Chapter Text
Anne finds Sasha out in a field of tall grass not terribly far from the Plantar farm. Sasha has barely said three words to her since Anne showed back up -- seems in fact to be actively avoiding her, which is something Anne isn’t sure how to feel about. For example, as soon as Anne had arrived back in Wartwood, Sasha had moved out of the Plantar residence and, as far as she could tell, was staying in the woods now. Ivy informed Anne that her mother had offered a place to stay, but Sasha had declined the offer because, as she pointed out, Ivy and Sprig were an item and she, Sasha, “didn’t want to become a source of conflict.”
Which made sense, given her history with Sprig and the rest of the Plantars, but it kills Anne to think that Sasha’s living like a hermit in the woods. On the one hand, yeah, Anne was pretty clear about being done with Sasha. It makes sense that Sasha would, in turn, stay out of her way. On the other hand, this wasn’t the first time they’d fought, and so much had happened between that moment and now -- heck, they’d been fighting back to back literal minutes afterwards -- that it’s weird to think that Sasha has, as far as Anne can tell, given up and accepted the end of her and Anne’s friendship. Anne had long since let go of her anger, had even, sort of, come to understand what Sasha had been trying to do. She hadn’t forgiven Sasha’s betrayal, but it was more that Sasha hadn’t apologized yet than any lingering resentment. Uncertain about how to handle the situation, Anne had finally done the only thing she could think of and asked Grime, who in spite of also having been firmly told to fuck off forever in so many words, does not seem to have taken it quite so literally.
“I’m not crazy, right? She’s definitely avoiding me.”
Grime gave her a look. “You did say you never wanted to talk to her again. She is seeking…” he’d hesitated for a moment, then, “atonement, of a sort, but she doesn’t know how to do so yet. When she does, I’m confident you’ll be the first to know.”
So in spite of how bad she was at it, Anne had waited. She had tried to be patient, tried not to feel too hurt every time she caught Sasha’s eye and Sasha just as quickly looked down and away before withdrawing from the room. She also, in a move that was probably a little invasive, began asking around Wartwood about Sasha. It was curious to get news on one of her best friends secondhand, but Anne was desperate to understand what the hell Grime meant by ‘atonement.’
Anne quickly learned the following things about Sasha’s time in Wartwood:
- She’d spent a lot of time taking care of the Plantar’s fields
- Apart from Ivy and Grime, Sasha didn’t really speak to anyone unless she was giving orders related to the defense of Wartwood
- If she wasn’t patrolling the town perimeter or working on the Plantar farm, she was training
- She and Grime occasionally disappear for weeks at a time, usually coinciding with reports of sabotage and what Newtopia officially refers to as terrorist acts
- The few times they’d seen her fight, she’d fallen on the enemy like some kind of grim specter of death itself and fought with a certain disregard for her personal safety (this last note had been given by Grime who wore a look of disapproval as he said it)
- It was obvious that something significant had happened between Sasha and Marcy, and whatever it was had gotten Marcy to agree to refuse to engage on the subject of Sasha whenever Anne saw her. “Sorry, Anna-banana, I’ve got to respect her wishes on this one! You’ve just got to be patient.” Marcy said, and got a soft look on her face as she added, “I promise, it’ll be worth it.” Which gave Anne a whole host of feelings, all of them confusing.
That evening, exhausted from a day spent doing farmwork while the rebellion waited on information from various sources and Sasha continued to be conspicuously absent, Anne had found a note on her mattress that simply read: Meet me in the fields at midnight.
So here she is, and here Sasha is, and Anne gets the first real look at her old (ex?) friend since her arrival. Sasha’s facing away from Anne, her head back as she looks up at the stars. A patchwork of scars criss-crosses her shoulders, her usual armor discarded in favor of a simple tank top. Her hair seems shorter than Anne remembers, but it’s still pulled into a ponytail, and when her head turns slightly at the sound of Anne’s approach there’s a flash of a familiar green hair clip. Sasha’s eyes are closed, but her lips quirk into a small smile. She seems almost… if Anne had the vocabulary and inclination to use it, she might say ethereally beautiful , but Anne is still processing exactly how she feels about her friends which she knows, now, is a stronger feeling that friend may be necessarily capable of covering so she describes her, internally, as oh no she’s hot. Sasha’s body seems relaxed, but there’s definitely a little tension that Anne can see her trying to tamp down.
