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The most inconvenient assignment on the most inconvenient day, and not so much as a ‘thank you’ card for her troubles. Sometimes Nicte really fucking hates being the President’s bitch.
Eyeing the briefcase in her hand, she scowls. Wade is shacked up with Marshall Horse in the Cession and wants to make the most of her first Beltane as a witch, so Nicte has to bring her whatever matter of national security is in this damn thing. Wade gave her no information beyond directions and a deadline. Nevermind Nicte had her own plans on the horniest day of the year, and those are now in shambles. What’s she supposed to say? ‘Sorry babe, Beltane’s off because I’m Wade’s slave now, have fun without me’? To make matters worse, apparently Wade’s made sure she has a babysitter for this stupid outing. There is only a tiny part of Nicte’s mind that hopes it might be Tally, because at least Tally she can spend ten hours in a car with without getting into a firefight.
When Nicte Farspeeches the news of her deployment to her would-be date, Sarah is remarkably unruffled.
“You know I can just meet you there. I don’t even need salva anymore.”
Nicte remains skeptical. Sure, Sarah can shroom-zoom at will, but Wade doesn’t know about their involvement. Weirdly enough, Nicte feels protective of their rekindled connection and doesn’t want some political bullshit getting in the way of the only thing she has left worth holding onto. “You want to bang in Horse’s Hotel of Horrors?”
Nicte can practically hear Sarah shrug. “There’s plenty of nice forest,” Sarah says idly. “I’m sure we could manage some privacy. A return to nature, if you will.”
“Outdoor sex really is your thing, isn’t it?” Nicte cracks, half annoyed, half amused. She almost wishes Sarah was more pissy so she could shove that irritation back on Wade or her unlucky travel partner.
“You don’t exactly seem opposed yourself, my dear.”
“I’m just catering to your kinks,” Nicte assures Sarah, a smirk curling her lips.
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“I told you, I’m happy to serve, General Fungus.”
Sarah sighs heavily, mild exasperation trickling into her tone. “Don’t you have something to do other than irritate me? Wade’s not known for her patience, much like someone else I know.”
Nicte preens at her special ability to ruffle her partner’s feathers and almost feels better about this whole clusterfuck. “Yes, but this is so much more fun.”
“Goodbye, Nicte,” Sarah says flatly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Oh, you definitely will.” Sarah doesn’t answer, so Nicte pokes her from a distance again. “Wear something nice, sweet cheeks. And skip the weird-ass eyeshadow this time, you looked like David Bowie and not in a good way.”
Sarah doesn’t verbally respond, but there is a feeling until their connection breaks.
Nicte is definitely getting railed against a tree tonight. Perfect. She’ll let Sarah have her fun, and then she’ll take her whole. Again and again.
***
Turns out, her mission partner isn’t Tally or some random Secret Service agent she needs to babysit. It’s M, and Nicte already feels annoyed at the swagger in their step as they approach their assigned vehicle.
“How long is this supposed to take?” M asks.
“About ten hours, one way.”
M lets out a low whistle. “Good thing neither of us had any plans, huh?”
Nicte’s glare is like sandpaper. She almost wonders if M is fishing, but doesn’t want to entertain the idea of a discussion about her sex life. “Could be faster if Wade would let me Push the cops to leave us alone.”
That’s one of Wade’s conditions: Nicte can’t use any Work without her permission or else risk going back to jail. It’s barbaric, and if she didn’t have Sarah waiting in the shadows to bonk her over the head with a frying pan, Nicte would probably take a chance or two on occasion. But she does, so she doesn’t.
“Can you blame her?” M cuts into her murdery thoughts. “You’re not exactly known for responsible use of power.”
Nicte scoffs. “What would you know about power? You didn’t even graduate War College.”
“I’m about to,” retorts M. “Ever heard of distance education?”
Eyes rolling, Nicte grumbles, “I can already tell this trip will be the highlight of my life.”
It takes all of Nicte’s sparse self-control to place the briefcase gently in the trunk of the tiny two-door sedan. She makes up for it by plunking down hard in the driver's seat and slamming the door, then begins to fiddle with the adjustment levers. Whoever drove this thing last had gargantuan legs, and it’s taking a second to figure out how to change shit around.
Buckling up beside her, M sasses, “Why exactly do I need to go with you, again?”
