Sunlight filters through jade leaves twirling in the wind above her, the soft blue of summer sky shimmering into the spaces formed and swallowed and formed again. She senses the hammock beneath her swaying almost imperceptibly in the humid Louisiana breeze. Looks down to find baby Monica asleep on her chest, safely cocooned in her arms. She brushes a finger against Monica's fist and five teeny tiny fingers instantly wrap around her own, anchoring her to the here and now in the way that she used to think only Maria could. Monica coos and she knows that this is the most precious, most important thing that she has ever held.
She blinks and the sky is tinged with pink and gold and lilac. The hammock bows a little tighter, swings as Maria lithely stretches out beside her, arms raised at just the right angle so that her tank top rides up, revealing toned abs and long stretch marks that her fingers itch to trace. Maria flushes their bodies together, weaves a bare leg in between her own, licks her lips with the tip of her tongue. She traces the lines of Maria's biceps with her eyes, swallows, hard, and Maria smirks, triumphant, into the kiss.
She blinks again and smells ozone, hears the distant rumble of a spring storm. Feels the hammock's threads thinned from wear and time. Watches dark clouds unfurl as they roll over the horizon. Monica, bigger than before but still so, so small, stirs against her side, shifts closer, but does not wake. Maria, tucked into her other side, sighs into her shoulder, kisses the exposed skin. "We should head in."
She tilts her chin, finds Maria's lips once, twice. "Not quite yet."
...
She blinks and Talos is leaning over her, disconnecting circuits and wires from her forehead, her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear. Carol shoots him the sternest glare that she can muster, exhausted and disoriented as she is, eyes squinted shut to block the harsh white light of the medical bay, "I'm not ready to be done yet."
She winces as a familiar headache, somehow both sharp and throbbing, sets in behind her temples, ruining any effect that she was going for, and Talos raises a knowing eyebrow. "Your mind needs a rest. We're overworking it as it is." He yelps as one of the wires arcs in his hand, shocking him with a bolt of blue. He drops it and pops his singed finger into his mouth, "besides," he mumbles around the injured digit, "this new machine can barely keep up."
Carol tries to sit up once, twice, lets her head fall back onto the exam table and grits her teeth, "I can't be done."
Talos meets her eyes as he rests a comforting hand on her shoulder, "don't worry, your memories will start coming back on their own, soon."
She fights back tears, "what if they don't?"
"Then we keep using the machine." He hands her a notebook and pen. "But they will."
...
They orbit each other. Avenger and Photon. Carol and Maria. Lit by the flickering neon of the jukebox. The yellow headlights of her mustang in the California desert. The disco ball of some hidden San Francisco club. The soft blue glow of the television.
They jump more than dance to the fast and wild song on the bar's worn jukebox; arms above their heads, half finished beer bottles dangling precariously above overdone hair. Maria keeps bumping her hip off beat and she laughs until her cheeks hurt.
They sway, feet barely moving along with the static 60s ballad drifting through the mustang's rolled down windows, her nose tucked into Maria's collarbone, arms wrapped around each other's backs. Maria presses a delicate kiss to her forehead, hums a few bars into her hair, and she pulls Maria closer, holds on tighter.
They circle each other on the parquet dance floor, hands wandering to each other's biceps, shoulders, hips. Clinging so that they do not get separated, pressed closer together by the other bodies crowding the basement club. Surrounded by rainbows and other couples who look just like them. Maria pulls her in by her belt loops and she drapes her arms around Maria's neck, rubs their noses together until Maria laughs, loud and full, and kisses her.
They are on their knees on the living room carpet, and they will both be sore tomorrow, but right now toddler Monica is between them, hopping up and down and stomping her feet and singing gibberish along to the song while they hold hands, arms outstretched around their little girl, and shake their shoulders to the beat. Maria is glowing with happiness and and Monica is wearing Maria's fierce, determined expression as she concentrates and she cannot believe that this is her life.
...
Carol scribbles her memories down furiously in the newest Lisa Frank notebook Monica had given her; keywords and quotes and the color of Monica's dress and the flavor of Maria's gumbo. She writes as many details as possible, writes until her fingers go numb and her wrist aches. Fills page after page of notebook after notebook.
...
