Chapter Text
Mira loved the American Nights.
More than she ever thought she would.
On those Saturdays, Zoey used to revive the dishes of her Californian childhood, preparing them with fierce pride and devoted care.
Each recipe always appeared right before her eyes like a small voyage across the ocean, meant to be savored bite by bite and experienced through her playful and absurd tales. And knowing that evening would be one of them, for her, was truly excellent news: it might have been the perfect remedy to lift her spirits -at least in her mind- from the dreadful heaviness that had been weighing on her for hours.
Feeling unwell, in fact, didn't stop her imagination.
Which dish would Zoey serve tonight?
Would she make something with fish again?
Or would she lean towards fast food?
And which of her chaotic stories would she tell?
Would that wild grandmother of hers feature again?
Would it still be something utterly traumatic, yet presented as a mere trifle? A funny little anecdote?
Mira faintly smiled to herself at the thought, letting the small bubble of anticipation push away the fatigue for just a moment. But when the plate arrived, her cheerful expression faded away: those macaroni and cheese, cooked with such affection, instantly betrayed her.
Their appearance seemed flawless: the pasta was laying beneath a golden, velvety layer of melted cheese, its edges sparkling with tiny amber bubbles where butter met heat, radiating a warm, homely glow. But the smell… The smell told an entirely different story. Instead of the familiar warmth expected from a dish meant to soothe, just like that one, a chemical tang wafted into her nostrils, lacing with some rancid notes and the undeniable warning of cheese that had gone bad.
Mira's nose wrinkled spontaneously, her stomach suddenly twisted, and stopping the gag rising in her throat became an effort far greater than she cared to admit.
Yet, when she lifted her gaze, she noticed everyone else eating with delight, not just savoring the food, but also Zoey's animated retelling of her own bizarre encounter with a hijacked TV channel.
"…The truth is, this tinkering nerd from my block had been doing interference experiments just for fun. Creepy ones, sure, but-"
Mira, too busy praying that strange wave of nausea would pass, barely registered what was being said. But she didn't want to stay silent. Not about that. She had to break in.
"Uh… Guys…"
The table went quiet, all eyes turned toward her: everyone immediately sensed how bad she felt, her partners in particular. The two, in fact, exchanged a glance, as if they silently understood something the others didn't. And ignoring the unpleasant pressure of being observed -which weighed on her mind more than usual-, Mira finally voiced her question with hesitant caution.
"Don't… Don't you smell it too?"
"What?" Zoey asked, cutting her story short. Her voice carried genuine curiosity.
"This… Smell…" Mira continued, her nose wrinkling again. "I don't know… Could the cheese have gone bad? Or…"
"No, sweetie. The package arrived today!"
"Uh… I don't know…" she repeated, clearly distressed. "This is so unbearable… Am I really the only one?"
A quiet doubt began to ripple through the group: none of them understood what she meant. The food, in fact, smelled and tasted perfectly fine to everyone else.
"I have no idea what you're talking about…"
"Actually it looks good to me!"
"Sis, are you really sleeping on one of Brainiac's American masterpieces? That's not you. You usually love this stuff."
Even Mystery, taciturn and reserved as ever, shrugged in confusion.
"Exactly… That's why I don't understand…" she murmured, wincing as a sharper twist clenched her stomach: the discomfort had clearly deepened, and it sent an unsettling quiver up her stomach and even above it.
"The truth is you should've stayed in bed! You're sick! And this is totally normal!"
"Zoey… I'm not incap-" Mira tried to reply before her words faltered, as the sickness in her belly surged again. She pressed a hand against it, hoping to steady herself, but the tight knot only seemed to thrum in response. Her face went a shade paler, her heart was fluttering in her chest, and her lips started to tremble.
And at that sight, Romance, seated beside her, reacted instantly: "Make her some tea." he instructed Abby, before scooping her up.
As soon as Mira leaned against him with shaking shoulders, they vanished toward the bathroom. And everyone else went suddenly frozen, quite clueless of what just happened
"…We have to tell Bobby." Rumi finally declared, after a long silence. "I don't care if she says she's fine. She's clearly not."
