her. “Uh… I’m thinking of getting a rat?” She offered with a laugh, “Kaden and I watched Ratatouille, he mentioned that they have some up for adoption.”
Morgan took in Grace’s words silently. “I--think I do. Though I’m not sure what that means. I am sorry, you know. About Cece. I was there when she, um, had to go. I can tell you she really didn’t want to.” Although thats really wasn’t much in the way of comfort. To Morgan, that just made the situation that much more painful and unfair. “But I’m glad work is better.”
She managed a small laugh at the mention of Ratatouille, imagining Kaden making faces at the screen and silently critiquing the depictions of French people. “A pet rat, huh? Well, they’ll definitely have plenty of space around wherever you live. I hear some of them can be pretty friendly. But they have a short lifespan, I think. But then again, nothing on this world is truly stagnant. I’m sure you’d give one a really nice life.” She fell into blending her wet ingredients as she spoke this, eyes glazing as she watched the stand mixer do its work. It was the little things that you kept going for, she reminded herself. Especially if one of those little things was yourself.
Morgan’s mention of Cece made Grace freeze momentarily. her fingers twitched around the egg that she held in her hand. “Yeah, I--” She reached up with her free hand and pressed her fingers into her temple. “I’m sorry, but is it okay if we don’t… talk about that?” She offered Morgan an apologetic smile, “I just-- it was a lot.” It should’ve been easy to say goodbye to a co-worker, but at the morgue, Cece had been the only thing keeping Grace from falling apart. Now, it seemed like every turn she made, shivers ran down her spine and there was always anxiety in her gut.
Grace forced herself to relax and began working on the crust again. “Oh, yeah-- he was… perplexed about the whole uh, cooking thing.” She remembered Kaden’s face after his realization that the rat had been the chef all along and it brought a smile to her face. “I have a fish, but it’d be nice to have something I can sort of hangout with.” The right answer would be either a dog or a cat, but she felt her building was filled with so many of those already. Plus, a rat wouldn’t require as much attention as a dog. “I’ve been looking up these really big enclosures for them…” Grace’s lips twitched slightly into a frown at Morgan’s words. She couldn’t get a read on her, or why the conversation had turned slightly to the dark side. After a moment, she paused, “is everything okay?” She didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to get involved in something that didn’t concern her, but something told Grace she needed to ask the question.
Morgan winced at Grace’s aversion to discussing Cece. “Of course. I’m sorry.” As much as she intuited some commonalities in their pain, the way they coped with it was different, and she wasn’t much of anyone to the girl, just someone who had accidentally happened upon her during an emotional crisis. They should talk about other things. Better things. Literally-anything-but-that things. “Hanging out, yeah! Quality time is really special with an animal. I love it when the cats wander over just to watch or sit on me while I try to work around them. Moira’s getting kind of big for riding on my shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to understand that.” She added the egg to her bowl and when that was done, the cherries. Just in time for Grace to ask her what was wrong.
“Oh, yeah! I’m good. I’m sorry I’m being so--nosy, I guess. Maybe there’s something to be said about starting with small talk and pseudo-interview questions when you first meet someone. But really, there’s been a lot of changes, but most of it’s been really good!”
“No, it’s okay.” Grace offered her a reassuring smile. “It’s just… I’m trying to not really think about it.” She should and she knew it. Ignoring the pain Cece’s departure had brought wasn’t the right thing to do and she knew it, but being alone with Morgan made it impossible not to focus on her own feelings, especially because Morgan’s were absent. She fidgeted with the startings of the dough, not wanting to overwork it. “How long should we chill this?” She asked as she looked over at the brunette, her smile still intact.
“And no, it’s okay-- it’s normal to ask questions, right?” Their first meeting had been… different than any other meeting that Grace had had in White Crest. In fact, all of the people she had met had been different. At first, she was embarrassed by Morgan’s first impression of her, but there hadn’t been any point in allowing it to entirely encroach what could be a solid friendship. It had taken some time to get used to the idea, but she was there now, standing beside her, attempting to bake a pie. “Good changes,” Grace nodded along, “that’s good-- I’m glad things are good.” Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek.
