Title: Always the Fool
Pairing: Pippicity (Pippa/Felicity)
Rating: T (to be safe)
Summary: Maybe she always was the fool, after all.
"I love you, you know."
"Of course I do," the girl mutters, turning away from the gentle fingertips that caress her cheek. Her ebony ringlets, so dark they could have been black, fall into her eyes, shielding her from view. "You're a fool, you know."
Her partner raises a thin eyebrow. She has icy blonde hair, so light it could be white if it weren't for the way the sun hits it at that perfect angle, and her eyes are a light gray. There's this glimmer that's always there, dancing across the surface like sunlight on the water. "I am?" she asks in a truly curious voice, as if contemplating it. Then, after a moment, "No, I don't believe I am."
"Then you're stupid," the girl with the dark hair mumbles into her pillow. "They'll never accept us, you know. If they knew."
"Then they shan't," the girl with the blonde hair replies defiantly, brushing a ringlet out of the other girl's lovely face. "We'll finish school and then we'll leave them all behind. Go to Paris, maybe."
"As I said, you're a fool, Felicity Worthington."
"And you're beautiful," Felicity replies without missing a beat, her nose buried in those dark ringlets. But those gray eyes never leave the violet ones of her best friend. "Pippa Cross."
And she is.
She's beautiful when she scoffs at that Ann Bradshaw and beautiful when she's oh so jealous of that rotten, brash Gemma Doyle who dares to steal her best friend (and maybe more than that) away from her.
She's even beautiful when she's not, when she's vile and loathsome and condemns that little girl to the Winterlands for some magic that's not going to last, anyway.
She's beautiful until the day that castle crumbles around her and she's buried there forever, and she's finally (finally) gone.
But Felicity thought she was the most beautiful when she danced, when she ran; when her hair was in a disarray that one night before the ball and she scolded Felicity (oh, how she scolded her) for making it that way but did nothing to fix it.
Felicity isn't as stupid as they all think; she knew the second her Pippa left her (far before she actually died).
She knew the second those violet eyes stopped shining; the second they disappeared behind the milky blue for the last time.
She doesn't know why she stayed; doesn't know why she insisted on being by Pippa's side when she was already so far gone.
But Felicity isn't a fool. Not yet, anyway.
"You're a fool, you know," Gemma says to her one day after it all, when she's listening to Felicity go on and on about her suitors, like she does.
They're sitting in Felicity's flat in London, Gemma and Ann (she never did like Ann much at all, she's only here because Gemma insisted) sitting on her off-white sofa and Felicity lying across the rug on the floor. It's so much like old times Felicity could smell the contraband alcohol and moldy walls of the cave. But she can't smell that raspberry soap and she can't feel the soft, velvet ringlets against her shoulder, and that makes all the difference. "All those men, and none of them are ever enough, are they?"
Felicity glances up, her eyes blank, and it's hard to imagine but there used to be this glimmer that was always there, dancing across like sunlight on the water. "I am?" she replies in a dull, light voice, almost like a whisper only it's not. She's silent for a long moment after that and then, "I wasn't always, you know."
And then the yawning mouth of the cave just opens up inside of her and oh, she's falling and there's no way out.
Gemma's by her side in a heartbeat because she hasn't forgotten Pippa; not really. Neither of them have, but they'd thought Felicity had; that Felicity was moving on. That Felicity wasn't broken anymore. That she was content with all her male suitors.
Her hundreds upon hundreds of male suitors that are everything she'll never need.
Her body curls into itself as she sobs there on the floor, pathetic as she never would let them see before but now…now nothing matters. Not Gemma's hand on her back, not Ann's cry of surprise but inevitable lack of overall action.
Vaguely, through the tears, she thinks that Pippa mattered.
Pippa mattered quite a bit, really.
But Pippa's gone, isn't she?
Maybe Felicity always was the fool, after all.