coppelganger | ic contact; MoM

No.

( Stubborn, as she gently bumps Sarah's neck with her nose.

There's a quiet moment of a consideration. )

Yeah? Yeah, definitely.

Okay.

[ She places her hand, palm down, against Sarissa's arm, closes her eyes, and concentrates. It takes several moments, but then—

Sarah is small, seven or eight, sitting alone in an overgrown back garden and pushing herself on an ancient swing tied to a tree branch. Ahead of her is the group home, what they used to call an orphanage, before the term fell out of use. A tall building, dark brown brick, dark windows, and inside, communal bedrooms with old, uncomfortable beds, long dining tables meant for too many kids, and all of them overcrowded and ignored and built with sharp edges.

"You must be Sarah," a woman says, approaching from the side yard. She's Irish. "Heard quite a bit about you."

Well, that's never good. Sarah doesn't bother looking up. "Did you change your mind?" she asks dully, like this has happened before. Like she's tired of trying anymore.

"About what?" the woman asks.

Sarah shrugs. "You're the new one, right? Until the next new one."

"So sure it won't work out already?" Mrs. S asks, approaching the makeshift swing.

Sarah finally looks over, but not really. She peers out from behind her hair, eyes downcast and suspicious, mouth set in a thin line. "It never does," she says. Not sadly, really. Just stating a fact that's been drilled into her all her life. "Pretend parents are stupid anyway."

"Oh," Mrs. S says, kneeling down to be on her level, "real parents can be stupid too. Or even worse. Luck of the draw, really."

Sarah looks away, up at the cloudy sky, and scuffs her shoes into the dirt. "Guess I'm really unlucky."

"I could say the same," S says. She doesn't smile, and her eyes are sad. "But you know what? You can learn to make your own luck. You can even make your own family. One you choose because you want it."

Sarah looks from the sky to her shoes, says nothing.

"Not saying it's easy," S says. "Family almost never is. But I'm ready and willing to give it a go. Are you?"

Sarah, finally, looks up, blows the hair out of her face. The expression in her eyes is very much like hope. She doesn't believe, but she wants to. "Maybe for a little bit," she says finally. "Like a few days." ]

( Tumbling through memories is always a strange experience. She wishes she could go to Sarah as she's sitting on the swing, tell her how much family she'll have. How important they'll be to her, how vibrant they'll all be. She wishes that even if she couldn't, she could sit down next to Sarah and just hold her hand, or something. Try to think of anything that'd make it better.

Mrs. S isn't how she imagined her, but she's not sure how she imagined her, exactly. The words resonate though, feel like something Sarissa can relate to so much, and before she knows what to do with that painful, desolate feeling that she knows comes from Sarah and that discomfort that comes from herself, she's drawing out of the dream.

Sarissa exhales, slow and shaky. If she weren't already cuddled against Sarah that's what she'd do now, but instead she leans up, presses a kiss to Sarah's forehead, and hugs her closer. )

I want to be your family forever, Saroula.

[ Sarah turns and presses her face into the crook between Sarissa's shoulder and her neck, breathing in the familiar smell of her and closing her eyes. She wraps her fingers loosely around the fabric of Sarissa's shirt, a small child pulling somebody closer. ]

You are.

( Sarissa leans onto her back, rolling Sarah with her so that Sarah's on top of her now, and pulls the blankets over them, before wrapping her arms around Sarah. )

Good. ( Another kiss to Sarah's brow, and she settles down to just— stay with Sarah. Be here, with Sarah, and focus on nothing else. )

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