Even In The Grave, All Is Not Lost

To Be Wanted

Trigger warning: discussion of stillbirth, child abuse

. . .

'Mother, you had me but I never had you.

I wanted you, you didn't want me.'

- Mother by John Lennon

___

'If a mother was Sacrifice personified, then a daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress.'

- Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

. . .

Raven tried not to melt in Luna's hold, the tender passage of her finger over her skin as it drew back and forth, gently soothing. At some point - she couldn't remember when, or even making the decision - she'd moved to sit up, to lean in, to lessen the strain on Luna. So she wouldn't have to reach quite so far.

Raven had watched a small smile pass over her lips then, though her gaze had never left their conjoined hands.

It was nice.

She hated that it was nice.

Luna's brow furrowed as her finger glanced over Raven's - and paused, seeming to sense something. Turning their hands over, she looked down, revealing the small cut which had dried and congealed in the night. "What happened here?"

"Oh." Raven felt the heat surge in her cheeks. Right. "Minor accident last night. Clumsy hands. Only one fatality, though." She nodded her head towards the trash can, which still housed the remnants of one very unfortunate bowl. First it had been forced to hold Emori's foul-smelling goo and then its very existence had been eviscerated. Clearly, the universe hated it even more than it did her.

Luna smiled a little. "I think maybe you should be kept away from any dishes from now on. You don't seem to get on that well."

She was probably right.

Though, if Murphy got his way, that wouldn't be an option. Raven was going to end up breaking every plate on the damn island.

Whatever her wishes last night, those seizures better stay the fuck away from her. For the sake of their kitchenware, if nothing else.

Luna's finger continued to trace hers, edging around the cut - never getting too close. Never risking harm. "Does it hurt?"

"This?" Raven raised a brow. "Compared to my usual shit, it's a goddamn papercut."

"In my experience, papercuts can hurt more than some battle wounds," she countered, lips teasing at a smile. "So not the most reassuring of comparisons. Sometimes it's the little things that do the most damage."

"Well, this one hasn't done any damage. I can barely feel it."

That was true enough. Especially with Luna's hands, still warm and soft around hers. Right now that was all she could feel. The texture of her skin, so smooth in places and hardened with callouses in others. Raven thought she sensed the impression of a small scar. Resisted the urge to turn Luna's hand over the same way she had hers, to check. To see all there was to see.

The hold was stifling. Suffocating even.

(Raven didn't want it to end)

"I meant what I said before. You never have to tell me anything." Luna ran a thumb over the back of her hand, the brush of skin against skin sending bolts of electricity all the way to Raven's heart. She tingled with the onslaught, breath catching. "I don't have any right to what's inside you, Raven. Your past, your present. That's yours. You get to choose who you give it away to. If you want to give it away at all." Her smile faltered. "But I should tell you that Murphy is. . . talkative."