Title: opening and upward
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Molly Hooper/Sally Donovan
Rating: T
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 3050
Summary: Teen!AU. For the sort-of-prompt: "Molly gets stood up for the dance and is sad about it, but ends up going with her best girl friend and they make out against the gymnasium."

A/N: Beta'd by peevee, both lovely and encouraging.

Hi Molls, working late but I hope you have a good time tonight!

Love, Mum

Molly blinks at the note (stuck to a bowl of pasta) and can't help the grin that spreads across her face. Tonight. The dance. "Thanks, Mum," she smiles at the note, and even though her stomach's flip-flopping too much for her to feel hungry, she swallows down a few bites before giving up the rest as a lost cause and heading for the bathroom where her dress is neatly hung up.

When she puts it on her collarbones are bare, and the hemline climbs up to her mid-thigh – she bites her lower lip, heart fluttering. It's – well, different, isn't it? But that's what tonight's about, Molly Hooper doing something exciting and fun, not like her usual boring self.

She gives a small twirl in front of the mirror and can't stop giggles from rising in her throat. When she leans forward to press the lipstick to her mouth, it's like putting on a new layer of Molly, sleek and colourful and just a bit daring.

She likes the way it feels – the way it settles in her stomach, warm and steady.

It's 7:25, and Tom's picking her up in twenty minutes. Molly sits in the kitchen with her fingertips pressing up against her thighs and waits with a grin she can't swallow down.

The clock on the kitchen wall says 8:14 and Molly has already peeked out the kitchen window too many times to count, but the headlights down the street keep passing her door by. She thought Tom had said 7:45, and maybe she'd been mistaken but the dance started at eight and surely he should have been here by now?

She gnaws at her fingernails out of habit before jerking her hand away from her mouth, making a face at the bitter taste of nail polish. There's a mark bitten into the smooth pink of her index finger now – it'd taken her half an hour to get it right, swiping the brush over her nails while trying to keep her left hand from trembling too much.

Molly Hooper is standing in her kitchen with a fluorescent bulb glaring harshly down, and her dress suddenly doesn't fit quite right and her nail polish is chipped; she feels like she's been playing dress-up, pretending that she was fitting in while all along it's been obvious to the whole world that she doesn't belong.

Tom had asked her to the dance but clearly it had been a mistake, and Molly flushes, remembering all her idle daydreams: Tom's fingers wrapped around hers, looking up into his eyes as they swayed to something sweet and low in the background, and then maybe his head tilting down while hers tilted up to meet in a kiss—

It had been stupid to expect that, and her vision is blurred now but she can't let herself cry because it would ruin the mascara still slightly sticky around her eyes.

So she calls, "Here, Toby," with a wobble in her voice, scooping him up when he comes around with a small meow. She ends up settled on the sofa with the comforting heat of Toby in her lap, and reminds herself not to cry as she strokes his back.

"I don't mind, really," she tells him, "if Tom wanted to go with someone else, but he could have at least – told me, that would have been nice."

Toby just gives her an unimpressed look and bumps his head into her hand, so she switches to rubbing at his ears instead.

"And I just thought – well, he was the one who asked and he was smiling about it, so he must have liked me, at least a little bit, right?"

Toby hisses, and then swipes a paw at her bare leg.

"Ow!" She stands up reflexively, and Toby takes the chance to flow onto the floor and dash off.

"Oh, fine," she bursts out, chest heaving, "what do you know? You're just – a cat and it's not like there are cat dances and stupid cat boys who smile at you and—"

She stops, and then starts to laugh, because there's blood oozing from her leg and she is alone on a Friday night yelling at a cat. There's a tinge of hysteria in the sound that worries her, but she can't stop until she's collapsed back on the sofa breathless and suddenly sober.

She should call Sally, she thinks, and that makes so much sense she wonders why she didn't think of it earlier, even as she's reaching for the telephone to dial Sally's number. Sally's grounded and serious, not silly like Molly, and Sally will be home because her lips had curled up at the posters for the dance, like she'd never waste her time with something so pointless.

The phone starts to ring shrilly, and the decision to call is already sitting uneasily in her stomach. It's not like this is anything important – Molly Hooper got stood up for the dance and who's surprised? – and Sally probably has better things to do than talk to her, Molly sitting alone without even her cat, dabbing tissues at the spot of blood on the hem of her silly dress.

She's just about to hang up when Sally's voice, calm and reassuring, says, "Hello?"

"Sally," Molly says at once, "um, sorry, you were probably busy and I can let you go if you want, but—"

"Molly?" Sally breaks through her babbling. "I thought you'd be at the dance."

"I...was, yeah," she says, "but Tom was supposed to pick me up at 7:45 and well, the dance starts at eight so I guess he's not coming? So I'm just here at home and then I tried to talk to Toby but he scratched me and now—"

"Tom stood you up?" Sally sounds outraged. "That dick."

"Sally!"

