Author Notes: This one shot is requested by the lovely guest reviewer, 'WERK WERK!' Thank you so much for asking for this, as I had a lot of fun making it and I love this ship with a passion!
Trigger Warnings: Graphic depiction of an anxiety attack and self hatred.
Angelica found herself to be absent the day of October 3rd. She was in school physically, of course; she sang beautifully in the most elite choir in their entire state, she did her school work and handed in assignments, she even chuckled along with her beloved sisters and their mutual friends during lunch time. Despite all of these activities she participated in, she found her mind to be in a distant place, one much more sinister and plagued with so much pain that she kept in at arm's length while simultaneously fighting to keep her head above the dark waters of her mind. To her loved ones, she seemed a bit more quiet than usual and were told she was simply considering a future project for one of her clubs that she was the president of, but the reality of the situation grew heavier with each passing hour.
Getting accepting in one of the top three schools in the nation was no small feat; she rationally understood that. Internally, she was struggling with how she'd keep her GPA well above the 4.0 mark to ensure her options were as option as her forms said they were. If she lost her admittance and didn't hit the ground running with college next year, she had no idea how she'd manage to keep up. She wanted to do so much with her life, and every single person who knew her name expected just as much. Her father had made it very clear he would not pay the tuition for anything less than Ivy League and that her younger siblings were going to made to suffer if she fell short as a 'deadbeat' or 'average', so she continued to do her usual above average performance despite all the panic pooling like rocks at the bottom of her stomach.
She told herself it was her fault she felt this way and that she deserved to wish death or misfortune upon her life. She was the one who got a 'B' on that midterm and still had no idea what she could do to make up for it. She was the one who could've and should've studied a little longer, not let her beloved Eliza and Peggy convince her to take a break and spend a selfish night on the town with them and friends. She could've stuck to what she knew and deviated only when she was safely on top, and yet she'd failed and now had fears that climbed over her head rapidly that this would cost her the valedictorian spot she'd fought so hard for.
"Miss Angelica?" One of the elementary aged students asked as she sat in the after school study session for youngsters that she helped run. "My mama said you were going to leave next year and go to cool-egg."
"College," she correctly with a patient, albeit frayed, smile.
"She said you were so smart, you were gonna go to Harvard!"
"Well, I've actually only heard back from Brown so far," she replied with a strained smile. "I'll still be getting it all paid for. Now, how about we get started on this book?"
"Brown?" The child repeated as he pulled out his reading. "That doesn't sound as cool as Harvard."
It wasn't as cool as Harvard. As a matter of fact, one might argue that was overall worse, and that it made no sense for her to perform so poorly that she wouldn't be admitted at the very top. If a seven year old thought it, her father would say the same and take it out on her, and she'd suffer more than she figured she could ever inflict upon herself.
She didn't really feel herself excusing herself and passing the student off to another one of the workers. As she walked toward the bathrooms, she hardly registered her legs moving underneath her or the way her breath hitched with every other rapid step. The more she travelled the further the stalls felt, and her biting her tongue to avoid crying out was enough to send her fumbling into the nearest vacant classroom. As she pushed her way past the desks and to the back of the room, she let out a harsh sob that felt so disconnected from herself that she rammed her head against the wall just to feel something, to snap her back into reality. The force of the blunt trauma had her sinking down into a small ball, harsh cries clawing out of her throat and sending tears pouring down her face, into her mouth, peppering her shirt and knees with the salty liquid.
You're alone, you pathetic freak. You're alone and you deserve it you deserve it you deserve it you fucking freak, you weak little bitch fucking at school. What are you, five? Weak stupid bitch weak stupid bitch you'll never be good enough never never never you're too stupid you fucking idiot why the fuck are you crying pathetic pathetic PATHETIC-
The lights were off and yet it felt too bright. She grabbed her hair from the ponytail she'd forced it into before, yanking and muffling her sobs that bordered on shrieking. She would never be good enough, no matter how hard she tried, so why did she try? She would be better off disappearing, far away from a father whose compassion died with her mother and bringing peace upon a household of innocent little siblings.
"Hello?"
Someone had entered her sphere of despair. She immediately bit down into the fabric of her shirt, desperately trying to stop the hysteria long enough to get the foreign voice's host to exit the classroom.
Look at you, you pathetic crybaby bitch. The teacher will think you're insane have you lost your damn mind? Wow stop crying stop crying damnit you pathetic little fuck can you shut up for three seconds you fucking freak you stupid, stupid bitch.
A small sob erupted as the shadowy figure stepped closer; she was caught in all of her lost glory, her walls crumbling as she laid in the rubble of a life she tried so desperately to build for herself and for those she loved. Before she could try to stand and make up an excuse about why she was hysterically weeping into herself in a random classroom, the figure knelt down in front of her and pulled her hands away from her mouth. As they were removed, she realized she'd bitten into so hard and excessively they'd begun to bleed around her cuticles and nail beds.
"Angelica?" The voice inquired, and with a sinking feeling she realized she knew exactly who this male was.
"Jefferson," she whispered, voice hoarse from the sobbing that she couldn't seem to cease despite all her best efforts. "If you're here to kick me while I'm down, go ahead. I've got nothing else to fucking lose."
