Chapter Text
Catherine kicks off her boots by the door, rolling her shoulders back with a quiet groan. Every shift feels longer than the last.
She barely makes it to the kitchen before Clare glances up from her spot at the table, lifting an eyebrow. “Ann's here.”
Catherine frowns. “What?”
“She got here a while ago. Been out on the terrace.” Clare shrugs, going back to whatever book she’s reading. “Seemed like she was waiting for you.”
Catherine doesn’t ask why Clare didn’t mention it earlier on the phone. She just nods, makes her way to her room, stripping out of the uniform she barely tolerates on a good day. It smells like sweat, and she tosses it in the laundry without a second glance, dragging on something more comfortable.
When she passes through the kitchen again, she grabs two beers from the fridge and steps out onto the terrace.
Ann is there, sprawled in a chair, legs stretched out, one hand curled around a beer bottle—already empty. She isn’t in uniform, which is the first thing Catherine notices. The second is the way Ann looks up at her, eyes flicking over her face.
For a second, there’s a smile. Then, a sharp exhale. A huff.
Catherine hands her a beer. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“Clearly,” Ann mutters, but she takes the bottle, twisting the cap off with quick, impatient fingers.
Catherine lowers herself into the chair beside her, studying her from the corner of her eye. There’s something off. Ann’s shoulders are tense, her jaw set like she’s grinding her teeth behind closed lips.
Long day, maybe.
Catherine takes a slow sip of her beer, letting the quiet settle between them. It’s not uncomfortable, not yet. But there’s something simmering beneath it, something Catherine can’t quite place.
Ann stares straight ahead, eyes unfocused, before letting out a humourless laugh. “You know, you’re really something, you know that?”
Catherine blinks. “What?”
Ann shakes her head, her grip on the beer bottle tightening. “Doesn’t matter.”
Catherine frowns. “Ann—”
“You don’t get it.” Ann exhales sharply, cutting her off, and when she finally looks at her, there’s something almost irritated in her gaze. “You walk around like—like you don’t even realise.”
“Realise what?”
Ann lets out another laugh, short and bitter. “Exactly.”
Catherine sets her beer down, leaning forward slightly. “Okay. What the hell is goin’ on with you?”
Ann tilts her head, mouth pulling into something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite a scowl. “Take a guess.”
Catherine clenches her jaw. She’s tired, but more than that, she doesn’t like this—doesn’t like not understanding where Ann is coming from, what’s got into her.
“You're the one who showed up here,” Catherine points out. “So why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong instead of playin’ games?”
Ann’s lips press together, and for a second, it almost seems like she will. But then she takes a long sip of her beer, sighs, and leans back in her chair like she’s already bored with the conversation.
Catherine exhales sharply through her nose. “Ann.”
Ann makes a sound in the back of her throat, something exasperated. “You did something nice for me today,” she says. “And I hated it.”
Catherine stares at her, thrown. “What?”
Ann shakes her head, takes another long sip. “Forget it.”
Catherine doesn’t. She watches Ann carefully, trying to piece together what the hell she means by that. The words don’t make sense.
“You hated it?” she echoes. “What, do you not like people being nice to you now?”
Ann exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Not when it's you.”
Catherine frowns, thrown. Ann’s looking at her with something sharp behind her eyes, something Catherine can’t read, and that’s what unsettles her the most. She knows Ann. She can usually tell when she’s bullshitting, when she’s covering something up, when she’s about to start a fight just to let off steam.
But this is different.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Alright. I’m too tired for cryptic nonsense, so why don’t you just say what you mean?”
Ann snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s what we do, right? Say what we mean.”
Catherine squints at her, not liking the implication.
Ann huffs out a breath, running a hand through her hair before turning to look at her properly. There’s something a little unfocused in her gaze, the alcohol still in her system, but there’s also something steadier now, something she’s clearly been holding back for too long.
“You go through life completely unaware, don’t you?” Ann mutters. “Just—completely oblivious.”
“To what?”
Ann doesn’t answer right away. She tips her head back against the chair, exhaling long and slow, before shaking her head.