"What, he is!" she protests. "And stupid, too, if he can't appreciate you enough to even show up."

"I—" Molly says, her cheeks heating up fast, "well, that's very nice of you but he's not—"

"I'm not being nice, I'm being truthful," Sally says.

There's a pause while Molly's thoughts are circling dizzily around the thought of anyone appreciating her, and Sally must get tired of waiting for her to get her words together because then she says, very gently, "So, what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," she says. "I mean, I'll just stay and—and pet Toby and maybe read a book. That's what I normally do, anyway."

"Right," Sally says, "but is that really what you want? You were looking forward to this, you dressed up and everything."

"Well, I can't go to the dance now, I haven't got anyone to go with," Molly snaps. And then, "Oh, god, sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you, but I can't go alone, I just can't." She's aware that she sounds rather desperate at the end, but she needs Sally to understand, she can't walk into that gym hall where Tom and his date and Tom's friends are probably laughing and dancing, bear the weight of their stares.

"I'll go with you."

"I—what?"

"If you need someone to go with, I can go with you. And if Tom's there I'll be happy to have words with him, too," Sally finishes with grim relish.

"But," Molly blinks, flabbergasted. "You think dances are silly."

"I think all the fluttering around who's going or not going with who is silly," Sally corrects firmly. "But it might be...nice, going with you."

Molly's ready to say no – because Sally's probably only offering out of pity and that's almost as humiliating as getting stood up – but Sally's voice had gone soft at the end, like she'd meant what she said, like she genuinely wanted to go to the dance with Molly.

"Are...you sure?" she asks, sitting upright and smoothing her dress over her thighs. "You don't have to, if you don't want. You shouldn't go just because you think I want—"

"Molls, I'll be there in half an hour," Sally says, a warm laugh in her words, and then she hangs up.

Molly stares at the receiver in her hand and then drops it quickly back into the cradle. "Right," she says to herself. "Half an hour."

Sally in fact takes just twenty minutes, during which Molly cleans the scratches on her leg and re-does her make-up and tries very hard not to think about Tom. When the knock comes she scrambles off the sofa to answer the door, and then boggles.

"Sally," she says stupidly, "you look...great."

Sally's wearing something sleek and grey and...elegant, the hem falling just above her knees. "Thanks," she says, looking down at her dress. "It's my mum's. Anyway, you look pretty gorgeous yourself."

Molly doesn't feel gorgeous at all – she just feels awkward, chipped fingernails and pink lines making their way up her shin. "Thank...you," she tries anyway. "Um."

"You ready?" Sally asks, taking hold of Molly's hand and tugging lightly with a familiar, inviting grin, and Molly lets herself step forward.

"What if he's there," Molly whispers, stopping short in front of the gym hall doors. "He's going to laugh at me, I know it. Oh god, this was such a bad idea."

"He's not going to laugh at you." Sally pats her bare shoulder. "We're going to go in there, have a drink, maybe dance, and it'll be fun. And if Tom so much dares to look at you I will personally tell him to fuck right off."

"Would you really?" Molly says, panicky. "No, please don't, he'll hate you forever and probably me, too, and that's just...not a good idea, it's really not."

"He doesn't deserve you," Sally mutters. And then she tilts her head at Molly, suddenly concerned. "If you don't want to go, it's okay," she says. "I shouldn't be forcing you to do this, sorry."

"No, it's fine," she says automatically.

"Really?" Sally gives her a sceptical look.

And the thing is this: Molly might be awkward and gangly in her dress with an embarrassing habit of not being able to stop talking, but Sally is here with her – Sally who's been her best friend for years, listened to her fret about everything under the sun and muttered reassurances into her ear – so she snaps her head up and says, firmly, "Yes," before reaching out to push open the door.

The gym is lit by flashing colours and music spills out in an overwhelming rush, something with a heavy beat that thrums in her ears. Molly takes two steps in and starts to feel like she's drowning, before she registers Sally's presence behind her. "Wanna get something to drink?" Sally says, voice raised to break through the noise. "Look, the table's over there, we can-"

"Oh, no," Molly says as Tom freezes across the gym, before turning aside to whisper furiously to at his friend, the line of his suited back tight with nervous energy. He looks – wonderful, and Molly's heart is sinking into her stomach because she wasn't good enough for him, was she, and they would have been ridiculous together, like a Siamese next to a scruffed-up alley cat. She blinks hard and wonders if she could just run out now, or if that'd cause too much of a spectacle for even her to live down.

"Molls, don't." Sally lays a hand on her arm. "He's a thoughtless twat, and he's not even worth thinking about, all right? Please don't let him ruin tonight, you were looking forward to this."

"I—is he looking at me?" she asks faintly.

"He's not looking at you," Sally soothes, linking their arms together, "probably because he's a coward who can't own up to his mistakes. And if anyone else is looking at you, it's because you look fucking fantastic. So, c'mon, forget about him."

