Daze

“Hey,” Biscuit says casually from the other end of the couch, reaching out towards the bowl of popcorn in the middle. “You wanna see something?”

Cass nearly doesn’t think anything of it, slouched down in the couch cushions, watching the goal highlight replays of a hockey game, bleary with tiredness and almost to the point of excusing herself and going home.

But Fiona — Biscuit’s girfriend who is stupid hot, too hot for Cass to risk thinking about, because she’s a better friend than that — hears, trundling across the room taking the empty longnecks to the kitchen, and her stride stutters a little; and Cass sees a pink blush crawl up the back of her neck when she glances over to make sure she’s okay, as she disappears out of the room.

When Cass looks back at Biscuit, she’s looking at the TV, popcorn between salt-flecked fingertips, but with the weird little grin on her mouth that says she’s orchestrated something. It’s the weird little grin that’s presaged some of the best (and worst) nights of Cass’s life, and not a few of the evillest hangovers.

“What?” Cass says warily.

“Hm,” Biscuit says, and purses her lips. Theatrical asshole. “Been talking about this with Fi, okay? We agreed on this.”

“That sounds a little worrying,” Cass says.

“Not talking about it first would be worrying,” Biscuit says, and eats her popcorn, staring at the TV with an unusual little crease between her brows; then says “okay,” half to herself, and licks her fingers, digs her phone out. “Fi, sweetheart?”

Fiona pops back out of the kitchen quick enough to show she’s been hanging out in there, waiting and listening — by the looks of things, nervous and blushing. She pauses in the middle of the room, twisting her hands a little in the hem of Biscuit’s big-on-her sweatshirt.

“Fi wants to show this off a little,” Biscuit says, and Fi scrunches her socked toes into the carpet and nods, going even redder.

“What—” Cass says, uneasy and suspicious, looking between them; and looks Biscuit’s way in time to have Biscuit’s phone angled conspicuously toward her, theatrically poking at an app, which beeps loudly.

Fiona kind of groans in her throat, and Cass’s eyes fly to her in time to see her relax, hunched shoulders melting down, face smoothing.

“What,” Cass says, then sharply, “what the fuck. Did you do something to her—” and makes a grab for Biscuit’s phone.

“I’m fine,” Fiona says dreamily.

“Cass,” Biscuit says patiently, letting Cass wrench the phone out of her hands. “Cassandra. If I was doing anything even slightly shady, I’d know not to show you—”

“It’s all safe,” Fiona says, still dreamy. Weird. One of her hands flutters up to touch her chest. “I like it. It was my idea.”

Cass fixes her attention where Fiona’s fingers linger. “Your implant?” she says incredulously. “Are you fucking with her implant?”

“Fi,” Biscuit says quietly, and pats the couch. “Come over here, sweetheart. Just—” she picks up the popcorn bowl. “Sit in the middle here, okay?”

Fiona walks over and sits, smile on her face; letting herself fall back into the cushions like she’s a little tipsy. Which might not be so far off, given what Cass understands about all the chemical regulation her implant does.

“It’s okay,” she says, and gives Cass’s knee a little pat. “Look!” she adds, pointing at Biscuit’s phone in Cass’s grip. “The big green up-down arrows? They make me all floaty and sleepy, like this. It’s so good.”

Cass doesn’t even have to look back to it, where Fiona’s pointing: as she says, big green up-down arrows, vertically bracketing a label, currently reading level 1.

“Can I have it up a level?” Fiona says, and that gets Cass’s eyes off the phone and sharply on her face. Fiona wriggles a little under the scrutiny, biting her lip, eyes wide and serious and imploring. “…Please?”

“You could do this yourself,” Cass says gruffly, and Fiona shakes her head.

“Oh no,” she says solemnly. “You shouldn’t do yourself. It should be someone you trust.” She gives Cass a shy smile.

Cass, for somewhere safe to look, gives Biscuit an iron glare.

“I didn’t get her into any of this,” Biscuit says drily. “Don’t look at me like that, Cass, if there was anything wrong going on here you’d beat my ass and we both know it. That’s—” and she pauses, clears her throat a little. “That’s how I figure out whether I’m doing the right thing, when it feels tough.”

They look away from each other reflexively, mutually embarrassed.

“We talked about this before you came over,” Biscuit adds, in the direction of the far wall. “Fi likes — she wants to show this off a little. But you need to trust people, right? And there’s nobody we both trust like you.”

Cass swallows and looks at the phone.

“Please?” Fi says, and Cass looks at her to check, just quickly, then carefully taps the up arrow. The app beeps, a lower tone; Fiona sighs, head falling back, sinking happily into the cushions.

“You okay?” Cass asks her gruffly, and Fiona gives her a sleepy little smile.

“So good,” she says, slow and sweet, then rolls her head on the couch cushions to look at Cass. She edges her hand across, extends her pinky, rests it on Cass’s leg. Her voice goes throaty, eyes hooded. “Can I go floaty?”

Still looking the other way, Biscuit murmurs, “It caps out at level three. That’s…basically naptime.”

“Can I have it,” Fiona says, looking at Cass. “Can I please?”

“I don’t—” Cass says. She looks over Fiona at Biscuit, helplessly. “I—”

“I usually make her work a little for it,” Biscuit says drily. “…I don’t think you wanna know.”

“When I have a tough day at work,” Fiona whispers loudly, “I look forward to it all day.”

Cass looks at Fiona. At Biscuit. “This is safe?” she asks.

“I promise,” Biscuit says, and Fiona inhales with anticipation, wriggling as she sees Cass slowly hover her thumb over the screen again.

The app beeps yet another, lower tone. Fiona lets the breath out in a hazy, blissful hum, eyes drooping shut.

Cass counts half a dozen breaths, puts the phone on the arm of the couch, and picks up Fiona’s wrist to feel her pulse. “Fi?” she says quietly. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

Fiona doesn’t react.

“What the fuck,” Cass says to Biscuit, accusingly. “How the fuck. Are you — I dunno — are you fucking with hormone levels or some shit to knock her out?”

“Jesus, no,” Biscuit says, a funny look on her face, half smiling, half resigned. “You think I’d risk fucking that up?”

“Well I didn’t.” Cass scowls at her.

“It’s not—” Biscuit says. “She wanted to try out hypnosis, Cass. The app just makes noises. She’s basically clicker trained.”

“What?” Cass looks at it, like that’ll tell her anything

“It makes noises,” Biscuit says. “Jesus, Cass, give a girl a hand, here, I think I’m out of my depth.”

“What?” Cass repeats, feeling stupid.

“She is into some FREAKY shit,” Biscuit tells her, eyes wide. “If she wants to show off to you — I think she’s softening me up for a threesome? And you have GOT to say yes, Cass. Anything to put off oh Biscuit, hypnotise me, make me your soft wiggly caterpillar and you be a sexy evil parasitic wasp and fuck me with your big sharp ovipositor and make me scream and lay your eggs in me to eat me from the inside so I die crying or whatever the fuck’s next—”

“What?” Cass says.

“I have too much girlfriend to handle!” Biscuit says, flinging her hands up and looking frazzled. “You’ve been hot for her from day zero, you help me keep this relentless sex goblin contained!”

Cass looks at her. Looks at Fiona’s serene face, snuggled into the couch cushions like a sleepy kitten.

“What?” she says plaintively.