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It’s dark. Very dark. The kind of dark that threatens to make Scylla remember the things she would much rather forget, if she could ever bring herself to let them go. Already, whispers from cold and lonely nights are tugging at the edges of her consciousness. The scent of damp air choking her, the unyielding pressure of a metal chair at her back, the clanking of chains as they dug into her wrists. The screams begin to echo in her ears- a sound she hardly recognized as her own- shaking her bones as if they would be enough to free her and allow her to stop what she knows comes next.
The girl she loves being ripped from her.
A cold look, no trace of the love or softness that she had learned was saved just for her.
“I loved you.”
“I feel broken, thanks to you.”
“I’m sorry we ever met, Scyl.”
A shiver shoots down her spine, bringing her back to the moment. Scylla shakes her head, trying to clear the memories from her thoughts and bring herself back to the moment.
Back to the mission.
What she should be focused on, if Anacostia is to be listened to.
She almost scoffs at that thought, as if she needs someone else’s input on her assignment. While the world of Fort Salem had been new to her, Scylla grew up with civilians. She knows their customs, their habits, their culture. And she knows how to use them. How to disappear in a crowd, how to ride the line between gathering information and being completely undetectable. How to become completely unmemorable in every way, fade into the background before anyone even notices she was there. It’s an essential skill for Dodgers, and one she mastered before leaving her last elementary school.
So no, she doesn’t need Anacostia’s advice. She’s been doing just fine on her own.
Keep your mind on the mission , Anacostia had said. But how? How can she keep her mind on the mission when every time it falls quiet, Scylla is reminded of all that she left behind at Fort Salem? And at the complete and utter mercy of the military, no less?
How can she keep her mind on the mission when every time she returns to the safe house, she is faced with the living and breathing reminder of the now pointless pain that had brought Raelle to her in the first place?
Keep your mind on the mission . Such a simple request for such an impossible task, particularly when the truth is she doesn’t want to .
Scylla rolls her eyes, eying the woman sitting next to her and raising an eyebrow. “What?”
Anacostia has been watching her for several minutes and while Scylla appreciates the quiet, it’s getting unnerving.
“Are you done sulking, or do you need another moment?”
Scylla crosses her arms and leans back, pointedly staring out the windshield. “Funny, I could ask the same of you.” Anacostia huffs at that.
“I don’t sulk, Ramshorn.”
“Could have fooled me. I’m sure I caught you frowning into the distance yesterday.”
“Don’t confuse planning exit strategies with sulking, it could get you in trouble.” Tensions have been rising at the protests and while Anacostia has a point, Scylla is not about to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Besides, she has to kill time on these stakeouts somehow.
“Whole lot of good that planning did us, considering we barely got out of there.”
“But we did get out, did we not? I think a hint of gratitude is necessary.”
“Keep wishing, Anacostia. Maybe eventually it will get you somewhere.”
“Scylla-”
“I mean really , Anacostia. I don’t know what you would do without me. You don’t even know what a maid of honor is! It’s a miracle you didn’t blow your cover in five-”
“ Scylla. ” The tone in Anacostia’s voice becomes sharper and Scylla backs off, glancing up cautiously to meet the older woman’s eyes.
Her gaze softens. It’s a look Scylla has seen just a handful of times- something she is learning to trust. Still careful and tentative, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but her instincts tell her to give Anacostia a chance. If nothing else, to use the resources she comes with.
Anacostia sighs. “You asked me how she was.”
Scylla’s world slows to a stop. She is suddenly keenly aware of the cramped car they are in. The dark seems to press in on all sides, as if the world has narrowed to a vacuum containing only them and the heavy words hanging between them in the air, the weight of the words yet to come. Scylla had asked the question in a moment of desperation a week ago; but it still echoes through her mind constantly. Sometimes it seems to reverberate throughout her body; a seed of its own. She had to let it out lest it eat her alive, and it did her no good anyway, when Anacostia shut her down. Keep your mind on the mission.
She had thought she was ready for the answer. But now here it is, about to be given to her, and she’s frozen in fear. A thousand “what-ifs” run through her mind, but there’s no time for them. She squares her shoulders, raising an eyebrow at Anacostia and plastering on a confident face that she knows Anacostia can see right through.
“And?” Scylla plays with the sleeve of her jacket, feigning disinterest even if they both know it’s complete bullshit.
