Work Text:
She tells Nat when they're twenty-six, sharing a joint in one of Nat's shitty old apartments.
"Oh," says Nat softly. She lets the joint burn out, and she doesn't make eye contact for a moment. Then she says, "So is there something else you want me to call you?"
"Uh, I guess—I thought maybe—Isabel?" It sounds silly and childish when she says it out loud, but Nat shrugs, and finally meets her eyes.
"Okay, Isabel," Nat says, and in that moment she is Isabel, in a way she wasn't before someone else said it out loud. Nat cocks her head, relights the joint. "Are you gonna, like, be Isabel in public?" she asks.
She swallows hard. "I want to try."
"Are you gonna get, you know"—she gestures to Isabel's crotch crudely; Isabel laughs.
"I don't know yet. I'm still figuring everything out."
"That's fair." Nat takes a puff. "I wish I could, like, give you a makeover or something. But I've always been pretty crappy at, you know, being a girl."
Isabel elbows her in the side. "Well, I guess I'm pretty crappy at being a boy," she says, and the sound of Nat's laughter fills her up inside.
They're astronomically high, lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, by the time Nat seems to get the courage to ask another question. "Do you think it's because of us?" she asks, and Isabel doesn't get it at first. "You know, out there?"
Isabel doesn't answer for a long time. When she does, her voice sounds like it's coming from far away: "I don't know," she says, and then—"I don't know if I want to know."
Nat never brings it up again, and Isabel tries hard not to think about it. It's not long before Nat disappears again, and Isabel doesn't see her for a long time.
—
She's twenty-eight when Nat reappears in her life, tracks her down even though she's legally changed her name and even ditched Martinez altogether in favor of her mom's maiden name. When Nat bangs on the door, and Isabel opens it (like she always does), Nat stares at her in wonderment for a moment. Isabel fiddles with her hair self-consciously—it's shoulder-length now, longer than it's ever been except in the woods, at the end—and waits.
Finally, Nat laughs delightedly and says, "Look at you, you've got tits!"
Isabel blushes, and grins, and steps back to let her inside.
"I missed you," Nat says, "really bad." And she tugs Isabel to her right there in the hallway, pulls her in and kisses her hard on the mouth. "I think," she mumbles as she tangles her fingers in Isabel's hair, "I think your lips are softer."
Being with Nat is like burning most of the time, but sometimes it's soft. This time, they go into the bedroom, but before Isabel sits down, she murmurs, "I have to tell you something."
"Yeah, go for it."
Isabel bites her lip. "I just don't think I want to, uh—use my dick the way we've used it before. You know. Like." She can feel her face flushing hot. "Like you can still—touch it and everything, I mean, just like—I don't want—" The old shame is coming up, and it's so easy to let it turn to anger. She wants to say "You know what, never mind, you won't get it anyway," and leave and slam the door. But she can't do that to Nat, not anymore, not now that they're all each other has.
"You don't want, like, the dick-in-vag kinda deal," says Nat, and Isabel exhales in relief, even while wincing at Nat's phrasing. "Sure, I get it."
"Is that, I mean—is that okay?"
Nat laughs. "You know I've fucked women without dicks before, right? For sure don't need one to have a good time. I swear," she adds.
Isabel breathes out again. "Okay. I just—" She looks down, and says very quietly, "It just makes me feel like a man."
"You used to want that so bad," says Nat, but not rudely, just in wonderment. "How much things change, huh?"
Isabel sits down on the bed. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "About...all that stuff. When we were kids. I think I was so afraid of not being a man, or not being a real man or a good enough man..."
"Hey." Nat punches her shoulder gently. "I saw through all your bullshit back then, you know? You don't need to be sorry now."
"I am," Isabel insists.
Nat shakes her head. "Shut up and come kiss me, you loser."
And Isabel does. She leans in and holds Nat by the waist, draws her in. It's different than before, and Isabel feels more present, somehow, than before. Nat's hand strokes against her, bringing her up and up and up, and she bites Nat's shoulder when she comes. Nat hisses at the pain, but holds onto her tight.
