Chapter Text
“Where is she? Let me see her -“ Hecate storms past the mediwitches, doors to the ward flying open at a sharp twist of her wrist. Her traveling cape billows behind her and she lengthens her stride, steps quick and sharp against the tile of the hospital floor. Behind her, the mediwitches protest, but she ignores them, halting abruptly when she reaches a door towards the end of the hall. She can feel Pippa’s magic inside. Weak. Hardly distinguishable from the swirl and curl of all other sources. But steady. And there.
She takes a breath.
“Leave.”
There’s enough command in her voice that the mediwitches obey without objection, backing away timidly and retreating in hast. Left alone in the in the silent, empty hall, Hecate squares her shoulders, clenches down hard on her shivering heart, and pushes through the door.
“Hecate -“
Freezing, Hecate looks up and into Pippa Pentangle’s eyes for the first time in a decade.
She’s relieved to note that she’s alert, through her eyes clouded with pain, and Hecate’s breath catches in her throat at the realization that Pippa sits in a chair beside the bed, not in it. For in the bed is a tiny girl, long black hair strewn across the white pillow as she lays with her eyes shut, machines beeping and whirring on the wall behind her.
And all the words she has prepared do not come.
Nothing comes.
She feels faint, and faintly sick, and the next moment Pippa has risen and is guiding her into the chair instead. She feels her knees give out and sits heavily, unable to tear her eyes away from the child.
“Who is that?”
Her words sound strangled, wrong even to her own ears, and Pippa hovers beside her, crouching down so she’s at Hecate’s eye level. Hecate notes a bruise running down the side of her cheek, the drying blood streaked along her hairline, a deep cut across her shoulder. She wants to reach for her, but her limbs can’t move. She fears that if she so much as blinks, her whole being will spin into a thousand pieces.
“Pippa,” she says again, more urgently, “Who is that.”
Slowly, gently, Pippa reaches out and takes her hands. Hecate wants to pull away but can’t.
“Hecate,” Pippa whispers, voice low and edged with something that makes Hecate shiver, “that’s our daughter.”
The room goes silent, and then pitch black, and suddenly Hecate’s undulating in a violent sea of utter horror. Her whole world is unraveling and reworking itself, unraveling and reworking itself. She’s up and out of her chair and back in the hallway, leaning against the cool wall swallowing bile as the floor tilts and spins beneath her.
Pippa’s by her side, hands steady on her elbows and Hecate tries to twist away but Pippa holds her fast. “Hecate - breathe, you need to breathe -“
Hecate takes a gasp of air, despite the protest from her mind and lungs, and then another under Pippa’s directive, her whole body fighting against the terror that courses through her. She transfers out then in, then out, then in, an old trick to focus when the world has become too much. Pippa is watching her cautiously when she stabilizes, slumping against the wall and breathing hard, fingertips digging into the paint as she wars with her knees to hold her upright.
“This is a joke.” Her voice is hard and Pippa winces.
“It’s not.”
And Hecate knows it’s not. Has known from the moment she lay eyes on the dark haired child, felt her magic. Half hers. Half Pippa’s. Her knees do give out then and she slides to the floor, burying her face in her hands. She feels Pippa silently join her.
“You didn’t think to tell me?”
Pippa gives a sharp laugh. It’s utterly humorless and Hecate flinches. “I tried to tell you. But if I recall correctly you informed me that our night together was - how did you phrase it? Oh yes, ‘the most regrettable mistake of your life.’ You then went on to make it very clear that all consequences of our mistake were equally as regrettable -“
Hecate closes her eyes against the pain in Pippa’s voice. “I hadn’t known that a consequence would be a child - Pippa it should not be possible - how - what -“
“I wrote to you.” Pippa’s voice is hard, unyielding. “Over and over. Each letter came back unopened.”
There’s hardly any space left in Hecate’s heart to process the regret and pain that flares through her, but she has to know. She has to. “Is she going to be alright?” It’s a whisper. Devastated and desperate, and she feels her whole body convulse with a shiver of trepidation.
She can only half look Pippa in the eye but watches in dazed relief as Pippa softens at the question.
“Yes, she’ll be just fine. They’re treating her for shock - she’s been giving a Sleeping Serum and fluids. But I needed to speak with you. After what happened it seemed unavoidable.”
“They said you were in the hospital -“ Hecate’s jaw works around the terror she’d felt at receiving such a message.