Nicte doesn’t look up and keeps fiddling. “She only trusts me with the damn briefcase, for some goddess unknown reason. Probably because I can’t say no to her without risking my freedom.” She scowls more, inching the seat forward a bit at a time, and grunts with effort between words. “I guess I need supervision or whatever. And apparently whatever it is is too sensitive to fly, so here we are.”
M shrugs, still casual. “Whatever, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nicte grumbles, and immediately regrets it. So much for not taking the bait.
M’s smirk is triumphant. “Oh, you have a Beltane date?”
“None of your beeswax, Baldie.”
Nicte is keenly aware that M is watching her every move as she continues her battle with the seat. This shitbox is ancient and she’s cranked the height lever about twenty-five times by now, her arm burning with effort. It’s humiliating, and not even the threat of Sarah roasting her on a spit will keep her powers in check if Mr. Clean over there says anything.
M cocks their head, smirk only growing. “Can you see over the steering wheel yet?”
Nicte’s hackles fly up. “Yes,” she hisses, “shut the fuck up, not everyone is a freak of nature.” She abandons the height lever and moves on to adjusting the side mirrors, pretending her cheeks aren’t burning.
“We could get you a booster seat,” suggests M, and it takes everything inside Nicte not to ignite this whole vehicle with them still in it.
Nicte shoots them a withering glare and lights her face on fire instead. She doesn’t wear her real one out in public these days, the execution footage kind of ruined her anonymity.
The flames fade and she settles into her new body, only to find herself once again unable to reach the pedals. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
M dissolves into a fit of laughter beside her and Nicte has to suppress a small smile of her own. She’d give Lou shit for this if she was here, and M’s laughter is kind of infectious. She’s almost reminded of Tally’s giggling at her expense and how it never came across as malicious. M’s not Tally by any means, but Nicte supposes she could be stuck with someone much worse for an impromptu road trip.
Once she’s reevaluated the seat’s position, she kicks the car into gear and drives.
***
It takes two whole hours for Tally to come up. M wonders out loud if she’s fast-tracking through War College still and Nicte pretends it doesn’t bother her that she never heard about Tally’s plan to do so in the first place.
M asks casually, “You think Tal’s having a better Beltane than us?”
Nicte makes a face and crunches her grip on the steering wheel. “She’s definitely with that Gregorio guy.”
M shrugs, unperturbed. “Greg’s nice enough.”
‘Greg’. Nicte tries not to gag at the idea. “Since when is Tally into nice?”
“I think Tally’s into a lot of different things.”
“How would you know?”
M raises an eyebrow and Nicte slams on the brakes, landing them in the shoulder lane. She twists in her seat and snarls in M’s direction. “What the fuck? Did you fuck her?”
M blinks, caught off guard by such a sizeable reaction. “What? No, we just kind of had a moment at Yule. A few moments, actually.” They narrow their eyes. “Why does it bug you so much?”
“Oh, a moment. Riiiiight,” drawls Nicte, who’s trying to retame the feral wolverine she’s barely kept a lid on when it came to ‘Gregally’. “You wanna know about all the ‘moments’ we’ve had, Ken doll? They involve a tent and lots of hand-to-hand combat with funtime choking.”
M stiffens, shoots her a wary glare. “You and Tally?”
“No, me and your mom,” Nicte snaps back. “Of course me and Tally.” She feels itchy even bringing it up, looks away and broods.
M’s eyelids flutter. “Wow, okay. She has interesting taste.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m interesting, unlike some people.”
M scoffs. “Why would you assume I’m boring? You know literally nothing about me.”
Nicte takes it as a challenge. “Okay, tell me something interesting about yourself.”
“I’m a contortionist,” answers M, not missing a beat.
“A what?”
“I’m bendy,” they state again. “I can put myself in all kinds of positions.”
“Title of your sex tape.” Nicte’s smirk returns; some of the wolverine energy subsides.
M chuckles as though they can sense it. “I’m serious, though. Makes me a good agent, I can get into those hard-to-reach areas.”
“Sure,” drawls Nicte. M’s smirk is goading her into another ‘that’s what they said’ moment, so she opts to let the joke pass. “And I’m working for Wade out of the kindness of my heart.”
