Greg's pink predicament

The engine of the Dondai Supremo gave a rhythmic, comforting rattle as Greg Universe cruised through the familiar streets of Beach City. The town was quieter these days, or perhaps it was just that the chaos had become a different kind of normal. He pulled into the Big Donut parking lot, the tires crunching over the salt-dusted pavement.

Before hopping out, Greg lingered for a second. He reached out and adjusted a small, slightly faded photograph tucked into the corner of the dashboard. It was Steven, barely seven years old, grinning with a missing front tooth and a face smeared with cookie cat ice cream. Greg smiled, a bittersweet ache blooming in his chest. His kid was growing up—well, had grown up. The universe was getting bigger, and Steven was right at the center of it.

He stepped out of the van, the sea breeze ruffling his thinning hair, and made a move toward the glass doors of the donut shop. He was halfway there when his phone buzzed with a jaunty ringtone.

"Hey, Schtuball! I was just about to grab a bear claw. You want in?"

"Dad! Hey," Steven’s voice sounded a bit rushed, laced with that responsible, slightly frantic tone he’d adopted lately. "Actually, are you busy? Could you come up to the house for a moment? I kind of need a hand with something."

Greg didn't even hesitate. "I’m on my way. Be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

When Greg pulled up to the beach house, he saw Steven standing on the porch. But he wasn't alone. Standing beside him was a Gem Greg hadn't seen up close before. She was elegant, dressed in shades of soft pink and white, her hair pulled back in neat buns. But as Greg climbed the stairs, the sun hit her face, and he felt a small jolt of surprise. Her left eye was surrounded by a web of jagged, glowing cracks that looked like shattered glass frozen in time.

"Dad, thanks for coming," Steven said, waving him up. "Come inside for a sec?"

Greg followed them into the living room. The house felt different now—more open, yet somehow more crowded with the weight of history.

"Dad, I wanted to introduce you," Steven started, gesturing to the Gem. "This is Volleyball. Well, that’s what we’re calling her for now. She was... she was Pink Diamond’s original Pearl."

Greg felt a familiar tightness in his chest at the mention of the Diamonds, but he forced a friendly smile. "Original, huh? Wow. Nice to meet you, Volleyball. I'm Greg."

The Pearl gave a stiff, formal bow, her movements fluid yet strangely robotic. "It is an honor to meet the one who... chose the Diamond."

Greg rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, something like that."

Steven checked his shield-shaped watch. "Listen, Dad, the reason I called is because I have to head to Homeworld. White, Yellow, and Blue are having some kind of 'existential crisis' about the new governing councils, and they won't talk to anyone but me. I don't want to leave Volleyball alone in Little School just yet. It’s a lot for her to take in all at once. Do you think you could... Gem-sit? Just for the afternoon?"

Greg looked at the Pearl, then back to his son. He saw the plea in Steven’s eyes—the desire to make sure everyone was okay, even the fragments of his mother’s past.

"Of course, Steven. We’ll be fine. Go handle the big stuff. I’ll keep the couch warm and the tunes playing."

Steven exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding for a century. "Thank you. Really. Volleyball, my dad is the best. If you need anything, just ask him."

With a quick hug and a flash of warp light, Steven was gone, leaving Greg and the Pearl in a silence that felt heavy enough to sink the house into the sand.

Greg cleared his throat. "So! You want to sit down? I’ve got some leftover chips, or we could just watch some TV? I’m a big fan of 'Crying Breakfast Friends,' though I hear it’s a polarizing choice."

The Pearl remained standing, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. She turned her head slightly, and Greg found himself staring again at the left side of her face. Up close, the cracks weren't just lines; they were deep, radiating out from her eye socket like a starburst of trauma. It looked painful. It looked permanent.

"I am comfortable standing, Mr. Universe," she said softly. Her voice was melodic but lacked the rhythmic cheer of the Pearl Greg knew best.

Greg shifted his weight, his paternal instincts override his awkwardness. "Hey, listen. I don't mean to pry or be rude, but I gotta ask... are you alright? That eye... does it hurt? I’ve got a first aid kit in the van, though I guess human bandages don't do much for light-based lifeforms."

Volleyball tilted her head, her one good eye blinking slowly. "The scar? It does not hurt. It is simply... a part of me now."

