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bakerolivias-archived · 2 years

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Fic meme: Hope/Lizzie - “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Warning: Alaric sister-zoning Hizzie because he's an ass, lmao, which Lizzie is not having. Also idk why but this accidentally became a pseudo-inc*st story about forbidden love in the second section?? I promise Hizzie have no relation, biological or otherwise, and are very much in love. The pining only became semi-inc*sty because of the sister zoning LOL, but it's just good old fashioned wlw yearning :D

Additional Tags: bed sharing, drama, fluff, angst, jealousy (obviously), mentions of Hope/Landon, mentions of Finch/Josie, and potentially a Finch/Lizzie friendship, probably ignores canon or is canon divergent, set sometime in season three before Hope activated her Tribrid and went all no humanity!hope, also no malivore or mystical monsters because I don't have time for that sorry.

Lizzie would never admit it - she's far too proud (prissy is the word Hope would use, really) - but there is joy to be found in the expansion of their little, messed up, broken family, expanding the already limitless bounds of her father's love. And she even considers it personal growth, to no longer feel the pinch that tugs on her envious heart at the thought of her father welcoming another into their family unit, to no longer dread the thought of her father loving another equally as much, not more, never more.

They still squabble, but it is far more good natured and friendly, with only the purest of intentions on either girls' part. Lizzie takes too long to use the dormitory bathrooms, Hope hogs the blankets at night, requiring far too much room on the bed for such a tiny thing (and Lizzie refrains from quipping a scathing remark of Hope's only child behaviors and habits when she remembers - Hope is the only one left, and it hurts far more than Lizzie could ever comprehend - a wound that has dulled over time, but persistently aches, and cannot be healed, only soothed).

Her father beams with pride as he watches them, squeezes Lizzie's shoulder in fatherly affection and tells her how glad he is that they have finally become what he always knew they could be - sisters.

The pinch in her heart, pulling along her skin, at her father's words, is quite unfamiliar, somewhat different from her lifelong fears that he could cherish Hope more than he did her. This new mounting dread is foreign to Lizzie, sparked at the mention of a singular word.

Sister.

But there's nothing quite sisterly in the way Lizzie holds Hope's prone, still form close at night. In the way she watches Hope's chest rise and fall with her deep, steady breaths, looking so youthful in sleep, and is tempted to stroke the jutting bone of Hope's cheek, smooth out her auburn hair in the morning. There's nothing sisterly about the longing that rests in the pit of her stomach, in the way she wants Hope to stay in the early morning hours and let Lizzie burrow into her, in the way she wants there to exist no vacuum of empty space between their bodies, to swallow up all the galaxies and stardust and oceans that existed between them - that still exist, despite her own best efforts, because Hope has a dangerous and exasperating habit of pushing everyone she cares for away, of compartmentalizing.

The world spins on, and Hope still leaves for her morning run and subsequent sparring session, jacket around her waist, ponytail swinging in a steady pendulum. Without even a goodbye, or good morning, or the forehead kiss Lizzie is always sure to press against Hope's skin in the rare instances when she is the first to wake up. Hope has a way of doing that, of always distancing herself, even when Lizzie isn't paying attention. But she takes comfort in the fact that she instinctually, naturally, always comes back to her.

Until she doesn't.

The frantic staccato of her heart matches the pounding pulse of fear and adrenaline Lizzie feels, and she hates Hope for making her feel this way, for always playing lone wolf and putting herself in danger. If Hope wanted to run away with her hobbit lover, that was all well and fine, but she could have easily let someone know that no, she wasn't lying in a ditch somewhere incapacitated, and was perfectly well and safe in a situation where no bodily harm could come to her and - well, she supposes bodily harm, and mortality, is of no concern to the tribrid, as death would easily activate her vampire side, but...

But goddamnit Hope, at least show some concern for general self-preservation.

(She ignores the stab of hurt at the fact that Hope would hide something like this from her - she would have thought they were friends, a team, that those nights spent holding hands and stroking each other's thumbs meant something, but Lizzie can't think about that, any of it, because she'll feel the magic inside of her desperately clamoring to be let out, and god, now is not the time for her to have a screaming in the woods moment, because Hope deserves better. Hope needs them.)

(Lizzie wonders if she needs her, maybe not more or less than she needs her friends, her squad, but... simply in a different and more intimate way.)

