Work Text:
There is a certain type of comfort that can only be found on the open road.
It’s a peace earned in every mile eaten by car tires, and an anthem kept in time by the creak of old seats. Potentially elusive, and always hard-won, the consolation of both distance and mobility is a sweet thing to find whenever it can be had.
I know this song of solace well.
As a young girl, I slept in the backseat of many cars. I built makeshift sanctuaries from flatbed trucks and let the night sky blanket me between dust plumes off nameless, country roads. And older, at sixteen, I red-eyed hundreds of nights to pay back those who shepherded me to safety once upon a time. Road comfort always manifests in different vehicles, but it’s relief is a memorized sameness I’ve learned during a lifetime of running.
Before I learned I was a Necromancer, before I even knew I was a witch, I was a Dodger. And every Dodger knows one fundamental truth.
As long as the wheels keep moving, we’re safe.
I’ve held onto that single thread of truth since rescuing Raelle earlier because it feels like the only remaining absolute in my life. Between the denouement and death of General Alder, the attack on Fort Salem, and my sweet love—my Raelle—being arrested for murder…I feel like the entire world has distorted beyond even the capability of Nicte and the Spree. So, really, all I have is this outdated maxim from my old life as a converted prison transport carries me and Fort Salem’s finest along dark, forgotten roads.
The night is inky, the kind of black where the trees and sky, the whole of reality vanishes into oblivion beyond the errant touch of headlights. I stare out the window at it, face it unflinchingly, and squint to find gradients in the nothing. I do it because if I can find edges and shapes, if I can identify the unknown, maybe I can protect the thing most precious to me.
My beautiful Fixer, Raelle.
At the thought, my awareness shifts to the warmth of Raelle’s body where it touches mine. It’s a simple shoulder against my thigh, a palm pressed limply in sleep, and a head in my lap, but it’s enough to put warmth in my chest all the same. Head tipped down, I memorize the spill of blond hair against my black pants and resume an idle caress through Raelle’s wavy strands.
The motion is meditative and serves to not only ease Raelle deeper into sleep but helps take the edge off my anxiety in turn. I’d been afraid of so many things these past few weeks, losing Raelle chief among them. So, having concrete tactile proof my witch is close, safe, and unharmed—asleep in my lap—it feels like I can breathe again, and can keep breathing as long as Raelle allows this small comfort between us.
My hand finds its way to my chest, and my lungs fill with air reflexively. It’s easy, different in a way I haven’t felt before. I walk back my thoughts. Maybe I’m breathing for the first time.
While my fingers map the braiding on the side of Raelle’s head, my mind wanders back to my life two years ago.
In those days, I’d felt an immediate connection to Raelle. It was something I could draw on easily and leverage to build rapport with her. My affection for her, and hers for me, seemed a useful tool to exploit for the benefit of the Spree. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. During those early days, or more accurately nights, I spent a lot of time lying to myself when small glimmers of deeper emotions surfaced to punch me breathless. It was even harder to get air when I found myself falling in love, when the connection between Raelle and I became more important than ideology…when she meant more to me than the revenge that had kept me putting one foot in front of the other.
I’m still not sure when it happened exactly, but I do remember the morning I woke in Raelle’s arms and knew she’d reached into my chest and taken a hold of my heart. She’d possessed me, unwound my fury and pain, and tilted my whole world on its axis through the singular power of being her wonderful, genuine self.
And then, breathing was unbearable—impossible—under the weight of my guilt, and the fear of knowing that someday the lies I’d told would come crashing down around me.
But now we’ve been through all that. We’ve traveled the terrible road of betrayal, of anguish, and come out the other side. So, I can finally breathe. There’s no lies, no secrets between us. For the first time we have a common enemy, a united goal, and a future ahead of us.
Together.
I feel my lips twist with a frown, Raelle’s sleeping face coming back into focus below me.
As easy as it is, I can’t delude myself into believing all is well. Regardless of the kiss we shared a few hours ago and how demonstratively claiming it felt, I know there’s still work to be done in repairing our relationship. Raelle is brave, but she isn’t fearless. She harbors trust issues and fears of being abandoned, and I’ve literally done nothing but slam my hand onto those painful, triggering buttons. So, while we can push all that aside to enjoy the immediate relief of being together again, it will take time to really heal the damage of this road we’ve walked.
As much as I wish it were true, not everything can be fixed with a romantic rescue or even Raelle’s gifted work as a Fixer.
“You keep that up and I might get used to it.” Raelle’s voice floats up languidly from the darkness, and my heart skips a beat in response.
“Anytime. Just ask.” I continue the motion, offering a small, meaningful smile that Raelle echoes only briefly before it falls from her lips. A daring part of me opens my mouth and martyrs my heart to stave off the distance I feel growing between us. “You know I live only to make you happy.”
