Chapter Text
The taxi ride was, as ever, uneventful. Petra appreciated how quiet the world was in the early hours of the day—just as the sun began to rise. Thankfully, working as a barista turned her into a morning person. Most didn’t make that change—as evidenced by the gravel in Marianne’s voice upon opening or the bags under Edelgard’s eyes.
Not Petra, though. Granted, she had years more practice. Even on days off, she’d wake up when her alarm would normally ring. Her mother had said, ‘You can either love it or hate it.’ Perhaps not altogether true, but it taught Petra the importance of attitude.
It helped, too, that Dorothea was the reason for her early wakeup. Her girlfriend had discovered a wheelchair accessible carnival on the other side of the city that they could check out. Which, when evading paparazzi, meant the earlier, the better.
At least, in theory.
Because when the taxi pulled up to Dorothea’s, dozens of people waited outside. Cameras flashed, people babbled, and all eyes turned to see the confused Brigidi girl step out of the car.
“It’s her!” someone gasped. The words had no sooner been said when audio recorders shoved towards Petra’s face, greedily waiting for any soundbite. Cameras flicked, flashes roared, and the cacophony began.
“Are you dating?”
“When did it start?”
“Does this mean Dorothea is gay?”
“Where were you born?”
Petra’s throat constricted. She tried to speak—perhaps to shoo them away—but words did not obey. They tangled her breathing only further, driving her down, down—down. Her legs shook, threatening to bring her down the rest of the way.
“Hey, back the fuck up!” roared a deep voice.
Heads turned, followed by the skittering of roaches when bathed in light. Firm hands grasped her shoulders, knocking her out of the stupor.
“Are you Petra?” the man said, a police badge hanging around his neck. “I’m Ferdinand, Hubert’s husband. Can you walk?”
“Y-yes.” The words barely came, mouthed in near silence. But Ferdinand understood and led her towards the gate that’d kept the locusts out. Even as they walked, the questions assailed again.
“Are you the reason Dorothea donated to Brigid relief efforts?”
“Have you two slept together?”
“Are you here legally?”
Petra whirled her head around to try and find whomever had said it—but the mob was a singular entity and words were sourceless.
“Pay them no mind. They’re vultures waiting for their next meal.” Ferdinand said the words as if they could comfort her in what she’d just heard. Her breathing grew haggard again.
Down, down—down. She fell.
“Petra!”
Cameras flashed on.
Hilda’s car screeched to a halt, as it always did. Damn, she really should go to a mechanic sometime. Except she had no idea if a job even waited for her with Shez.
“—does it for that. Though overnight, there was quite the revelation in entertainment news—revolving around a picture posted that had pop’s biggest—”
The radio shut off as Hilda killed the engine. She grabbed her purse and made her weekly pilgrimage to see her grandmother.
Over the pavement and through the doors, to grandmother’s house in memory care we go! Didn’t have the same ring to it.
Smiles exchanged, forms signed, and Hilda marched up the stairs to her grandmother’s room. Stifling a yawn, she let her mind wander to the date she and Marianne had planned for once Shamir freed her for the day. Finally, Marianne was going to take her horse riding. Magician within looked forward to it as well.
“Knock, knock!” Hilda chirped, wrapping her knuckles on the door.
“Come in!” the older woman’s muffled voice responded. Hilda opened the door to see her grandmother in her usual chair with the TV on. Seeing Hilda, she brightened. “Oh, Delilah! So good of you to drop by.”
Alicia got up to embrace her flesh and blood while Hilda replied, “I said I’d be by every week, and I meant it.”
“Did you now? Hm, I don’t recall…” Alicia pulled back and paused. Her brow furrowed, looking at Hilda. “Wait, you’re not Delilah.”
Hilda froze.
“You look like her. But you…” Alicia fumbled for words, growing confused.
“Grandma?” Hilda whispered, to terrified to hope.
“Grandma?” Alicia—as muddled as her memory was—was a sharp woman. “Not Holst. Wait—”
She said the name, the one Hilda eagerly awaited to be lost to time. But for once, it didn’t hurt like it always did. Grandma recognized her.
“Yeah, it’s me. Except I go by Hilda now.” She was crying. Tears, uncontrollable, tumbled down her cheeks.
“Hilda?” Alicia simmered in confusion for a moment. Then, “I don’t understand.”
