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𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

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Cora felt the bile tickle the back of her throat as she spotted Shiv across the tarmac.

Matsson had poured out a healthy glass of chardonnay, gold and sparkling. She had been by his side when he'd made the call to go over the heads of Roman and Kendall, and had since been made a forced participant in his trophy waving. To an optimist, unaccustomed to the dogged tenacity of the opponent at hand, the move had been genius, but this was more than business, and Cora knew better than to underestimate the egos of men.

She'd tried to return to a previous era of stasis, the one she'd managed to conjure in Italy, but Europe was long behind her. Maybe it was this realisation, or maybe the turbulence they'd experienced an hour out from touchdown, that had sent Cora's stomach bubbling.

Or maybe it wasn't.

He signaled Shiv with a wave and rose from his seat. Cora frowned. She hadn't pried about the talk he'd had with Shiv, not from a lack of curiosity, but because he'd kept dangling its mysterious contents in front of her and she'd not bitten out of spite. She'd tried to ask Shiv about them, gone unanswered. Maybe she had no place to be frustrated. She'd kept the woman in the dark on more than one occasion and they'd never fully eschewed the tension from her brief vacation in Shiv's guest bedroom. This, however, felt less like ignoring and more like avoiding.

In fact Shiv was doing it at that very moment, because the moment they'd made eye contact, she had become incredibly occupied with the magazine she was holding.

She was not the only one who had noticed Shiv across the way. Cora itched her neck just as Matsson rose from his seat, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. She frowned as he stalked off down the isle of the jet.

"Where're you going?"

"Gonna have a chat." He said without looking back. "Uno momento."

"With no shoes?"

He was already gone, leaving her alone with the glass of bubbles. Cora fell back in her seat and picked it up, giving it a swirl. She felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched and looked up to find Shiv, eyes narrowed in accusation, staring directly at the chardonnay. Then her gaze fell away and her face scrunched in crude disgust.

Matsson was crossing the tarmac, bare footed as he'd left her.

The nausea was back, this time ten fold. She barely managed to set the glass down before she was streaking to the bathroom. Cora threw up into the cramped porcelain bowl, gripping the edges as she coughed up lumps of croissant. Acidic heat filled her chest, her throat. She clutched a curled fist to her breast, panting in the aftershock.

Cora stared at the mess for a long while before pulling the toilet roll off its handle and bundling tissue around her hand. She wiped her mouth clean before rinsing it in the sink, which proved too insufficient, because she went back for seconds. When she was finished, water drenched the front of her shirt, just as sweat clung to her temple. In the mirror, drained of all color but the reds of her eyes.

She walked back to her seat and stared at the glass of chardonnay. Then she picked it up, and with as much thought as one commits to the action of breathing, tipped the contents down the bathroom drain.

It wasn't until she was in a car en route to the hotel room that her mind kicked back into gear and the panic started. Why had she thrown up? Why was the act of sitting in a car turning her brain into mush? Had she eaten something bad? Had she drunk too much? She hadn't drunk too much, she'd managed only tepid sips, because she'd felt so full, of anger, of anxiety, of food. Yet she'd hardly eaten either, and the croissant had been a forceful meal, the fluffy bread heavy, like trying to swallow a stone.

Perhaps she was just sick, in a unique way, where one only had intense nausea and no other accompanying symptoms, but her mind was leapfrogging, because she had just remembered the last time she had had her period. Cora had never really bothered to track her cycle, it was one of those mystical concepts that didn't apply. It showed up when it did and it left without much fuss. Any attempts to predict it on a calendar had done nothing but make her needlessly antsy, and so she'd stopped bothering before she'd even made it to college.

But now that she thought about it, it had been a while. Now that she thought about it, she'd been lax with Matsson when they'd been back in Italy. There was a considerable part of her, one that wasn't attached to any feasible logic, that was convinced her carelessness was of no consequence. That her body was not one made to nurture another, her insides inhospitable as the Antarctic Peninsula. She had put it through the ringer, pushed it to the very limits of what a body could possibly withstand, at least one attached to her constitution, and she registered her period as a mere formality, like RSVPing 'maybe' to a party you knew there was no way in hell you'd attend.

No. She was getting ahead of herself. This was airplane food and some mysterious bug she'd picked up on the mountain. Cora set about googling if it was possible to catch e. coli from rocks.

