Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Character/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy, Sophia, Rose
Challenge/Prompt: femslash100100 Alphabet Soup: Yank
Word Count: 1,092
Date Written: 22 June 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Blanche groaned as the book slipped from her fingers. “Ah’m bleedin’ in all th’ wrong places, Dorothy!”
She saw her lover’s gold badge flash in the sunlight as she leaned down and gathered her close in her strong arms. “Hush now, darlin’. You’re gonna be just fine. We’ll get ya to Ma and get ya stitched up.”
Blanche paled. “That old woman ain’t operatin’ on me!”
“Now, Blanche, you know she’s the best doctor around.” She yanked her up off the ground, fast but gentle.
“Dorothy, Ah’m -- Ah’m shot!”
“I know, darling. That’s why you need the best there is.”
Blanche’s mind spun, but as she leaned her head against Dorothy’s strong chest, she found her will to argue leaving her. It felt so good to be in her arms, so right -- If she had to die, at least she was going to die with her favorite lover holding her.
Blanche’s fingers trembled and then jerked away as her eyes flew open. “Jesus, Blanche!” Dorothy screeched. “Give me a heart attack next time, will ya?!”
Blanche just pouted and looked at the book in her hand. “Ah was readin’ that.”
“Of course you were. Only you would read that filth!”
“It’s not filth, Dorothy. It’s a very well written book. The descriptions are -- “
“ -- more than ample, I’m sure,” Dorothy snapped, cutting her off. “Her great bosom rose and fell as he kissed his way up her side. She had never wanted a man as much as she wanted him.”
Blanche blinked up at her. “What? Did you read a couple o’ lines while Ah was out?”
“Of course I didn’t!” Dorothy snapped and tossed the book at her. “I don’t read trash!”
“It’s not trash,” Blanche argued again. “Actually, it’s got several strong characters in it who remind me o’ people Ah know, an’ Ah you do too. Heck,” she admitted, “it’s even got a role for you.”
“What? School marm?” Dorothy retorted dryly.
“The Sheriff,” Blanche whispered.
“Really?” Dorothy looked back at her and the romance book. Maybe she had cut it down too soon. “The Sheriff is a woman?” She might want to read that, she thought, but before she could reach for the book, Blanche answered, “No.”
In a softer voice, she added, “But he makes me think o’ you.”
“Sure he does,” Dorothy grumbled and started to turn away.
“Dorothy, Ah -- Ah’m bleedin’ in all th’ wrong places.”
Dorothy turned back, a look of concern on her hard, withered face. “Blanche, you know we talked about that. You’re supposed to bleed a little after the surgery.”
“But -- “
“Would you like me to sit with you for a while?”
She smiled. “Yes. Yes, Ah think Ah would, an’ . . . an’ maybe hold me? You’ve got such big, strong arms, Dorothy.”
Dorothy smirked. She walked around the bed and sank down onto the mattress behind Blanche. She opened her arms, reached out, gently grasped her shoulders, and pulled her closer. “Come here, darling,” she whispered in a strong, gritty voice. She fully expected Blanche to yank away from her, but she didn’t.
Instead she leaned her head on her shoulder, rose her eyes to hers, and smiled up at her. “Ah like it when you’re strong,” she whispered.
Dorothy started to grin, but then hesitated. “I’m not a man, you know.”
“Ah know,” Blanche said simply and snuggled closer.
Dorothy gazed down at her and then slowly, hesitantly stroked her auburn hair. She watched Blanche doze off, and still she sat there, holding her close and pondering everything she’d just said. “The pain meds must be working a number on you.”
“No,” she whispered without opening her eyes. “Don’t you know Ah’ve always had a thing for you, Dorothy Zbornak?” She rubbed her cheek against Dorothy’s flannel nightgown.
“Yeeeeeeeah,” Dorothy replied slowly. Blanche was definitely hyped on pain medication. After all, it was Dorothy who had always secretly yearned for Blanche, not the other way around. She would have done anything to get her to gaze at her the way she had been just a few moments ago. She stroked her hair softly again and kissed her forehead. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered, uncertain which of them she was trying to convince the most. “Just fine.”
“Sure Ah am, Dorothy,” Blanche murmured, snuggling closer still. “Ah’ve got you to look after me after all.”
Dorothy smiled as she felt Blanche truly doze off this time. She was snoring lightly before Dorothy dared to move again, but even then it was not to move away from her. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her, slid her legs onto the bed, and picked up the romance novel she’d been reading. Quickly she became lost in the story and the soft, steady breathing of the woman beside her, the one who she could only wish was her lover.
That was how Sophia found them in the morning when she walked in to check on Blanche’s wounds. The old mother stopped, stared, gawked, and slowly walked backwards until she was back out of the room and safe from interrupting them. She brought the door to a quiet close behind her, and then jumped when Rose’s voice sounded behind her.
“How is she?”
“She’s mending fine,” Sophia answered, smiling slyly, “and doing better. How about pancakes for breakfast?”
“You’re going to cook for us?”
“No. I was thinking the Waffle House down the street.”
“But Blanche can’t leave yet -- “
“No. Just you and me.”
“Really?” Rose looked at her in surprise.
Sophia nodded, still not commenting on what she’d seen in the room.
Rose frowned in confusion. She looked from Sophia to the closed door to Blanche’s room, from Sophia to the door. “Oh. Oh!” She beamed and swung her hands together in front of her. Clasping her hands and still swinging them, she asked, “Dorothy won’t be joining us either?”
“Good!” she replied, delighted. Her smile filled her beaming face. “Then let’s go! My treat. I’m buying.”
“Of course you are, dimwit,” Sophia muttered behind her for Rose was already well on the way to the car. “I don’t have any money.” Yet, despite calling her a dimwit, Sophia had seen that she had smartly put two and two together and, for once, drawn the right conclusion -- and she was as pleased about it all as Sophia herself was. “Now that, Pussycat, is how you get the girl,” she whispered, smiling and looking back at the closed door. They left the two of them alone for the rest of the morning.