“Can I explain it to you?”
“Of course, Hilda. Come, sit.” Her grandmother ushered her to the couch, sitting next to her. And with the bluntness only the elderly can deliver, she asked, “Are you a girl?”
Hilda almost laughed at how to the point she was. “Yeah, I’m your granddaughter.”
“You look so much like your mother at your age. Hmph, at least I have a granddaughter who is kind enough to visit, unlike that worthless daughter of mine. You marry into money, and then you change. Despicable.” Alicia grumbled, fuller of life than Hilda had ever seen.
“Grandma, did you want me to explain it?” Hilda asked, hesitant. Doctors had told her that Alicia would have good and bad days—but Hilda assumed time had pushed beyond the good ones.
“You are a girl. Is there more?” Alicia cocked her head to the side like a chicken might.
Hilda burst fully into tears, unable to hold back in sight of family finally accepting her.
“So, how did it go?” Marianne asked, cleaning counters. The morning rush had let up, finally letting her clean up her workspace. Grounds, splashes of brew, and all sorts of additives always decorated a post-rush counter. In some ways, Marianne enjoyed getting to tidy things up.
Felix leaned on the counter in a way that, were Shamir out of her office, would have earned him a telling off. Though he dressed like he rolled out of bed, Felix seemed lighter. “Actually, good. Catching up with Dimitri and Ingrid was…really nice.”
“Congratulations.” Marianne offered a smile to make up for her morning exhaustion. “Are they still in town?”
“For a little. I guess Ingrid’s looking to transfer to GMU. So I might see more of her next year. Dimitri will probably follow her.”
“Are they together?”
“I…don’t know.” Felix hummed in thought. “I don’t think so. Just close. Probably want to get away from each of their parents some.”
Marianne could never understand a sentiment like that, but nodded regardless. “It’ll be good to have more friendly faces around.”
He nodded. “Is Hilda around? I texted her, but she didn’t answer. I half expected to find her here.”
“Oh, she visits her grandmother each Sunday morning. Doesn’t respond to anything during those visits. Did you need her for something? Can I help?”
“Um.” Felix paused while Marianne continued to clean. Customers buzzed in chatter at their tables, keeping the Dagdan Blend warm with their conversation.
Marianne waited. After several long moments, he spoke. “Apparently my father misses me.”
“Oh. Is that…good?”
“I don’t know. Wanted Hilda’s opinion.”
“Oh, right. Well, she should be here before long. Is there, um, anything I can do?”
“No, that’s—actually, do you have Catherine’s number?”
“Catherine? Mom’s girlfriend?” Marianne clarified.
“Oh, they’re dating? Yeah, her.”
“Sure, but what for?” Marianne rattled off the digits she didn’t know she had memorized.
“We…go way back. I think I just want her advice.” Felix, uncomfortable with the subject, changed it. “How’s the new family?”
“It’s been—a month?—things have moved so fast. It’s nice, to have a family. I haven’t had one in a long time. Shamir and Petra…they’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. Having a mother and a sister…” Marianne held back the emotion that threatened to spill over. “It’s good. Really good.”
A raised, teasing eyebrow. “Oh, they have Hilda beat?”
Marianne turned red. “Give it a bit longer and I’m sure it’ll be tied.”
He laughed. “I think I understand. Feels like you two have been together longer than its been. Maybe it’s just my Eidolon, but it’s like you’ve always been together.”
“Imagine how it is for me.” Marianne brightened. “I…really love Hilda. She’s precious to me. But I’ve wanted a family for so long—”
“You don’t need to argue the point. Family’s good when it works. I don’t think Hilda would be offended.” Felix paused. “Thanks, Mari.”
“For what?”
“I think you gave me a little clarity. Something I needed to think about.”
“Oh, you’re welcome?”
“Yeah, it’s—wait, phone, hang on.”
Felix tapped his phone and opened a news app. “Why’d I get an alert for a popstar dating—oh, shit.”
“What?”
Felix turned the phone to Marianne. She looked at the picture of her sister and Dorothea kissing.
“Oh, shit.”
While Marianne and Felix chatted, Edelgard knocked on Shamir’s office door. “May I enter?” Assent followed, and Edelgard stepped in.
“Everything alright out there?” Shamir asked, looking up from her laptop.
“Yeah. My shift just ended. Mari has things covered.” Edelgard closed the distance. “May I sit?”