—
It's the day before Isabel's thirtieth birthday when Nat appears on her doorstep once again. Nat's eyes are wide, dilated—she's high. Isabel lets her in.
She just means to give Nat a place to sleep for the night, but Nat offers the rest of her oxy, and by the end of the night they're both in a heady daze. They don't have the energy to fuck like this; they mostly just lie on the floor, staring at the ceiling, but Nat traces circles on Isabel's palm with her fingertips. For a moment, when Isabel closes her eyes, she can pretend that Nat's hand on hers is the only thing in the world.
But morning has to come, and daylight with it. Isabel feels okay, but she's not sure what else Nat's been on, and Nat wakes up with a headache, groaning. Isabel brings her water.
"Need a drink," she says, but downs the glass of water anyway. "Come on, Trav, I know you have—fuuuuuuck, Isabel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"Oh, fuck you," Isabel snaps back. "If you want a drink you can get it yourself." And she closes herself into the bedroom, leaving Nat out in the living room with her head in her hands.
Isabel could use a drink herself, if she's being honest.
Instead she lies down on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Fuck.
She knows Nat didn't mean it, but hearing her old name felt like a punch to the gut. But that's the appeal of Nat, isn't it? Nat knows Isabel from before, and being with her is like pressure on a bruise, the odd pleasure of worrying an old wound.
She lies there until she's bored of being pissed, and then she rolls her eyes and opens the door. "All right, dumbass, let's get you some whiskey."
Nat looks up at her, with difficulty. "I'm really sorry, Isabel, I fucked up."
"Let's get you that drink, okay?" Isabel reaches up to the liquor bottles over the fridge and pours Nat a generous portion of whiskey.
Nat groans in relief. "What, you gonna make me drink alone?"
Isabel rolls her eyes and goes back to the kitchen to pour her own drink.
They drink through the day. After two or three Nat feels better, and they laugh and watch movies and forget to eat until late at night, when they order two large pizzas and devour them while a horror movie plays in the background. Nat kisses Isabel's neck with pepperoni-greasy lips.
Their bender lasts four days, until Isabel's boss at her temp job calls her and tells her that after two no-call no-shows she's been let go.
"Get out of here," Isabel hisses at Nat. "Get out."
"I'm sorry," Nat begs, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I just miss you so bad sometimes I feel like I'm gonna die."
Isabel bites her lip til she tastes blood. "Go," she says, and she doesn't cry til Nat is gone.
—
Nat goes to rehab, later. She calls Isabel from the center and tells her about it, tells her Taissa is paying and maybe Isabel could—
Isabel laughs her off the phone. Hey, Tai, remember me, the little bitch boy from the wilderness? Well I'm a woman now, and by the way, can I have thirty thousand dollars?
Isabel goes to a free clinic that gives her a therapist and a taper schedule and not much else. The therapist is visibly uncomfortable in her presence, and Isabel quits after two sessions. But she sticks to sobriety for a while, mostly because Nat keeps calling and talking some bullshit about self-actualization, and it would feel like shit if she got Nat back into drugs just because her dumb ass couldn't get off them.
Isabel picks her up from rehab four hours away, and Nat stays with her for a couple weeks while she looks for a place. It's almost domestic, the way they live, just for a little while. And when Nat kisses her on the forehead when she leaves to go look at an apartment, Isabel's heart skips a little bit.
"I think I'm gonna go," Nat says after a few weeks, and Isabel swallows.
"Again?" she asks, and her voice breaks on the words.
"I just—I'm sorry, Isabel, this town—I can't do it. I have to just—I get itchy, you know?" She looks at Isabel. "I'm sorry, I really—"
"At least you told me this time," says Isabel.
Nat rolls her eyes. "Oh, fuck off, like you don't move around just as much as me. Come here."
Isabel closes her eyes and leans in, drawing Nat's body to her. She's hard against Nat's stomach, and Nat grinds into her. Isabel's chest aches. She eats Nat out on the couch, kneeling in front of her, and for a minute she blinks and pictures a crown of antlers around her head.