"Princess… Breathe."
It had been years since Mira had felt like this: throat burning, breath slipping away, limbs rattling and jerking uncontrollably as cold waves of shivers ran through her.
Not since the very first time she had been teleported. And from that day on, nothing had drained her strength the way that nightmare was doing right then.
Her stomach heaved violently, dragging her forward. Another wave of nausea slammed into her, shaking her whole body and forcing spasms upward. Acidic jets of bile spilled from her mouth, and her abdomen clenched so hard she thought she was breaking apart from the inside.
"Breathe, I'm right here…"
Romance gently held her forehead as she gagged again, choking on nothing but sour air. Mira felt as if she was slipping away from her body: trying to steady herself, her palms, slick with sweat, uselessly slid against the toilet bowl while her vision started to blur at the edges.
"Easy…"
While she was doubling over, a pounding pressure detonated behind her eyes like a merciless jackhammer. Tears spilled hot and unstoppable, racing down her cheeks before she even registered they were there. And as another violent surge rose from her stomach, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Romance put an arm around her shoulders as gently as he could, but even the softness of his touch made her flinch. And, trying to lift her head, another spike of agony shot through her, torturing her stomach all over again. Even breathing, then, felt pointless: every inhale cut short by dizziness, every exhale trembled out of her like she was cracking. Meanwhile, her fingers desperately tried to curl against the porcelain, and if it hadn't been for him, her weakness would have sent her collapsing onto the toilet seat.
"It's okay, princess… It's okay…"
Mira wanted to believe him.
But the spinning room, the pounding in her skull, the nausea coiling tight in her gut all felt endless.
And even when she managed to stand, the tightness in her stomach and the heaviness in her limbs never truly went away.
Romance hated seeing her like this.
He hated holding her limp in his arms.
He hated laying her on the bed because she couldn't stand on her own.
He hated that he couldn't actually do anything to make the pain go away, nothing except lie beside her, urge her to close her eyes, and promise with a kiss that he would take care of her, always.
"Thank you, Ro…" she whispered with trembling voice, as she hugged him and settled into his arms. "I… I love you…"
And before he could even say I love you too, she let out a small, broken sob.
That was what he hated the most.
Seeing her cry.
It weighed on his heart every single time, growing heavier whenever she clutched at him, whenever her tears soaked through his pajamas, whenever her sobs grew so strong they made her whole body tremble.
"Princess… Don't cry. I promise it's okay."
"I… I don't deserve you…" Mira whispered, her voice cracking as she hid her face against his chest. And Romance cupped her jaw softly, guiding her wet eyes to meet his. "Of course you deserve me. Don't say that."
"Ro, you don't understand! I ruined your night! You should be with the others, eating, laughing… And instead, you're stuck here, taking care of me… Dealing with me..." her voice broke completely. "And today I messed up at work too! What if I ruin the entire project? What if I screw everything up over something I can't even understand?"
"Hush, princess…" Romance whispered, rubbing slow strokes along her back with the palm of his hand. "This isn't your fault. It isn't anyone's fault. And besides, tomorrow is Sunday. We were going to rest anyway."
But Mira cried harder, guilt and exhaustion pouring out of her all at once.
"My dear, I made you-"
Behind them, the door creaked open softly: Abby stepped inside with a tray in hand.
But as soon as he saw her trembling in Romance's arms, his expression shifted instantly: "Hey…? What happened?"
Mira didn't answer. Her sobs were quieter now, but still too strong to speak through.
So, Abby set the tray aside and climbed onto the bed behind her without a word. Easing in close, he gently wrapped his arms around her from behind, grounding her between the two of her partners. His lips brushed her shoulders, her neck, her hair, saying the same thing again and again.
You are safe.
And for the first time that night, maybe she felt it.
Her breath steadied.
The pounding in her skull softened.
The knot in the stomach finally loosened.
And minutes passed just staying like this.
Only when Abby felt her relax against him, he began to speak softly.
"We called Bobby, by the way."
Mira sniffled: "…What did he say?"
"You have nothing to worry about. And he'll make sure you can be visited first thing Monday."