Chapter Text
Homura finished her last helpdesk ticket.
Usually, she hadn't bothered with tickets — being the senior in her office meant that she could always delegate lesser work to those below her. To her utter misfortune, however, it was crunch time as the IT and networking departments prepared to replace a lot of outdated switches and firewalls. Another glaring issue she faced was being down a body due to a stomach bug going around. And, the CTO was breathing down her neck about mitigating any potential mistakes.
Another late night for her.
Another dinner with Madoka missed.
Homura knew Madoka would understand. She always did. She would just store Homura's food in the microwave with a sweet, loving note on top of the plastic container. She would beckon her to bed. Rub the tension out of her shoulders. Touch her softly in a way that Homura would only allow Madoka to do.
She would probably do so tonight like she had after every single one of the abundant late nights Homura spent at the office.
Which only made Homura feel even more like shit.
She should be at home with her beautiful wife. Enjoying dinner with her. Watching old movies together with popcorn and a large blanket. Pulling her into a kiss that only deepened as their clothing began to fly off of them.
But here she was, being a workaholic and a corporate slave under a CTO she was far more talented than.
What a terrible wife she was. Madoka should have never asked to marry her.
Homura was the last person in the office to leave — she had been for the entirety of the last week. Thankfully, it was a Friday and everything seemed to be going fine. That gave her more chances to make up with lost time for Madoka on her days off.
(She was still on call in case some disaster decided to rear its head in the form of expired domain certificates or something equally as tedious. And it wouldn't be the first time she has had to crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to log into her work accounts remotely.)
Homura hated her job.
She really did. But, the crushing need to provide for her wife led her down this path. And this was something she happened to be incredibly skilled at. Something she used to have a passion for before it was ruined by the demands of a multibillion dollar company.
Just around forty more years until she could retire, right?
Homura got into her car and immediately turned the heater onto the highest setting. It was freezing and she was just eager to cuddle up to her wife when she got home.
The dashboard of her car lit up as her bluetooth connected phone began to ring.
"Hey, Madoka, I'm on my way home."
"I'm flattered, but I ain't your wife, buddy."
Kyoko? What was Kyoko calling her this late for? And, by the sound of it, not very sober.
"What's going on?"
"Mami's back in town visiting from Tokyo," Kyoko informed her, "So you should bring your antisocial ass over here and say hi."
Homura sighed, not really in the mood to spend even more time away from her wife, "I don't know, Kyoko… I've got Madoka waiting for me at home."
"Then, bring her too!" Kyoko shouted over the phone, "We're at me and Sayaka's place! Don't be a stranger."
"I'll — I'll think about it," She said before hanging up.
Mami was in town literally every few months because she frequently traveled for work. Homura had attended quite a few of her welcome home parties over the years and was sure she could afford to miss one. She just wanted to spend a quiet night in with her wife for once; even willing to risk the future reprimand from Madoka about missing Mami’s visit.
Homura stepped out of her car and made her way up the stone pathway to her house, walking at a brisker pace than usual because she was just eager to see her wife as soon as possible after such a grueling day.
And there she was, as radiant and gorgeous as ever, propped up on an armchair with a book and clearly engrossed. Madoka looked up, meeting Homura's eye, then, she surged up to pull Homura into a hug before she could even finish closing the door.
"I missed you so much," Madoka breathed before pulling Homura into a mind-blowing kiss.
Nearly a decade together — half of it married — and Homura still wasn't completely used to the way just Madoka's kisses managed to drive every coherent thought from her head. She hoped she would never be. It was a miracle her heart didn't give out whenever they were intimate.
Once Madoka pulled away and Homura's brain had oxygen again, all she could even think to say was: "You too."
Madoka giggled as she unwound her arms around Homura's neck to grab her hand, drag her to the living room, and force her to sit down.
"How was work today?" Madoka asked, cuddling into Homura's side.
Homura smiled down at her beautiful wife, happy to be the only one in the world to have this. Her warm smile and her soft eyes almost melted away every stress related thought in Homura's ever busy brain. "It could've been better."
"Your boss?"
