Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Every brush of Moiraine’s hands against Siuan’s body brings back memories. There’s history pressed into every inch of Siuan’s skin — eighteen years old, attending all of Siuan’s swim meets to watch her lithe body cut a path through the water, going home and touching herself to thoughts of it. Twenty, skinny-dipping in the river by campus then fucking in the back of Siuan’s truck, cold wet skin and warm mouths and Siuan’s hair tickling her face and laughter, so much laughter. Twenty-four, overworked and apart during the day, knowing that every night they’d return to each other’s arms. Twenty-five, Siuan’s fingers inside of her in that cafe bathroom months after they’d called it quits, twenty-seven taking pictures of sunsets through hotel room windows, twenty-eight in the back of an Uber with the sweetness sharp in Moiraine’s chest.

Thirty when they’d had their fight…

Siuan tugs on her hair gently. “Mo?”

Moiraine blinks the memories away. “Sorry.” She can hardly bring herself to believe it all led to this. To Siuan here with her all these years later, moving against her with languid grace, making the most beautiful noises as Moiraine kisses her tattoos. But it did, it did, and now that they’re here it feels inevitable.

We’re destined, Siuan had whispered to her once on a candlelit evening in grad school. Nearly twenty years ago but Moiraine remembers it like it was yesterday, remembers the pasta dinner Siuan made in their tiny apartment kitchen, the smell of smoke clinging to her hair after they’d shared a joint, the way Siuan had laid her down on the bed like a gentleman. Remembers them mumbling in each other’s ears, floating in the afterglow. Siuan’s whisper had sent shivers down her body.

You and I, Moiraine. In this life and the next. Can you feel it?

I can feel it. Moiraine had kissed Siuan’s knuckles, tears brimming in her eyes. She does it now, too, bringing Siuan’s hand to her lips. It feels surreal, like she’s moving through time. This moment and all the others, layered atop each other like film strips.

Two decades of history leading, somehow, to this.

“In this life,” she tells Siuan reverently, “and the next.”

///

It’s a windy Tuesday morning when Moiraine gets on the plane to Greece, unsteady with the hollowness of a broken heart. She hasn’t cried for thirty-two hours, robotically performing the final moves of packing up her old life to make way for a new one, and in that glassy calm has found a sort of clarity.

This is for the best. She’s making the right choice. For six years she thought she and Siuan were meant to be, but sometimes life pulls you apart, and that’s that. It feels… mature, this severing, this acceptance of the cold fact that love alone isn’t enough to sustain a relationship. She’s twenty-four, not a child anymore. She can’t have childish priorities. The breakup was the right decision.

To be fair, she’d only come to this realization when she’d run out of tears.

Siuan was Moiraine’s first real love, so Siuan was Moiraine’s first real heartbreak. The fact that the split was amicable, mostly, doesn’t dull the pain as much as it should. Over the course of a painfully adult conversation, they’d both agreed that long-distance wouldn’t work, not with the time zone difference and Siuan’s limited travel budget. Without the promise they’d made to maintain their friendship, though, she isn’t sure she would have had the nerve to leave. She doesn’t think she could stand moving across the world alone, to throw herself headlong into history PhD research on a string of tiny Greek islands, without Siuan on the other end of the phone.

At least her mind is clear now. For weeks she’d been tormented, pulled in two directions, wondering if the heady pull of purpose and duty was worth the pain in Siuan’s eyes. If there was any way to have it all, to pursue her research and build a life with Siuan, she’d take it in a heartbeat, but she knows that’s a greedy and selfish desire. This position is a life-changing opportunity, a chance to add to the historical studies she’d devoured as a child and young adult. History had shown her that there was space for her in the world as a queer woman  despite her upbringing, that she could connect to something greater than herself. Now she can help the next generation learn that too. If she has any purpose, it’s this.

And that means leaving. Leaving the States. Leaving Siuan.

There’s no way around it. She has to leave, and Siuan has to stay. Moiraine needs to see the letters, the statues, that built the foundation not just for her research, but her entire identity. And Siuan needs to keep building connections, clawing her way up the political ladder. It’s the way it has to be. Moiraine isn’t going to be like her mother, prioritizing work and money and letting her relationship deteriorate. If she can’t be with Siuan, she doesn’t deserve to be with Siuan. Siuan deserves someone who will stay, who will love her more than anything else in the world, and Moiraine has a sneaking fear that she’s just like the rest of her family in this regard, that given the chance to choose she’ll choose selfishly.

So she’s not even giving herself the chance to ruin things like that. It’s fairer this way, even though it hurts like hell.

They can be friends though. Moiraine will be able to immerse herself in research, finally sating her incessant need to connect, to comprehend. Siuan will be able to start making connections, start making change.

And they’ll have each other.

Well, at least they’ll have each other halfway.

///

After an awkward first few months, they truly do stay friends. It gets easier for Moiraine to push Siuan to a different corner of her mind. She just has to remind herself where the new lines are. It feels like more than she deserves, but she drinks it up eagerly, talking on the phone late into the night, drinking up every detail of Siuan’s life without her and absentmindedly rubbing a hand over her heart to soften the sting.

It’s difficult, but it’s fine. They acclimate. They’re not as close as before, which is natural — it’s good! They shouldn’t be. They aren’t together anymore.