“Nothing. Forget it.”
Catherine clenches her jaw, sitting back. The way Ann is acting, the way she’s looking at her, the words she’s not saying—it all sets her teeth on edge.
“I can’t forget it if I don’t even know what I’m meant to be forgetting,” she points out.
Ann lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but there’s no humour in it.
Catherine watches her for a long moment, then sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. She should probably just let this go. Ann is clearly drunk, or close to it, and Catherine’s too exhausted to be playing whatever game this is.
And yet, she can’t just let it sit.
“So you came over here,” Catherine says again, voice quieter this time. “Why?”
Ann looks at her, really looks at her, and for a second, there’s something vulnerable in her expression. But then she blinks, and it’s gone.
“Bad decisions,” she says, and then she smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Not the first time, won’t be the last.”
Catherine watches her for another long moment, then shakes her head, grabbing her beer and taking a long sip.
“Well,” she mutters. “You’re here now, may as well talk.”
Ann watches her for a second longer, then looks away, taking another sip of her own drink. The tension between them still lingers, thick and heavy, but neither of them says anything more.
Catherine watches Ann out of the corner of her eye, trying to work out what exactly she’s supposed to do with this situation. Ann’s mood is a mess—hot, cold, biting, and closed off. It’s like dealing with a drunk stray cat that both wants to be near you and wants to claw your eyes out.
And Catherine, exhausted as she is, doesn’t have the energy to figure out why. But she should. Because this is Ann. And Ann doesn’t come to her for no reason. She sighs, leaning back in her chair, stretching out her legs.
“You gonna tell me what’s actually going on?” she asks, voice careful.
Ann scoffs, shaking her head. “Jesus, Catherine. I already told you, it’s nothing. Just… a bad day.”
“Right, and yet here you are.”
Ann exhales sharply through her nose, like she’s annoyed Catherine’s pointing that out. “Where else would I be?”
That lands strangely. Catherine glances over at her again, but Ann isn’t looking at her now. She’s staring straight ahead, her fingers loose around the neck of the beer bottle.
“Ann,” Catherine says, quieter this time. “What happened?”
Ann shifts, rolling her shoulders like she’s trying to shake something off. “Nothing,” she says again. Then, as if to prove her point, she downs the rest of her beer and sets the empty bottle down on the ground between them.
Catherine sighs, setting her own drink aside.
“Alright,” she mutters. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. But at least don’t lie to me about it.”
Ann’s jaw tightens at that, but she still won’t look at her.
Silence stretches between them, thick with unspoken things. Catherine watches the way Ann’s fingers drum against her knee, restless and fidgety. It’s not like her. Ann’s usually got a stillness to her, a self-possession that’s almost irritating.
This version of her, the one that came to Catherine’s house, sat out here alone in the dark, got drunk over something she won’t talk about—this Ann is unfamiliar.
And Catherine doesn’t like it. She shifts, moving her chair a little closer, resting her arms on her knees. “Did I do something?” she asks.
Ann stills. Catherine sees it in the way her shoulders go tense, the way her fingers stop drumming against her knee. And that’s an answer in itself.
She frowns, straightening. “I did, didn’t I?”
Ann finally looks at her, and there’s something in her eyes that Catherine can’t quite place. Something sharp, something aching.
“You didn’t mean to,” Ann mutters.
Catherine’s frown deepens. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
Ann huffs a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. She leans forward, bracing her elbows against her knees, and then rubs a hand over her face.
“Forget it,” she mutters.
“Ann—”
“Seriously, Catherine.” Ann looks at her again, and this time there’s something harder in her expression. “Just let it go.”
Catherine holds her gaze for a long moment, trying to decide if she should push this or not. Every instinct in her is telling her not to let it drop, that there’s something deeper going on here, something she’s missing.
But Ann’s shutting down, that much is clear. And if Catherine knows anything about her, it’s that pushing too hard when Ann’s like this will only make her dig her heels in deeper.
So she sighs, rubbing a hand over her jaw, and leans back in her chair.
“Fine,” she mutters. “Have it your way.”
