[Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants fic] In the Memory (Life and Death), Tibby/Carmen
title: In the Memory (Life and Death)
author: Carla (escritoireazul@gmail.com)
disclaimer: Characters belong to Ann Brashares
dedication: Written for marginalia for femslash06
fandom: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
pairing: Tibby/Carmen
rating: 16+ for adult situations
warning: Spoilers through the first book/the movie.
summary: The third death is when there is no one left to remember.
"People used to believe death has three forms," Carmen says, and Tibby counts them off, touches her fingertips together to the rhythm of the litany. The words appear behind her closed eyes like an outline of what will happen over the next few years, as she moves farther and farther from Point B, from Bailey.
I. The death of the body. The functions cease, the heart no longer beats, the gaze has no depth or weight, and the space once occupied so well slowly loses all meaning.
II. The death of physical. The body is lowered into the ground, out of sight, and the rest of the space is lost to the earth.
III. The death of everything. The death that comes when there is no one left to remember, the final death.
In the fall after their first summer apart, Tibby fears she will forget Bailey too fast, because she knew her such a short time. She doesn't say anything, but at their Halloween party, Carmen invites her to spend the night between the first and second days of November.
Carmen's desk is clean, all the clutter moved away, and that's a minor miracle in itself. There should be a saint for the cleanliness of a teenage girl's room, and maybe there is and Tibby just doesn't know the correct name.
It's not exactly a secret that Carmen celebrates the Day of the Dead, and every year she and her mother have a small altar in the living room, and Lena told them all about how, in elementary school, the teachers would make Carmen stand up and talk about it, and she taught them all how to make little, happy skeletons from modeling clay and construction paper, but Tibby has never seen anything like the display in Carmen's room.
Instead of clothes and books and jewelry, there is a white tablecloth spread over her desk, and something is piled up underneath to make three levels. On the very top, at the back, there are four candles and a scattering of sugar skulls, ranging in size from one bite to miniature marshmallow.
On the second level are three small, clay bowls, wobbly and misshapen. One is filled with water, the second a pile of salt, and the last bread broken into small pieces. Three skeletons decorated in bright, shiny colors and with big smiles on their painted faces are interspersed with the bowls.
The third level has garlands of marigolds and other yellow flowers Tibby doesn't recognize.
"Oh good, you're early." Carmen brushes past Tibby, bumping her out of the doorway. She hurries to her bed and dumps an armload of tissue paper onto it, then shoves a pair of scissors into Tibby's hand. "Well, not really good, I wanted to have this ready, but now you can help me cut these."
"Cut them into what?" Tibby feels a little dumb, her tongue too big for her mouth, but she's not sure why. It's been months since she cried more than one night at a time, and she hasn't shed a single tear in weeks.
"Patterns. Whatever." Carmen waves her hand, brushing away unimportant things like instructions or details. "Something you like, something that reminds you of the dead."
Tibby flinches. She hates that word, and wishes no one would ever use it again. That would be a ridiculous request, and she knows it, but she can't help wish she could purge it from the language forever.
"Tibs." Carmen's voice is gentle, and she cups her hand around Tibby's elbow, squeezing it and rubbing her thumb back and forth. "It's okay to hurt when you think about her. It's okay to remember her." Which is true, but not at all what Tibby really means. She can't correct Carmen, though, doesn't even know what she'd say to try.
She lets go before Tibby can pull away, plops down on the floor next to her bed, grabs sheets of paper, and starts cutting. Tibby eases herself to the ground, folds four sheets together (all different colors--there are plenty of choices, red, orange, yellow, black, purple, pink, and white, a strange rainbow--which compliment each other), and cuts rows of stars strung together.
When they are done, and Carmen's papers look a lot like crazy snowflakes with twisting, dangling ends while Tibby's are neat and just a little ragged, they work together to hang them over the desk-altar. The sun is just setting outside the windows, and Carmen pulls the curtains open wider to let in all the fading light.
Tibby sits on the edge of Carmen's bed, careful not to impale her butt on the abandoned scissors, and Carmen hurries from the kitchen to the bedroom, bringing plates full of food, including a large, round loaf of bread, and fried bananas.
"It's tradition," Carmen says when she sees the look on Tibby's face. She's always believed fruit should not be fried or eaten anyway except raw, on ice cream, and/or baked in a pie, but when Carmen holds out a piece, she closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and makes sure to touch her lips to Carmen's fingers when she's fed.