So when Siuan calls, eight months later, to say that by a stroke of luck she has a layover in Greece, and asks if Moiraine has time to meet for coffee — just as friends — Moiraine doesn’t say no, or I’m too busy for a trip to the city, or are you sure that's a good idea?

She says yes. They can go out for coffee. It’s no big deal. Siuan’s a friend.

A friend who, after exactly thirty-six minutes of sipping overpriced matcha and staring at Moiraine’s lips, presses her against the wall of the tiny bathroom and slips her hand inside her underwear. They happen to be Moiraine’s nicest black ones, the ones Siuan had always liked, although she tells herself it’s a coincidence they were the pair she’d grabbed that morning.

“Siuan…” she stammers, feeling drunk on her attention, drunk on her touch. She isn’t the kind of person who lets people fuck her in bathrooms, and she definitely isn’t the kind of person who lets her ex fuck her in bathrooms, but Siuan’s hungry mouth and confident fingers know exactly where to touch her, and how, and it feels too good to stop.

“I’m sorry,” Siuan pants, nibbling on Moiraine’s neck as her fingers pump inside her. “I just had to have you. I missed you too much.”

“I know,” Moiraine mumbles nearly incoherently. “I know. Missed you too. Thought about this – god, fuck, there – all the time.”

The angle is terrible – Siuan’s wrist hurts for days after. Moiraine’s back is pressed against the cold, slightly sticky wall. She has to bite her knuckles to keep from making a sound when she comes, in case someone walks by at the wrong moment.

It’s still good. It’s better than good, because it’s Siuan.

She goes home floating. The next morning, the bubble has burst.

After a cup of coffee and an hour of tense deliberation, she calls Siuan. I made a mistake – it was a mistake – nothing’s changed. I still can't do long distance, you still can't move.

Siuan is quiet. “Couldn’t we change?” she asks finally.

“What do you mean?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Moiraine chews on her lip, waiting for Siuan’s response.

“I’m not suggesting we get back into a relationship. We already decided that wouldn’t work,” Siuan says finally. “We don’t have to date. We don't have to be in love. We can keep being friends, and whenever we’re in the same goddamn country, we can do what we did yesterday. I…”

At first she’d been so confident, but now she hesitates. “I’d like that, if you would. People do the casual thing all the time. I think we could too. I… I can’t stand the thought of not having this anymore.”

“We can’t.” Moiraine has to be the practical one here, even though it breaks her heart. It hurts now, but it would hurt more to have Siuan only in tiny tastes, rushed nights, to know they could be more. Maybe it was idiotic to think they could even still be friends. “I’m sorry, Siuan, I just can't.”

Siuan sighs, heavy and frustrated. Moiraine can picture the way her eyebrows are bunched up. “Okay,” she says finally. “I get it. So… friends again?”

“I think that would be best. I think we need some space.”

Siuan’s voice has a challenging edge to it. “Five thousand miles wasn’t enough space for you?”

When Moiraine doesn’t respond, Siuan just sighs again. “Fine. I’m going to be back on Tuesday, spending the night before I fly out on Wednesday afternoon. I’ll send you the name of my hotel. Meet me at the bar if you want to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” They both hear the lie, so she quickly amends, “Talking won’t change anything.”

“I’ll still email you the address, in case you change your mind.”

Moiraine resolves not to do any such thing.

On Tuesday night, after a long day of getting absolutely nowhere with her research, before she knows it she’s called a cab.

Siuan is sitting alone at the bar with a glass of beer, illuminated by gentle amber light. She looks like a painting, all hazy and ethereal like a muse painted by candlelight. As Moiraine’s breath catches uncomfortably in her throat, she fights the urge to turn tail and run. This is rash, irresponsible, and will most likely leave them both more hurt than before. There’s absolutely nothing stopping her from leaving before Siuan sees her, walking a few blocks to get a drink until her heart stops its wild gallop, then calling another cab home.

Nothing except the glint of Siuan’s hair, and the tight black dress she’s wearing, and, and…

Before she makes a conscious decision, she finds herself joining Siuan at the bar.

“Hey,” she says, sitting down with one stool between them. They’re only here to talk. It’s a good idea to keep a little distance.

It’s necessary, to keep a little distance, when Siuan is dressed like that. When Moiraine knows she’s going to have difficulty thinking of anything except how it would feel to put her hands on her, to run her palms over Siuan’s hips with that dress on, to make her —

“Moiraine.” Siuan’s eyes sweep over her. The only word Moiraine can think of to describe her expression is reverent. “You came.”

“Yes.”

“I didn't think you would.”

“Honestly, I didn't either.”

The slow way Siuan blinks at her tells Moiraine that the beer in her hand isn’t her first. Maybe not her second, either. Siuan doesn’t say anything else, so after a few quiet moments, Moiraine flags down the bartender and orders an old-fashioned, drinking it a little too fast. She’s a bundle of nerves, and Siuan still isn’t talking. In fact, she’s hardly even looking at her, just sipping her beer and tracing slow, lazy circles on the counter with her middle finger.

From the look in her eye, she must know exactly what effect this is having. Moiraine squeezes her thighs together, clutching her empty glass. Well, two can play at this game. She won’t say anything until Siuan does.

The bartender comes back to check on them. The bar only has one other patron, which isn’t shocking considering it’s a Tuesday night. Moiraine asks for a second old-fashioned, causing Siuan to quirk an eyebrow.

“Is my company that unbearable?”

“What?”

“Either your tolerance has improved a lot since you moved, or you’re already making an effort to get drunk.”