Despite how hard I try to keep my words teasing and flirty, a heavy silence settles between us even with the vehicle fighting valiantly to fill every second with sound. It’s not an unease between us for only the sins of the past, not really, but that pain is visible as an ugly, unspeakable wreckage between us. The confirmation of seeing my worst fears twists my heart until the sensation of suffocation is back.
Graciously, Raelle releases my heart from where her doubting expression has held it hostage. Her features shift and darken in a different, bitter way stemming from the reality we’ve suddenly found ourselves in.
We’re fugitives on the run from a government at least in part infiltrated by the long-reaching hands of the Camarilla. We’ve been betrayed by the country we’ve fought for, and at the mercy of those who may, or may not, care about our wellbeing. We’re terrified and tired. We’re running on empty.
And while I’ve been in this position for a large chunk of my life, on the run and finding comfort in brief instants between moving from place to place, it’s admittedly never felt quite so terrifying and dangerous before.
It was easy to rationalize dying for a cause when I had nothing to live for.
But things are different now…so, so different. I have something worth living for, worth fighting for. Someone whose love and power and promise are so sacred to me it sharpens the edge of fear inside me until it’s all I can feel sometimes. But with that terror, I’ve found a will to fight that I’ve never felt before. There’s no limit, no dark, depraved thing I won’t do, and no end to the havoc I’d wreak on those who want to harm the woman I love.
I scoop Raelle’s cheek, cradling her head closer in both comfort and acknowledgement of the truth in my thoughts.
I’d tear the world apart for her. My greatest cause.
My only salvation.
Raelle is the first to speak, rolling to her back to stare up at me. Ever gracious, she reads the conflict on my face and directs the conversation to someplace not so painful. I’m grateful for the reprieve.
“How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours.”
“What time is it?”
Raelle’s hand covers mine, reminding me I’m still holding her face. I watch, more than feel, her nudge it closer to the bow of her lips before placing a kiss to my sensitive palm. The simple motion, the sweetness in it, makes it hard for me to think. It’s intoxicating, and a painful showing of trust when I know I’ve shattered it seemingly beyond repair time and time again. I struggle to recall the question she asked, as her soulful eyes and sinful lips do their best to enflame the war already waging within me.
“I’m not sure.” I glance outside again to both judge the darkness and distract from the warmth of Raelle’s breath easing between my fingers. She places another kiss, this one low and lingering against my wrist, and I twitch in my seat. I don’t have to see Raelle's smug smile to know it's there, I feel the heat of it build beneath my hand.
“It’s…still very dark. Three, maybe?”
“Did you sleep?”
“Not really.”
“Why?” Genuine concern bleeds into her voice, and I pause, unsure what to say…of how much to say.
“It’s been a…difficult day.” I shift my hand to graze a thumb across Raelle’s lips before offering a tired but adoring look to her. She reads it plainly, not needing the words that most others do to understand me. Her brows knit together, eyes softening in solidarity for how hard it is to watch one another suffer.
“I know,” she whispers. “But I’m okay now. Or at least, I will be.”
I pause to really look inward and understand my feelings, and in doing so, I find there’s more I should say.
“I’m glad, but that’s not the only reason I haven’t slept.”
“Then why?”
“Because I love you.” I swallow to steady my voice. “Because I don’t know what the future will look like if I can’t fix what I’ve broken.” Once started, there’s a sudden unhinging sensation I feel, and then the words threaten to come without my conscious thought.
“Scyl—”
I place a gentle finger on Raelle’s lips.
“Let me get this out.” Those words and the moment building between us reminds me of other times where I spoke true words under the double-sided ruse of lies to myself and lies for a cause that doesn’t matter anymore.
The memories derail what I intended to say, and instead I find myself confessing other truths.
“Do you remember when I told you I didn’t know how to stop myself from running? That I’d never learned how to stop and stay? And as a Dodger I’d never learned how build lasting connection because people always left…I always left?”
Raelle nods, her lips soft, and pliant, and torturous under my fingers.
“What I did learn as a Dodger was how to surrender myself to other people. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been woken from a dead sleep by a stranger and told to run. As a child, I just trusted the truth in the words. I slept in unknown people’s vehicles and had to find comfort and safety even when I felt like there might not be any. I had to get okay with my life in the hands of others.”
I continue speaking, softer, ensuring what I say next is spoken for Raelle’s ears alone.
“If I think really hard about it, my childhood made the Spree or the Army the only possible outcome for my future. I will always need someone or something to galvanize me or guide me forward. And it doesn’t really matter if the forward path is toward war, or growth, or revolution.” I stare into my thoughts, a montage of past horrors and newer heroics playing. “If the Army hadn’t killed my family, if the Spree hadn’t found me first, I think my life would've been very different.”
