bite the hand • jean moreau

-1

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Her sheet of waist-length black hair a sail behind her, Felicity Sharma flies across campus. Her lecture ran early and her classmates were getting coffee, and now she's very, very late for practise. So late that they actually might kill her, in fact. She clutches her bookbag in her arms and runs, all the way to the stadium, all the way down the stairs, and all the way through to the gear room.

"Fuck you," says Nadja, bored and already dressed for court. "He's going to put our heads on pikes, you know that?"

Felicity grins, halfway undressed already, and calls, "what, with my charming nature and arresting good looks? He could never!"

Nadja snorts laughter.

It's been five months, and the two of them have formed an uneasy alliance. Nadja does her best to keep Felicity out of trouble, and Felicity keeps Nadja sane in a place that wants to grind them both to the ground.

And Felicity is growing into a thing that does not need protecting. Her soft exterior is hardening, slowly, but only to protect what she's hiding within. It's hidden moments like this, joking with Nadja or sneaking sweets after dinner or smoking with the juniors at midnight that keep her brain from ticking over into a dangerous territory. She's been there a few times, stuck in her bed and sweating and staring at the ceiling without a way to move, something awful and made of fear lurking at the corners of her vision. But she tries to stay away.

When they reach the court, the team have started practise without them. Coach Moriyama ignores them as they join the pack of Ravens that sit courtside, all taking notes on others in their same position. Felicity is almost excused from this ritual, because who would value the opinion of a sixteen year old dealer sub? Across the group, the tall boy with a mop of black hair turns his head at the new arrivals.

Felicity beams at him, and he turns away before he can smile back. She knows he wants to, though, because she makes him smile almost every time they meet.

Her heart is warmed, and it stays nice and toasty even after practise, when the Master smacks his walking stick into the back of her kneecaps to make her crumple to the floor, even after he screams at her that she's useless and a waste of time and almost impossible to ever let on the court due to her lack of experience. Felicity has gotten extra great at blocking him out, and only pretends to be upset when his office door swings shut behind her.

It's going to the common area, sitting on a couch semi-obscured by a bookshelf, and waiting for Jean to appear that makes it all worth it. Mostly they talk about sport, about their classes, about things that won't get them in trouble if anybody snitches. But sometimes, like tonight, they talk about their pasts, their futures, who they were before they were Ravens and who they will be after. Jean's been here for longer, Felicity knows now. He came when he was fourteen, an international sign from Marseilles discovered on one of the Master's business trips. Jean misses it, obviously, but he can't go back. His parents didn't want him to come, and he betrayed them to play the sport he loves.

Felicity reaches out to take his hand, gives it a squeeze. She has her legs crossed underneath her, sitting sideways to face him. "I'm sorry, Jean. That must be so hard for you."