“And you’re not?” Moiraine shoots back. “What is that, your third beer?”

Siuan shrugs, loose and languid. “I was drowning my sorrows. Took you long enough to show up.”

“The bus was delayed. I had to take a cab. Thirty euros, by the way.”

“And you had to decide whether or not you actually wanted to see me.”

Even though there’s no one in earshot, Moiraine leans in a little, dropping her voice as she admits, “It wasn’t about want.”

“No?”

“Of course I wanted to see you. Fuck, Siuan, I always want to fucking see you.”

Siuan’s eyes widen slightly at the uncharacteristic display of passion. Moiraine takes a deep breath to steady herself. The alcohol has loosened her tongue already, or maybe it’s just being this close to Siuan that has her head buzzing. She feels reckless, impulsive. She knows exactly how Siuan’s lips would feel if she leaned in right now to kiss her. She knows the exact sound Siuan would make in the back of her throat if Moiraine grabbed a fistful of hair to pull her closer.

Focus. She forces the next words out.

“But I don’t think this is good for us. I don’t think it would be smart to…”

Siuan leans closer. Her tongue darts out between her lips — a completely unfair move. “To what?”

“To —” Moiraine’s breath catches, but she doesn’t move away. Siuan wants her to play chicken, but she won’t. “To be entangled like that, to drag this out. It’s done — we decided it was done, remember? We decided long distance wouldn’t work, and we didn’t have another viable option.” Her voice is shockingly level, considering the tumult in her mind. “I don’t think this is another viable option.”

Siuan’s eyes gleam like embers in the orange light of the bar. “Why not?”

Moiraine’s chest is tight. Because I know your favorite breakfast cereal and what shampoo you use and exactly how long it takes you to do your makeup in the morning. How can I let all that go? How can I have you halfway?

“Why not?” Siuan presses.

“Because I think about you all the time,” Moiraine breathes, the words tumbling from her lips before she can think better of it. “Because I don’t want to be on a continent you’re not on.”

Too honest. Far too honest. But Siuan’s eyes widen, like she couldn’t quite let herself hope until now.

“You —”

Moiraine nods.

“Well…” Siuan says slowly. “We’re on the same continent now.”

Moiraine’s heart is hammering, throat dry. “I’d noticed.”

They stare at each other, drinks forgotten, everything forgotten.

“I couldn’t let you leave,” Moiraine whispers finally, “without seeing you one more time. Without telling you.”

“Telling me what?”

“What I already did.” She finishes her drink just to delay speaking, but when she sets the glass down Siuan is still watching her. “That I — want —”

It terrifies her. She can’t finish the sentence.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, but you were right. I can’t imagine giving this up.”

Everything crystallizes, moving impossibly slow but with the surety of an avalanche. She doesn’t remember moving her hand, but suddenly it’s resting on Siuan’s thigh. Suddenly she’s leaning in.

Siuan is perfectly still as Moiraine looks at her. Do you want this? Moiraine asks silently. Really?

Siuan’s eyes dart to her lips, and that’s all the encouragement Moiraine needs. She leans in to kiss Siuan, closing her eyes as their lips meet. It’s only been a few days since the cafe, but it feels like forever.

They separate, cheeks red, struggling to catch their breath. This is stupid, Moiraine thinks, so stupid. She’s going to regret it, but she can’t stop herself now. Her body is on fire and she needs, needs —

“Can we go up to your room?”

The elevator is blessedly empty. Moiraine pulls Siuan’s face roughly towards hers, kissing her hard, and Siuan clutches the front of Moiraine’s shirt for balance. They don’t stop touching as the elevator doors open, stumbling down the hallway. Siuan fumbles blindly in her purse for her keycard and pulls Moiraine into the room.

“We should talk,” Siuan pants. Moiraine presses her against the wall.

“Later.”

“You spent thirty euros on a cab so we could talk.”

“I spent thirty euros on a cab –” Moiraine pushes up Siuan’s skirt to run a hand up her thigh – “so we could do this.”

It’s true, she realizes. No matter how much she’d like to pretend otherwise, there’s an inevitability to this, to the magnetic pull of their bodies. She can’t see Siuan at a bar, makeup smudged, and not kiss her. She can’t stay away. It’s idiotic and reckless and selfish, but why can’t she be all of those things, just for once? Just to see how it feels?

And God, it feels good.

As she leans back in for a deep, indulgent kiss, Siuan melts into her like candle wax. Their bodies fit together so beautifully, Moiraine’s hand on Siuan’s leg, Siuan’s hand on her back. Their kisses are messy, growing desperate as each tries to claim as much ground as they can.

When Moiraine starts sucking on Siuan’s neck, Siuan shifts, pushing her head away.

“Don’t — I have to be on TV in two days and it’s too goddamn hot for turtlenecks.”

Moiraine hums acknowledgement against Siuan’s skin. “You know what else it’s too hot for?” she murmurs, tugging at Siuan’s dress straps. “Clothes.”

As far as one-liners go, it’s far from her best, but Siuan needs no more urging. Her dress is on the floor in seconds, tangled around her feet. Moiraine kisses her again, fumbling with her bra clasps. Coordination dulled by the two drinks and the flush of Siuan’s skin against hers, it takes her an embarrassingly long moment.

“I feel like a teenager,” she complains.

Siuan laughs. “You weren’t this good at kissing as a teenager.”