"But Steven’s spit—I mean, his healing powers," Greg corrected himself. "He couldn't fix it? He’s usually pretty good with the 'magic touch' stuff."

The Pearl’s expression didn't change, but her shoulders seemed to drop a fraction of a millimeter. "Steven tried. He tried very hard. But some things are not broken in the way a physical form is broken. This is a manifestation of a... deep-seated memory. A psychological imprint."

Greg leaned against the kitchen counter, his heart sinking. He knew a thing or two about scars you couldn't see, and he knew even more about the person who had likely given her that one.

"Pink," Greg sighed, the name tasting like copper. "She had a bit of a temper back then, didn't she? Before she was Rose."

Volleyball’s posture stiffened. "She was a Diamond. Her power was vast. When she cried, the world felt it. When she screamed... the walls cracked." She paused, her hand hovering near the scarred side of her face but never quite touching it. "I was standing too close. It wasn't an attack. It was just... her being her."

Greg felt a wave of sympathy so strong he had to sit down on the edge of the sofa. "I'm sorry. That sounds like a lot to carry for a few thousand years."

"I am a Pearl," she replied, as if that explained everything. "We are designed to carry."

"Maybe," Greg said gently. "But you’re not on Homeworld anymore. And Steven... he isn't his mom. He’s his own person. He wants you to be your own person, too."

Volleyball turned toward the window, looking out at the ocean. "It is difficult to know who that person is when the person you were made for is gone, and the mark she left is the only thing that remains of her touch."

Greg stood up and walked over to the record player in the corner. He flipped through a few sleeves until he found something mellow—an old folk instrumental with a steady, grounding beat. He dropped the needle, and the soft scratch of vinyl filled the room followed by the warm hum of an acoustic guitar.

"You know," Greg said, over the music. "I spent a long time trying to figure out who I was supposed to be for Rose. I thought I had to be this grand, cosmic hero or something. But in the end, she just wanted me to be Greg. Just a guy who likes music and his van."

He looked at Volleyball, who was watching the spinning record with a look of quiet fascination.

"You don't have to be a 'Diamond’s Pearl' today," Greg continued. "You can just be a guest. You want to try a donut? They’re mostly sugar, which I’m told is a great human invention for dealing with stress."

A very small, almost invisible smile tugged at the corner of Volleyball’s mouth. "Steven mentioned the 'donuts.' He said they were 'the circle of life, but fried.'"

Greg laughed, the sound booming and genuine. "That sounds like my boy. Come on, I’ve got a box in the van. Let’s go sit on the beach. The sand is a lot more forgiving than the floorboards, and the view is better."

As they walked out onto the porch, the afternoon sun cast long shadows. Greg watched the Pearl walk—she moved with a grace that was haunting, a reminder of a palace she no longer belonged to. But as she stepped onto the sand, she paused, digging her toes into the grains, a look of genuine surprise crossing her face.

"It is... soft," she whispered.

"Yeah," Greg said, sitting down and patting the space next to him. "It’s messy, it gets everywhere, and it changes every time the tide comes in. But it’s soft. Kind of like life down here."

Volleyball sat, folding her legs elegantly. She looked out at the horizon where the blue of the sky met the blue of the sea. For the first time, she didn't look like a relic of a fallen empire. She just looked like someone taking a breath.

"Mr. Universe?"

"Just Greg, please."

"Greg," she corrected herself. "Why are you being so kind to me? I am a reminder of a version of your partner that caused a great deal of pain."

Greg looked at the horizon, his eyes crinkling. "Because I’ve got some cracks of my own, Volleyball. And if we only ever looked at the broken parts of each other, we’d never see the rest of the picture."

He opened the box of donuts and held it out. She reached in, her fingers trembling slightly, and picked up a pink-frosted one with sprinkles. She looked at it, then at him, the cracked side of her face catching the golden hour light.

"To new beginnings?" Greg offered, raising his own donut like a toast.

Volleyball hesitated, then nodded. "To new beginnings."

They sat in silence for a long time, the only sounds being the crashing waves and the distant cry of seagulls. Greg realized then that Steven hadn't asked him to Gem-sit because Volleyball needed a guard. He’d asked because she needed a friend who knew what it was like to love a Diamond and survive it.

As the sun began to dip below the water, Greg felt a sense of peace. The past was a heavy thing, full of shadows and glass, but the present was warm sand and a greasy donut. And for now, that was more than enough.