Ann doesn’t say anything. She just turns her gaze back out towards the darkened terrace, staring at nothing.
Catherine picks up her beer again, taking a slow sip. The air between them is still tense, still heavy with something unspoken, but neither of them makes a move to break it.
They just sit there, side by side, in silence.
Catherine grips the neck of her beer bottle, rolling it between her palms as she watches Ann out of the corner of her eye.
She knows she should let it go. That’s what she would do with anyone else. With most people, she doesn’t have the patience for this kind of thing—whatever this thing is. She isn’t the type to chase someone down for answers they clearly don’t want to give. If people don’t want to talk, fine. That’s their business. Unless it's work.
But this is Ann. And it’s hard to let it go when it’s her.
Catherine takes another sip of beer, letting it sit on her tongue as she thinks. She runs through a list of possibilities in her mind, trying to piece together what could have set Ann off. Did something happen at work? Something Catherine didn’t notice? She saw Ann earlier today, and she’d seemed fine—a little tired maybe, but that’s not unusual. Was it something Catherine said? Something she didn’t say? None of it feels right.
She exhales sharply, placing her bottle down. “You’re still actin’ weird,” she says, voice light but with an edge of persistence.
Ann shifts in her seat, sighing. “Christ, Catherine.”
“What? I asked if I did something, and you said I didn’t mean to.” Catherine tilts her head. “So what was it?”
Ann’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t answer.
Catherine watches her carefully, looking for some kind of tell—something in the way her fingers twitch, or how her gaze flickers. But Ann has years of practice at keeping things locked down.
Still, something’s off. Catherine leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Was it something I did? Something I said?”
Ann exhales through her nose, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “I said—”
“—That I didn’t mean to, yeah, I heard that part.” Catherine’s voice sharpens just slightly. “But what was it?”
Ann’s fingers still It’s just a second—a hesitation so brief it might not mean anything.
But Catherine knows Ann. And that does mean something. Her thoughts spin faster now, circling the possibilities. “Was it something at work? Did someone say something? Did I say something?”
Ann scoffs, shaking her head. “Jesus, Catherine.”
Catherine raises an eyebrow. “So that’s a yes?”
Ann’s jaw clenches. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ann makes a frustrated noise, shifting in her seat like she wants to get up and pace but doesn’t quite have the energy for it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Catherine watches her, weighing her next move. “Alright,” she says, slow and careful. “Then tell me what I’m supposed to know.”
Ann huffs, rubbing a hand over her face, frustration radiating from her like a storm cloud. “God, you are so—” She cuts herself off, her hand stilling as her fingers dig into her temples. Catherine watches her with mounting concern, the shift in Ann’s tone so sudden, so sharp, it leaves her momentarily stunned.
Ann pulls in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a deliberate, mechanical rhythm, like she’s counting to ten in her head, fighting to keep herself from snapping. When her eyes meet Catherine’s again, they’re not angry the way they sometimes get when Catherine’s pushed too hard or said something particularly stupid. No, this is different. Harder. Tired. The kind of tired that has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with something weighing heavy on her shoulders.
“It’s nothing,” Ann says, her voice clipped and low, like every word is forcing its way through clenched teeth. “You didn’t do anything. So just—leave it alone, alright?”
The dismissal lands like a cold slap. Catherine feels her stomach twist, the unease threading through her veins with icy precision. It’s not the usual annoyance or sharp-edged teasing she’s grown familiar with over the months of working together. It’s not even the exasperation Ann directs at her when she’s being particularly stubborn or reckless. It’s something else. Something locked down tight and welded shut behind eyes that suddenly refuse to meet Catherine’s.
And Catherine hates it. Hates not understanding. Hates the distance Ann is shoving between them without even bothering to explain why. The need to fix it rises in her, urgent and overpowering, and before she’s fully thought it through, she hears herself speak.
“Did I—” The hesitation creeps in, making her voice falter, but she forces herself to push past it. “Did I hurt you?”
