a/n: I'm back, finally. It's been forever, and I'm so so sorry for that. The fall term classes ended up taking a lot of my time, plus personal mental health things and working on some other story ideas, both original and fanficcy. Ever since November, I've been on a Cate Blanchett kick thanks to Thor: Ragnarok, so there's that. I can't make any promises about when the next update will be, but I'm still writing, I promise. I have a Tumblr now, that I've been on quite a bit, thecryptkeeperssister, so if you want to go there and give me ideas for little drabble things there I'd really love that. Hopefully, this chapter is worth a four month absence, and for those of who been better on top of writing than me, I'm gonna try and review your stuff as soon as I can

As always, thank you to the lovely reviewers, Louisess, Myrtle Venom, Lyhesa, and Nellie Potter. I appreciate you all so much. Also to answer Myrtle Venom's question, about Irina's last name, I'd actually thought long and hard about the proper way to spell it out, and ultimately figured that since she'd prefer to use the Anglicized spelling in a general setting, especially in 1950s America, when she wants to draw as little attention to her Russian-ness as she's able. But I figure on her birth certificate and around family, it would be feminized to Petrova.

As always, I don't own American Horror Story: Freakshow, only Irina. Enjoy!

VIII.

October 8, 1952

Gloria's fingers played a cheerful melody along the piano keys, one that defied the dark storm clouds outside. It was late afternoon, and she was filling the idle hours as best she could. With Dandy gone once again, and Irina busy tending to her daily responsibilities, there were more than enough idle hours to fill. As always, she had planned on tending to her garden, but with the rain continuing to pour down at a deafening volume, it was clear that was to be waylaid for another time. That was how she found herself in the library, surrounded by books for ages, in the company of her piano, truly realizing for the first time since she was a child just how long a day actually was.

Idle hands are the devil's workshop, Nanny Cesnik used to tell her, usually as a way to get her to practice her scales, or her French or Italian for another hour. Even without such firm encouragements of productivity, Gloria never had been good at sitting around doing nothing, not like her mother, who could seemingly disappear for days at a time in her room with one of her migraines. Once, when Dandy was still only a baby, Dora had to practically force Gloria into her bed with a high fever, when the woman refused to go on her own, insisting all the while that she was perfectly fine. Even when her head was burning up, and clouded with mucus, she refused to accept any trace of unproductivity within herself.

She moved from one piece of sheet to another with efficiency and precision, making sure the pages didn't become skewed in her haste. Her posture was immaculate, back arched, and shoulders squared. It had been decades since she was a child, yet she could still practically sense Nanny Cesnik behind her, that metal ruler in hand, ready to strike if she so much as slouched even a little. She almost wished that Nanny Cesnik were actually lurking behind her, like a predator sensing a few drops of blood. It would allow her to be in at least one person's company for a little while, at least. She had spent far too many days cooped up alone in this house. With Dandy so adamantly against finding a wife or otherwise making social connections, they hardly, if ever, attended any social gatherings anymore, and it appeared that other society families weren't keen on seeing them outside of those settings. Her gardens provided her with some solace, but that was often so fleeting. Lately, she'd been pulling herself into the books lined along the library's shelves, the books that kept her company as a gangly and awkward teenager. Jane Eyre and Rochester and the possible ghost in the attic, Marmee and the March sisters, every last one of Andrew Lang's fairy books. Even they, however, couldn't fill the seemingly bottomless void forever though.

"Mrs. Mott?" A quiet voice said from the doorway. Her playing came to an abrupt end, fingers slamming themselves on the keys, as she turned sharply to see who had interrupted her. She relaxed, her expression softening, when she realized it was Irina.

"I'm sorry," She said, her hand gravitating to fix her hair, "I-I didn't see you."

"Oh, it's - it's alright. I didn't mean to startle you," Irina replied, as she stepped further into the room. She was balancing a tray into her hand. "I brought you some sandwiches and a few sodapops too. Dandy is still out, and Mrs. Bailey is tending to her sick grandson, so it's just me but . . . I figured you should eat something." She looked down towards the tray, smiling a small, nervous smile. "I - I was going to go grocery shopping today but with the storm . . . I hope this is alright." Gloria's stomach fluttered at the gesture, and perhaps a little because it had been hours since she had eaten.

"Thank you," She said, "You're very kind." Irina nodded, and placed the tray down onto the desk. Gloria couldn't help but watch her movements, her profile, fair as it was. She was almost ashamed of herself. How could she forget about Irina? She had been feeling sorry for herself in a moment of solitude, forgetting entirely about this woman whose company had come to mean so much.

"You play beautifully." Irina told her. Gloria felt a blush prickle at her cheeks. "That was the Bacchanale from Samson and Delilah, wasn't it?"

"Oh. Yes. One of my favorites."