"…Yeah."
"He's such a jerk," Madoka muttered scornfully.
Homura laughed at Madoka's clear disdain for the man, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her in closer. "Maybe you should come around the office one day to give him a piece of your mind."
"I would if it wouldn't get you fired."
"Sounds like heaven, actually."
Madoka looked up at Homura with a skeptical look on her face, before sneaking a peck on her jaw, "I'd believe you actually meant that if you weren't the biggest workaholic I knew."
It wasn't entirely false. Homura might hate her job and she may be worth far more than what that company could offer her, but it was what she had to do to ensure she lived a good life with Madoka.
Everything she worked for was for Madoka.
"You could almost convince me not to be one."
Madoka smirked up at her, then lifted her head off Homura's chest to straddle her overworked wife and throw her arms over her shoulders. "Almost? You don't give me enough credit, Homura."
Madoka's lips were centimeters from hers and Homura was sure her wife would be able to practically hear the thundering of her heart. Feel the way her breath hitched in anticipation. Madoka's hooded eyes told her more than enough.
Homura unconsciously lifted her hands and gripped Madoka's waist in a way she had done over hundreds of times before. "Prove it, then."
Madoka closed the minuscule distance between their mouths, giving her a kiss so deep and messy, it had Homura gripping the hem of Madoka's shirt so tightly she could nearly rip it.
Eventually, they broke away from air, Homura immediately dropped down to her wife's jaw, collarbone, and neck to lay countless soft kisses.
Madoka's hands gripped her shoulders as she began to speak, "So, today —" She lost her voice momentarily when Homura lightly nipped at her earlobe, "— today I finished a commission."
"Mhm," Homura responded.
"And then I —" Homura returned to her neck, "I did some volunteering at the animal shelter."
"My little altruist," Homura quipped before lowering her mouth to Madoka's collarbone again.
"And then Sayaka called me and said Mami was back in town."
Homura paused. A frown fell over her face.
"Right before you got home," Madoka added, pulling away to hold Homura's face between her hands, "And she said Kyoko already called you to invite you."
"She did. I'm not going," Homura said simply, immediately leaning back in to kiss Madoka again.
Before anything more could happen, Madoka pushed Homura back by her shoulders and looked down at her, pinning Homura in place with a stern look. "You should."
"Are you?"
"You know I don't drink, Homura."
Then, why should she go? Homura would rather be here with her wife — for all of eternity if the world was willing to be a generous place for her. If Madoka wasn't going to be there, then she shouldn't waste the short weekends she had with her wife apart from her. And who knows when something would inevitably implode at work that forced Homura to be cooped up in her home office for half of her only free time that week.
And, it was impossible to even want to get up with Madoka on her lap like this.
"What about —"
"Just for a little while, at least," Madoka interjected, already knowing exactly what excuse Homura was planning to make, "We can continue this when you get back home."
"Why not just continue now?"
"You never spend time with our friends, Homura," Madoka said, fixing Homura's glasses back in place after they got dislodged, "They've started nicknaming you 'Introvert' even though I keep reminding them you have an actual name."
"But —"
Madoka tsked, "No if, ands, or buts. Just this once, okay?"
Homura tried to think of any argument she could make that would even give her any fighting chance, but the look on Madoka's face read that her efforts would be futile.
She conceded, "Okay, okay."
Before she knew it, Madoka was sending her out the door with a short and sweet goodbye kiss.
"I love you," Madoka whispered after pulling away.
"I love you too," Homura echoed, before adding, "I'll miss you."
Madoka just giggled, "You'll see me again in like an hour!"
Kyoko and Sayaka's apartment was only a few blocks from her house, so Homura elected to walk. One, to burn away some of the time she had apart from Madoka and, two, when she did inevitably have a drink thanks to her friends' constant peer pressure, she would rather not be anywhere near a steering wheel. Homura was not surprised to open the door and find Kyoko utterly wasted — and equally not shocked that Sayaka had decided to cut her off before she ends up in some sort of legal trouble. Mami was far more sober — which wasn't saying much at all — and Sayaka was only a marginally tipsy and very exasperated to have to deal with her intoxicated fiancée's antics.