Moiraine captures her lips again to shut her up. The bra finally comes off, thank fucking god, and Siuan moans low in her throat as Moiraine palms her breast — the left, it had always been her favorite — and makes the swiping motion with her thumb that always drives Siuan insane.

“Do you — mmm —” Siuan is coming fully undone after just a few moments, hand on Moiraine’s ass, trying to grind against her leg. “Do you do this with all the girls?”

There are no other girls, Moiraine thinks. A few dates, a few kisses outside of bars, but no one had made her feel like this. She was worried she’d never feel it again.

“Only you.”

Siuan likes that, or maybe she just likes the way Moiraine’s hand is playing with the hem of her underwear. Moiraine can hear her desperation growing in her panting breaths.

“Mo,” she shudders out. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Ahh — about — us.” Siuan’s head tilts back as Moiraine skims her fingers over her underwear, the slightest teasing pressure. “I can’t — we can’t be together.”

“I know.”

“You said… that… that you didn’t want something casual.”

How could she ever have thought of giving this up? She’d have to be insane. “I changed my mind.”

Before Siuan can respond, Moiraine rubs her clit over her underwear. Siuan groans. “Moiraine — please —”

Hearing her beg is always a rush of power. Even more so now, after long months of not being able to. They can talk later. Right now there’s only this.

“Please what?”

“Please can we go to the bed?”

Nothing has changed. Siuan still shudders the same way when Moiraine traces her tattoos with her tongue. She still makes the same sound when Moiraine’s teeth graze her nipple. She still arches against the pillows the same way, like a goddess, like art. She still tastes as good as she always did.

When they fall asleep with their arms around each other, Moiraine can’t bring herself to feel regret.

///

“I’m sorry,” she tries the next day, as they're eating lunch. In the light of day, regret is a writhing mass in her stomach. She keeps replaying her moves like she’s picking apart a chess match. If she hadn’t tilted her head like that — if the bar lights hadn’t fallen on Siuan’s hair at that angle — if she’d had one fewer drink or one more —

Siuan looks over at her, amused. “For what?”

“For making everything complicated. I said it would be easier if we weren't entangled, but here I am…” She gestures. “Tangling us. I’m sorry for that.”

Siuan laughs, easy and uninhibited. Does she really not feel the same sense of tense, heavy dread filling Moiraine’s stomach? “No, you're not.”

“No, I’m really not. But I am sorry you have to leave so soon.”

In her wildest dreams, Siuan takes her hand over the table, looks into her eyes like an actress in a romance movie, and says then I won't leave. Says we can still have a life together. In her wildest dreams, their limbs are tangled together every evening, and every morning Moiraine wakes up warm.

This is reality, and reality is cold: Siuan just sighs. “Me too. Eat your sandwich, love. The whole thing. I’m paying.”

Siuan has always been optimistic. A whole sandwich is simply too much food, especially considering how thick the bread is. Under Siuan’s scrutiny, she manages to finish the first half and eat a few bites of the second with the top slice of bread removed.

In contrast, Siuan’s sandwich is gone within five minutes. There’s a smear of mustard by the corner of her mouth that Moiraine longs to wipe away with her thumb. When they were together, she would have done so without a second thought. Now… well, they’re certainly not together. But they’re sure as hell not broken up, not after last night and now this lunch date. Moiraine swallows, feeling the food sit heavy in her belly, making her anxiety worse.

They need to talk this through. They need rules.

“Siuan,” she says carefully. “What… I…”

The words keep dying in her throat. To buy herself time, she takes a drink of water — all this spluttering is embarrassing. “Are you sure you want this?”

She’s asking herself that question too. Can she have Siuan in half measures? She thinks she can.

“You’re the one who left,” Siuan bites out, not quite a yell but certainly fiery. Before Moiraine’s temper can flare in response, though, Siuan is looking down at the table and taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I know our decision was for the best. I just mean — I want you. Still. I know we can’t date. We don’t even have to be friends, if you don’t want to be.”

Her mouth twists slightly at that, as if the thought pains her, and it sends a jolt of twin pain through Moiraine’s heart. Siuan should have stayed away, she thinks bitterly. She shouldn’t have told Moiraine she was in Europe in the first place. This would all be so much easier without the option dangling in front of her, shining and sharp, smiling with Siuan’s teeth.

She takes a breath and says the only words she can.

“I want you too. We can be casual.”

The words barely fit in her mouth, even though they’re perfectly truthful. She wants to stay friends with Siuan, and she wants to keep having sex with Siuan, and now she’ll get to do both of those things. Any remnants of romantic feeling can be starved out. “I just want us both to be clear about what we’re committing to.”

Move to Greece, part of her screams. I’ll clear out half my dresser for you. I’ll fill the fridge with all your favorite foods.

“You don’t need to commit to anything,” Siuan says quickly. “No exclusivity. We can just…” She gestures, suddenly awkward. “Meet up, when it’s convenient.”

“Oh. All right.” Her blasé tone hurts Moiraine, but she tries to hide it. If this is what Siuan wants, she’ll adjust to it. She’s always followed Siuan. Why should this be any different?

Siuan settles back in her chair, some of the intensity leaving her eyes. “All right.”

Over the next hour, they talk rules. There’s a strange sharpness in Moiraine’s chest like a shard of glass tucked under a rib, piercing her whenever she moves. The rules make it hurt a little less, though — as long as they follow them, everything will be fine. Mostly, Siuan makes it clear over and over again that they’re not bound to each other. They can hook up with whoever else they want, as long as they’re safe about it, and they can call this off any time if it’s not working.