Morgan continued to work the blender, allowing herself to fall into the hypnotic accomplishment of seeing raw ingredients turn into something meaningful, even beautiful after a little mundane alchemy. She switched out the attachments and started adding in the fillings. It wouldn’t take long for everything to get folded in properly. “I’ll set a timer for thirty minutes,” she murmured distractedly, tapping the numbers into her phone. With nothing much else to do, Morgan watched the batter fold. Something was wrong, off. Not with the recipe but with them. Not the strangest thing in the world, given both of their tendency toward worry and overthinking, but it was too much for Morgan to bear silently. The last thing she wanted was to keep Grace hostage in her bad company. “Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it,” she said. “This is weird. I don’t know if it’s because things aren’t actually that fine, or if I’m being weird, or the place is making you claustrophobic, but there’s something, right? I’m not just imagining it?”
Grace stopped kneading the dough and nodded at Morgan’s instruction of 30 minutes. She grabbed the clean towel from the side and draped it over the bowl. She knew to put it in the fridge, or at least that’s what she hoped needed to be done. Would the cold butter turn chunky? No, she had worked that through, right? Distracted, Grace doesn’t quite hear Morgan’s question. Eyebrows furrowed, Grace stops in her tracks, the bowl of dough still in her hands. “Wait, what?” Could Morgan read her? Was that why Grace couldn’t get a read? If two empaths-- No, that didn’t make sense. She and her grandmother could read each other. She fiddled with the towel, her thumbs tugging it down, closer to her palms. “I don’t--” Grace took a deep breath, “it’s not you-- it’s just--” She recalled their online conversation, about how they were both something, and Grace wondered if it was time to come out and say it, to explain that no, there was nothing wrong with them, it was just confusion and anxiety on Grace’s part. After she put the dough into the fridge, she turned around and wrung her hands together, nails digging into her palms to create crescent moons. “Do you remember the conversation we had? Online? It was a while ago.” She paused, “about us being something? Both of us?”
Morgan resisted the impulse to double over with relief. “Yes! I do! Oh, stars, come here, Grace. Let’s sit, okay?” She led the girl over to the main area where there were floor pillows, a day bed, and a desk chair to choose from. Morgan chose the pillowy corner of the bed, if only because it meant scooping up Anya, who had snuck in with her usual silence, and squeezing in a moment or two of time with her. The black cat squinted at her, quietly affronted, but as Morgan settled, Anya marched along her legs and scraped the side of her face along the zombie’s hand and arm. “This seems like more of a sit down kind of talk, and before you say whatever, I want to assure you that you have my total confidence. Nothing you say will leave this room if you don’t want it to, okay?”
Though Grace couldn’t feel it, she could see the relief flood to Morgan’s face. Or, at least, that's what she thought it was. At Morgan’s insistence that she take a seat, she followed her to the seating area, opting for the desk chair. She took it out from its nook carefully, sitting down. Her hands in her lap, Grace pressed her nails into her palms and looked up as Morgan spoke. She regarded the cat lightly, watching the way it ran its head into Morgan’s arm. “Oh.” She blinked, “I mean, if it does--” She wasn’t sure if anything would happen if more people knew about it. Before White Crest, she kept it to herself mostly because she was afraid she’d be seen as a freak. In White Crest, she kept it as a secret because she was worried she’d be regarded as some kind of spy-- as if she were invasive. “Sure.” She smiled instead. She watched the black cat’s tail flick back and forth before looking back up to meet Morgan’s eyes. “It’s not really anything big.” Not like Nell, not like Regan. It’s not important, Grace wants to say. “But it has me…” She chewed the inside of her cheek, “wondering.” She admitted, feeling heat come to her cheeks. “What you are.” It sounded harsh and she winced, “I--” She might as well come out with it, “I can feel… people, their emotions.” She shifted in the chair, “but I can’t feel you.”