Of course, Homura could not always be the wallflower she desired being — especially not around someone like Kyoko. Doubly so for a Kyoko this drunk.
"Look, the introvert actually showed up!"
Homura frowned at the unfortunately accurate nickname and side-eyed Sayaka, "Did you give her something that was 300 proof? She's going to be drunk until the middle of next week.”
"Hey, give my fiancée's liver some credit," Sayaka snapped back, "She'll be completely sober and, somehow, not hungover by tomorrow morning."
“Her internal organs are tougher than titanium," Homura mused.
"Where's Madoka?" Sayaka asked, squinting around Homura as if she was holding her wife in her coat pocket, "Where's my bestest friend in the whole wide world?"
"She wanted to stay home," Homura informed.
"Ah," Sayaka nodded, "Weird to see you out and about without her."
Homura felt the same way. Whenever she was anywhere that wasn't work, she was always with Madoka. And now, with the absence of the woman who was her entire world, Homura could almost say she felt much emptier inside.
God, she missed Madoka.
"Good evening, Homura," Mami greeted, with a bow that was far clumsier than someone of Mami's caliber — Sayaka poured her liquor heavy, didn't she — and somehow managed not to spill a drop of her drink.
Mami was the only person in the world Homura knew that would drink a mimosa this late into the evening.
"Good evening, Mami," Homura replied, "How has the firm been?"
"Oh, great!" Mami answered, clapping both her hands over her glass, "I've been so busy with cases sending me coast to coast."
Kyoko shook her head, "Average struggles of a bigshot lawyer, huh."
"Oh, stop!" Mami tried to say modestly, but was far too intoxicated to play it off properly, "I'm not that popular," She turned to back towards Homura, "And how is work for you?"
"Good and bad," Homura replied, not really desiring to get into just how much of a dead end she found herself in career-wise.
Sayaka and Kyoko, who likely knew a bit more about the details than Mami, exchanged glances while Mami asked, "Are you planning on going back to school soon? I remember you saying you wanted to work in experimental computing when we were still teenagers."
"Quantum processing, specifically."
Mami snapped her fingers, "Yes, that!"
"What the hell does that even mean?" Sayaka couldn't help but ask.
Usually, Homura would jump on an opportunity to explain the theoretics of how it works, but judging by the mean blood-alcohol ratio in the room, that would be a futile endeavor. Concepts like 'entanglement' and 'superposition' were far too mind-bending for brains this addled in liquor.
So she simplified it as much as she could: "Imagine a supercomputer."
Everyone nodded, enraptured and probably imagining the most innaccurate computer in their heads.
"Now imagine that, but ten times smaller and hundreds of times faster. With the ability to solve complex equations and process an incalculable amount of information far faster than the average human mind is capable of."
A chorus of ‘Oh’s flooded the room. Homura was confident they still didn’t what she was even talking about.
Sayaka slid her a freshly made drink — a vodka cranberry as she preferred, "So, why'd you quit?"
A lot of reasons.
Continuing on that program in university would definitely have netted her millions in scientific funding. She would probably have hundreds of awards and accolades dedicated to her name. A page on Time magazine. Countless headlines dedicated to her in scientific journals. Her research would exponentially fuel the evolution of machines for years to come.
Homura would miss one thing. The only thing that made her life actually feel fulfilled.
Madoka.
If she had gone through with it, then she wouldn't have her wife. She would've moved to Sweden or somewhere equally distant and spent the rest of her life in labs behind computer screens. Her and Madoka would've grown apart due to the distance and lack of time and…
Homura didn't regret her decision.
"I decided some things were more important," She answered after taking a long sip out of her glass.
40 minutes later, Homura was making her way back home.
The warmth of alcohol was keeping her toasty enough to bear the chill as she trudged through nearly freezing temperatures. She just wanted to hold her wife in her arms again. It had already been too long.
She almost didn't recognize it when it was happening as she turned down an alleyway for a shortcut and an ice-cold piece of metal pressed against the back of her head. Every nerve in her body instinctually recognized it as a weapon.
