The Queen of Hearts (Pippa/Felicity)
Title: The Queen of Hearts
Author: themajoritylied
Pairing: Felicity/Pippa
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine but the plot!
Summary: Pippa will always and forever be the queen of their hearts.
Breathtakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly broken, Pippa Cross always used to steal the hearts right out of their chests.
As if they weren't willingly given.
There were men; hundreds upon hundreds of men, ranging from a rather presumptuous twelve-year-old to a posse of men so ancient they could be her father's father's late uncle. They all fell for her the moment they laid eyes on her:
She's so beautiful, they'd say, awestruck and with stars in their eyes. She's so lovely, she's the one. I must have her. She must be mine.
But it wasn't only the men.
Gemma and Ann, they'll deny it to the end. They'll say they loathed her, the way she could act so stuck up and innocent all at once, so elegant though her blood wasn't really blue. But that's just it, isn't it? She pierced their hearts with her spoiled yet innocent view on life, and they'll never really forget her.
And Felicity...Felicity is a different story.
She's never denied it, not really.
To be quite honest, she doesn't give a bloody damn whether you know it or not.
She used to, though.
She and Pippa both, during those late nights of clumsy hands and frantic lips and promises of forever that Felicity knew she could never keep. But Pippa...
Darling Pip never doubted her knight in lovely dresses and diamonds. She always clung to Felicity's side, really and truly believing that it would all be over, someday; that Felicity could and would protect her until the end.
And she would, back then, because Pippa had stolen her heart from the moment those violet eyes had shyly met hers that lukewarm October night.
She stole Felicity's heart with that broken smile, the way her eyes would flash and she'd squeal in horribly concealed delight whenever Felicity did something she really oughtn't, the moans and the quiet, sharp intake of breath, and the way her arms latched around Felicity's bare, taut shoulders in the dead of night, holding her close because it was the only way she knew how to hold on.
Felicity will never admit it, even now, but when Pippa was with that dreadful Bumble man, always laughing at his jokes and showing utmost interest in his most sinfully tiring escapades, she was really quite horribly jealous. She hated herself for it; he was a fifty-year-old man, for heaven's sake, but Pippa was supposed to be laughing with her, clinging onto her arm and smiling that adoring smile at her. It was the same with the knight; only more so, really, because Pippa wished for him, didn't she?
She had Felicity by her side then and she wished for a knight. Felicity had rolled her eyes, pretended to be annoyed by Pippa's childish concept of romance but really, she wished she could wear that shining armor.
Of course, daft, naïve Pippa never noticed; Pippa was always the jealous one, and Felicity intended to keep it that way. Secretly, she loved the way Pippa would corner her late at night in only her silk nightgown, arms folded over her chest and demanding an explanation.
Did Felicity really prefer that common girl to her, and if so then fine, she knew when she wasn't wanted.
But Pippa would always tear up at the end and she'd pout as she said those last words, and then Felicity would gently but firmly press her against the wall and show her just who she preferred. Because there was no doubt in Felicity's mind that Gemma could be hers if she wished; anyone could be hers, if she wished, because she was Felicity Worthington, and she was most certainly not going to listen to anyone but herself.
Those times, Felicity would pretend it was she who held Pippa's heart, and not the other way around.
It wasn't as if it were a lie that she could have Gemma; Felicity was as charming as she was bold, never afraid to let her feelings be known, no matter who she hurt along the way.
But she never hurt Pippa; she was always so gentle with her, like she was made of the most beautiful porcelain. Felicity knew it was pathetic, the way she pretended to have the control when it was really always her gazing after Pippa with that lovesick look in her eyes, her who would give Pippa the world if only it didn't already revolve around her, her who would bring her darling Pip every star in the night sky if she only said the word.
And all thanks to that one night, so long ago now, the one with the cave and the apple and the kiss that meant nothing at all because Felicity was afraid to kiss the one who would mean any more than that.
It had been Pippa who started it; that had been the most surprising thing. Pippa who had thrown herself at Felicity in one of her jealous fits, only this time there were no backward glances or subtle glares.
There was alcohol on their breath, bittersweet mixed with Pippa's subtle, familiar perfume and the scent of the ringlets as they mingled with Felicity's own loose blonde locks. It was fast and slow and sloppy and purposeful and every breath she took felt like it could be her last and she wouldn't mind at all. Pippa had felt so warm, so real beneath her cool, hesitant hands (and that's another thing, because Felicity's not bold at all beneath those featherlight covers), not delicate and fragile the way she always appeared during the day.
Every moan, gasp, and sharp breath had sent Felicity's mind reeling, shooting another fire through her body because Pippa was hers. And back then, it felt like the world needed to know, and Pippa had a fine time of trying to conceal the rather large reddish, purplish mark at the base of her neck from the keen eye of Ms. Nightwing the next day. Felicity had laughed and laughed when Brigid had caught sight of Pippa's neck when the girl let her guard down and grumbled about a bat infestation. The slap on her arm had only made her laugh harder and she remembers pressing an exaggerated, sloppy kiss to the offending mark to Pippa's shrieks of horror.
Back then, she used to think it was Pippa's heart that belonged to her; it was Pippa who couldn't live without Felicity by her side, and for the life of her, Felicity can't remember when it changed; can't remember when she finally realized that no one would ever really hold Pippa's heart.
Not anymore.
She can't remember the when she discovered it was Pippa who held her heart, and that she'd been wrong the whole time.
She can't tell you the moment she realized she was losing her one true love, only that it was a moment too late.
Pippa's gone now, crushed beneath the broken dream that she'd staked her everything on; there was no knight, and, in the end, there was no magic.
Gemma and Ann might put her to the back of their minds as a warning of what happens when you don't listen to lying, dead women; they might even scorn her and warn their children never to become so vain as Pippa Cross.
But Ann will never perform without thinking of the way that she first lived her dream, as a beautiful girl she could never be.
Like Pippa (but never so much so, because no one's as beautiful as Pippa).
Gemma will never go a day without thinking of Pippa, and how she'd still be there if she'd only slapped the berries from her hand.
And why didn't she?
For Pippa, who looked so miserable then but she couldn't turn away (and maybe that was why, as the beautiful and privileged became the damned).
And Felicity...Felicity is a different story.
She's never denied it, not really.
That Pippa will always and forever be the queen of their hearts.