"Jesus, darlin', what kind of man do you take me for?" He mused, sitting back onto his posterior entirely and keeping her hands in his own despite her subconscious attempts to return knowing on them. "Hey, hey. I don't know what's going on, but you gotta calm down."
Calm down calm down fucking calm down you're making a scene you'll never be respected in the Debate Team now you're a sorry excuse of a president what fucking fool put you in charge he's an adult you're a sniffling child fucking calm down CALM DOWN damnit!
"Angie…" The Virginian softly said, his voice smooth as silk in contrast to his usual sassy remarks and flirtatious and condescending tone. "Angie, please. Can you tell me five things you can feel?"
Fucking five things you- wait, what?
"W-what?" She whispered aloud, her gaze still unable to meet his.
A light was suddenly shining down, one that showed the man before her more clearly. His hair, a luscious and usually free Afro, was now pulled into a braid that laid across his head from ear to ear while the rest was in a puffy bun. His brown eyes were wide and concerned, two things she'd never seen front her confident classmate and main competition for the valedictorian spot, and that alone was nearly enough to send her back into her usual confidence demeanor.
"Can you tell me five things you can feel?" He repeated quietly requested, and she realized his large, cool hands were on either side of her face as her tears freely dripped down like rainfall.
She sniffled involuntarily and became aware of how close they were, how small she must look, and how he seemed too genuine to pass up in such a vulnerable position. "I…I feel…I feel the carpet underneath me, a-and your hands. I can feel my clothes…The storage unit on my back…A-and my hair sticking to my face."
"Very good, doll," he praised, and the fear that he was only acting compassionate to destroy her later overcame her like a plastic sack underneath water."Now, how about four things you can see?"
"I…" She scooted back instinctually, not relinquishing his touch from her despite trying to sit up a little straighter to salvage some dignity subconsciously. "I-I see…I see a…a lamp on. I see…I see the light in from under the door. I see m-my hands…I…I!"
"One more, darlin," he prompted so gently, she nearly melted out of gratitude despite herself.
"…I see…I was only looking at your hair before?" She voiced hesitantly, his patient nod encouraging her to continue. "B-but…but now I see your eyes. They're big, and brown but hazel in the direct light. They're v-very nice."
"Why thank you, sugarplum," he responded with a rare non-malicious chuckle. "Now I'm gonna need three things you can hear."
"Your voice," she murmured hoarsely, all the fatigue and strain she'd brought on herself finally catching up while he cracked a smirk at her smart comment. "M…my voice. People going by the door outside."
"Excellent," he soothed as he used his thumbs to brush her curls free from her messy face. "Can you tell me two things you can taste?"
Lunch still lingered on her taste buds despite it being the afternoon, and by the way he kept his face in close proximity, she feared this was a poorly done sexual advance when she was at her most fragile. She immediately shoved him back, her hands shaking as she skittered away from his grasp. He went back with a small grunt and, much to her relief and shock, didn't make a cruel comment about how primal she was acting or even try to get back up.
"Well, sugar?" He simply said.
"…Chicken," she mumbled, a feeling of bashfulness settling when she realized her fears had been misguided. "And flavored chips."
"Sounds delicious, pumpkin. All there is left to tell me once thing you can smell."
She tried to take a whiff of the air, and yet her nose seemed to be running to get anything that wasn't strong. Face flush with more shame (if it were possible at this point), she got to her feet and stumbled over desks until she got to the box of Kleenex on the teacher's desk. Thomas followed a respectful distance, his eyes never seeming to leave as she cleaned up somewhat and cleared her airway.
"I don't smell anything," she muttered disappointedly.
Instead of speaking, the fellow senior wrapped his arms around her, encasing her with warmth and a perfume that smelled flowery and lavender. "How about now?"
"Y-your cologne," she admitted in a shaky squeak.
"You've got it, honey." He pulled away only slightly now, his expression still soft against the background-centric harsh lamp light. "Look, I know we fight like it's our damn jobs, but nobody deserves to be crying alone in Mister Benton's science classroom. We can leave that for the people we don't think twice about or some shit, don't you think?"
"Well, Thomas, I'm surprised you care whether I live or die," she professed with a light chuckle that crumpled when she realized she couldn't bear to meet his gaze. "I can't imagine what you must think about me now. I hope you know this does not change my level of intellect, nor how I have grown to enjoy our little debates. This was…this was simply a, well, a…"
"A panic attack," he finished while stepping back, and the ghost of his touch left her longing for it once more when she still felt so small. "I get them all the time. That's why I wear this lavender stuff; helps soothe the nerves because science and shit. Nobody ever said being on the top was easy, sweetie, but that makes us all the more badass when we crumple. I don't expect you'll be dropping the ball regardless, so don't worry about it. It can be our little secret; right, angel?"
He'd nearly gotten out of the door before she went to his side, her hands and arms looping around his dominant one as though she'd done it all her life. In the hallway light, she finally noticed how his flannel shirt was flattering and his jeans were pleasantly tight, and how a blush lingered on his dark cheeks despite claiming to not be affected by this encounter.
"Oh please, Thomas," she finally managed with a genuine smile of her own. "At least let me walk you to your car for your troubles. I have no intention of dropping our earlier argument about women's reproductive rights, I do hope you know, and now you're in an excellent place to speak of it."
He smiled once more and leaned closer so their sides touched more intimately. "I wouldn't dream of it, baby."