“Just don’t be a douchebag about it,” Siuan says, grinning across the table. “We can talk to each other. We’re adults.”

It’s a temporary peace, and Moiraine isn’t sure she can call it peace at all. She paces her empty apartment that evening, feeling feverish and thrilled and sick. It can’t last. Soon they’ll realize it’s completely impractical, or Siuan will lose interest or find someone else who wants to be exclusive.

It can’t last.

But she’s going to cling to it while it does.

///

For six years, everything else in Moiraine’s life is regimented and precise and often exhausting. After a few years in Greece, she ends up at Oxford, teaching while working towards her PhD. England is cloudy and dismal, and her research is a beast she feeds herself to day in and day out. She stays up late grading papers and grinding her teeth. When she can get away with it, she sips on tea instead of eating, enjoying how the hunger sharpens her.

Lan is always saying, probably accurately, that she’d work herself into the ground if not for him. Moiraine isn’t religious anymore, but it only takes a few hours sitting next to Lan in lectures for her to realize they’re connected somehow, like the universe tilted in just the right way to help them find each other. She can be herself around him in a way she’s rarely felt.

In Lan she sees herself, for better or for worse. They have the same drive, the same ability of single-minded focus. When she’s up preparing lecture notes until three in the morning, he’s right next to her sweating over research grants and pushing electrolyte drinks at her.

The steep rent has never been an issue for Moiraine, coasting by on her family’s money, but she learns that she doesn’t much enjoy living alone. She and Lan move in together after a year. All their peers seem to assume they’re together, and they eventually give up trying to set the record straight — neither of them are all that interested in romance at the moment, and this feels like a tidy solution. Lan is her partner in every practical sense. It may not be conventional, but her relationship with Siuan isn’t conventional either. She’s given up on trying to follow the rules.

If Lan’s presence is the steady warmth of a campfire, Siuan’s is an uncontrolled blaze. She possesses an immediacy that sweeps aside everything else. They still call or text occasionally, keeping each other updated on their lives, but most of their relationship is characterized by heated meetings many months apart. When they’re not in the same room, Moiraine makes an effort to maintain distance, to keep them from sliding back into the kind of close friendship that will make her heart go all mushy and romantic again. When they are in the same room…

I missed you. Siuan’s hand on her jaw. I missed your body.

Moiraine’s mouth on Siuan’s ear. I got a new toy. Want to see?

Later. Let me taste you first.

God, I missed you so much.

Days with Siuan are so rare that Moiraine gives everything over to them. Moiraine doesn’t visit the States often, except for academic conferences and family occasions she can’t wiggle her way out of, but she seems to find more and more opportunities as time goes on. When Siuan is in Europe, Moiraine rearranges plans, cancels lectures, takes the train as far as she needs to. It doesn’t matter how busy they are. They always make time.

Does it bother you? Siuan asks one night, feet tangled lazily together in bed. How secretive I ask you to be?

Anything for you, Madame President.

Stop teasing. I’m serious.

I’m not teasing, just practicing for the future.

Moiraine.

It doesn’t bother me. It’s kind of hot. It feels like we’re getting away with something illicit.

Oh yeah? Siuan’s hand drifts down her body. Want to see what else we can get away with?

I’m too tired for another round. I just want to stay like this.

Lan disapproves. Moiraine supposes she can’t blame him; after her meetings with Siuan, she’s often prickly, prone to snapping at him and disappearing into her room with a bottle of wine or a stack of papers a foot high.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” he asks her one night as they’re sitting on the balcony of their apartment. He’s sipping some disgusting beer — Siuan would probably like it — pestering her about summer plans as she grades papers. Well, it had started with him pestering her about summer plans. Now, apparently, he’s progressed to pestering her about her relationship. Can she even call it a relationship? Her… arrangement. “I can see that it hurts you, Moiraine. Why do you let her drag you around like this?”

“She’s not doing anything wrong,” Moiraine says defensively, but Lan isn’t done.

“If she can’t see how unhappy you are with this situation, she doesn’t know you as well as you think she does,” he says bluntly. “And if she can see it, she’s an asshole.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Moiraine snaps. “We’ve discussed it. This is the best solution.”

Lan’s steady gaze pins her in place. “Is it?”

She opens her mouth, closes it again, and looks back down at the paper she’s grading. The student’s points are solid, but their love of comma splices seriously impacts the clarity of the arguments.

“Moiraine.” Lan rests his hand on the arm of her chair, not quite touching her. “Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

It’s useless to deny the truth of his words. “Because I…”

The words die in her throat. She can’t even think them, in case they become too real. She makes some excuse to end the conversation, fleeing to her room with her half-graded pile. But Lan’s words take root, and certainty grows until she knows what she has to do.

He’s right. She isn’t happy, and she doesn’t think Siuan is either. One of them has to take initiative.

This time, it has to be her. She’s just celebrated her thirtieth birthday. She should be buckling down to finish her PhD. In her plans for her future, she’d always imagined she’d be in a stable relationship by now, and her standing with Siuan feels unsteady, combustible. She can’t be spending so much time distracted by this.

It’s time to fix things.