“Hey, Anna-banana. Got my note, I see.” Her voice does not carry any of the commanding tone Anne’s heard in meetings. It’s soft, and sad, and carries the weight of a thousand regrets, but there’s an undercurrent of some other emotion too: hope, maybe, or amusement at some private joke.
“What’s this all about, Sash?” Anne asks, and as soon as the words are out it’s like everything she’s wanted to say for she doesn’t even know how long bursts out of her. “Why have you been avoiding me? Why did you call me out here , instead of just fucking talking to me like a normal person? Why does it have to be at midnight? Do you know how much time I spent worrying about you left here alone, and…” she trails off, and finally mutters, “I hated you.”
Sasha doesn’t move while Anne vents. She bears it all until Anne’s final utterance, which makes her shoulders slump visibly. She sighs, and opens her eye, catching the reflection of the red Amphibian moon. “Do you still hate me?” she asks, turning to face Anne. Almost immediately after she asks the question, before Anne has a chance to respond, she adds. “It’s okay if you do, I promise.”
“Of course not, Sasha!” Anne explodes. “I just miss you now. I miss my friend.”
“I was never your friend,” Sasha says, and she runs a hand through her hair, sounding tired, “never a good one, anyway.” Anne notices, then, that Sasha’s armed: twin swords, one rose, one blue -- the ones she used in their last fight in Newtopia, hanging off her hips. “I want to be, though.” There’s a beat, and Sasha hesitates, swallows, and adds, quietly, “Maybe even more.” Anne doesn’t have a chance to digest that, because Sasha keeps going. “But I hurt you so badly, Anne, and I’ve been trying to figure out what I can do to… I don’t know-”
“Atone?” Anne asks, echoing Grime.
Sasha laughs. “Talked to Grime, huh? Yeah, I guess ‘atone’ is the word for it. Anyway,” and she draws the blue sword, flips it around and offers it to Anne, “there’s something toads do, when they have to right a wrong.”
Anne eyes the blade dubiously. “What do they do?”
“Fight. The aggrieved party gets a chance to work out their anger, and the responsible party gets a chance to defend and maybe even prove a point, should they wish.” Sasha says, simply. “And then, well, it depends on the winner.”
“I don’t want to fight you, Sasha.”
“Why?” Sasha says, and there’s maybe a hint of challenge in her voice, “Afraid you’ll lose?”
“No, I’m not going to-”
“ Please , Anne.” Sasha says, and there’s desperation in her voice. “I don’t know any other way to do this.”
That brings Anne up short. There’s something almost pained in Sasha’s expression and against her better judgment, Anne takes the sword. “Fine.”
Sasha relaxes again. “Thank you. I promise, this is going to help.” She unsheathes her other sword and brings it up in a smart salute, then takes up a ready stance. “Ready when you are.”
Anne doesn’t bother mirroring Sasha’s stance -- she charges in and sweeps low, looking to end things quickly. Sasha, however, neatly deflects the blow and in a flourish, disarms Anne. Then she steps back and nods toward the sword. “Try again, Anne.”
“What are you talking about? You won.” Anne replies.
Sasha shakes her head. “You can’t half-ass this, Anne. Pick up the sword and defend yourself .”
Suddenly she’s charging, and Anne dives for her sword, rolls, and brings it up just in time to block a downward blow from Sasha. The two strain for a bit before Anne kicks out, forcing Sasha to hop backwards.
“That’s better.” Sasha says, and there’s satisfaction in her voice. “I tried to kill your friends once, betrayed you twice, and if I hadn’t, maybe Marcy wouldn’t have gotten a flaming sword to the back. Don’t tell me you aren’t still mad about this.”
Anne can feel herself getting angry. “Are we talking, or are we fighting?” she asks, and charges again. The two clash, only this time Anne gets the upper hand. Sasha gives ground, but it ends up being a feint and Anne feels the impact of the blow to her sword in her bones. Anne grits her teeth and pushes back, creating a bit of space between them that she fills with her blade. Sasha meets the assault with counterblows of her own, and for a few minutes the only sound is the clang of steel and an occasional grunt of effort.