Morgan’s first reaction was, is that all? Wasn’t carrying a sense of other people’s feelings a good thing? Something the world needed more of? But Grace’s distress was as real as her embarrassment, so maybe Morgan didn’t understand how that all worked well enough. It probably made crowds overstimulating, at least. But then Grace finished and Morgan tensed, enough that Anya sensed it, glowered, and leapt to the floor to find something better to do.
“Oh.” Was all Morgan could think to say. It was the limits of human magic all over again. She was never allowed to forget about them for long, no matter how much she tried to build up her own limited connections to the world. “That must be...I can see how that might be distressing.” She searched for more words. Tepid silence soured the space between them. “You know it’s not you, right? The reason your power doesn’t work on me. You’re not sick or anything. It’s me.”
Grace watched as the cat skittered across the floor, its paws closing around a toy that resembled a mouse, but was blue in color. She looked back up to meet Morgan’s gaze as she began to speak. Even though she couldn’t feel her, she could see on her face that there was something there-- was it unease? Grace had been good at reading facial expressions, but she also noticed that Morgan had excelled at not giving much away. She ran her fingers through her hair, her hand coming to a stop at her ear where she began to fiddle with her earring. When Morgan finally explained that it wasn’t Grace, but whatever it was that she was, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t sure how that could be the case. “What do you mean?” Grace asked as she dropped her hand into her lap, the flower dusting her black skirt. She wiped it away idly, dropping her gaze. “Do you have some kind of protection from it?” She wondered if that was even possible, but there had been a lot to surprise her about the world she was now in.
Morgan couldn’t stop herself from snorting bitterly. “Never thought of it that way. I mean, I am immune to pretty much all kinds of human magic, including yours, I guess. But considering I used to be a witch, that doesn’t usually feel like a form of protection.” Morgan stilled and exhaled slowly. The root of that hurt was still in her, no matter how she pulled and cut at the stem in her mediations. She was starting to wonder if it would stay in her chest for the rest of her long days. “But this fact about my body, my energy, has saved me a couple of times.” Briefly, she considered simply telling grace what had happened. Just the truth, almost nine months ago on April 20th, she was standing on the sidewalk on Main Street getting ice cream with her best friend, and then she wasn’t. She was on the ground, and she bled out there and died there and on April 21st she woke up for the last time. Because her best friend was a zombie, and they didn’t want to watch another person they loved die for good. Morgan swallowed thickly, “This might be a terrible idea...” she muttered. It had certainly backfired with Dakota. “But would you please take my wrist, Grace? You know how to check for a pulse, right? You know the difference between a slow one or a faint one, right? And at the morgue, you know what a corpse with no pulse at all feels like, right?”