More specifically, a gun.
Was she being robbed? Kidnapped? This was not something she ever expected to happen to her. Especially not in a peaceful neighborhood like this. The residents were all either elderly or parents. She was confident the Yakuza didn't even come here. There was no reason for them to. No reason for something like this to happen to Homura.
"Hands up." Said a voice that Homura's brain recognized, but couldn't place. The stranger was definitely feminine.
Homura rose her hands carefully, genuinely terrified that she might not return to her wife that night, and pleaded, "What do you want? Money? My wallet is in my front-left pocket."
"Shut up," The stranger ordered, but she still reached into Homura's pockets and emptied them of all their contents. Then, she took Homura's glasses.
"I need those to see —"
"You'll manage. Silence."
Homura obliged. Not wanting to make this any harder than it already was.
"Walk forward — slowly, — then take a left. You will see an unmarked van," The voice instructed, "If you try to run or fight. I am very capable of killing you with no hesitation."
Homura believed her entirely, and followed the instructions as carefully as she could, stumbling up to a black van with no windows. The stranger moved beside her, gun still trained on Homura, and pulled open the van door. Homura snuck a risky glimpse towards her face, only to realize it was unfortunately covered in a mask.
"Inside."
When Homura climbed inside, the stranger followed directly behind her. She slammed the door behind them and gestured for Homura to sit on the floor. Then… the van began moving? Homura looked into the grated window that led to the cabin of the van and found no driver and a purple hue she thought she was imagining.
"Who are you?"
"Quiet."
This was beginning to feel like a kidnapping so Homura tried again, "My wife is expecting me home soon. She might call the police if I take too long."
"I said shut the fuck up," The stranger snapped with dangerous venom in her voice.
Homura fell silent. Trying to memorize the turns and bumps on the road for the police report she was planning on filing if she managed to get out of this alive. The stranger just kept her gun trained on Homura, entirely silent. And Homura assumed she was staring at her, but wasn't entirely sure. The mask covered her eyes too. What was she after? It definitely wasn’t for any sort of ransom. Homura had no rich family — or any family — to speak of and it wasn’t like she had a ridiculous sum of money tucked away. Trafficking? That thought just filled her with ugly dread.
"Tell me about Kaname Madoka."
Homura's blood ran cold because: "I don't think I've ever mentioned my wife's name."
The stranger didn't reply to that. She leaned forward and pressed the pistol into Homura's chest, barrel placed directly in the middle of the surgery scar her shirt concealed.
"Tell me about Madoka." She repeated.
"Are you going to hurt her?"
"No,” The stranger said immediately.
Homura indulged in any opportunity to discuss her wife. But now? To this dangerous lunatic? What could she even say about Madoka that wouldn't jeopardize her safety? The stranger said she wouldn't hurt Madoka, but how much did Homura believe that? She knew she had to speak soon about something because she wasn't confident she knew just how itchy her abductor's trigger finger was and she didn't want her life to end so abruptly in a burst of metal and fire.
"She — she likes to draw," Homura stammered, "She does commissions too sometimes. And she's an extraordinary cook. She's named half the pets that have gone through the animal shelter at some point."
The longer Homura talked, the less tense the stranger was — and the more relieved she felt distracting herself with thoughts of Madoka — so she pressed on, "Her favorite color is lilac and she hates the taste of alcohol. She still has stuffed animals even though she's 26 and her best friend teases her about it, but I think it's cute —"
The van stopped suddenly, cutting Homura's nervous rambling short.
"Out. The only time I don't want to see your hands up is when you're opening the door."
Homura stepped out of the van, raising her hands even further above her head to show she was of no danger. Her surroundings were bleak and she figured she was somewhere deep in some underground garage. She looked down at her feet to find a very unnatural and distinct burn shape into the asphalt.
Shaped like a ring with a sand timer in it.
"Stand in the center and strip. Pile your clothing outside of the ring."
"What?"
The gun pressed against the back of her skull again, prodding her to get into position and remove everything except her underwear.