“Fine, I’ll prove it to you when we stop for snacks.” M turns on the radio to change the subject.
“We are not stopping for snacks,” Nicte grumbles as she pulls the car back out on the road.
“You’re gonna go ten whole hours without eating?”
“Difficult on Beltane, but I can try,” deadpans Nicte.
M shakes their head decisively. “I’m the supervisor, remember? And I say we’re stopping for snacks.”
“Pulling rank, wow. That’s low.”
“Almost as low as your center of gravity.”
Nicte scoffs and tries not to acknowledge a tingle of amusement at the jab. “I could tie you in a giant knot and leave you on the side of the road with my mind, you know.”
M grins, nonplussed, and lets the idle threat go.
Nicte continues to drive and gets a good ten minutes of blessed silence before M speaks up again.
“If you like Tally so much, why did you leave?”
Nicte blinks out of the haze she was stuck in. “What?”
“You left her in that hotel, at the mercy of the Council.” M isn’t glaring at her, isn’t accusing when Nicte looks. They seem genuinely curious.
Fighting a grimace, Nicte explains, “If I’d taken her along it would have caused an international incident. Besides, Horse would’ve noticed if she tried to bolt. It was different for me, I wasn’t who Silver was after.”
“Scylla stayed,” M points out. “She wasn’t worried about her own skin.”
“Scylla’s an idiot,” Nicte snaps, feeling that tug of the wolverine stirring inside her again. She refuses to apologize for making a decision to survive, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it. “I’ve spent almost thirty years on the run, you think I was gonna stick around just to get extradited?” M says nothing, so Nicte pushes, “Besides, you left too.”
“I was under orders.”
“And I was in deep shit.” Nicte shoots them a sour glare, a storm brewing in her eyes. “If I’d stayed, I would’ve died, and you know it. Silver may not have been after me, but he would’ve put on a show. Probably burned me at the stake. Can you fucking blame me?”
To their credit, M takes a long moment to consider this. Finally, they admit, “That’s fair, I guess.”
“You guess,” scoffs Nicte. She glowers out at the road, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on the wheel. “It was hard, okay? I didn’t want to leave her. There was just nothing else I could do. At least if I was free, maybe I could help later on. And I did, if you recall. If I hadn’t saved your asses in the snowstorm, who would’ve ended the trial, huh? I did save her, I just needed the opportunity.”
It doesn’t take a genius to see M knows Nicte is talking to herself as much as them, and she wishes she had the freedom of her bats to carry her away right now. She knows she’s a selfish asshole, that’s news to no one, but now Tally’s felt it for herself and they’ve barely talked in months. Nothing bothers Nicte more than knowing she didn’t stay for Tally’s sake alone, even if her reasons for running were the right ones.
“Tally asks about you,” M says casually, and Nicte nearly drives the car into a tree. M grabs the holy-shit handle and opts not to bring it up when they steer back to the center line. “I don’t think she’s holding onto any grudges. Besides, you’re right, you did save her by proxy in the end, so I’m sure she appreciates you coming through for us in the woods.”
Nicte’s still emoting on the inside and she hates it. “And apparently she appreciated it so much she shacked up with the nearest pretty boy the second she was free,” she growls icily. “She barely even acknowledged me at the wedding, she was too busy fawning all over him.”
“I remember. I was there.” M sounds about as pained as Nicte feels, which surprises her.
She glances over at them. “I guess that couldn’t have been easy for you to watch either, if you had a thing.” Does Tally even fucking realize how many hearts she breaks wherever she goes? Goddess, sometimes Nicte wonders how that girl’s head works.
M shrugs. “I don’t care who Tally sleeps with. Would just be nice to feel like I mean something to her.”
“You do, if that helps.” Nicte licks her lips and drums another rhythm on the wheel. “She always spoke highly of you.”
“Yeah, as her coven leader.” M doesn’t look convinced, and Nicte’s not particularly great at pep talks, so they let the subject fade.
***
As promised, M puts their contortionism on display when they stop for snacks. Nicte was kind of hoping they’d forget, because it’s a waste of fucking time, but even she can admit it’s an entertaining sight. Sensing an opportunity for blackmail, she grabs one of the fancy stakeout cameras from its case in the trunk. Swiftly screwing on a lens, she starts snapping photos of M, who’s currently on their belly and gripping their ankles, their legs hooked over their shoulders.