Carmen's mouth follows close behind, so Tibby barely has to taste the banana, and instead has Carmen's lips and Carmen's warm tongue. She opens her eyes in the middle of the kiss, because she likes the way Carmen's forehead wrinkles a little, and the way her cheeks turn pink.
"What now?" Tibby asks when Carmen pulls away.
"Now we light the candles." Carmen stutters through the words just a little and she's breathing hard. It's nice to know she can make someone react, nice to know she can make Carmen shake with just a kiss.
Still, it's strange that Tibby's here to celebrate death, and the others aren't. "Why isn't Bridget here, too?"
"Bee and I light a candle every Christmas," Carmen says, and wraps her arms around Tibby. "She doesn't need this like you do."
"She hurts a lot, you know," Tibby says, but it's unnecessary. "She should need this more, she lost her mother, and Bailey was just a friend." Her voice cracks at the end, and she turns her head away so Carmen won't see, even though that is also unnecessary. Carmen holds her tight and then steps back again.
She fumbles the box of matches and spills half of them on the floor. They both kneel to pick them up, and bump heads, not hard enough to hurt, but then Carmen has to kiss it better for Tibby, and it feels so nice Tibby has to return the favor, and then they kiss again.
As long as she doesn't look at the altar, it's okay.
But Carmen is determined and she tugs Tibby to her feet and over to the altar. She lights the four candles on top first and Tibby can hear her whisper the four cardinal directions under her breath, not as if she's explaining it, but as if she wants to remind herself.
Then she picks up three Tibby didn't see before, places them in small holders, and sets them on the lowest level, in the very center, with the plates of food on either side, and the flowers out of the way. "This is for Bee's mother." She lights the first, and then holds out the matches to Tibby.
For a long second, Tibby's hand refuses to close around the box of matches. She has to concentrate to make each individual finger move before she can take it, free a single match, and strike it on the edge of the box.
The candle fizzles when she presses the flame against the wick, but when it catches, the light is strangely steady. "This is for Bailey," she whispers, and her voice is so soft she can barely hear it herself, but Carmen wraps an arm across Tibby's shoulders and pulls her against her side. Tibby sets the matches on the altar and creeps her arm around Carmen's waist.
They stand together for awhile, and Tibby is so lost in her own thoughts she is startled and jumps when Carmen hugs her tighter, lights the third candle, and then lets go so she can close the curtains against the dark night.
When Tibby goes to blow out the candles, Carmen stops her. "Let them burn all night," she says, and kisses Tibby's shoulder.
"It could start a fire." Even Tibby realizes how inane she sounds.
"We'll keep an eye on them." Carmen flips off the overhead light, and in the flickering, but bright, candlelight, she looks a little devious and wicked. She takes Tibby's hands in her own and leads her over to the bed. Then, standing there so close their legs touch, Tibby leans forward and kisses her.
She grabs Carmen's shoulders, and Carmen's hands are tight at her waist. They press closer and closer together, until it's hard to stand, and Carmen pitches them sideways; Tibby reaches down to push the scissors and some of the paper out of the way, but the rest crinkles and crackles when they land on it.
Carmen runs her hands up under Tibby's shirt, cups her breasts, so small Carmen's hands practically cover them, and Tibby can't care about paper or the fire potential or anything at all except for the feel of those fingers teasing her nipples. Carmen kisses her cheek, down to her throat, around to the hollow in her collar bone, and they separate long enough to strip away shirts and bras (well, Carmen wears a bra, and Tibby helps peel it off), and then when they come back together, Tibby leads, slides her small hands over Carmen's breasts, cups them and holds their weight against her palms. Her thumbs rub until Carmen groans, and then moans when Tibby leans down to suck and nibble.
She hopes it isn't wrong, to celebrate death like this, with the living so warm beneath her hands, and wet, and squirming when Tibby unbuttons Carmen's pants (not their special pants, not the Traveling Pants, which are put away until summer) and slides her fingers inside to thrust and tease, but Carmen chants her name, kisses and clings and cries out a little when she arches up. The candlelight paints her body golden, and Tibby doesn't want to worry about right or wrong or how they could all die tomorrow. She's just going to have to have faith they won't.
