All of a sudden, his troupe seemed so human. Had they always had histories, pasts? What brought them here? The more she thought about it, the more she got the feeling she didn't actually want to know.

It was weird, to think that they had been young too once, that this wasn't what they were born to do. Or maybe it was. Did everyone else suffer the hoops and cages she went through? How could anyone survive it?

She refilled glasses, feeling, for the first time, treacherous for doing so. She didn't even like them, had never been on their side. She hadn't even pretended to; there was no betrayal here. And yet, it felt like betrayal all the same as the men smiled at her, proffered glasses in hand. Most of the women still refused to acknowledge her, simply holding glasses in her direction. It was almost laughable, how much effort they put into their passive aggression. She'd never cared; they were insisting upon a competition she didn't feel a part of. Even back at the beginning she had never cared, had been more than happy to let them have him. And now, it was almost boring, how much power she held in a group she had no interest in. Strange how things turn out.

If she left, would one of them try to fill her space? She could see them clawing at one another, turning instantly at the chance for more power. In the end, that was also why it would never work; they understood each other too well.

But didn't they deserve it all the more for that? She had never wanted this, was never willing to fight to defend it. They didn't understand her and she didn't understand them. Maybe they wouldn't tear down the next woman, would respect her authority. Somehow she doubted it. For all their talk, the woman were infinitely more dangerous than the men. They had more to lose.

And he, clueless as ever, simply smirked as she went amongst them, his hand occasionally dusting over her waist, pressing kisses to the back of her hand. He admired her as one might admire a trophy. Of course, wouldn't VFD do the same? Everyone only wanted her for what she stood for, some strange symbol of success. What she wouldn't give to mean nothing, to simply exist for the purpose of existing. She wished nobody cared whether she lived or died. Perhaps they didn't. Perhaps that would make all of their lives all the easier.

Still, the idea of seeing her siblings again weighed upon her chest. It was an aspersion she had long given up, had long ago decided was unrealistic, unreasonable. But now? If the pretty woman could bring her to them, how could she possibly consent to leave? Once she saw them, that was it, wasn't it? There was no way she could morally justify leaving them purposefully. Even if it meant offering herself to the devil's jaw, she'd be with them. And perhaps it wasn't all that bad; after all, how much worse could it get?

She was perfectly stunning in velvet. She didn't like gifts, he knew, but it had been one half of a two part gift; a half for him and a half for her. Her half had been a pair of overalls, sturdy dark denim perfectly suited to all the sorts of nonsense she was apt to get into. And she had actually been happy; happy enough to oblige him with wearing the new dress tonight.

He likes picking out her event clothes. She had no idea how to dress her figure, was always way too concerned with her ability to crawl under things, pick at gears, get covered in grease. Not to say that she wasn't beautiful when covered in dirt; he loved the way she looked coming in from the garden, under the sink with her wrenches as carefully laid out as his knives. He loved watching her, listening to her, existing in the same space as her. She made him bored of anything that didn't involve the turn of her lips, furrow of her brow. Even as she moved among his men, refilling glasses, he couldn't help but wish he had her all to himself. That, of course, wasn't to say that he wasn't glad for their jealousy; he lived off of it, thrived based upon how badly others wanted to be him. And with the cut of her neckline, hem of her skirt, he was nothing if not enviable. Still, all he could focus on was how much longer he had to wait before she would let him kiss the incline of her neck, catch the peak of her breasts in his hands. He wanted to worship her, needed to worship her. She was all distraction and disgrace, and he was a foolish mortal pining at the altar of a goddess. Catching his eye, she smiled softly, and he tumbled headfirst into foolish, heart-quickening love. Perhaps this time it wouldn't go up in flames. Or, better yet, perhaps they would set the fires together.

Perhaps it would all work, for better or worse.

Perhaps.

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AN-

Sorry for the later-ish update! I've been super busy trying to balance work and writing. Once again, there are a whole mess of semi-canonical stories on the blog, so if you're frustrated with me, please go check that out! Even if I can't update right on time, I try to keep that active and have a pretty good turnaround time. Cheers!