“Why?” M asks suspiciously, squinting at her from between their knees.
“Evidence,” Nicte says smugly. “Hey, next time someone doesn’t believe you, you can just whip these out.” Repositioning the camera and stealthily adjusting the setting, she adds, “Go on, show me more of those positions of yours.”
M’s eyes narrow as they exit the pose. “Are you filming me?”
Nicte scoffs. “Of course not.”
“You totally are.”
“I’m just taking pics for your circus portfolio or whatever,” insists Nicte, zooming in on M’s petulant expression.
M rolls their eyes but continues the show, this time bending their legs the other way. They end up balancing on their hands with one leg behind their head, the other stretched out in front of them.
“Bravo, Baldie,” Nicte says mockingly, hoping M can’t tell that she’s actually impressed.
Eyes narrowed once again, M says, “It is a video.”
Nicte smirks. “Maybe.” She can’t resist sending a gleeful little Push their way, and they promptly lose their balance, faceplanting on the grass. Zooming in once again, she teases, “Ooo, yikes. You okay there, kiddo?”
“I’m fine,” grumbles M, dusting off as they get to their feet. “Just a bit out of practice is all.”
“Uh huh,” deadpans Nicte. “Can we get the snacks now, or are we going to be here all day?”
The gas station store is large, unfortunately, which leads to M hopping from aisle to aisle, taking forever to decide. Sadly even with all that variety, they don’t have any bubble tea. Nicte settles for a root beer and ice cream sandwich and finds M in the chocolate aisle.
“You insisted, you pay,” she says, dumping the stuff in M’s arms. Jinging the bathroom key, she tells them, “I need to pop a squat."
M rolls their eyes. “Can you at least give me the keys so I’m not waiting forever?”
“Be my guest.” Nicte shoves the car keys in their pocket and turns for the bathroom.
She doesn’t think anything of it until she exits the store a few minutes later and tries to open the car door, finding it locked.
“M.” Nicte raps on the window, and M barely even spares her a glance. Face pinching, she knocks again. “M, let me in.”
M leans in to roll the window open a crack and shoot her an impish grin. “Aw, aren’t you gonna say please?”
Glowering at them, Nicte threatens, “Please let me in or I’ll make you break your own neck.”
M smirks. “How would you explain that one to Wade?”
“How would you explain leaving me behind?” Nicte shoots back.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” M says flatly.
“Then what is this?”
“Revenge for Pushing me,” they inform her. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know my own body.”
Nicte smirks. “I’m sure you do. No doubt you use your bendy skills for some self-care from time to time, huh?”
M cocks an eyebrow and their head. “Are you gonna apologize or not?”
“It would be a lie,” says Nicte. M doesn’t budge, and she rolls her eyes. “Fine, I acknowledge that Pushing you was unnecessary and unkind. It also just so happened to be funny.”
M’s narrowed eyes don’t disguise the hint of a smirk pulling at their lips. “Good enough.”
They unlock the door and Nicte yanks it open, glaring at them as she plunks down and slams it behind her. She pushes out a deep breath as she buckles up, cursing herself for letting this overgrown fetus get under her skin. She’s the powerful one here, supervisor status aside. She should act like it.
“So,” she says expectantly, turning to them with a raised eyebrow, “how many hours to go?”
M chuckles sheepishly, eyes falling to their lap. “Ummm, six? Seven?”
“Mm-hm,” she hums pointedly. “Now aren’t you glad you let me in? You know, so I can drive us?”
“Don’t let me stop you,” says M, gesturing at the highway.
Nicte rips open her ice cream sandwich and takes a big bite, taking her time chewing it before finally starting the engine.
***
They stop again two hours later for gas and lunch, and switch drivers while they’re at it. M has even more trouble getting settled in than Nicte did, and her grin is petty and downright gleeful as she watches them struggle to even get their legs in the door, let alone the cockpit.
“You ready yet?” she prods as they buckle up. “Wade won’t wait forever.”
“I can barely work the pedals, the seat’s so close,” they tease in return.
“Hilarious,” deadpans Nicte. As M reaches down for the adjustment levers, she gives them a little Push to slide the seat forward instead.
“Oh my goddess, ack!” Their helpless flailing makes Nicte cackle.