Sasha feels relief as the fight continues. Fighting has increasingly been the thing that makes it easier for her to process everything. No worries about finding the right words, or saying the wrong ones, no strained politeness, nothing but her strength against Anne’s. She spots a familiar competitive look in Anne’s eyes and her heart swells, because this is the Anne she fell in love with and can never have, but maybe she can at least cut the rot out of their relationship. Maybe she can give Anne (and herself), peace. Grime, of course, would never approve of this: toad duels have a problem of ending in death, but if death is what it takes to make up for everything she’s done, then she’ll pay that price.
Sasha’s foot slips and before she can catch her balance, Anne’s disarmed her and suddenly, Sasha’s on the ground with a sword at her throat. Sasha doesn’t flinch, just bares her throat, closes her eyes, and says, “I submit. Finish me off, if you want. I won’t stop you.”
Anne steps back, lowers the sword, and gives Sasha a hard look. “Sash,” she says, and her voice is low, “why midnight?”
“Because,” Sasha says, “I usually patrol around this time. If I were to end up dead, they’d write it off as an ambush.”
“You wanted me to kill you?” Anne says, and her voice is incredulous. The sword drops from her hand.
“No,” Sasha replies, and stands up, picking up her sword and sheathing it, “but if that’s what ended up happening, it was a price I’d pay.” She picks up the other sword and offers it to Anne.
What Sasha doesn’t know, because Grime doesn’t tell her until he finds about this stunt later, is that dueling is also a part of toad courtship rituals, as is giving up one’s sword willingly, and if Sasha had known that little fact, she might have hesitated about this part a little more than she does.
“I’m not really a sword person.” Anne says. “More of a tennis racquet gal myself.”
Which is such an Anne response that Sasha can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, I should probably explain this a little better.” She feels strangely calm about all this, free, even, and maybe that’s because she’s done very little else since finding Anne’s journal than try to figure out how to be herself -- actually herself, not the image she thought she had to project. She’s let the rougher edges of herself be, now, instead of filing them off. Discarded the mask she’s had for so long and focused on what she really wanted, the way she should have from the start. Seeing that Anne has still made no move to take the sword, Sasha lays the blade flat across her hands and looks at her reflection in it, and is struck by the thought that she actually likes who she sees. “You know one of the first things I learned from Grime was?”
Anne gives her a confused look. “Uh, no?”
“The best sword for you,” Sasha says, smiling at the memory, “functions as an extension of your body -- your soul, even. It takes on your personality, and treated with care, it will always lead you to victory. The best sword for you is also whatever happens to be in your hand when the fighting starts.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Anne says, chuckling a little.
Sasha shrugs, mirroring the Grime in her memory perfectly. “It’s part of the riddle of steel.” She says, and laughs at Anne’s expression. “Yeah, that’s more or less how I reacted at the time. But that’s why I want you to take the sword.”
“For a riddle?”
“ Come on , Anne, you know what I’m saying.” Sasha says, rolling her eyes. Her expression becomes serious. “You defeated me, fair and square. You spared my life. This sword,” she says, and holds the blade out to Anne again, “is my life. It’s yours, now.” There’s a moment where Sasha considers not saying the next part, but whatever, she’s come this far and she might as well lay everything out on the table now. “It’s always been yours, I guess. Yours and Marcy’s. It just took me a while to realize that.” She watches Anne closely, Anne who wears her heart on her sleeve, for a reaction.
The reaction is a range of emotions: first, confusion, then surprise, and finally as understanding dawned, wide-eyed shock that went to disbelief. “What are you saying, Sasha?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” Sasha laughs, partially because it is a little funny, but partially because in spite of how much time she’s spent becoming comfortable with this idea, and how she’s accepted the fact that this might drive Anne away for good, she’s still nervous, “But sure, okay, I’ll clarify.” She takes a bold step forward, still offering the sword. “I love you, Anne Boonchuy. I know you probably don’t… feel the same way, and I’m sorry because I’m sure you’re uncomfortable, but selfishly, I just… needed to get all this out in the open.”
It takes everything she can not to turn and run immediately, but Sasha came here to make a point, and to make a promise, and so she stays and offers the sword again. “I want you to have the sword because it’s a promise from me. I don’t want to be in control of everything anymore, I just want to protect the people I love.”