The question makes Ann’s entire body go still, the kind of stillness that feels like it might shatter if touched the wrong way. And for a second, Catherine almost thinks she’s imagining it. The way Ann’s fingers twitch, her shoulders locking up like a wall bracing itself against a blow.
But Catherine’s not imagining it. She knows she’s hit something. Not the truth, not the whole picture, but it’s close enough to make Ann react, and Ann doesn’t react unless something matters.
Ann’s face contorts, her expression slipping from strained control to something harsher, more frayed at the edges. Then she lets out a short, bitter laugh, the sound punching through the room with a force that startles Catherine.
“Hurt me?” Ann repeats, shaking her head with a twisted sort of amusement that looks more like pain. “Oh, fuck off, Catherine.”
The words slam into her chest with the kind of force that makes her breath catch. It’s not just the sharpness of them. It’s the fact that Ann never talks to her like that. Not even when they’re at each other’s throats over something stupid. Not even when Ann’s patience is worn so thin, Catherine can practically see right through it.
She stiffens, her spine going rigid as the sting of the rejection settles under her skin. But the hurt doesn’t last long, quickly buried under a different kind of understanding. Because Catherine has seen Ann when she’s angry. She’s seen her when she’s impatient, when she’s frustrated. But this? This is something else entirely.
Ann’s own expression changes, the instant regret flashing across her face like she wishes she could swallow the words back down. Her shoulders sag, and she rubs a hand over her eyes, fingers pressing hard against her temples. “Shit,” she mutters, voice strained and weary. “Sorry.”
But Catherine barely registers the apology. Her mind is still spinning, replaying the way Ann recoiled at her question, the way she snapped like Catherine had hit a nerve too raw to be touched. And Ann lashes out when she’s cornered. Catherine knows that. She’s seen it before, knows the instinct to push people away before they can get too close. But this feels different. This feels like hurt, not anger. And it leaves her feeling helpless and frustrated and so damn lost.
She leans forward, ignoring the way Ann’s gaze darts away from hers. “Ann.”
“Don’t,” Ann says quickly, voice tightening. Her hand falls away from her face, and the look she gives Catherine is one of pure defensiveness. Like she’s trying to build walls faster than Catherine can tear them down.
“Ann, talk to me.” Catherine’s voice is low, coaxing, even though she feels her own nerves starting to fray.
“I can’t.” The frustration there is almost painful to hear, like Ann’s forcing the words out past a throat gone tight and aching.
Catherine feels it too, that gnawing helplessness of not knowing what’s happening, of not understanding why Ann is shutting her out so completely. Her mind races with possibilities, all of them wrong, all of them missing the mark.
Ann shakes her head, fingers fidgeting restlessly like she’s trying to keep them from curling into fists. “I shouldn’t have come here,” she mutters, the words more to herself than to Catherine. “I should go.”
Catherine’s entire body locks up at that. The prospect of Ann walking out the door now, with her eyes haunted and her voice laced with something dangerously close to anguish—it makes her chest clench tight. The thought of Ann driving off like this, that hurt festering and deepening on her way home... it feels wrong. Like something she can’t allow.
So she speaks before she’s even fully thought it through. “How’d you get here?”
Ann looks at her, eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?”
“Did you drive?” Catherine presses.
Ann hesitates, a beat of suspicion crossing her features. “Yeah.”
Catherine nods, her mind already made up. “Then I’m takin’ you home.”
Ann stares at her like she’s just sprouted a second head. “That’s—”
“Not up for debate,” Catherine cuts in, her voice sharper than she intended. “You’re not driving like this.”
Ann’s mouth opens, a protest forming on her lips, but it dies before it can gain traction. She stares at Catherine, something warping and twisting in her expression, like she’s trying to decide whether to argue or just surrender.
For a long moment, neither of them moves. Catherine holds her gaze, refusing to back down, even when she feels her own heart pounding with the force of her determination. She’s not going to let Ann push her away this time. Not when she can see the cracks in Ann’s armour, the fear hiding behind her frustration.
Finally, Ann releases a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging. “Jesus Christ.”
But she doesn’t argue.
Catherine feels a flicker of relief, but it’s fleeting. Because she knows this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.