“What’s wrong?” she teases. “Thought you were a contortionist.”
“That’s against the rules,” groans M, face pinched with pain and knees hovering somewhere around their ears.
“What,” taunts Nicte, “you gonna rat me out to Wade?”
M lets out a frustrated noise somewhere between a laugh and a whine. “Come on, let me out, I’m in the fucking birthing position over here!”
“Fine.” Nicte releases them from the Push with a dismissive wave of her hand, satisfied with their reaction. That’ll show ‘em who’s boss, if they know what’s good for them.
Sliding the chair back with a sigh of relief, M wiggles the tension out of their legs. They shoot Nicte a half-hearted glare, trying and failing to hide the beginnings of a smile. “You are such a jerk.”
“I know, it’s all part of my charm,” Nicte assures them, sliding on her shades with a smirk.
The glasses aren’t just for protection from the sun; Nicte’s feeling the need to shed her disguise. She’s been using too much power on trivial and petty things (not that she regrets it), and she needs as much power as possible in case of an ambush. They still have another five hours to go until she can charge up, thanks to President Twatblock, so back to her base layer it is.
Doing a quick check for any bystanders, Nicte flicks her lighter and sighs in relief as Lou’s face burns away. Much better. It takes significantly more magic to play nesting dolls with her disguises, as much fun as that can be. But cutting power usage runs its own risks, so she flips her hood up and slouches down in her seat. Wade would get pissy if she had to Push anyone to forget they saw her.
“You know you look even more sketchy now, right?” M teases as they roll up to the exit. They take a moment to shoulder check, their expression softening as they catch another glimpse of her. Frowning as they pull onto the highway, they commiserate, “That must be annoying, having to hide your real face all the time.”
“You have no idea,” grumbles Nicte.
M raises an absent-minded eyebrow and shoots her a glance. “Hm?”
Nicte frowns, debating whether M can be trusted with such sensitive information, let alone if she wants to share it. Admittedly she is mildly self-conscious about the whole Freddy Krueger thing she has going on, and the only person she ever trusted enough to show is busy boinking ‘Greg’ and making her feel like a fool. On the other hand, she’s gotten oddly comfortable with M in the last five hours. Still, she can’t let them know that, so she keeps a little snark in her tone as she points at her face and tells them, “This isn’t even my real face, doofus.”
M scoffs. “You’re full of shit. I was at the execution, remember?”
“This is my old real face,” Nicte explains. M still looks incredulous, so she insists, “I was around at the Martyrdom, you really think I’m this young? Do the math.”
“You were wearing a collar, that’s impossible,” they say.
“No it’s not,” Nicte informs them. “The collar keeps you from singing seeds, it doesn’t block other types of Work or interrupt Workings in progress. Thankfully no one thought to try to burn this face off.” She smirks. “And why would they? It’s gorgeous.”
“Mm-hm,” hums M, neither confirming nor denying.
Nicte cocks an eyebrow, feigning offense. “What? I’m not your type?”
“I prefer to date people who aren’t mean to me.”
Nicte huffs and lounges back in her seat. “Like I said, boring.”
M scoffs. “How is that boring? It seems like a completely reasonable criterion.”
“Oh wow, big words,” teases Nicte. “Guess you’re smarter than you look.”
“Apparently you’re into Tally. She’s nice.”
“Tally isn’t nice to me,” Nicte mutters, glaring out the window. “She’s kind, there’s a difference. No one has given me more shit in my life.”
M considers this a moment, finally surmising, “So you like someone who challenges you?”
“I guess so.” Nicte glances over at M, taking in their profile. Not bad, either. “Why don’t you have a Beltane date?” she questions. “You’re a handsome fella, I’m sure you could find someone to bang the night away.”
“I could, and I have.” M shrugs. “It’s just always awkward with someone new. A lot of people are so used to the guy-girl or girl-girl script, they don’t know how to treat someone like me.”
“Makes sense,” muses Nicte. She doesn’t have that problem very often; she keeps her own gender stuff a lot closer to the vest and has only shared it with a handful of partners. It’s not that she’s ashamed of it or anything, she just doesn’t see how it’s anybody’s business. Still, she knows the feeling of people treating you in a way that feels wrong based on some bullshit script.