“Look…” Anacostia pauses, and Scylla can tell she’s trying to decide how much to tell her. “A lot has happened, but all you need to know is she’s alright.” The words rush over her like cool water, soothing the sharp edges left in her heart, a balm for the raw wounds she still nursed. The world calms, if only just for a moment, and Scylla lets herself sit in the knowledge. Raelle is alright. She is alive. Trapped, still, in the greedy clutches in the army, forced to serve in an institution that sees her only as an asset with no regard for her personhood. No regard for the kind, caring, and just heart that lay hidden behind the walls she had learned to put up.
But for now, alive is all that matters. Alright. Angry and broken hearted, from how Scylla had last seen her, but breathing. That is all Scylla needs, for now. To just know that the girl she loves is alive is enough for now- enough to hope that, somehow, there is a chance to resolve all of the pain between them.
Scylla swallows, dragging her mind back to the moment. Back to the cramped little car they have spent most of the day in. Back to the darkness that threatens to swallow them whole if they aren’t careful, leaving nothing behind but the broken shards of her heart that she hasn’t mustered the courage to pick up yet, because that would mean accepting that Raelle has really left her.
Reality, she has found, is somehow less cruel than the depths her mind tries to draw her into. Scylla nods.
“Good. She’s alright. That’s...” She pauses. Words that competently express the multitude of emotions she is feeling right now all seem to fall short. “That’s good.”
Anacostia watches her, waiting for more. But there are precious few ways to explain that Scylla feels like she can breathe for the first time in weeks, that all she wants is to hold Raelle close and scream at her at the same damn time. Reconciling her own guilt with the bright flame of anger at Raelle for leaving her screaming after her in that dungeon- it makes it hard to find a few simple words to express the waves of emotions coursing through her at any given moment. How one simple piece of news can fill her with such longing, such hope, such anger and fear and pain and joy- there are simply no words.
And certainly none that she is ready to share with Anacostia quite yet.
The other woman frowns at her, clearly surprised at her response. Scylla lets out a dry, humorless chuckle.
“Don’t start sulking at me now, Anacostia. We just went over this.” The tension has grown too high for a stakeout, and a change of topic is desperately needed.
Anacostia rolls her eyes. “Watch your words, Ramshorn.”
“If that’s what you want, ma’am , but I’m worried that might make our jobs a little harder.” Scylla turns toward her, a sage smile pulling at her lips. “Communication is important, after all.”
Anacostia rubs at her temples, and Scylla congratulates herself on a job well done. “Goddess, how did Collar even put up with you?”
It stings, but Scylla shakes it off with a smile. “My endearing charm, of course. I’m quite well liked, you know.”
“Among the Camarilla that’s not a compliment.”
“I didn’t see Amelia complaining.”
“You can blame that on the beer.”
Scylla scoffs, glancing at the woman next to her. “You and I both know you weren’t drunk.” The Anacostia Quartermaine, drunk off of two beers? She had put on a good show, but there was no way Anacostia had been drunk.
“Sure, Ramshorn. Sure.” Anacostia’s tone is sarcastic, but Scylla catches the hint of a smile on her face. She’s surprised to find herself smiling as well.
Anacostia is… not what she expected. She’s tough and often cold, the image of military virtue, but Scylla has seen the mask start to slip. From time to time, Anacostia seems to show something akin to humanity and it puzzles Scylla to no end. It is advantageous, surely. To her benefit in many ways. But still, puzzling.
Scylla would much rather work alone, of course. She works best alone, with no one else to interrupt her plans. No one else to interfere with what is already an incredibly delicate plan. But, she thinks, if she must have a partner, maybe Anacostia might not be the worst person to work with.
It’s still dark. The road before them is a gaping void waiting for the opportunity to open wide and drag them into the void. Silence once again hangs around them, the house they have been watching for hours just as still as when they arrived. The nights have been getting colder and Scylla shivers, slumping a little more in her seat, crossing her arms, and shrinking in on herself in an effort to keep warm.
She gazes out into the night, the sleeping world unaware of the war brewing just beneath the surface. She watches the stars, so far away and so removed from the petty problems of their world, and loses herself for a moment in the cosmos.
Scylla sighs, a civilian tradition pulling at the edges of her memory. She rests her forehead on the cool glass of the window next to her and takes a deep breath. Closing her eyes, Scylla makes a wish. One small hope against all chances. She wishes, against all the reasons it is impossible, that she is not alone tonight.
She wishes that- despite the distance between them, the time, the pain- in the quiet hours of the night when one is left with only their thoughts, Raelle is thinking of her, too.
Please, let there be hope for us.
Let us say “no matter what,” and mean it.
Let us have a second chance.