“Is your shift already done?” Shamir mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Where does the time go?”
“Busy day?”
“Renegotiating the imported coffee I buy. It can be…annoying. The war doesn’t help.”
Edelgard hadn’t considered that. “Does the war complicate coffee?”
“When Fódlan gets too involved in Brigidi affairs, Dagda loves to limit trade. Coffee isn’t high on the list, but with more hoops to jump through, things get pricier. It’s not something you can grow here—the climate’s too different.” Shamir, for the first time, looked truly tired. An exhaustion that gripped a single mother trying to run a business.
She hesitated before asking, “Is DB at risk?”
“We’ve always toed the line.” Shamir closed her laptop. “Between costs and raising a kid that’s needed help, it’s a lot. This one won’t break us, but things keep being tight.”
“That sounds worse than ‘annoying’, Shamir.”
Her boss chewed on her words. “Yeah. It’s worse. But I’ve made it this far. I’ll…manage.”
“Do you need help?” The words, heavy with worry, were honest in their intent. Shamir didn’t seem like the type to ask for help.
“From who? My daughter, who already works too much and can’t afford to go further with education? Marianne, who I just adopted? I didn’t adopt her for another worker. She’s going through enough.” Shamir rubbed her brow. “Catherine…I don’t want to scare her off.”
“What about me?”
Shamir frowned. “What about you?”
A spark of life breathed itself back into Edelgard—one that had been torn out of her and left her husk behind. “I’m not your average barista. I was a journalist.”
“I’m aware,” Shamir deadpanned.
“I have connections. People who can come and do interviews, spotlights, whatever you could use. They…might not be fond of me, but I’ll convince them.” The love she for her career bloomed into a singular flower in a dead field—but a bloom nonetheless.
“Would that even help?” Shamir turned away, looking at a wall.
“Shamir—I am very good at what I do.” Oh, this fire felt good. “If you need help, you should ask for it.”
“I wouldn’t want to put that burden on you.”
“I built myself up from nothing too, Shamir. We’re more alike than—"
“Even more reason why I wouldn’t want to burden you!” she snapped, turning back. Frustrated eyes, angry at something that wasn’t Edelgard.
Edelgard fell silent, letting Shamir’s words hang in the air.
“Sorry, Edie, I don’t—”
“You’re really struggling, aren’t you?”
“What?” Shamir frowned.
“Raising Petra. Dagdan Blend. Marianne, Catherine, more. Has…anyone asked you if you can hold that burden?” It was a guess, but Shamir felt like an exact version of herself, some ten years down the line. Obstinate, cantankerous, self-reliant—softened by the love for her daughter and her livelihood.
“I carry it fine.” Curt. Blunt. Doubt, hidden away.
Edelgard was no good at this. A woman of action, not comfort. If Claude could be here, things would be fine.
‘Let’s try to be better.’ The promise they’d made laying in bed after their dinner.
“Petra isn’t here. You don’t have to be strong for her.” It’s what Claude might have said. It’s what Edelgard did say.
“I’m not—” Shamir cut herself off, cradling her face in her hands atop the desk. She sighed. “Fine. You want truth? I’m scared shitless! Every fucking day since I brought her to Fódlan has been terrifying. Raising Petra was so damn hard.”
“You love her.”
“I’m her mother. I cherish her, love her, want the best for her.” Shamir made eye contact, hands shaking. “That is the unfiltered truth. Petra is everything to me.”
Edelgard remained silent. This was a minefield she did not know how to cross.
Shamir slouched in her chair, a posture unlike her. “When Petra was six, she came home from school crying. They were learning how to read. And she couldn’t do it. I assumed it was the language barrier. We spoke Brigidi at home. So I—” She stopped. “You don’t want to hear me whine.”
“I do.” She did.
Shamir didn’t believe her, but continued. “I tried to teach her, but we found out it was dyslexia. Specialists to help her cost money. Specialists that knew Brigidi cost more. I worked. A lot.”
“I did too, when I turned eighteen. For Lysithea. So that I could become her legal guardian and support her.” Edelgard whispered the words, just as reticent to say them as Shamir.
“Edelgard, I don’t remember…the last time I ever had a break. It’s been over a decade since we came here. I haven’t rested. I…” She shook, as if beset by shivering cold. “I saw a doctor recently. They told me that my health was so poor, it was a miracle I hadn’t had complications. A miracle.
