Chapter Text
The news came swiftly. Hot and fast like a lightning storm across the Cession plains on a hot spring night. Intense and packed full of warning and edgy harsh realization.
At first, Scylla didn’t pay any attention to it.
There were a lot more pressing matters to worry about.
Like how Willa Collar was alive.
And Spree.
And the reason Scylla had first met Raelle.
Goddess.
Scylla couldn’t contain her anger. Her rage. After years and years of tempering it, hold it inside, waiting for the right people to unleash her agony on, she took one look at those eyes, blue like glaciers, like Raelle’s, and felt every single stab of grief, sadness, and pain ripple through her and jump out of her mouth in a string of words that would have brought the goddesses themselves to their knees.
This woman made Raelle believe she was dead. Made Raelle suffer. Grieve. Didn’t she know how much love Raelle held within her? How much she felt .? Loved ? That losing her mom, her hero, nearly drove her to military assisted suicide?
Didn’t she understand how many nights Raelle would stare out into the darkness, lost in memories and morbidity? How she carried around an air of melancholy even when she smiled? That the second Scylla saw the first all consuming grin paired with a subtle southern drawl from her, that she felt her heart explode because she knew that this was the first time Raelle had fully let herself be happy, and it was with her?
Didn’t she know she broke Raelle?
That they both did.
Scylla lost the only person she had ever loved, was on the run from the army, and now was stationed with her ex-girlfriend’s mother.
There was a lot happening.
So, no, she did not pay attention.
The Army conducted a secret mission in China.
So what? The Army conducted missions all the time. Covert or not.
Soldiers died.
Sad, but expected. The Army sacrificed their soldiers like they were toys, pigs for the slaughter.
Two of the soldiers were recent cadets, young and just beginning their careers. They died bravely.
Again, sad.
But it wasn’t Raelle.
She was in War College.
Safe and sound and haunting Scylla’s memories like a tiny piece of heaven the devil glimpsed before plummeting to earth.
A glimmer of hope that touched her fingertips before slipping away, floating off, disappearing like a flickering flame in the wind.
It wasn’t until she walked down the stairs from her bedroom and noticed the house was quiet that Scylla began to wonder if something was amiss. It was too quiet. Where there was normally music or chatting agents grabbing a bite to eat and conferring on the next steps to achieve their goals, there was absolute silence. She peered around the empty building, and briefly wondered where everyone had gone and why no one had spoken to her of a new mission. For half a moment she feared the house had been compromised and she was left in the wake.
For half a moment she thought of dim garages and soldiers bursting in with fire and fury, remorseless and fierce as they killed her parents.
But, a coat was still draped over the kitchen table chair and empty coffee mugs were gathered near the sink.
The house was still occupied.
And not just by her ghosts, her demons.
Forcing herself to not worry about something she had no control over in that moment, she walked out into the murky midmorning sun, a slight haze from the early morning rain still glistening on the clouds and in each breath she took. She swaggered down the steps and to the sidewalk, hanging a left and ambling along. Her hands reached for her pockets, and she tucked her fingers in the comforting pouches, letting herself pretend for just a second that the warmth and feel was not because of worn denim but, instead, from calloused hands, full of gentle and secure affection.
Her steps took her a few blocks, past homes and giggling children, their parents watching on from porches and rocking chairs, before she saw her.
At the end of the sidewalk, casually perched near the edge of the road, work out attire and face red from exertion making her seem like a jogger pausing mid run to take a breath and decide which direction to take, was Anacostia Quartermaine.
Sucking in a deep breath, Scylla paused.
Why was she there?
Her eyes darted around, searching for Spree and Army alike.
There had been no warning. No notice.
It was risky for the officer to randomly show up. Even out of uniform, she was known. Willa knew who she was. If someone saw her, reported back that she was spotted nearby, it could ruin everything.
There was no reason for her to be there in the first place.
If it was information she wanted, Scylla had none. Not yet.
If it was to bring Scylla in, she never would have let her go.
She wasn’t looking to join the Spree.
What could she possibly want?
As if sensing her stare, Anacostia glanced over at her, face unreadable.