She dove under an icy shower to scrub the air of the plane off of her skin. She checked that her elusive period hadn't miraculously arrived in the time it had taken to leave the plane and part ways with Matsson. She thought briefly of death, and then, briefly of Roman. By the time she stepped out of the shower, she had basically forgotten the whole thing, though not really, but at least she'd arrived back to her most comfortable of agonies.

It had been a while since Cora had set foot in Los Angeles, and she decided that, instead of staying cooped up in the hotel like Matsson would have preferred, she might try to get her mind off of things. Dressed in a white cotton shirt and a pair of jeans, she found a kiosk nearby selling cheap paraphernalia for tourists and bought a Knicks cap in a dusty blue, intent on both not looking nor feeling herself.

There was a pharmacy nearby and for a while, Cora stood outside of its entrance, feeling the burst of cool air every time the automated doors opened their sterile lips.

An iced latte later and she found herself on Rodeo Drive, crawling with bodies, the sun beating down on her back. She needed something familiar and the retail stores were calling her name. Stepping inside, she remembered back to Saks with Shiv, sorting through the hangers for something she could wear in an office, how quickly she'd eschewed the pretense of professionalism altogether. She'd never looked good in a pencil skirt or a pant suit. Not like Shiv. Fucking Shiv.

It was in Balenciaga, staring at a mesh dress encrusted with tiny crystals and tight enough to fracture a rib, that she felt her phone buzz.

[TEXT: Roman] wyd x

Cora swore with such vitriol that she made the prim shopgirl hovering a little too close audibly gasp. Cora mouthed an apology, already typing.

[TEXT: to Roman] On rodeo

[TEXT: Roman] cum to the studio

[TEXT: Roman] i'll pick you up

She should say no. She was angry at him, for the mountain, for texting her as if nothing had happened. 

She was also angry for him. Cora had surmised in all of the false pleasantries that Matsson had spouted in the wake of his phone call that there wasn't an inch of the cabins in Norway he hadn't fitted with cameras, and while he hadn't heard anything, he'd certainly seen a lot. 

If she'd done the right thing and just ignored the tap on the window, if she'd not run from the wake, if she'd stayed in Italy, if she'd never existed ...

[TEXT: to Roman] Can't. Shopping.

[TEXT: Roman] lingerie?

[TEXT: to Roman] It's not a good idea

[TEXT: Roman] :/

He requested her location. Cora stared at it, the perspiration from her coffee squeezing through her fingers. The assistant ran off to a fetch a napkin, she was clutching the cup so tightly that it had begun to overflow. Cora raked her teeth against her bottom lip.

It was no good. There wasn't a world where she could withhold her sympathy. She, unfortunately, understood. More than his refusal to sell, what clung to her was what had preceded it. The proclamation that he was dead. Cora felt dead too, or at the very least, remarkably unalive.

Roman requested her location again and she sent it before burying her phone into her pocket. She mopped her hand dry with the napkin, palming off the shriveled paper and semi-consumed drink. The shopgirl poised to grimace but Cora was quicker. She gestured to the dress.

"I'll take it."

She was regretting her decisions when the bulky SUV pulled up beside the curb. Roman stuck his head out of the window and grinned at her, fantastically, ripping the second thoughts from her tongue. 

"What'd you get?" He asked, gesturing to the bag.

"I'm not going to say 'something you should take off'." She said, arms folded across her chest.

Roman pouted.

"Just open the door, Rome."

She jostled into the seat beside him and collapsed against the leather, her eyes closed. Roman pulled off her cap as the car started and shoved it on his head.

"You hate sport."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No but I'd like to," she said. "I spilled my guts and you still tried to drive it into the ground."

"And failed. Fucking spectacularly at that."

He was in a weird mood, she realised, giddy, jubilant. It made her uneasy, like she'd blindly boarded a rollercoaster and had only wised up moments before the first drop. 

"Where're we going?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Told you. The studio. We're going to make a movie."

Cora shivered, that had been too direct. Could he know? Could he have known? She felt like puking all over again. Her hand moved instinctually to clutch against her mouth. He noticed her discomfort and tilted the brim of the cap upwards.

"Why the frown?"

"Nothing. Just had a weird thought."

"Fair enough. If you need somewhere to throw up in."

He took the cap off and flipped it, presenting a bowl of fabric. She snatched the hat from him and flattened it in her lap.

"Crazy how you've found the energy to care about me now?"

Though she couldn't face him as she said the words, her tone was anything but coy. She was almost proud of herself, but as usual, her timing was off. The time to be angry had been and gone. She'd missed that train when he'd dug the grave between her thighs.