Siuan wins a seat in the House of Representatives when she’s twenty-nine years old. She’s not quite the youngest person to ever win, but her status as a young Black woman is enough to make waves. Across the ocean, Moiraine is asleep when the election is called, but it’s the first thing she looks up in the morning. The photos of a beaming Siuan in a crisp suit make Moiraine’s heart swell with pride.

I saw the news, she texts. Congratulations. This is a huge step.

Then, biting her lip — I’ll be in DC in three weeks for a conference. Meet me to celebrate? I’ll bring champagne.

Siuan’s reply is quick. Thank you! It still hardly feels real. Yes, I’d love to see you, especially if you bring champagne. Especially especially if you bring the lingerie we bought last time ;)

Moiraine can’t keep the silly smile off her face. Deal.

///

Moiraine insists on taking Siuan out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. It takes some convincing, but Moiraine wants to use every tool in her arsenal. To this end, she wears a more daring shirt than she usually would, light blue and half-sheer with a dark camisole underneath. She’s more flirty than normal during dinner, too, and Siuan’s eyes are bright with interest by the time they head back to Moiraine’s hotel room together.

They sit at the tiny table with their elbows bumping, sipping champagne and nibbling room-service chocolate cake that’s far too rich. Moiraine takes a deep breath. She’s given a lot of thought to her opening move — a pathetic amount, actually; it’s been nearly the only thing on her mind for weeks — and decided that Siuan would prefer a direct approach.

“I think we should start dating again.”

Siuan blinks once, twice.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’d like to date you,” Moiraine repeats, keeping her voice steady despite her heart going wild. “I think we should try again.”

Siuan’s eyes widen. “I — I don’t know what to say.”

Moiraine leans forward. “We can’t deny the impact we still have on each others’ lives, Siuan. We plan our trips around each other. Every time we’re together, it feels right, and then one of us leaves and I feel this hollowness, like I’m doing something wrong. Don’t you feel it too?”

She’s nearly certain Siuan does, or she might never have gotten the courage to be this honest. She’s seen echoes of it in her eyes the last few times they’ve said goodbye, although she hadn’t allowed herself to consider it until recently.

Siuan’s mouth opens and closes. “Have you always felt like this? Were you just going along with our arrangement this whole time, dreaming of —” She bites off the rest of the sentence.

Moiraine feels a chill. She’d spent so long trying to separate the romantic from the sexual, to think of Siuan without yearning. She’d nearly convinced herself she had, but of course Lan had to call her bluff.

“I tried not to,” she whispers. “I promise I tried.”

“So you’ve been thinking about this for years, and you just now thought to say something?”

“We’ve hardly seen each other,” Moiraine defends. And I was terrified. “Siuan, don’t lie to me, I know you’ve felt it too. It’s been different the past few times. We’re getting older — we can’t keep stealing a night here and there like unhappy wives sneaking behind our husbands’ backs. We should be thinking about our futures.”

Siuan’s face is tense. Moiraine takes a deep breath. Time to lay everything on the table. Time to unhinge her heart. She’s never been good at this, but she has to try.

“When I think of my future, I see you. I thought it would be better to keep what I had, but I can’t live like that anymore. I had to tell you. To see if…”

“Our futures.” Siuan’s voice sounds hollow. “Moiraine, all I think about is the fucking future. Do you know how much I’m risking by letting this continue? Do you know how much I’d lose if anyone found out?”

It’s devastating to see the fear and sorrow in Siuan’s eyes, but a perverse hope blooms in Moiraine’s chest. If that’s why Siuan isn’t letting them be more…

“We can work around it,” she says quickly. “We can figure it out. I’ll say I’m your best friend. We can pretend I’m dating Lan, we’ve done it before. You can find a guy, a —”

“I’ve already found one.”

Moiraine’s heart goes to ice. “What?”

“I found someone. I had to. People were starting to ask questions.”

“People?”

“Reporters. Voters. People.” The corners of Siuan’s mouth are tight. She looks pinned in place. “You don’t know what it’s like, being scrutinized like this. It was easier to — oh, don’t look at me with those big, judgy doe eyes, Moiraine. I thought you of all people would understand.”

Moiraine hadn’t been judging Siuan at all — it’s plain, simple hurt tangling her up, but she’s strangely grateful Siuan misinterpreted. With effort, she smooths her features, swallowing hard. She feels lightheaded, disconnected. “What’s his name?”

“Alric.” Siuan’s steady gaze finally falters. “We’ve been together for close to two years. I know how it sounds, but I — I do like him. I’m happy with him, even if it’s not…”

Even if it’s not us, Moiraine yearns for Siuan to say. She doesn’t. The silence feels suddenly sharp. Moiraine is angry, she realizes. Siuan should have told her. If Siuan had just told her —

“Oh, don’t go all cold and bitchy like you always do,” Siuan snaps after a moment. “Talk to me like a fucking adult.”

“Fine. You’ve been together for two years,” she throws Siuan’s words back, acidly, “and you just now thought to say something? Just now thought oh, maybe Moiraine would like to know? But I guess the two of us have only known each other for, what, over a decade, so I understand why it slipped your mind.”

“We aren't exclusive!” Siuan shouts, surprising both of them. She breathes harshly through her nose. “Moiraine, I don’t owe you shit. Yes, I should have told you, but we’ve barely seen each other recently, and I didn’t want to make everything more complicated! You don’t tell me about every girl you fuck. That’s never been part of the arrangement!”