There’s silence, and Sasha stands with the sword out, waiting for some kind of response from Anne. She can’t quite bring herself to look at Anne’s face anymore, afraid of what she’ll see now that it’s all in the open. Just as she’s beginning to think she should say something, Anne steps forward and wraps her hand around Sasha’s.
“Do you really mean it?” Anne asks, and there’s a strained tone to her voice that Sasha wishes she could read better, but in this moment it seems like Sasha’s brain has other things to do than help navigate what is, undoubtedly, a fraught emotional situation. Sasha’s heart, meanwhile, is more excited about the fact that Anne’s holding her hand than anything else.
Fortunately, the answer comes easily. “All of it.” Sasha says, and finally finds the strength to look at Anne’s face again, which wearing an expression that, if Sasha weren’t still pretty certain this is going to end with Anne asking Sasha to please never bring this up again, she would identify as wonder.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve asked me to forgive something.” Anne says. “It’s not the first time you’ve asked me for a new start.”
“I know.” Sasha says. “I know I don’t actually deserve another chance. That’s why I want you to have the sword. To remind me that I gave up control. And to use if I try to take it back.”
“You have got to stop asking me to kill you.” Anne says, a little more seriously than Sasha expects. “You and I both know I won’t, and it’s not fair of you to ask me to do something like that.”
Which hits home, because yeah, Sasha’s trying to give up control, and she wants to be better -- to make up for all the shit she did -- but this is just giving Anne another order, isn’t it? Shit , Sasha thinks, of course I fucked this up . “You’re right.” She says, and laughs because it’s so stupid, she had this big dramatic gesture planned and it’s just her falling into the same traps she always falls into. She droops, all her confidence starting to vanish. “This was stupid. I just…”
“Hey,” Anne says, and there’s a hand on Sasha’s face now, bringing her gaze back up to meet Anne’s eyes, which are warm and kind and have a hint of amusement in them, now, “I get the gesture, just… you know, I couldn’t ever hurt you, Sash. Not even if you start fucking up again. The most I could promise is to maybe kick your ass a little.”
Sasha leans into the contact and closes her eyes. She can’t help it. It’s so close to what she wants, even though she knows it’s not what Anne’s offering. “Well,” she murmurs, “I guess I’ll have to take what I can get, huh?”
There’s a small tug, and Anne pulls the sword out of Sasha’s hand, sticks it point-down into the ground. “Yeah,” she says, moving her hand back to grab Sasha’s hand again, her other hand still on Sasha’s face, “you will.”
Sasha takes a deep breath and tries to center herself again, prevent herself from doing something she’ll regret like trying to kiss Anne. “Thank you,” she says, “for putting up with me.”
“Trust me,” Anne says, and there’s a soft tone to her voice that makes every part of Sasha pay close attention, “it’s a lot easier than you think.” It happens so quickly that she almost doesn’t believe it’s happened, but Anne presses a soft kiss right on the corner of her mouth and steps back, blushing.
Sasha’s stunned. “Um,” she says, eloquently, “huh.”
“I know there’s… a whole lot happening right now,” Anne says, still blushing, but smiling at Sasha reassuringly, “and you and I have to… you know, work through everything, and Marcy, shit, we’ll have to talk to Marcy,” and if Sasha wasn’t busy feeling her entire world shift on its axis to something new and extremely wonderful, she’d probably interrupt here to tell Anne that the subject of Anne Boonchuy and her relationship with Marcy Wu and Sasha Waybright has been a topic of discussion between Sasha and Marcy for way longer than she, that is, Anne, probably realizes, “but… I think I love you too, Sash. All I could think about back on Earth was getting back to you and Marcy. Kind of had a few realizations, you know?”
Sasha, who knows exactly what kind of realizations Anne’s talking about, gives a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Hesitantly, extremely conscious of this fragile new thing Anne’s just brought into being between them, she loops an arm over Anne’s shoulder and pulls her in. “You uh,” she starts to say, then wonders if Anne is going to take this the wrong way, “you wanna see where I’ve been staying? It’s pretty late, and I dunno if you want to risk waking the Plantars up.”
There’s a faint blush on Anne’s face as she grabs the sword out of the ground with one hand and throws the other around Sasha’s shoulders so the two are linked together. “Yeah, okay. Lead the way, Waybright.”