Molly sneaks another glance at Tom, but he hasn't turned back. Tom's friend – Andrew? Adam? – is fiddling with the lip of his cup with his other hand thrust into his pocket, before he looks up to catch her gaze and makes an expression that's half embarrassment and half sympathy.

She...doesn't want that, she realises with the sudden bite of clarity. He doesn't have any right to look like that, as if that makes everything fine, and she can't stomach the thought of standing there a moment longer to be pitied.

But Sally is still right next to her, her arm a blaze of warmth in the crook of Molly's elbow, so she turns her head and says, "Okay, dance with me."

Sally smiles, hot and bright, and they slip into the messy throng of people still looking at each other.

Molly had forgotten how good it felt to just dance without worrying about anything – the music is light and fast, and there's laughter bubbling up in her chest so she lets it out, and Sally grins back, her head tossed high. When the song changes to something softer and slower, they nod at each other and then ease off to the side, alternately giggling and trying to catch their breath.

"Drinks," Sally says decisively. "We should get drinks."

They stumble over to the table together. Molly grabs a fanta, blinking at the sudden contact of metal against her skin, while Sally snatches a coke and opens it with a snap. She takes a gulp, head tipped back, and Molly can see the movement of her throat as she swallows, a shine of liquid on her upper lip when she lowers the can.

"It's hot in here, isn't it?" Molly says, fumbling through the words. "Want to go outside for a bit?"

"Sure," Sally smiles, slow. "Let's."

And it's just Sally leading them around the scattered groups of people, Sally holding open the door and waving Molly through like she's done a thousand times before, but there's something new buzzing up Molly's spine that won't go away even after she's swallowed away her drink several times over.

They end up leaning against the concrete curve of the gym outside, the cool air a strange contrast with the heat of Sally's body pressed to Molly's side.

"This is nice," Sally says, head tipping onto Molly's shoulder. "Hey, look, that's Venus."

Molly looks, and thinks about Sally's hair slightly ticklish against her skin. She lets her hand drop to her side, heart leaping at the brush of her fingers against the back of Sally's hand. "Sally," Molly starts, haltingly, "I'm really glad, you know, that you offered – that we – um. Are here." She blushes, and wonders if Sally can see that in the dim light. "Tonight's been great," she tries, "and it wouldn't have been the same without you, at all," she finishes all in one breath.

"Yeah?" Sally says slowly, warmly, turning to look at her without raising her head up. Her hand bumps into Molly's, once, twice, the warmth of her skin radiating all against Molly's forearm. "You know what, I'm…kind of glad I ended up coming here with you, too." Sally says. "Even if. Well, some people don't understand how great you are."

Molly tries to find some way of responding to that, but she's afraid if she starts talking she's never going to stop. Sally's taking another sip of her drink but she's still glancing sideways at Molly, and Sally's knee bumps into hers, uncertainly.

Maybe it's that she's still giddy from before, and her heart starts thumping much too rapidly in her chest, but just maybe, today is the day to do something reckless. So Molly sets her drink down and straightens up to look right at Sally, one hand awkwardly hovering in the air and the other one dragging across the wall until she has two fingertips lightly brushing against Sally's hip.

"Um," she says. "I. If." And then she stops, because maybe she's got this all wrong and Sally wasn't thinking about this, at all.

But Sally looks down at where Molly's hand is resting on her dress before laying her own hand on top, and then she looks back up and says, "Yes," so softly that Molly feels it more than hears it. So Molly lets her hand press more firmly into the curve of Sally's body, and with a hitch in her breath she leans forward, closer and closer until—

She has to tilt her head a bit so their noses aren't bumping together, but it's still a surprise when her mouth actually lights on Sally's, making her eyes flutter shut involuntarily. With a thrill, she realises she can feel Sally smiling against her. When she pulls back she licks her lips and tastes something fizzy-sweet – the coke that Sally's still holding onto – and blinks.

"Was that—" and now her hands feel all out of place again – her palm's slightly damp against the fabric of Sally's dress and she just kissed her, Sally Donovan – "I mean, I haven't done that a lot, and actually, you probably know that but I really don't know how to—"

"Molls," Sally says, her mouth lifting up, "it was good. Um. Really good." She reaches out, and then frowns at the can in her hand.

"Here," Molly says, wrapping her fingers around the can – over Sally's, and she can feel the bend of Sally's knuckles against her palm – and lifts it to her mouth to take a quick sip. It burns a bit as she swallows, and she coughs, but that's fine, it's all blending together with the thrill of—this, them. Sally laughs and finishes the rest before letting the can fall to the ground, and then she's pulling Molly closer, a hand splayed on Molly's back and the other warm on her neck.

They try kissing again, wet and hot and firm, and this time when Sally's tongue slowly brushes against Molly's lips, Molly lets the pleased surprise curl through her stomach and lets her mouth part open like an invitation.

Feedback always welcome :)