She's also just going to have to keep remembering.
author: Carla (escritoireazul@gmail.com)
disclaimer: Characters belong to Ann Brashares
dedication: Written for marginalia for femslash06
fandom: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
pairing: Tibby/Carmen
rating: 16+ for adult situations
warning: Spoilers through the first book/the movie.
summary: The third death is when there is no one left to remember.
"People used to believe death has three forms," Carmen says, and Tibby counts them off, touches her fingertips together to the rhythm of the litany. The words appear behind her closed eyes like an outline of what will happen over the next few years, as she moves farther and farther from Point B, from Bailey.
I. The death of the body. The functions cease, the heart no longer beats, the gaze has no depth or weight, and the space once occupied so well slowly loses all meaning.
II. The death of physical. The body is lowered into the ground, out of sight, and the rest of the space is lost to the earth.
III. The death of everything. The death that comes when there is no one left to remember, the final death.
In the fall after their first summer apart, Tibby fears she will forget Bailey too fast, because she knew her such a short time. She doesn't say anything, but at their Halloween party, Carmen invites her to spend the night between the first and second days of November.
Carmen's desk is clean, all the clutter moved away, and that's a minor miracle in itself. There should be a saint for the cleanliness of a teenage girl's room, and maybe there is and Tibby just doesn't know the correct name.
It's not exactly a secret that Carmen celebrates the Day of the Dead, and every year she and her mother have a small altar in the living room, and Lena told them all about how, in elementary school, the teachers would make Carmen stand up and talk about it, and she taught them all how to make little, happy skeletons from modeling clay and construction paper, but Tibby has never seen anything like the display in Carmen's room.
Instead of clothes and books and jewelry, there is a white tablecloth spread over her desk, and something is piled up underneath to make three levels. On the very top, at the back, there are four candles and a scattering of sugar skulls, ranging in size from one bite to miniature marshmallow.
On the second level are three small, clay bowls, wobbly and misshapen. One is filled with water, the second a pile of salt, and the last bread broken into small pieces. Three skeletons decorated in bright, shiny colors and with big smiles on their painted faces are interspersed with the bowls.
The third level has garlands of marigolds and other yellow flowers Tibby doesn't recognize.
"Oh good, you're early." Carmen brushes past Tibby, bumping her out of the doorway. She hurries to her bed and dumps an armload of tissue paper onto it, then shoves a pair of scissors into Tibby's hand. "Well, not really good, I wanted to have this ready, but now you can help me cut these."
"Cut them into what?" Tibby feels a little dumb, her tongue too big for her mouth, but she's not sure why. It's been months since she cried more than one night at a time, and she hasn't shed a single tear in weeks.
"Patterns. Whatever." Carmen waves her hand, brushing away unimportant things like instructions or details. "Something you like, something that reminds you of the dead."
Tibby flinches. She hates that word, and wishes no one would ever use it again. That would be a ridiculous request, and she knows it, but she can't help wish she could purge it from the language forever.
"Tibs." Carmen's voice is gentle, and she cups her hand around Tibby's elbow, squeezing it and rubbing her thumb back and forth. "It's okay to hurt when you think about her. It's okay to remember her." Which is true, but not at all what Tibby really means. She can't correct Carmen, though, doesn't even know what she'd say to try.
She lets go before Tibby can pull away, plops down on the floor next to her bed, grabs sheets of paper, and starts cutting. Tibby eases herself to the ground, folds four sheets together (all different colors--there are plenty of choices, red, orange, yellow, black, purple, pink, and white, a strange rainbow--which compliment each other), and cuts rows of stars strung together.
When they are done, and Carmen's papers look a lot like crazy snowflakes with twisting, dangling ends while Tibby's are neat and just a little ragged, they work together to hang them over the desk-altar. The sun is just setting outside the windows, and Carmen pulls the curtains open wider to let in all the fading light.
Tibby sits on the edge of Carmen's bed, careful not to impale her butt on the abandoned scissors, and Carmen hurries from the kitchen to the bedroom, bringing plates full of food, including a large, round loaf of bread, and fried bananas.
"It's tradition," Carmen says when she sees the look on Tibby's face. She's always believed fruit should not be fried or eaten anyway except raw, on ice cream, and/or baked in a pie, but when Carmen holds out a piece, she closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and makes sure to touch her lips to Carmen's fingers when she's fed.