"One of mine too. My father used to play Saint Saens for hours in our house." She went quiet, then, as though she remembered something, and she straightened, preparing to leave.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," She finally said, "I should let you be. I'll come back in a bit for the tray." Gloria's heart sank deep into her chest as she watched the young woman prepare to depart. The room seemed ready to swallow her alive, the loneliness of it too all consuming. The words rose up in her throat, before she could stop them,

"Irina, would you mind staying for a bit?" She asked it quickly, almost stammering over herself. "I - I mean, since it is just the two of us . . . you could eat too, if you haven't yet. And . . . I could do with the company." Here, she was taken with the temptation to hide her face away. They'd just seen each other earlier that morning, when Irina helped Gloria into her day dress, and she would see her again later that night when she would help Gloria out of it. Irina had to be completely weary of her by now. Yet the woman only smiled at her, gray eyes warm and kind.

"I suppose that wouldn't be a problem, if that's what you wanted."

"Yes,"

So she stayed, and they arranged a little inside picnic, of sorts, across the long, low risen table in the middle of the room, surrounded by sofas and chairs. Irina took her place in the pale green loveseat, her skirt billowing out across her legs and the velvet cushion. They split the sandwich evenly down the middle, and distributed the colas, which were still cold, the bubbles tickling at her nose.

"You're an absolute angel for letting me monopolize your time so," She finally said, once they had settled in. She'd taken a few bits of ham and chicken, and was watching Irina as she held her own sandwich half delicately between her fingers.

"I wouldn't say you're monopolizing my time," Irina replied, looking at Gloria with a kind, almost maternal sternness. "And I don't mind it anyhow." She set her food, hardly touched, back onto her plate, and set her hands into her lap. "You can tell me about what you've been reading. Or something else, if you'd like." Books had become their standard fare of conversation, during their mornings and evenings together. Irina seemed to have new books to talk about every other day, and many of them, the ones not summarizing lost civilizations, sounded enough to keep Gloria up for days if read in the dark.

"Well, I did finally finish 20,000 Leagues," She said, glancing over towards the shelves and shelves she'd just been thinking about, "Which was excellent, I must say, but . . . I was thinking that perhaps now . . . now I could recommend something for you to read?" Her stomach twisted a little as she said it, and she looked cautiously too Irina, hoping her request wasn't asking too much.

"I suppose that's fair." She replied, unperturbed, "And I did just finish Island of Dr. Moreau. What did you have in mind?"

"O-oh, well . . ." She quickly racked the shelves now, and stood up to retrieve one book that stood out to her. She placed a copy of Oliver Twist before Irina, her own fingers running across the cover, which carried few creases. "I know that you enjoy adventure stories, and this has its own sense of adventure to it, with Oliver and his band of thieves. It was one of my very favorites as a child." Irina considered the book carefully for a moment,

"I'd love to read it." She finally said, "I haven't read much Dickens."

"Wonderful," She was beginning to relax, now, as she and the younger woman began to find a rhythm in their conversation. As they continued talking, she found herself studying Irina's features. Her profile was quite lovely, and her hair, against the light of the room, was the color of champagne. It had to be like clouds to the touch, so soft against fingers. How had Gloria not noticed that before?

"Mrs. Mott?" Irina was asking, and she realized she had let her thoughts distract her. "Is everything alright?" Gloria snapped herself back to the present, and ignored the radiating heat in her cheeks.

"Yes, perfectly fine. I was just . . . distracted, I'm sorry." She looked down, towards her bottle of cola, and away from Irina directly. "I don't know what came over me just then."

"Perhaps the rain just has that effect." Irina said.

"I - yes." There was only a small hesitation. "The rain."

She looked back, to see that Irina's attention was focused on two of the portraits that hung above the fireplace. Gloria froze. She had forgotten those were even there.

"Mother and Father," She explained quietly.

"Those were your parents?" Irina turned to face her now.

"Yes." She shifted around uncomfortably.

"It's strange," She said. "You don't look a thing like either of them."

It was true. Gloria, really didn't. She looked to the paintings reluctantly, seeing the images of her father, with his round forehead, round belly, round everything, with tired eyes, and wiry copper hair. Her mother, lean and bony, with her turn of the century dress draped across the floor, the oil on canvas perfectly capturing the absence of warmth in every one of her brittle features. Both of them had begun to gray in hair when the paintings had been commissioned, that much Gloria knew, not that there was any evidence of that in their immortalized images.

"I'd nearly forgotten that those were even in here," She admitted, repeating her previous thought aloud now. "I don't - I don't much associate this room with either of them, you see."

"What room do you associate them with, then?" Irina asked.

"Oh, I don't know. The dining room, perhaps. The ballroom. Any place where there were grand social events. My mother was famed for her parties back in the day."