Alaric and Caroline are frantically calling in favors, notifying authorities, and have assigned Josie the task of performing a locator spell. Lizzie feels so useless as she gazes on helplessly, but she knows she doesn't have the focus and presence of mind right now to be able to assist Josie, but to just stand there is an act so hateful.

She feels her sister's cautious, comforting eyes from the corner of their room. Even Finch's gaze is somewhat tender and fragile, almost as if she's concerned - and even if they still don't know each other too well, something Lizzie's quietly willing to work on, she's still endeared by the fact.

Finch never looks at her with pitying eyes, as if afraid she's fragile like glass and will break - even if Lizzie sometimes feels that way. Only analytical, thoughtful, and with a worry that makes her eyes crinkle. It's new, and different, and nice. No less tumultuous a beginning than Lizzie had with any of Josie's other suitors, but Lizzie wants to change that, to make a different choice. To perhaps not be quite so antagonistic and prideful, like she was with Penelope, or condescending, like she was with Landon.

Now, while Finch's strength is being quietly depleted - though she has yet to hear complaint from the girl - by Josie's siphoning, is not the time.

And for all that Lizzie feels for Hope, that a part of her knows is stronger than any sort of camaraderie or friendship, she never knew how much she craved that feeling, of knowing someone intimately, of building a bond based on mutual respect and honesty like the relationship her sister has built. She didn't think she would ever miss Hope that much, feel her absence so strongly, or miss the teasing they'd both grown accustomed to. To let Hope so casually touch her - a graze on the arm, a squeeze of her shoulder, or intertwined fingers - like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Liz," Finch murmurs weakly, leaning against a wall as the siphoning is complete. Josie's focus is not deterred, but Finch is staring at Lizzie in a way that makes her uncomfortable, like she's being observed under a microscope. An inquisitive raise of a singular eyebrow follows the statement.

"Yes, Finch," she replies. Not cuttingly, though there's still a hint of her trademark attitude in the statement. She fights back the immediate impulse to apologize, though she's not quite sure for what transgression she feels the need to be contrite about.

"You're not okay." Finch says, matter-of-fact, and Lizzie feels so seen, it's brutal.

"Nothing about Hope disappearing to do god-knows-what with her moderately competent bird-man is okay, Finch," she sighs warily. She wonders how far Finch would push the subject anyways.

"You miss her. You - are you..."

Lizzie's spine straightens, already tingling instinctively with the premonition of what Finch would say next, and she cannot move. Doesn't want to hear the words, but can't confirm them either by hurrying away in haste, so all there is left to do is sit there in silence, criss-cross on her bed, and have her greatest secret (not shame, not shame, not really) be said allowed with the neutrality of a casual observer. To be recognized, seen, for all that she has been hiding.

"Wait a minute, are you jealous?" That breaks Josie's attentive hyper-focus for a moment, as she glances between the two of them, but Lizzie won't meet either woman's gaze, staring intently at her perfectly manicured fingernails instead. Josie returns to her work but with less conviction, too surprised by Finch's unexpected insight.

Was it truly so obvious, if even Finch could tell? Or perhaps Finch did not have the same intimate knowledge of the group as everyone else, but was simply perceptive - a trait Lizzie finds to be particularly annoying at the moment.

Confronting her own feelings for Hope seemed like a fate worse than library detention duty, and she'd really rather not.

"I mean, that honestly explains so much. The way you act with her... And I get it - it's hard, to watch someone you care for love someone else." Lizzie's breath intakes sharply - she'd never considered love to be of any relevance in her situation, and that's an entirely different can of worms. Finch seems to be struggling with the ghosts of her own pasts as well, and maybe it's far too early for this kind of bonding, but maybe, maybe Lizzie can brave that kind of emotional leap.

"Can we please not do this right now?"

"So it's true?" Josie does not seem judgemental, only... contemplative, thoughtful.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Hope will always love that artisan jar of mayo, and they're good for each other in a way that I'll never be for Hope. She's missing, and I can't even do anything to help her instead of sit here."

Her voice hitches, and god, she really can't bear the embarrassment of crying, especially not in front of Finch who, for all practical reasons, is not quite a stranger but not really a friend either.

"I don't even know that I love her, okay? I just... it's complicated, but I might not entirely hate her. Maybe I never did. Just that she was so perfect, and I'll never be."

Finch and Josie stare at her owlishly, gazes sympathetic but betraying the fact that they're clearly at a loss for words.

With nothing left to say herself, she leaves the room, biting back tears.