“…You want the truth? This burden, I don’t…I don’t know what to do. About anything.” Silent tears streaked down her face. “I’m not a good mother to my children dead. My business is slowly dying from a myriad of costs. I’m dating a woman I rarely can be there for. Was…it like this for you too?”
Edelgard bit her lip. “Lysithea tries to hide the fact that she gets bullied, because she knows I’m trying to carry so much.” It hurt to admit.
“Petra learned to do that too, the older she got. I tried to get her to open up, but…” Silence summed that outcome up.
“Shamir. I’m going to help you.”
“Feels like I’m a bit far gone.” Goddess, the words sounded so weak as she said them—bereft of any and all strength that propped them up.
“That won’t stop me.” Edelgard gingerly reached out and squeezed her boss’ hand. “I’m going to work a double. You should go get some sleep.”
“Edie, you—”
“Shamir. You’ll only worry Marianne if you go out like this.”
She bristled, despite the situation. Good, fight still remained. “And what do you expect to do? Wave a magic wand and wish my problems away?”
“If I can’t enact change in the way I used to, then I’ll at least help a coffee shop stay on its legs.” This felt like what she needed. A cause. A focus. Something bigger than herself.
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“And you aren’t leaving to go rest.”
Shamir turned to leave, before pausing. “Did you come in here for something?”
“To thank you. For your help with my sister. But I think actions speak louder than words.”
“It’s not a transaction—”
“Sleep. Now!”
Her boss gave in and retreated out of the office. Edelgard stood taller and took Shamir’s seat by her laptop. First, she needed to know what she was dealing with.
Opening the computer, a spreadsheet of finances lay before. Edelgard perused it for a few moments. “Oh, fuck, Shamir. You’re downplaying things. This…isn’t good.” She was no mathematician, but there was a lot of red.
But she did not flinch. Edelgard had an ace in hand—Petra’s incredibly famous girlfriend. Would Shamir’s pride accept that? She doubted it, but if Shamir’s health was at stake, then things needed to change quickly.
If millions of fans suddenly heard Dorothea endorse a coffee shop—that would not go ignored.
Unlocking her phone to call Petra, Edelgard paused at the scrolling news bulletin, freezing at the headline.
‘POP DIVA DOROTHEA DROPPED FROM RECORD LABEL’
“She’s not in today.” Shez’s words were clipped. A subject she didn’t want to honor with any more time.
Sylvain frowned, but accepted it. “Alright. I heard there was some trouble here. Everything seems fine, though?”
“A fight broke out. It was handled.” Shez sighed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be an ass. Just haven’t slept much lately.”
The Rising Star was quiet in the way only the morning could be. No day drinkers today. Sylvain gave her his full attention. “Something I can help with?”
“Not unless you can make my mother be less of a helicopter mom.”
“Ha, yeah, don’t know if I can do that. But if you need time off, just let me know. I can do your job. Need money for the wedding eventually.”
“I’ll choose to ignore the candor at which you claimed you could do my job.” Shez chuckled. “No, I’m fine.”
Moon bristled, like she always did at her lies. Shez ignored her.
“Alright. Well, feel free to give me and Hilda the reins and we can give you a break. Give you some mommy time.”
“Spending time with my mother isn’t exactly what I want right now.”
“Wasn’t talking about her.” He winked with a shit-eating grin.
“What do you—you fuck.” Shez huffed.
“You’re the one who slipped up that once.”
“You took that out of context!”
“Did I?”
“Shut up.”
Sylvain laughed and returned to his work. Shez went back to her office, still grumbling. But when the door closed, she missed his silliness.
“Back to work,” she muttered. The closet of an office felt especially lonely today. A dozen missed calls from her mother. Something she didn’t want to deal with.
Her phone rang. Shez almost didn’t check it out of principle. But instinct took over and she looked at the caller.
“Huh.” She picked it up and answered. “Wasn’t expecting to see you call today.”
“Yeah, sorry it’s been a bit. I should have called sooner.”
“It’s fine. I probably could have as well.”
“Well, with what happened last time, I don’t think either of us were really gunning to talk.”
“Suppose. Is this some coffee talk, or do you need something?”
“I’m the bearer of bad news.”
Shez closed her eyes. “You always are, Leonie. Let’s hear it.”