"I think I understand." Irina looked to her then, with a knowing gaze. "This is a room of solitude. It's where you liked to be alone. Like a safe haven, almost."

"Yes. Exactly." As she became more relaxed, she found herself becoming even bolder, speaking more eloquently as she found her words. "It became a place where I could escape from all that. Lock myself away with music and books. Of course, there are some memories I have of mother and father in here. Father doted on me as a child. He would buy me all the books that I could ever ask for. Mother . . . I remember Mother coming in here to coax me out. Because I never wanted to - I never wanted to go on dates. With the boys she wanted me to, I mean."

"You didn't enjoy going on dates?" She asked, sounding surprised.

"Well - I . . . no. Not especially. They always made me so nervous. I could make myself so sick with worry -" She stopped herself, suddenly and reached again for the remnants of her sandwich. "Enough about me and my social life from years ago. It's dreadfully boring. Let's talk about you for a bit, shall we?"

"Oh . . . alright, then. What did you wish to know?" The truth was, there were many things Gloria wanted to ask, many curiosities, many things she desired to know about her new friend. She couldn't bring herself to ask any of them, though, in the end.

"Well . . . how are you?" Stupid, cowardly, pedestrian . . .

"Oh, fine, fine. I suppose I have nothing to complain of." She didn't appear to mind the question, shrugging noncommittally. "Nothing really of interest happening to me, personally. My friend . . . she's getting married in the spring. She's the one that's having an engagement party on Halloween."

"Oh, that's right. You were telling me about that."

"Right. I suppose that'll be exciting. I'm not really one for parties much but . . . Julia's famed for hers, so -"

"Are you going to go with anyone?"

"Oh . . . Um." Irina hesitates. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it."

"What about that young man? The one you went to dinner with." She pressed.

"Who? Warren? I could. I suppose." She said it so pensively, as Gloria's stomach began to churn and writhe. She looked to her sandwich, and realized that she had begun tearing it into more halves. She set it back onto its plate, frowning.

"I could ask him tomorrow." Irina added, after a moment.

"Oh?"

"Y-yes." She began to play with her hair, arranging it back behind her ears, "We're going to see a matinee at the dollar theater."

"Oh." Her words had become more clipped, and her face grew hot suddenly. "I don't think you'd told me that."

"Well, it was only decided recently. I - ran into him while I was out with Julia and Penny last week. I said yes since the theater has air conditioning. And candy. And - and I haven't been to a movie in almost a few years now. . ."

"I'm sure it'll be fun for you." She tried not to be so cool, and she wasn't sure if she succeeded.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, then, and Gloria regretted speaking at all. Why did she say anything about it at all, if she was going to react so childishly? Why did it bother her so much to begin with? Irina was a grown woman. Her choices of whom she would or wouldn't see weren't anyone's business. Certainly not Gloria's.

"You know, speaking of last Thursday," Irina said, after a moment. The cadence of her lilted voice seemed bright and unphased, "I've actually got something I've been meaning to give you. A small present."

"A present?" Gloria asked, curious. Her stomach had dropped again, but this time, it was a different sort of feeling. One she liked.

"I - I found it in Woolworth's and it made me think of you. Oh, it's so silly, I'm sorry . . ." She reached into the pocket of her dress, "Oh, darn it, I may have left it in my room. I could go and get it -"

Her thought was interrupted by the sudden loud bang coming from outside the room. Gloria jumped.

"That must be Dandy," She said, standing to her feet. "I wasn't expecting him home so soon." Irina momentarily forgotten, she opened the door to the library a crack,

"Dandy? Is that you?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE, MOTHER!" Was the reply she got in return. He was sobbing, loudly. She could hear it plain as day. "I'm never leaving this house ever again and I'm never speaking to anybody! So everyone just LEAVE ME ALONE!" There was a stomping up the stairs, before his bedroom door slammed shut, with a loud, shuddering bang. For a moment, Gloria didn't move. The worry was quick to consume her, her guilt paralyzing.

"I should - I should probably go and see what's the matter." She said, finally. She looked back towards Irina, her expression stricken.

"Yes," Irina said, showing so much kindness and understanding in her eyes that it was almost painful to see,

"I hate to end this so suddenly . . . though I shouldn't take very long. If you wanted to wait . . ." She herself was unable to wait for a response, leaving the room with another apology, as she rushed up the stairs.

The door to Dandy's bedroom was slightly ajar when she approached it. His face was hidden beneath pillows, she could tell, the sounds of crying and sniffling muted. She hesitated, perhaps afraid of his possible rejection of her, before she finally gave a gentle rap on the door.