Scylla felt a prickle of dread coil low in her belly.
Everything felt wrong since she awoke that morning. Since she threw on her boots and jacket and stepped out of her bedroom.
Licking her lips, she morphed her features into a look of confident disinterest and strolled forward. Hiding any wariness behind a mask she knew all too well, she pushed forward.
“A little far for a run, isn’t it?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow, “If you’re looking for a ride back, the bus stop is a few blocks that way.”
“We need to talk.”
A humourless chuckle, “Oh?”
“I don’t have much time.”
“By all means, don’t let me keep you.” She lifted her chin, “I don’t think you’re supposed to stop too long, let your heart rate drop too far.”
“Scylla.”
The younger witch blinked. She wasn’t sure if it was the sergeant using her first name or the tone with which she said it that sent a chill down her spine and made the small hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand up, but she fought back a flinch as the single word rang in the air. She closed her mouth, once again peering around for anyone listening in before tilting her head, “This way.”
Without waiting, she marched down the sidewalk, feeling Anacostia a couple paces behind her. She didn’t look back at her, instead keeping her eyes forward and mind clear. Half a block down, she slipped into a tiny alleyway, barely big enough to fit two people, between two rickety clapboard houses. Spinning around, she pinned Anacostia with cold blue eyes, “What is it?”
Anacostia didn’t react to the harsh voice or unyielding glare.
Instead, she took a second.
She stared at Scylla.
Eyes softening.
Face flickering with something as her jaw ticked.
Scylla saw it all.
And, in the shadows of the summer sun, felt ice cold.
“What happened to her?” escaped the brunette’s mouth, words tasting like pain and helplessness, so terrible her tongue tripped along the vowels and her nose wanted to wrinkle in a grimace.
Because it was the worst thing she could ever ask.
And her body revolted at having to form the sounds.
Just like her mind refused to imagine, refused to think, refused to do anything but wait impatiently.
Because that disgusting horrible question was wrong and never should have been asked. It was useless. Not needed. The answer was so simple, so easy, a quick ‘nothing’ that the anxious nerves twisting in her stomach were a grotesque overreaction to a pretend nightmare.
Anacostia’s eyes softened even more. Turned gentle. Turned caring. Turned apologetic.
And Scylla wanted to turn away and run.
Sprint the rest of the way down the alley and burst out the other end, away from those eyes. Away from the unspoken grief and agony the ticking seconds promised to reveal.
Back to the house. Back to safety.
Safety.
Where was safe?
A long lost lighthouse?
A once visited beach?
The arms of a woman who couldn't even look at her without tears in her eyes and heartbreak in her soul?
Where could she go?
Chin quivering, Scylla stood tall, cramming her hands in her pockets so they didn’t shake.
Anacostia’s first words had her shoulders falling, whatever projected bravery, whatever fake confidence she had snuffed out like a light.
“I’m sorry.”
Clenching her jaw, teeth aching, her muscles tightened, fight or flight instinct coursing through her. She threw out whatever defenses she had, opting for deflection, sarcasm, anything but what was actually happening, “I never wanted to be invited on your morning run. The track suit isn’t my style.”
“I need you to listen to me.” Anacostia ignored her feeble attempt at bravado, at changing the subject, at refusing to acknowledge what was happening, what she was about to hear, “I need you to remember what I told you in that basement before I gave you the lighter.”
Remember the part of you that is good.
Scylla frowned, a knot of emotion threatening to choke her, “How bad?”
“Scylla,”
“How. Bad?”
Anacostia pursed her lips, “Killed in action.”
Scylla fell back, physically feeling the words slam into her, cutting through her like red hot knives. Her eyes blinked rapidly, her entire body feeling like it was burning and yet ice cold. Her head shook, body trembling, “No...she…”
Anacostia exhaled sadly, “She was deployed directly after graduation.”
Scylla's eyebrows knit together, the words not making sense. “War College. She went to War College.”
“No, she didn’t.”
So, that was your big plan, then. Just ruin your chances for War College, get deployed too soon, and get blown up on the front lines because you suck so bad?
Scylla didn’t know she was tumbling until her shoulder hit the wooden planks of the building beside her, air gone in the small space, the walls closing in.