"Oh, yeah, it was there. Just decided to ..." he motioned his fingers like the skirt of a broom. Woosh. "Or nah, maybe not that. Maybe I just know a bluff when I see it."

"You think I'm lying?" Cora scoffed.

"I just, y'know, don't think I've seen you commit to a single thing in your life so I played the odds and ... Well."

"Well." She repeated, unable to hide the edge of defeat in her voice.

"Well, am I wrong?"

"Well, it's backfired. Well, it looks like Matsson's going to milk you for everything you're worth."

"Milk? Don't get me excited," Roman said. "

"You know what I mean," she huffed. "Psychically. Spiritually. I mean, he wins, you lose and it was all for nothing."

"Maybe that was my play all along."

"Please. Think what you want but you're not braindead. Your play's stuck back on that mountain, blowing in the wind." She lowered the harshness in her voice a decibel. "It's not too late to start thinking of an exit plan."

"Oh I have plans, plenty of plans. More plans than you can shake a stick at. More plans than you can blow."

The car lurched forward then, tires screeching. Cora's seatbelt dug painfully against her stomach, her first thought. The second was that Roman had flung his arm forward to brace her against the top of her chest. A homeless man had wandered onto the road with a plastic bucket and a window wiper. Their driver had responded by winding down the window, spewing expletives, giving her enough time for the shock to subside.

Cora unbuckled herself, grabbed her things, and slammed the door in her wake. Don't look back, don't look back. She had made it to the footpath before the urge became too strong. He'd thrown the door open and was shimmying across the back seat. 

"Fuckin' ... Don't be dramatic, alright? Didn't think I'd set you o—"

"Dramatic?" She rasped, breath catching in the crags of her throat. There was something sitting bitter on her tongue.

Roman was signaling the car to circle the block, and took a beat to realise she'd replied. He sighed, mincing air between his lips, sharp as a deflating balloon.

"Yeah, dramatic." He said and nodded, as if confirming to himself that this was indeed the path he wanted to take.

"You haven't seen the half of it."

"Oh, but I think I have." His tone danced a jagged line between humour and sober thought. "I think I've seen it all, actually."

"What's that mean?"

He could only offer a shrug. Cora scoffed, shaking her head.

"Say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry."

Said like a child, accosted for a hand in the jar. Apologising not for the stolen boon but for being caught in the act.

"For what?"

A resounding silence. Roman refused to look at her. Whatever he was thinking was tucked away. All she could see was the mountain.

≪ °❈° ≫

With caution and a hint of curiosity, Shiv had taken her phone call. Even under the best of circumstances, Cora's actions warranted suspicion. Shiv had always been the one to set the pace. It'd been that way since they were young, the divine rule of a girl who's ego was yet to be tested against reality. Cora couldn't help but lend her fealty.

The two greeted each other like colleagues whose interaction had been thus far metered by the confines of a Zoom call and set about scanning the menu in silence. A brief shuffle of commentary ("How was the flight?", "Weather's good for LA") punctuated by lulls deeper than the Mariana. Finally the food arrived. Somehow, this made things worse.

At first it was a cold war, one's tinkle of silverware received as hints of aggression, any movement across the centre point of the table watched carefully. The water jug, a satellite state, the salt shaker, a threat of nuclear magnitude. There was a ticking clock underscoring the bustle of the cafe and both women knew it. Cora's stomach gurgled, it felt like a pit with nothing but rocks to break the fall of food. For some reason she'd panicked and ordered the salmon. Now she wondered if this was the kind of thing she'd best avoid, theoretically speaking.

"You, uh, have a good chat with Matsson?"

Shiv reacted as if Cora had pulled a gun. For a beat, the reply came from the back of her throat as one long, unfiltered sound. She recovered, jabbing her food with her fork. Cora couldn't help noting the angle of her knife.

"Did you know that they tried to screw the deal?"

Cora's brow quirked.

"I thought you didn't want ..." She stopped. Shiv stared daggers. "You're being agreeable. That's all."

"And you have an opinion about that. It's a problem for you."

"Not in theory."

"Oh, so just in practice? What a relief."

"I'm just wondering what prompted it. I didn't know this was what you wanted." Cora tried to shrug. It translated as a grimace. "Here I was thinking Matsson was the antichrist."

"Yeah, well, I'm surprised you've committed any time thinking about what I want."

Cora speared a piece of salmon, tearing the pink flaky flesh in two. "I'm pretty sure I could say the same thing."

"Say the same thing then." Shiv's lips pursed tightly around each word.