She takes in Maria's features, how they change when she smiles. The crinkles around her wide eyes, the fullness of her cheeks, the lightness in her voice. "Lawson said the updates to the prototypes are going to take three months now, instead of two..." She is practically humming with excitement, barely leaning on the hood of her Camaro despite trying to look nonchalant. "So we'd have all summer to fix it up. What do you think?"
Maria turns to her and envelopes her hand in her own, eyebrows raised expectantly. She is pretty sure that Maria is actually, literally holding her breath. She looks from her girlfriend to the dilapidated farmhouse in front of them. Takes in the gigantic trees shading the blotchy lawn, the definitely precariously leaning barn, the rusted tractor half buried in ancient ruts. Looks back to her girlfriend. "I thought this was your childhood home or something. But you want to buy," she gestures vaguely at the five neglected acres, "this?" Maria smiles wider and she falls in love a little more. "I'm in. On one condition." She kisses Maria's smile, kisses her laugh, kisses her bubbling happiness, "you let me match your down payment."
...
"May of 87... No, 86. We spent all summer fixing up this house." Maria looks around. Carol cannot see what she is looking at, but she can picture it; their farmhouse bedroom, decorated with practical furniture, peppered with photos of their friends and family, and clean enough to pass inspection. "You insisted that we do all of the work ourselves instead of letting me hire contractors." Maria laughs and shakes her head.
Carol takes in the blue tinted hologram and wishes, like she does every time that they do a call, that she could see Maria in natural light. She jots the date down above her summary of the memory in her notebook, adds Maria's details. "How long did that last?"
Maria lets out an exasperated, loving sigh, "until you almost electrocuted yourself installing a light in the bathroom." She smirks.
Carol relaxes back into her pillow, grinning, as her mind provides the memory in vivid detail, "you can still see the scorch mark through the paint. Remember when I tried to change the faucet?"
"And you didn't know that you had to shut the water off?"
...
She startles awake, automatically checks that Maria is safe beside her. Sits up and rubs the remnants of sleep from her eyes. Waits while they adjust to the dark of the bedroom. Maria shifts, sighs, settles. She listens, tries to hear through the din of crickets. There! A cupboard bangs shut. A few seconds after, the refrigerator door creaks.
She pads lightly down the hall, pauses at Monica's open door and takes in her empty bed.
Moves to the kitchen, leans against the doorway, watches silently as Monica struggles to open a box of crackers. "Hey LT."
Monica jumps, the box slipping from her fingers and hitting the linoleum with a dull thud, "mommy! I'm sorry! I-"
"Hey, hey, it's okay," she scoops her sniffling daughter into her arms and lifts her chin with her finger, meeting her watery eyes and giving her a reassuring smile, "you didn't do anything wrong."
Monica tries to swipe away her tears, "I didn't?"
She shakes her head, "no, sweetheart, but what are you doing up so late?" Monica shrugs. "You hungry?" A nod. She taps her chin, then Monica's, "me too. I think I want... a peanut butter sandwich! But I couldn't possibly eat a whole one by myself! Do you want to split it with me?"
Monica nods eagerly, "yes!"
"And a glass of milk?" Another nod. She sets Monica down on the counter and heads for the refrigerator. Pauses at the door and reaches for the cupboard above it, instead, "do you know what goes good with milk?"
"Oreos!" Monica whisper-yells.
She pulls out the cookies, wriggling her eyebrows, "oreos!"
...
The screen door slams shut and Carol jumps up from her chair at the antique oak table, nearly floating off of the floor with anticipation.
"Mom! I'm home!" Monica rounds the corner and drops her backpack in surprise, "Auntie Carol!"
She is in Carol's arms with her next breath and Carol swallows back the lump in her throat as she hugs her closer, "hey LT. Keeping my jacket safe?"
Monica pulls back and laughs, starts to take the jacket off, "yep. Still ketchup free. Your turn to wear it." She goes to hand it over when her eyes fall on the table. Her whole face lights up and Carol is glad that she decided to surprise her daughter with this memory instead of telling her about it over their nightly hologram. "You remembered!"
Carol looks back at the two half peanut butter sandwiches, the two tall glasses of milk, and the preposterously tall pile of oreo cookies. "Of course I di-"
Monica is back in her arms, and Carol is home.