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Pyrrha Dve was driving home. It had been a long time coming.
She had been called to the Agency almost thirty years ago now, and had finally said good riddance to John Gaius and his machinations. It was getting much too cult-like for her taste, and though it had killed her to say goodbye to Gideon, he had never needed her, and it was clear he would always place the mad-man above herself. She had somewhere else she knew she would always be wanted, and it was time to go back.
As she drove the battered truck down the dirt roads past the town that she had grown up in, the sun was just setting across the horizon and the sky was painted in splashes of orange, blue and purple in a way that reminded you about the simple things in life, the simple beauties. Corn fields spread for as far as the eye could see and a few silos stood lonely in their steadfastness, having been there since even before Pyrrha had been born.
The crush of the dirt beneath the tires didn’t quite wash out the sound from the old radio, crackly and playing some sort of guitar lick, a dozy old song about wheat and longing and love. The sound of crickets was starting to fill the air, disjointed with the rhythm of the song, but Pyrrha didn’t shut the window. Even though it was twilight, the air was still thick with the heat of the day, but was quickly dispersing, being replaced with the cool of a late spring evening. It was comfortable in its familiarity.
If she was honest, she wasn’t sure what kind of welcome she was expecting. It had been so long, she didn’t even rightly know if the farm was still owned by the old grump. Her partner of more than few years had been born an old woman, with an attitude to match, but there was something endearing about that. It spoke to Pyrrha in a way that nothing else did, and though she’d come close, she hadn’t been able to find anyone that made her feel quite as perfect.
Turning off the main road that lined the edge of a series of larger properties, she turned down into a drive, long and winding, making its way past a field full of sheep. Pyrrha snorted a laugh. At least it wasn’t cows.
Her amusement faded as the farmhouse came into view and a seed of anxiety took its place. She could have sworn it hadn’t changed even a tiny bit since she had last been here. Not even the old woman standing on the porch, weidling her shotgun like it was the most familiar thing in the world, was out of place.
Slowing down, Pyrrha, let the car slow to a stop, turning the engine off. The crickets were louder then, and she could hear the sigh of a light breeze through the crops. The bleating of a few of the sheep and the creaking of the wood of the house completed the symphony. It sounded like comfort.
Aiglamene hadn’t exactly raised the gun, but she hadn’t lowered it either, and it stayed in her hands as a silent threat. She looked almost the same as when Pyrrha had left, unchanged like the land around her. Her leg was still slightly wobbly, her back still ramrod straight, and she held herself with a dignity that was backed up with a long history of hard work and honesty. The only hint she was shocked were her eyes, very slightly wider than usual, watching the arrival like a hawk.
Getting out, Pyrrha started to walk towards her slowly, as if she was a scared animal that needed soothing, and she held her hands out, palms up. “I come in peace, Lady.”
Something shifted in Aiglamene at the words and though she didn’t start to cry, there was perhaps the prick of something liquid like in the corner of her eye. In the years they had known each other, Pyrrha had never seen her cry.
“Pyrrha. I didn’t expect you.” Her tone was clipped and perhaps more harsh than intended, but then again, she had never liked surprises. The gun dipped a little, pointing further into the ground.
With a cocky smirk and a glint of her green eyes, Pyrrha ran her hand through the remnants of her russet hair, cropped short still, but ready to start growing out. “I thought you’d like the surprise,” she lied smoothly. In reality, she had been shitting herself, wondering whether she would even be welcome. She hadn’t made the call because she was afraid of the answer to the question.
Aiglamene snorted and finally put the gun down on the bench next to the door. “Bullshit.”
“Okay, caught out.” Pyrrha approached closer, taking careful steps up onto the porch to join the woman in front of her. The woman she had been in love with before, and ever since. She almost reached out a hand as she got within touching distance, but restrained herself, her fingers merely twitching. Close like this, she could take in each of the familiar scars on Aiglamene’s face and the liver spots that were starting to form on her hands. The dark eyes that seemed to sear into her soul, always seeing more than Pyrrha let on. Her voice dropped, and an earthy hand reached up, offering itself. “I didn’t know what the reception would be like, so I didn’t ask.”
Her eyes and body language did not soften, but Aiglamene snorted once more and something changed underneath the exterior. A paler hand reached out to meet the brown one, and for the first time in a very long time, Pyrrha knew she’d made it home. They didn’t need words for this one. They never had needed words, really.
As she let herself be led into the house, Pyrrha made a pact then and there that she would never leave again, not even for the end of the world.