Cora considered biting, but this was classic Shiv. Lay the trap and let the fucker screw themselves.

"The change of heart, was that why you two snuck away?"

"Oh." Shiv snorted. "'Snuck away'? Would you have said 'snuck away' if it had been Kendall or Rome?"

"Do they know about the chat?"

"Don't change the subject again." Shiv snapped, yanking the napkin from her lap. It struck the table with a sharp thwack. People were staring.

"Fine. What's wrong with sneaking?"

"Because it sounds like I've pulled him into the nearest closet to play seven minutes, Cora, not that I might have, you know, a serious business proposal."

"So you admit it," Cora said. "You're playing the other side."

"Well it's the same side you're on, so I don't see why it's such an issue."

"Maybe because I don't think you should trust him."

"Oh, that's rich." Shiv leaned back in her seat, arms folded against her chest. Her laughter was thorny, like it tore the inside of her throat with the effort. "I guess with your track record, there's something to that. Broken clock's right twice a day."

Cora's eye twitched. Shiv had all but struck her across the face. Anger scratched at her throat.

"At least I have the balls to get hurt, Shiv. How long do you think Tom stored it up for you, hm? How many times did you suffocate that?"

"It always comes out doesn't it," Shiv said. Her knife clattered against the edge of her plate, toppling down the side, foot narrowly avoided. "Why did you even invite me here? To grill me about Matsson? To fish for an excuse to talk to Roman? Or was it just to dump on me, because you think I'm the only one occupying the same rung as you."

Cora didn't reply. She'd dropped her fork and started rifling in her bag. With a swipe that sent the water jug tottering on its side, she slammed her hand in the center of the table. A nearby waitress gasped, rushing over to set the jug upright, apologising in place of a deserved accusation. Neither Cora nor Shiv acknowledged her. The damage was done.

There sat the pregnancy test box, flattened by the impact of Cora's palm. As yet unopened, plastic outer wrapping split at the seam. Shiv began to stutter, her eyes darting everywhere but the box. The colour of her cheeks contrasted violent against the blanch of her skin. Cora drew in a long breath. She'd thrown them both in the deep.

"H-How'd you know?" Shiv finally managed.

"What?" Cora said, frowning.

"I said, how the fuck did you know?"

Cora's eyes widened, mouth agape. For what felt like an eternity, neither woman could speak. The waitress, having restored water to the table, took one look at the box and offered to clear their lunch. Shiv nodded, silent and sullen.

"I don't know, fully. It's just a guess. For me at least. And you ..."

"Known since the wake." Shiv's tone betrayed a woman biting down: on tears, on terror. She buried her gaze in her lap. "Obviously, you know, haven't had the chance ..."

"Yeah I, yeah, would imagine it'd be hard to even think ..."

"I don't even know if I'm kidding myself. Literally. I don't know if it's all some sick joke. I don't know if I should ..."

"Keep it." Cora finished for her. "I don't know either."

If that had morning had felt like a dream, the present tense was a cold slap of water. Her words had been a numb omission. Now Cora felt the sting.

"I'm going to take it." Cora said, grabbing the box. "I'd like it if you came with me."

Shiv nodded.

Pushing past the doors of the bathroom, Cora walked into a memory. Years back, summer at boarding school, refuge in the locker rooms beside the wide open field. Back then, a male phys ed teacher was loathe to challenge any sick notes hinting at the menstrual cycle, regardless of the fact they were delivered by a group of three.

Violet, Shiv, Cora: squashed into the same stall. Violet balancing on the tank, window cracked for the breeze, Shiv with her back against the door, standing guard. And Cora, perched on the edge of the lid, such that if light were omnidirectional, she would have fallen in the shadow of them both. Violet had picked up smoking when she'd found a slender cigarette case in the glovebox of her father's Bronco, initials that were not her mother's etched in the corner. The habit stuck, her parent's marriage did not. 

Cora, attracted to all that would do her harm, puffed the remnants. Usually Shiv wouldn't partake, and this, Cora had thought, was a show of moral superiority. It was hard to wag a finger that was stained with nicotine. With a smidge of resentment, she'd accepted that Shiv was the most principled among them. Not one of their friends could deny her streak of ambition. But now that the familiar scene played out in front of her, albeit far removed, Cora considered the possibility that Shiv had simply been scared of doing the wrong thing.

Rebellious enough to be a Liberal, yet not enough to resist the Ivies. Independent, if you ignored the way her path had charted itself right back to Waystar. Growing up the child of Logan was to battle with contradiction. Fight with something long enough and it leaves its mark. If everyone else's shadow was the absence of light, then what was Logan's? One of stifling, dry air and without it, breathing easy felt like a threat that loomed but never came to pass.