“Oh, and that worked out so well. It’s definitely less messy if I just don’t know about it, right? Of course I’ll never find out. Well, guess fucking what, Siuan. It’s complicated now! It’s always been complicated!”

Siuan’s mouth rounds, a brief caricature of shock before she regulates her expression. It takes Moiraine a moment to register she was shouting too. She almost never raises her voice at Siuan, so afraid that she’ll fall into her family’s cruel patterns. Clenching her hands into fists, she closes her eyes and tries to breathe around the sudden tightness in her chest.

“I thought we were on the same page,” Siuan says more quietly.

“I tried to be.” The honesty burns in Moiraine’s throat. “For years, I tried to be. I thought I was, but…”

“Fuck.” The word drags itself from Siuan’s throat. She buries her face in her hands. “Fuck, Moiraine. If I thought… if I’d known you felt like this, we could have —”

“Don’t finish that,” Moiraine says harshly. She doesn’t want to hear it. If Siuan is about to say we could have gotten back together, we could have tried, the past tense will just break her heart. Worse and more likely is something like we should have ended this years ago, which Moiraine can’t stand to hear.

She reaches across the table for Siuan’s hand, and Siuan lets her take it. Neither of them speak, and the silence grows heavy and oppressive. Moiraine breathes shallowly and blinks back tears.

Fuck it.

“I still love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word.

Siuan doesn't look at her. Her mouth is a hard, angry line. “It would've been a lot more convenient if you'd discovered this earlier.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always loved you.”

“Not enough,” Siuan mutters.

“What?”

“You didn't love me enough.” Siuan’s voice is heavy, and it’s suddenly clear that this isn’t a passing thought, spoken in anger. It’s something that’s been festering for years in the darkness, in the silence, in every time they kissed instead of talking. “If you loved me more, you would have stayed.”

When Moiraine looks across the table, she doesn’t see Congresswoman Sanche, up-and-coming bold politician. She doesn’t see her lover, eager and assertive. She sees Siuan the twenty-four-year-old, eyes wide with hurt as Moiraine told her about the overseas research opportunity. “Not this again. We've been over it a hundred times. You know my research —”

“Cut the shit. You haven't been in the field in years. You could have come back any time. But you chose your cushy, prestigious, pretentious-ass position over me. Or were you just scared, was that it? Were you just too much of a fucking coward to come back?”

That’s exactly it, of course. She was terrified — she’s been terrified for years — she admits it now. She would have flown home in a heartbeat if she knew Siuan was waiting with a smile and a kiss and a bed with cheap sheets. She would have swallowed up the whole goddamn ocean and walked barefoot across the rocky floor if she knew — if she could be sure — that Siuan would do the same for her.

But she hasn’t been sure for six years.

Because she left, and Siuan didn’t follow. Siuan, in fact, seemed eager to jump into their new stage of casual hookups. Maybe that was all she ever wanted. Maybe —

Moiraine is terrified now, so full of fear she’s clenching her hands around her water glass so Siuan won’t see them shaking. When she’s terrified, she closes up. She goes cold, goes Damodred.

When she opens her mouth again, it’s her mother’s voice.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Her laugh is cold and cruel. “You’re bitter because I pursued a career where I’m stable and respected, while you’re licking boots and groveling for any scrap of power you can hold on to, forced to hide everything about yourself so the public will like you?”

It's too far. That's the point.

“Groveling?” Siuan snaps. “I'm respected, Moiraine. I'm making a real difference while you shuffle papers around and complain about your graduate students.”

“Now you’ve become an academia isn’t a real job person, too?”

“Well, it’s not as fucking noble as you make it out to be. You’re not killing yourself over anything important. All those late nights, all those sacrifices, that’s just who you are. You want to feel like you’re so goddamn heroic, but the truth is you just don’t know how to live like a normal person.”

Moiraine gapes. Siuan doesn’t stop.

“What, did you think our relationship was some beautiful tragic sacrifice too? Was I just fulfilling some fucked-up fantasy where you’re determined to think the world is wronging you? You could have come back! Instead you hid across the fucking ocean for six fucking years and never told me how you felt, and now it’s my goddamn fault somehow?”

“I didn’t say —”

“You’ve always had some grandiose ideas of your grand calling. I mean, we both did, we were so self-important, but Jesus Christ, Moiraine. Can’t you see the difference between us?”

“That I chose a career that made me happy and you didn't?”

Siuan slams her hands on the table. Moiraine flinches back but tries to hide it, settling her arms in front of her with renewed icy calm.

Siuan, by contrast, is all fire. “Moiraine, you’ve always been so fucking privileged. So fucking — out of touch! I don’t know how you can’t see it! Some of us can’t fuck off across the ocean for our niche research only five people are ever going to read.”

“I didn’t leave on a whim,” Moiraine snaps. “I thought it all out, Siuan. I wanted this, I pursued it, and I got it. You used to like that I was driven, remember? It’s one of the things that drew us to each other. How far we would go to build the lives we wanted.”

Siuan scoffs. “Don’t try to tell me the life you wanted didn’t have me in it, because we both know that’s a lie.”

“My world doesn’t revolve around you, Siuan!”

“Doesn’t it? Moiraine, what do you do when I’m not here? Do you go out? Do you date? Do you bring women home from the bar? Or do you sit at the kitchen table squinting at half-assed papers every Friday night?”