“I am sorry I was not able to tell you until now.”
Scylla’s shoulder dug into the wood, the slight spark of pain not even registering, “Graduation...that was…” Graduation had been weeks ago. A lifetime ago.
Her chest clenched, and she felt like she was going to be sick.
Two young cadets had been killed.
Secret mission in China.
She had ignored it.
Didn’t care.
Thought it was not important.
Gasping for breath, her voice shook, “Did it hurt?”
Had Raelle felt pain? Was she scared? Was she alone? Did she see it coming? Did anyone help her?
Help a lonely hurting broken girl who was so strong, so loving, so brave, but whose life kept beating her down until she fell into such darkness it took someone to find her. To see her. To recognize the silent screams for help that she would never voice because she was the one who helped, not the other way around.
For a brief moment in time, that someone had been Scylla.
Just like Raelle had been for her.
Two beings lost in darkness but whose inner lights had found each other.
“No.” Anacostia replied.
Her head snapped up, “You’re lying.”
She didn’t know how, but she knew she was lying.
Anacostia didn't respond.
Knees unsteady, legs ready to collapse, lungs unable to take in air, mind an endless cavern of whispered devotion and wicked tricks, a hole where her heart once was, Scylla unconsciously raised her hand, staring at her palm. Her empty palm.
“She wasn’t alone. Abigail Bellweather was with her.” Anacostia spoke quietly.
Scylla choked out a sob, hand coming to her mouth.
“She was brave. She made us all very proud.”
Scylla closed her eyes tightly, a burst of rage licking hot at the roof of her mouth. She didn’t care about anyone being proud. Proud of what? An unneeded sacrifice? A senseless stupid death? The loss of someone who was too good for the people entrusted with her life? With her heart?
The image of Raelle, worn down and defeated, played across her mind’s eye, consuming her.
I don’t feel powerful, I feel broken. Thanks to you.
“Did she know?”
“Know what?”
“That it was coming?” Scylla opened her eyes, meeting brown orbs slowly filling with understanding, “Did she see it?”
Had Raelle known what was going to happen - and let it?
Raelle had been ready to die when she first arrived at Fort Salem, seeing no way out, no hope, no future but one that included a quick death.
She was grieving her mother.
She felt powerless. She was broken.
I don’t feel powerful, I feel broken.
“No,” Anacostia was firm.
I don’t feel powerful, I feel broken. Thanks to you.
“Raelle was strong.” Anacostia took half a step toward her, “She still loved you, Scylla. She asked me to help you. She hadn’t given up. Not like that.”
Scylla felt the conviction in her words, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering.
Was this her fault?
Had she done this?
Taken her lover’s life without even lifting a finger?
“This is not your fault.” Anacostia brought her out of her thoughts, “The Camarilla attacked. There was a fight. There is always a danger.”
“A danger...of dying because you weren sent to die?” she sniffed. “Because, she was, wasn’t she? Sent to die?”
No words met her questions, her accusations.
Numbness began to seep into her skin, like an untameable fire, it scorched away the cold, the heat, and left inch by inch of her without any feeling.
Without thought.
She needed to go.
To leave.
Before she turned into one of the shadows hidden from the sun, pale and forgotten. Lost without the celestial light.
“There is a small park half a mile from here. Meet me there tonight. Just after sunset.”
Already turning away from Anacostia, Scylla didn’t look at her, “Why?”
“Sometimes the best way to hold on to something is to share it.”
Scylla swallowed against the rock at the back of her throat.
“I look forward to hearing about all the demerits I missed giving out to Collar.” A pause, “You need to let yourself feel this, or it will only build up inside of you like everything else. Raelle wouldn’t want that.”
“How do you know what she would want?”
“Because she loved you.”
Scylla’s breath hitched.
“Sunset. Don’t be late.”
Scylla could only give an almost imperceptible nod before walking away.
Down the alleyway and out of the shadows.
Her feet guiding her, she didn’t know where she was going. Where she would end up.
Wherever it was, it wasn’t home.
It wasn’t safe.
It wasn’t with Raelle.
It was in the darkness.