Cora placed the test on the tank behind her and set a timer. Shiv's steady pacing outside the stall echoing off of the bathroom tiles. The day outside had been warm, a steady thrumming heat that impressed itself through the wall behind her. Cora didn't doubt that she would have felt much the same thing, regardless of weather. Waiting for the hard part.

Her knee began to bounce, the sole of her shoe squeaking against floor. It wasn't long until Shiv piped up.

"If you're going to do that, I'm going to leave. It's going to give me a migraine."

Shiv's steady gait passed the stall door. Cora could see her reflection, distorted by the pearlescent surface of the tiles below, warped beyond comprehension. A dark mass punctuated with the pale of her hair. Cora became aware of the sickening thud of her pulse against the skin of her neck, the way her own clothes suddenly felt like that of a stranger's. 

"Were you alone when you found out?" Cora said. She already knew the answer but she wanted to hear it. 

"Yes."

"I don't want to be."

Shiv's movements drew to a still. Cora knew the exact expression on her face. A little pinch of her lips, the chin thrust upwards. Eyes sharp, then wide, collapsing against the effort.

"Unlock the door."

Without hesitation, Cora did so. Shiv was wooden as she entered the cubicle, and without the room to do much else, flattened her back against the side wall. Her eyes were vacant as she appraised the immediate space. At least she wasn't angry, but maybe Cora would have preferred her to be. Anger was distracting. Five minutes made for a void of time, especially if spent in silence. Finally, Shiv spared her the torture.

"Roman always said it was only a matter of time until the cycles starting syncing."

Cora flushed, aware of the closeness of the walls around them. Mouth dry, she played her discomfort off with a forced chuckle.

"I guess that's one way of thinking about it."

Shiv angled her chin upwards and bore a hole through the ceiling.

"He doesn't know. Neither of them do." She paused, her lips pursing sharply. "And it goes without saying ..."

"If you're worried I'm going to ..."

"No, yeah, I know. I mean, I figured."

A flurry spread through Cora's chest, wriggling relief.

"I won't either. If it works out that way." She gestured past Cora's shoulder. "Not to make assumptions, but ..."

"I ... Thank you. Um, really appreciate it." Cora said with a soft smile. More than you know, she thought.

"Do you remember Model UN?" Shiv quickly followed up. Her posture had relaxed considerably, body beginning to angle towards Cora.

"Unfortunately," Cora muttered.

"You dragged me into the bathrooms, crying. Because ..."

"... I thought Transylvania was a real country and some bitch from Thatcher corrected me in front of half of Asia."

"You were crying on my shoulder. You got mascara on my sweater and it never came out."

The rim of her eyes ached, yes she remembered.

"We almost got kicked out," Shiv continued. She rolled her jaw, as though trying to itch the inside of her ear. "I still don't get how I was being intimidating."

"I mean, you were glaring. And you tried declaring war."

"It's called ..."

"Immersion. Yeah. I remember." She paused. "I would've been on the frontlines."

A tentative grin broke across Shiv's face, yet she shrunk into herself, almost embarrassed to look

"Well, you were my Canada. Goes without saying."

"Don't suppose you'd consider crossing the border with me," Cora said. A joke, or maybe not.

"Like Thelma and Louise?" Shiv snorted. "Two first trimesters in a stolen company car. Don't know if I like the chances there."

"It could be fun. It'd be a lot better than whatever this is."

Shiv failed to hide a smirk. Her eyes trailed to the place above Cora's head.

"It's probably time to check."

"I know." Cora said, dropping her voice low. "I don't think I can."

"Do you ... Want me to?"

Cora's bared down at her feet, nodding. Odd as it was, Cora didn't feel scared. She had when she'd picked up the test, in the hours intervening, but when that fear had sapped dry, she could not say for certain. As Shiv shimmied against her side, Cora put a finger on it. The peace that came before oblivion — the dinosaurs must have felt much the same way. At first, clinging to everything that was, and in the next, letting go. Something was unravelling from her grasp. Something was ending.

Shiv picked up the test and scanned it. The air in Cora's lungs was leaden. Shiv's hand fell to her shoulder and squeezed around it. A warm, maternal grip.

[ 𝑨𝑵: hi guys! hope u had a good first month of the year <3 now that we're nearing the end (sobbing), dare i ask how you guys think this story will end? ]