This is a trap, any answer damning. Either she’s a hypocrite, imposing expectations on Siuan that she isn’t following, or she’s pathetic, a widow crying at a window for her lost love. “It’s not the same. None of them are —”

“None of them are me?” Siuan snaps. “Don’t fucking try that line. None of them are you either, Moiraine, that’s not how the world works. You don’t get to throw a perfect catch back in the water and expect a replacement to come biting at the hook.”

“I wasn’t trying to replace you! I wanted you back.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left me for some dusty manuscripts five thousand miles away and an inflated sense of your own importance.”

“My own importance?” Fury burns Moiraine up. No room for cool, calm anger now, even an imitation of it — she hasn’t been this upset in years. She thinks of her mother, her uncles, a thousand moments from her childhood forging her into this cruel creature. “Siuan, this isn’t about me.”

“What is it about, then?”

“It’s about us.” Moiraine gestures between them, hands shaking. “About all the queer people who have to fight for every scrap of representation, who have to dig through history to justify our own goddamn existence, to say see, we’re real, we’ve always been here. It’s about us, Siuan! My research is changing things! It’s making the world safer, more welcoming for everyone like us.”

“Us,” Siuan scoffs. “Your research destroyed us, Moiraine. You did. But I hope all the hypothetical baby lesbians whose lives you’re changing are very happy. I hope it works out better for them than it did for you and I.”

The past tense makes Moiraine’s panic surge. This is all spiraling so quickly. “So you’re giving up, just like that?” Siuan never gives up. Moiraine finds it adorable and infuriating in turns.

“I think we gave up years ago. This couldn’t be anything, Moiraine. We both knew it.”

“That’s not true.” Moiraine is crying now. She can taste salt in her mouth. Siuan’s eyes are welling up too, which makes Moiraine feel even worse — it’s difficult to drive Siuan to tears. “That’s not true, Siuan. If it wasn’t anything, we would have stopped.”

“It can’t be anything.” Siuan stands up and starts throwing things into her bag. Moiraine watches, disbelieving, as she takes her coat off the back of her chair and strides for the door.

Moiraine can’t resist one more jab. “And you called me a coward.”

“This isn’t cowardly, it’s practical.” Siuan doesn’t turn around. “We wouldn’t work. I think this conversation proved it, even if the last ten years didn’t make it clear enough.”

“Well, future President Sanche,” Moiraine spits out, “I hope it all works out for you. I’ll be watching for you on the ballot.”

Siuan slams the door behind her.

Moiraine’s hands don’t stop shaking for an hour. She wants to scream, to throw the champagne flutes across the room, to be sharp and loud and awful. But she was already sharp and loud and awful to Siuan, and now Siuan is gone.

She can’t call Lan — it’s three in the morning in England. She imagines it a hundred times, but doesn’t even know how she’d start the conversation. Pacing the hotel room, her brain works furiously, replaying the last decade and thinking about the life she’s built. Was it worth it? Is any of it worth it without Siuan?

Her hands are still shaking. She calls room service for a bottle of wine.

The first glass washes away her anger. Salty tears run into her mouth as she sits in the dark, empty, impersonal hotel, replaying all her mistakes. Siuan was supposed to be here right now. They were supposed to be kissing, blissful, finally together again.

Without Lan or Siuan she has no one to confide in. She’s kept in touch with some college friends, but they were all Siuan’s friends first. If she’d tried harder to maintain contact with her grad school peers, or if she called her sisters more than the bare minimum, maybe right now she wouldn’t be so alone. It’s a shitty, selfish way of framing the world and only makes her feel worse. She’s so transactional and pathetic. So fucking Damodred. Siuan was right to keep her distance.

In fact, Siuan probably isn’t even upset at the prospect of ending their relationship. She’s probably relieved to have Moiraine stop clinging. She’s probably not sitting alone, hugging herself as tears drip onto the floor…

The second glass of wine washes away her pride. Her phone is out and she’s texting Siuan, fingers flying. I fucked up.

Come back.

Siuan, call me.

Please call me.

The bottle is empty. She’s calling, leaving shitty rambling voicemails, hardly knowing what she’s saying. I love you. You'll be an amazing president. I'll move back to the States. I’ll do whatever you want. Let's move in. Let’s get married. I know this isn't over, please, love, please…

She’s never begged like this before. She begs now.

She stays up ridiculously late, staring at her phone, not knowing if Siuan is asleep or busy or ignoring her. Finally, she falls asleep slumped over the counter, too wrung out to move to the bed.

///

She wakes up with the sun a few hours later. Blinking, she takes inventory — hazy memories of the night. A lingering, disembodied sense of shame. An aching body, an aching heart, one of the worst hangovers of her life.

And no messages from Siuan.

She vomits noisily into the kitchen sink.

Her pride won't allow her to miss her conference after traveling all this way. She scrapes her hair into a tight bun, uses more concealer than usual in an attempt to look alive, and stops at a convenience store for a bottle of sugar-free Gatorade. If she lacks her usual poise, if she clutches the stair railing harder than normal, if she flinches every time her phone buzzes in her pocket, she hopes no one is paying enough attention to notice.

Finally, fifty-two torturous minutes into the first talk she attends, a text from Siuan pops up.

Fuck you, Moiraine. We’re not doing this again. It’s over.

At least she makes it to the bathroom before the nausea overtakes her again.

Over. Over. Over. She opens the text a hundred times, wishing to see the words transformed, wishing for just one more message.

It never comes.

And then a decade passes.