"Dandy? Darling, may I come in?" There was no response, other than more muffled sobs. There wasn't any explicit orders for her to leave, however, and she decided to push the door open further. She found her son curled up on his bed, the comforter wrinkled beneath him, hugging his pillows tightly to his chest. She approached the bed cautiously,

"Is everything alright?"

"No, of course not!" He replied, sharply. He lifted his head, with a glare in her direction, and she didn't need to look at his face long before a sharp pang came to her chest at the sight. There were still tears streaming down his cheeks. They weren't his crocodile tears, she was certain. She knew her little boy, and she knew when his anguish was sincere. "It's all horrible, and I hate it!"

"What's horrible?" She pressed. He didn't answer, merely burying his face back into his soaking pillow, with another wail. His shoulders shook, and one fist hit the mattress as forcefully as it could.

"I can get you something if you'd like me to," Gloria said to him, "Hot chocolate, perhaps? Or some brandy?" No response. She sighed. "Or I suppose I should simply leave you be. I don't know why I bothered you at all - I'm sorry." She turned back around, prepared to leave, to return to the library,

"No!" His voice stopped her, and she froze, turning back to face him. "You can't leave. Stay here and comfort me, Mother!"

"Y-you'd like me to stay?" She asked.

"That's what I'm saying. Don't be stupid." Even with his harsh words, his expression had softened and she had no choice but to relent. Not that there was any conceivable way that she wouldn't.

"Alright then."

She approached the bed again, this time sitting down at the edge. Her fingers laced themselves through her hair, saying nothing as she waited for him to cry himself out.

"Okay." She said, finally, once he had reached the final few sniffs and hiccups, "Tell me. What's happened?"

"M-m-my clown got m-mad at me."

"Oh . . ." She paused, and looked down towards him again, "Oh, darling. I'm sorry."

Dandy didn't respond right away, couldn't respond, instead shifting himself closer to her and burying his head into her lap.

"Why, Mother? Why would he suddenly hate me?"

"Oh, Dandy," She said, gently, "I'm sure that he doesn't hate you."

"Then how would you explain him being mean to me?" He demanded.

"Oh, I don't know, darling. There could be several possible reasons. None of which mean that he hates you." She spoke gently, slowly, "We all have days where we lose our patience. When we want to be alone. You can understand that, can't you?" She hadn't intended on sounding so much like Greta Garbo, but it seemed to reach through to Dandy.

"I suppose."

"And you two have been practically been inseparable for the past few weeks."

"That's true . . . . . it's just -" He faltered, "I haven't really had any friends in forever. Not since -" Gloria closed her eyes with a frown.

"I know." She reached down to hug him as tightly as she was able. "But that isn't necessarily true. I - I mean . . . you've had me, haven't you?"

"Oh," There was a pause, and he sat up, tilting his head to look in her direction better. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

She tried not to look as though his response surprised her, touched her, made her feel some semblance of relief.

"It's been just the two of us for such a long time," He said, "Since - since Father . . ." He couldn't bring himself for finish, and the flash of memory, still so vividly ingrained, flashed through her mind.

"To be honest, Dandy, I don't know where I would have been after all of it, if I didn't have you." She went pink, but she maintained her gaze on him

"That's funny," He told her, "I could probably say the same about you."

They let these facts ruminate in silence, for a bit, let themselves soak in each other's words. The minutes stretched out longer and longer as they passed, other things not necessarily needing to be said. Like the question of her staying, for instance. She would stay for as long as he needed.

It was several hours before Gloria was finally able to slip out of Dandy's room, as her little boy slept, well past midnight. The rain had finally calmed, into gentle taps against the window glass throughout the house. Her eyes were heavy, her physique weak. She remembered that she left a few of her things in the library, several books primarily. The room's lights had been turned off and her belongings stacked perfectly on one of the tables. For a moment, she couldn't help but feel like there should have been more. Dishes, specifically, from -

She remembered, and felt the disappointment and guilt rush through her, in the form of heat to her cheeks. Irina was most certainly long asleep by now. How long had she been waiting, before finally giving up. Gloria sighed, as she gathered her books. As she did, she noticed something extra, unfamiliar, sitting on the table as well. Tucking her books under her arm like a schoolgirl, she reached for it gingerly, as though it would break. It was a little pillbox, in the shape of a butterfly. With it, was a note, on a piece of crisp, blue stationery, written pristinely,

I feel terrible for not giving this to you in person, but I did promise I would one way or the other. I saw it in a shop the other day, and it made me think of you, somehow. - Irina

The smile Gloria possessed was not entirely conscious, and unmistakable. She clutched the little box to her chest, protectively, and didn't release her grip until she had reached her bedroom. She went to bed, with that same warmth, mixed in with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps she and Dandy really were on their way back to being something they had been before, in a place of solidarity against a cruel world; and her lonely soul hadn't felt so anything but in over a decade.