Oneshots From the Megs-Verse

Killer Queen

CW: Nightmare Time Season Two Spoilers Ahead!

TW: Murder, Graphic Content, Strangulation, Toxic Relationships. Reader discretion is advised.

For as long as Harry could remember, Uncle Roman had hated her. He wasn't actually her Uncle, per se. Actually, he was a cousin of her Uncle's. But Henry had raised Harriet to treat Roman as though he were an equal part of the family because he was. In fact, Harry had very nearly been given to Roman to raise. The court system had almost deemed Henry unfit, in which case Roman was the next of kin. She said it was a damn good thing Roman hadn't raised her. Just having to spend the occasional night with him was hell enough. The entirety of her formative years? God, who could survive that? Other than, of course, Linda. And, she supposed, Donna. Though Donna had it lucky. As his stepdaughter, she'd gotten a decade off of her sentence in the prison that was Roman Murray. That, and Roman seemed to adore her. Donna Daggit could do nothing fucking wrong in his eyes. God, Harriet envied her.

One might assume from this spew of hatred that Harriet did not care what Roman thought of her. This assumption would be entirely false. One thing that should be made abundantly clear about Harry is that there were not many people whose opinions concerning her she genuinely cared about. But her family's opinions always mattered to her, no matter whether they were good people or genuine sons of bitches like Roman. She couldn't shake it. No matter what she said to convince herself that it wasn't important, she found herself crawling back to him. Something in her craved her approval... as though it were something she had lost and was only now regaining. She couldn't clearly remember a time in her life where Roman has approved of anything she did, but the underlying feeling that it had happened was there.

No, Harriet had never been spared his judgement by her memory (which was eidetic). In fact, one of her first formative memories of her as a child was his first real evaluation of her. She remembered it so vividly. No child should have to remember something so awful in such detail, but... she supposed at this point she has let it define her a little. It was perhaps the singular morning that her entire negative self-image stemmed from. She had been playing, as children do. She couldn't have been more than five. But he'd insisted that she come over and 'let him get a good look at her', as adults often do. He'd looked over every inch of her. He was thorough. His eyes raked over her body and did not miss a single spot. Even at five (even if she did have more insight than your average five-year-old), she got the sense that he was looking into her. At the end of it, he smiled (though there was something in it she didn't fully understand) and ran a hand through her curls. He uttered a phrase that had never left her.

"Absolutely stunning- she got the best of our genes, didn't she? It's such a shame she isn't mentally all there."

The sentence that had spurred a thousand breakdowns. 'Such a shame she wasn't mentally all there'. What a way to word it. Since then, Harriet had found an identity in that. He was right, wasn't he? Someone incapable of processing their own emotions was never entirely 'there'. And they never could be. She wished she was 'there', wherever 'there' was. Perhaps there was something more to the evaluation for her. It had always struck a chord with her. In a way, it had challenged her. If there was one thing that you should never do, it is challenge a Hidgens. By nature, they are a competitive beast. Harriet was no different. Perhaps she was fighting for his approval. Perhaps she was trying to prove him wrong. Or perhaps there was a reason beyond any of the competition that it had hurt some much. Why it had driven her entire life. Perhaps she simply longed for the affection she was due. And she was due it. She had spent years working for it, and yet she still hadn't reaped the fruits of her efforts. And she supposed, sitting across from Roman once more at the dinner table, that she wouldn't tonight either.