Used to be. Grace focused on those words. Was it possible for somebody to lose their powers? Morgan kept saying human, so did that mean…? Grace thought for a moment, attempting to understand what Morgan was trying to imply. She had a look of thought on her face, as if she were reliving something-- maybe the reasoning? Grace hadn’t realized that all of her life, she had checked to ensure that the emotions she felt from others matched their body language. Grace fiddled with the hem of her skirt, bunching the pleats together. Morgan’s question caught her off guard, and she looked up to meet the brunette’s eyes. Her gaze fell down to her wrist, outstretched. Grace felt something in the pit of her stomach, and her throat suddenly grew dry. Whatever it was Morgan was implying, Grace wasn’t sure she liked it. Still, she had to give Morgan the benefit of the doubt-- allow her to explain herself. Grace slid out of the chair, closing the distance between herself and Morgan and tentatively reached out to touch her fingers to the woman’s wrist. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and pressed her fingers down. The absence of a pulse was noticeable, and though Grace didn’t often worry about people being brought into the morgue who weren’t actually alive, she knew to look for one all the same. Fear and confusion coiled in the pit of Grace’s stomach and she snapped her hand back, holding it to the center of her chest. “You don’t…” She swallowed thickly, “you don’t have one.” She looked up to meet Morgan’s gaze, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“Because almost nine months ago, I was getting ice cream with a friend and found myself in a fatal accident a few seconds later. But my friend saved me, with magic of their own.” Morgan spoke softly and evenly. No alarm, and, as far as she could help it, no emotion. She didn’t want to go to pieces like she had after Dakota ran away from the museum. These things simply were; they didn’t need her to cut through them and feel that fresh darkness all over again. She unsnapped the leather cuff she wore to cover Remmy’s bite mark and showed it to Grace. “My body is, in most ways, dead. And the way I was taught it, human magic needs the current of life in order to connect with the universe. I’m outside of that now, so your magic can’t reach me. I’m held together and talking to you because of the magic of the undead. And really strong zombie antidepressants.” She gave a wet laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension, but her faith in the gesture was minimal and she did not bring her eyes up to read Grace’s expression. “I understand if you want to go. It’s a lot. Please don’t feel like you have to come up with an excuse,” she added.
Grace stood still in front of Morgan, the sound of her own heart that much louder in her ears. The lack of Morgan’s pulse was evidence enough that she was telling the truth. Why would she lie? Because Grace wouldn’t be able to tell? She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the uneasiness growing in her stomach. It made her skin crawl. The way Morgan shifted made Grace jump slightly and she watched as the brunette pulled away a piece of fabric. A bite mark stared up at her, and though she could hear Morgan’s explanation, she wasn’t sure if she could make sense of it. Grace was silent for longer than she would have liked to have been. Morgan had proven to be nothing but kind to her, even on their first meeting when Grace had been a mess. She stared down at the bite, and she felt that the longer she looked at it, the more it felt unreal. Grace didn’t look up until she spoke again. “I don’t...” She took a step back. The bite was real and her inability to feel Morgan was real-- the lack of pulse, too. She ran a hand over her face and backed up against the wall, leveling her gaze with Morgan. “I’m sorry, I don’t--” She wasn’t sure she could comprehend what was happening. Accepting that Regan had been a banshee had been easy, and so had accepting Nell as a witch, but this? Morgan was saying she was undead, a lifeless individual, but she was so full of life, so how could that be? Grace swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and she glanced towards the kitchen, the ingredients for the pie that wouldn’t be made scattered across the countertop. “I’m sorry, I just.. I think-- I think I need a moment.” Morgan didn’t deserve silence or ignorance. She deserved kindness, but Grace was afraid that she’d show more fear than anything else in this moment. “I should go, I’m-- I’m so sorry.” She headed towards the door, her heart pounding in her ears as she collected her shoes. She wanted to stay, wanted to tell Morgan that she didn’t think any differently, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Grace was afraid. For the first time, she was rightfully afraid, and why? Morgan had done nothing but express kindness to her, but even for Grace, there was only so much she could handle.
Morgan nodded mutely and kept her gaze fixed out one of the many windows at her prickly bushel of witch hazel growing out of the frost as Grace stumbled away in fear. It was said that the herb had the power to heal almost anything, even a broken heart; that you could take the branches and use them to douse for water, or the way home with the right enchantment. But Morgan had taken enough herbs apart and put them back together to know better. Some pains couldn’t be escaped and some detours needed to be traveled and endured. “It’s okay,” she said softly, trying to soothe herself even more than Grace. “You can go. I’ll finish up here.” She held herself, shivering even though she was beyond alive concepts like ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ She kept her eyes on that bushel of witch hazel for a long time, until the timer on her phone went off and she marched herself back into the kitchenette to finish the pie. There were no such things in this world as magical cure-alls or salves for fear, or grief. But stars above, sometimes Morgan wished there were.