I blink the thoughts away.
“What are you trying to tell me, Scyl?” Raelle’s eyes are all over my face, reading the book of words I’m offering and simultaneously stealing volumes that lie unspoken. She’s gonna let me say it, rather than guess at any one of the secret stories she’s taken from the library of my life.
“I’m trying—” Cutting myself off, I start again. “When I chose you, above the Spree, above the Army, it wasn’t just because I loved you, or just because I wanted to protect you. I chose you that day, and I’ve chosen you every day since as the person—woman—worth giving my whole life to. And even though I’ve gotten so much practice in surrendering myself to others, I’m afraid.”
Raelle’s eyes hold steady. “Afraid of what?”
My heart is pounding so loud I’m certain she can hear it in the small space between us, but I speak steady regardless of the gravity the words carry. “I’m afraid of what that future will look like if you can’t forgive me. What my life will be like—what my heart will feel like—if you never look at me like you once did.”
“How did I look at you?” She sounds breathless even though her words are warm on the pad of my finger.
“Like I’m your hero as much as you’re mine.”
She let’s go of an unsteady puff of air, and I breathe the warmth of her into my lungs. My fingers stroke her again with idle, soft movements that bring comfort to me in odd little ways. When Raelle doesn’t speak, I offer one final truth to the altar of our love.
“Because of my past, I’ll always find comfort in motion. It’s my safety and solace.” I slowly curl her honey and ash strands around my fingers. “So, while I’ve learned to stand still for you, a part of me will always be running. For now, and always, I want my only running to be my fingers through your hair. I want this motion to be where I find my peace the rest of my life.”
I stop speaking, my throat closed around the lump that’s formed to choke me silent. Like witches of old, I dangle from a noose ready to tighten and strangle me with a single word from another. Though melodramatic, the parallel feels apropos because I risk the death of my heart in place of my body all the same.
Raelle’s blue eyes are burning pyres of witchfire in the darkness, eternal and impossible in their depth. I can feel her words building on her tongue as if the weight of them rests on mine, too. The connection between us real and visceral in spite of everything that’s happened, and I cling to that absolute like a ship in a hurricane.
“Scyl?”
“Yes, Raelle?”
“You are my hero.”
Just as the words sink in and the rope around my heart drops me into freefall, Raelle surges up to press her lips to mine. This kiss, this reward is a salve on my aching emotions. It’s exactly like every kiss Raelle’s ever offered me—deep, hungry, and claiming in totality. This woman doesn’t know casual, doesn’t do fleeting. She couldn’t half-ass a single thing even if her life depended on it. Raelle is all fury, and intensity, and passion.
Her kisses are no different. If anything, they are the exemplar, the purest and most primal form of her power. I’m ripped breathless, knocked off balance, turned inside-out in a heartbeat from the strength of it, but then Raelle’s sure hand is cupped around the back of my head and centering my purpose.
In the long list of things I love about my beautiful Fixer this is my favorite.
How her hands possess me, know me, and work magic through my veins. No one before her, and none after, will have the power and surety of her touch. And in turn, none will ever have the ability to stoke my desire so hot it burns away all logical thought.
And with all my logical thought gone, all I want is her. Her hands, her lips, her touch dragging any manner of desperate pleas from my mouth. I want to return the favor in homage and worship. Raelle fists the hair at the nape of my neck and for a frantic moment, I comb my memory for any off-canon Spree tricks I could use to obscure the two of us from everyone else on the shuttle.
I come up empty, and nearly growl my frustration into her mouth. Yet, as I devolve into some ravenous, wild animal, Raelle is the picture of restrained seduction as she threads smoldering words into the gaps her tongue makes between my lips.
“I love you. I want you. I owe you for all the times you’ve saved my life lately. I’ll spend hours making it up to you.” Her sultry promises billow my blood to a boil so mind-numbing that I convince myself everyone must be asleep. They won't see us if they're asleep.
Shrugging my jacket off, I realize that right now I don’t even care if they do see. Raelle’s mouth tastes like home, and I'll shamelessly relearn every inch of it before her possessing hands can wipe my mind blank.
Then suddenly with the final fleeting sparks of my synapses, Raelle’s words land and gain meaning. They cool the building tempest, and despite Raelle’s ironclad grip on my neck, I ease back.
A trembling breath passes between us.
“You don’t owe me for that, love.”
Raelle’s eyes shift back and forth over mine, searching….no, finding. I’m found, and uncovered, and known all the way through.
“You’re beautiful, Scyl.” The breathlessness in Raelle’s voice, the wonder, thrusts red into my cheeks so quickly it makes me a little dizzy again.