The stranger pulled something from the duffel bag that she dragged out of the van. Something… round? A piece of metal with intricate engravings and a loop that was wide enough to fit an arm. Was it a shield? And a laptop which was… not at all like ones she knew. This one was bulky, and had an uncountable variety of wires in places there generally were none. The stranger balanced it on one arm and quickly typed something on it.
"Put this on. Left arm."
Without looking at Homura directly, the stranger threw the shield down to her feet.
"…Why?"
"This is your last resort if you would rather me not kill you."
Homura believed this person was entirely willing to kill her if she deemed it necessary. She had the tone of someone with nothing left to lose.
So, Homura slid the shield onto her arm.
"Turn it."
Homura obeyed the order. She heard a click and a whirr inside the shield, but her eyes stayed on the laptop. Something sickeningly familiar about it gnawed at the back of her mind, "Is that what I think it is?"
"One more question, and your brain will be replaced by a full metal jacket."
Homura shut up again. Watching as the stranger produced a glowing purple egg shaped jewel from seemingly out of nowhere and, short of touching it to an exposed wire, she looked down at Homura's hand — or more specifically, her wedding band.
"The ring too."
Homura really wanted to argue, but she acknowledged that she was only a few words away from never seeing her wife again — or anything else for that matter. After a moment of deliberation, she yanked off the ring and tossed it on top of the pile of clothes she left just outside the ring.
"Good luck," Was the last thing Homura heard before her world faded to black.
For the first time ever, Homura was late coming home from someplace other than work.
Madoka hoped that meant that she was actually having the time of her life with their mutual friends and enjoying her life outside of their house. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking, because who was she kidding? Homura would jump on the first opportunity to run back home to Madoka. Which was unfortunately very cute of her.
Maybe she should call Sayaka to see if Homura was still there? If she wasn't, then Sayaka could at least tell her when her wife left so she could pinpoint exactly how long it would take for Homura to make it home.
The second she picked up her phone to follow through on her idea, she heard the living room door open and raced downstairs to find Homura, who was just standing in the center of the living room and staring at the photos on the wall as if they were the most beautiful thing in the universe. Sayaka must have given her some strong drinks.
"Homura? You okay?”
Homura spun around and faced her, a hundred different emotions flitting across her face in an instant before she all but flung herself into an embrace with Madoka. "You don't even understand how much I've missed you."
Her hugs were always so warm and tight and they always felt so safe and — she didn't smell like alcohol. And she sounded serious. More serious than Madoka ever remembered her being. What did she miss at the gathering? Had someone said something to her?
Madoka giggled, wrapping her arms tightly around Homura's neck, "It's only been like two hours. What took you so long?"
"It's," Homura paused, searching Madoka's face for something, "It's a long story."
Before Madoka could ask for a cliff notes version, Homura leaned in, almost literally stealing her breath away, "Can I kiss you?"
"Of course. You know you don't have to ask, Homura."
Homura did kiss her then. And it was much different. She didn't taste like alcohol either, yet, here she was kissing every little thought out of Madoka's head. Homura was usually soft, slow, and methodical with her kisses. But now? Now it was like they were teenagers again. Homura kissed her with vigor. With teeth and tongue and fire that matched her name. Like she had been absolutely starving for it. And everything that crossed her mind about how strange Homura was acting was immediately wiped out by the sheer thought of how hot this kiss was when she felt that tongue along the roof of her mouth.
Madoka remembered the promise she made a few hours ago on the very couch behind them, and pulled away just enough to raspily ask, "Do you… wanna go upstairs?"
Hours later, Madoka was pressed up against Homura throughly spent. She didn't know what had gotten into Homura tonight to have her like this, but Madoka currently wasn't complaining. She was sore in places she didn’t realize existed. And Homura… well, she hadn’t been that vigorous in some time.
Maybe it was a result from all that pent up stress from work?
Bah, she'll dwell on it when she wakes up properly in the morning.
(Or in the afternoon, considering she could hear birds begin to chirp outside.)
Before her mind drifted completely off into sleep, she heard Homura say, "I'll never let you go again."