“I wasn’t sure you’d even come, even in that case.” Pippa admits, voice carefully neutral. “And I didn’t think it wise to tell you about such a thing in a message saying we were in hospital.” Her laugh is once again lacking in any humor. “Could you imagine: ‘Hi Hecate, I know you want nothing at all to do with either of us, but your daughter (surprise you have a daughter!) is at Hutchinson’s. It’s very urgent that I speak with you. Please come at your soonest convience.’ You would have sent me a hex rather than show up in person, I think.” Neutralness abandoned, there’s no way to keep the bitterness out of Pippa’s voice and Hecate winces again.
“Pippa -“
Pippa shakes her head. “I need you to listen. I need you to let me speak. You got to decide what you thought was best before - best for you, that is - but there is a child involved now and I owe it to her to try to -“ she breaks off and shakes her head, then touches her forehead. Hecate frowns as her fingertips come away a little bloody.
“Pippa - “
“The organization that targeted me is vehemently against modern magic.” Pippa’s voice is flat, and Hecate realizes that she must have already recounted this to the police a dozen times already. “I’ve been receiving threats for some time. I’ve reported them, of course, but they weren’t considered serious enough in nature, apparently, to warrant an investigation.”
Hardly breathing, Hecate studies the way Pippa sits, hands curled in her lap, eyes distant as if searching for answers in the cracked tile patterns of the floor.
“Fortunately, very, very few people know that I have a daughter. And all have my explicit, absolute trust. She’s grown up freely on the grounds of Pentangle’s and sometimes comes with me to the village, but to the outside world at large, she doesn’t exist.” Pippa swallows and glances at her before continuing. “This proved to be a great service during the attack. They thought she was just another child in the market and didn’t go after her.”
“But they came after you.” Hecate’s voice is hoarse, and Pippa’s eyes flicker up to hers again before dropping.
“They think my school is blasphemous. Dangerous. They think I am as well. And yet they are the ones cornering us by the apothecary stall and - and - “
Pippa breaks off, unable to go on, and Hecate very nearly reaches for her hand. Her lungs are constricting, throat tightening, and she looks at Pippa’s bruised face and bloodied skin and wants to gather her close, tuck her against her her, and let her cry.
“Have you not received medical attention?”
Pippa shakes her head impatiently. “I didn’t want to leave her. She was so - so - scared.” Voice trembling, Pippa wraps her arms tightly around her midsection and her fingers come up to brush against the door of the room. “I couldn’t leave her. Even after I knew she was safe.”
She looks at Hecate then, eyes wet and aching, and swallows. But when she speaks, her voice is steady. “But I asked you here because I cannot risk this happening again. She shouldn’t have to grow up in fear. And so I think it’s best if I do leave her. For a time, at least. The suspects weren’t apprehended, and even if they are, who knows how many others feel the same about my school and my magic. But I can no more give up who I am - what I am - than lead her into danger. She’s grown up with my magic. But she’s grown up with your magic, too. She has your gifts. Your talents. And - clearly - your looks. She’s yours as much as she is mine, Hecate. And she’s starting to exhibits a strength of magic so similar to yours when we were young. Who better to learn from that from you? Who could better understand her? I just want her to be safe. And to grow up whole. She can’t do that if she’s in danger, and she can’t do that is she only knows one half of herself. Which is why I want her to come study at Cackle’s. She’s a year too young, but she’s smart. And I know - I know that she’d be safe there.”
Hecate stares at Pippa, and Pippa bites her lower lip, fidgeting uncertainty. “I know it’s a lot to take in. A daughter you never wanted. And I know that she puts you in a relationship with me that you never wanted - that you, in fact, were so desperate to avoid.” The bitterness is back in Pippa’s voice, sharp and curt, and Hecate wants to protest but can’t breathe enough to summon the words.
Instead she stands, knees stiff and trembling, and reaches down, skin sparking at Pippa’s touch when her hand comes to rest in Hecate’s own as she helps her up. The sensation is too much, and Hecate wrenches her fingers away at the soonest opportunity, turning so that she can peer through the tiny round pane of glass in the door.
She can’t stop fingers from reaching out to press against the glass and stands still, desperate, aching, watching the tiny figure in the bed.
Finally, slowly, she nods.
“I will take her. Until your troubles are resolved.”
Beside her, Pippa lets out a choked breath of relief, and, Hecate’s guesses, grief. Again she wants to take her hand, but even now she cannot find a way to bridge the gulf between them. Not now. Not after everything.
Side by side, they look at the girl, their daughter, together, for the very first time.
“What,” Hecate whispers, voice a rasp of pained longing, “is her name?”
Pippa makes a small sound over a shivering breath. And Hecate knows it’s one she’s been holding for a long, long time.
“Her name - “ Pippa whispers, and there’s something utterly soft and tender in her voice. “Her name is Joy.”