Carmen's mouth follows close behind, so Tibby barely has to taste the banana, and instead has Carmen's lips and Carmen's warm tongue. She opens her eyes in the middle of the kiss, because she likes the way Carmen's forehead wrinkles a little, and the way her cheeks turn pink.
"What now?" Tibby asks when Carmen pulls away.
"Now we light the candles." Carmen stutters through the words just a little and she's breathing hard. It's nice to know she can make someone react, nice to know she can make Carmen shake with just a kiss.
Still, it's strange that Tibby's here to celebrate death, and the others aren't. "Why isn't Bridget here, too?"
"Bee and I light a candle every Christmas," Carmen says, and wraps her arms around Tibby. "She doesn't need this like you do."
"She hurts a lot, you know," Tibby says, but it's unnecessary. "She should need this more, she lost her mother, and Bailey was just a friend." Her voice cracks at the end, and she turns her head away so Carmen won't see, even though that is also unnecessary. Carmen holds her tight and then steps back again.
She fumbles the box of matches and spills half of them on the floor. They both kneel to pick them up, and bump heads, not hard enough to hurt, but then Carmen has to kiss it better for Tibby, and it feels so nice Tibby has to return the favor, and then they kiss again.
As long as she doesn't look at the altar, it's okay.
But Carmen is determined and she tugs Tibby to her feet and over to the altar. She lights the four candles on top first and Tibby can hear her whisper the four cardinal directions under her breath, not as if she's explaining it, but as if she wants to remind herself.
Then she picks up three Tibby didn't see before, places them in small holders, and sets them on the lowest level, in the very center, with the plates of food on either side, and the flowers out of the way. "This is for Bee's mother." She lights the first, and then holds out the matches to Tibby.
For a long second, Tibby's hand refuses to close around the box of matches. She has to concentrate to make each individual finger move before she can take it, free a single match, and strike it on the edge of the box.
The candle fizzles when she presses the flame against the wick, but when it catches, the light is strangely steady. "This is for Bailey," she whispers, and her voice is so soft she can barely hear it herself, but Carmen wraps an arm across Tibby's shoulders and pulls her against her side. Tibby sets the matches on the altar and creeps her arm around Carmen's waist.
They stand together for awhile, and Tibby is so lost in her own thoughts she is startled and jumps when Carmen hugs her tighter, lights the third candle, and then lets go so she can close the curtains against the dark night.
When Tibby goes to blow out the candles, Carmen stops her. "Let them burn all night," she says, and kisses Tibby's shoulder.
"It could start a fire." Even Tibby realizes how inane she sounds.
"We'll keep an eye on them." Carmen flips off the overhead light, and in the flickering, but bright, candlelight, she looks a little devious and wicked. She takes Tibby's hands in her own and leads her over to the bed. Then, standing there so close their legs touch, Tibby leans forward and kisses her.
She grabs Carmen's shoulders, and Carmen's hands are tight at her waist. They press closer and closer together, until it's hard to stand, and Carmen pitches them sideways; Tibby reaches down to push the scissors and some of the paper out of the way, but the rest crinkles and crackles when they land on it.
Carmen runs her hands up under Tibby's shirt, cups her breasts, so small Carmen's hands practically cover them, and Tibby can't care about paper or the fire potential or anything at all except for the feel of those fingers teasing her nipples. Carmen kisses her cheek, down to her throat, around to the hollow in her collar bone, and they separate long enough to strip away shirts and bras (well, Carmen wears a bra, and Tibby helps peel it off), and then when they come back together, Tibby leads, slides her small hands over Carmen's breasts, cups them and holds their weight against her palms. Her thumbs rub until Carmen groans, and then moans when Tibby leans down to suck and nibble.
She hopes it isn't wrong, to celebrate death like this, with the living so warm beneath her hands, and wet, and squirming when Tibby unbuttons Carmen's pants (not their special pants, not the Traveling Pants, which are put away until summer) and slides her fingers inside to thrust and tease, but Carmen chants her name, kisses and clings and cries out a little when she arches up. The candlelight paints her body golden, and Tibby doesn't want to worry about right or wrong or how they could all die tomorrow. She's just going to have to have faith they won't.
She's also just going to have to keep remembering.