“You’re ridiculous.” I deflect, and try to sit up, but Raelle holds me firm. She takes my chin then, angling my face to her like I’m a prism and she can see a different color in my soul with this changed position.
“No, Scyl, I’m not. When you look at me I can feel how much you love me. It makes your face…your eyes…everything.”
I can feel my lips moving in their desire to form words, but nothing comes out. I don’t think there is sentiment good enough to lend to this moment between us. So, I don’t speak. Instead, I put my forehead to hers, and let the slow seconds move past us. I soak in her, every breath and all the places where her touch puts warmth in my bones. Eventually, I become aware of heat under my palm, followed closely by the sensations of soft skin and the taut muscles of Raelle’s stomach.
The realization gut-checks my libido, and I pull in a slow steadying breath. My finger traces lightly, and I watch Raelle’s eyes flick down before finding mine again. A question forms in the arch of her brow.
“When we’re alone…I look forward to reaffirming what’s mine…starting right here.” I poke her tummy lightly and find little but muscle beneath my touch. I affect an air of teasing even as my imagination shows me all the many ways I can mark claim of her stomach. “Honestly though, Raelle. Did you do anything other than train? Your abs are like rock.”
The complement has the desired effect, and I savor the wide, satisfied smile that pulls at her cheeks. It doesn’t end until her smug, roguish expression is offset in symmetry by the scar I’ve grown used to kissing lines along. Her eyes glimmer with affection, and if I weren’t sitting, I’d risk swooning over the clear adoration she radiates for me.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I do, but don’t let it go to your head.”
She snickers, tossing me a teasing little salute as she sits up beside me. “Yes, ma’am.
I’m about to comment on the lackluster form of her gesture when the shuttle slows to a stop, shuddering despite the gentle deceleration. Whatever calm and comfort I’d found in the perpetual motion of the tires beneath us is wiped away instantly. Raelle’s fingers twist in mine as she stands, every line of her body alert and wary.
Tally and Abigail stand too, but I take private pleasure in knowing it was my Raelle who rose to the challenge first.
“Why have we stopped?” Abigail’s voice carries toward the front of the shuttle where Quinn has driven us a majority of the day. Aged in a comforting grandmotherly way, Quinn turns back to us, and I feel a great heaving sigh of relief when she smiles.
“We’re just outside the first stop, so let’s get ready now ladies.” She looks over to Nicte Batan, the leader of the Spree, and quite possibly the most dangerous witch I’ve ever known. Quinn’s face loses some of that matronly spark. “I assume we can rely on your Work to change the shuttle façade again?”
“Oh, I’m sure I can cook something up.” Nicte fixes her gaze on someone ahead of Raelle and I. “What ’cha think it should be, Red?”
“I don’t really care, as long as you do it effectively and stop calling me Red.”
Nicte shrugs. “Well, just for that I won’t make it a luxury tour bus.”
With that admittedly weird exchange completed, and confirmation of next steps outlined, we’re moving forward again toward the ghostly lights of a small town that unfolds in the gaps between the trees ahead of us.
Whispered voices and the swish of clothing and bags fills the vehicle, and I cast a look up at Raelle who hasn’t moved save to tighten her fingers in mine. I tug lightly on her hand, and her attention slides to me. I read the fear in her face, and counter it with a steady smile until she forces one of her own in offer.
“It’s going to be okay. I’ll teach you how to stay hidden.” Raelle falls to the seat beside me, nodding despite the pensive twitch that travels her lips. She puts her head on my shoulder, and I close my eyes leaning into her.
“I promise, I’ll keep you safe,” I whisper the pledge into her hair and seal it with a kiss to the tendrils there.
“I know.” She laughs under her breath a beat later.
“What?”
“Will you keep Abigail safe though?”
I scoff playfully because of course I would, without request or hesitation. She’s Raelle’s sister, so in a way, she’s my sister, too. And anyone who loves my witch, who she loves in return, gains my love regardless of anything else I might feel.
“I guess if I have to.”
My grousing prompts Raelle to peck a kiss to my cheek in acknowledgement of my faux sacrifices.
“See, I told you. You’re my hero.” She grips my chin again, bops my nose, and treats me to a smile that could lighten the whole of the world if given the chance.
So even when we pull up to the first of many safe houses, when she finally lets me go, and the warmth of Raelle’s touch fades as we shuffle into the shadows—she leaves me altered by the casual simplicity of her goodness.
In her, I find better comfort than an open road with the promise of safety and freedom could offer. Elusive and hard-won, she’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever found—a song of peace I’ve uncovered in the war-galvanized body of a soldier.
And beside her, still and anchored in her loving arms, I’m safe to sleep another night.