“It’s just tricky finding someone that sees me for me,” mutters M, eyes glazed and trained on the highway. “People see everything as so black and white, girl and boy.” Giving their head a shake, they glance at Nicte and twitch their mouth in apology. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go off. I know you don’t get it.”
Nicte’s eyebrows arch behind her glasses. “Wow, and I’m the one making assumptions.”
M squints at her. “How is that an assumption?”
“Did you ever bother to ask?” snarks Nicte. “I’m the same as you, I just haven’t made any—” she gestures at M’s body “—changes like you have.”
“Why not?” asks M, gaze and voice genuinely curious.
“Don’t really feel the need.” Nicte shrugs. “Besides, I can shapeshift. If I wanna be a guy, I can be a guy.”
“That must be nice,” remarks M.
“It is,” Nicte says flatly.
M averts their eyes, fidgeting awkwardly with the wheel. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Everyone calls you ‘she’.”
Eyebrow twitching, Nicte mutters, “People can call me whatever they want. But most of them don’t know, so ‘she’ it is.”
M glances back at her. “Does Tally know?”
“I don’t know,” admits Nicte. “Wouldn’t surprise me, but I never explicitly told her.”
“You should,” they say. “We talked about all that stuff, at Yule. She’s not weird about it or anything.”
Nicte gives a noncommittal hum. “Maybe.”
M stares out at the road a moment, their mind somewhere else. Finally, they remark, “You know, I’ve only met a few other witches like us. And a few more who switched over entirely.”
“There’s more in the Spree,” Nicte informs them. “A lot of them dodge before they get pushed into the bullshit binary system and forced to breed.”
“They didn’t force me to.”
“Yeah, well, you were open about it. Not everyone is so comfortable.” Peering curiously at her companion, Nicte remarks, “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised. Collar said she was required to breed, and she’s not into guys.”
“I guess when it’s a gender thing it’s different?” M muses with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not the last of my line or anything, like her.”
Nicte squints. “What is your line, anyway?”
“Technically I don’t have one anymore,” says M. “Why do you think I don’t have a last name?”
That strikes a chord somewhere in Nicte’s chest, triggering a sympathetic frown. “Only an idiot would disown you.”
M cocks a sassy eyebrow. “You like me?”
“Pfft, no,” scoffs Nicte.
That gets a tiny smile out of her companion, but it doesn’t last. “Nobody disowned me,” they explain. “I had to disown my line to get the exemption, it was a whole thing.”
Nicte’s eyebrows arch. “That’s fucked up. But hey, that’s the Imperative for you,” she grouses. Clapping a hand on M’s shoulder, she assures them, “It’s just a formality. You still have a name, a family, even if it’s not on paper.”
“Thanks.”
The exchange catches them both by surprise, and after an awkward moment of half staring, half smiling, they fall into a comfortable silence.
***
They hit the border of the Cession right on time, with minimal traffic. Nicte reassumes her disguise and settles into an expression that she hopes passes for ‘kind’ and ‘non-threatening’, but that’s a stretch given it’s Louise of all people.
M is still driving and they pull a little too close to the guard booth, hitting the traffic cone beside it in the process. Nicte growls, shooting them a dirty look for drawing attention.
A short and rather gorgeous guard comes out of the booth, giving them a good glare as M rolls down the window. “You have the smallest car and still you manage to hit the thing?”
M is visibly flustered. “Sorry ma’am, I just didn’t want you to have to walk out into the road.”
“It’s literally what I do all day,” the woman deadpans. Holding out an expectant hand, she adds, “Documents, please.”
Keeping silent as per the plan, Nicte simply watches M interact with the guard and hopes no Pushing becomes necessary. It takes her a minute to realize M isn’t floundering because they’re worried Nicte could get caught, it’s because they’re totally into the guard that keeps barking orders and gruff responses as she grills them. M’s red behind the ears and a hell of a lot more twitchy than usual, and Nicte’s grin slowly begins to return.
It would be so, so easy to make this worse and watch the chaos unfold, but that little bit of survival instinct she’s always clinging to doesn’t want to take the chance. So Nicte bites her tongue until they’re clear of the border, waiting a good thirty seconds to start in again.
“Wow, so you’re into short and mean, huh?” M says nothing, so Nicte chuckles. “I should hook you up with my ex.”
“Who’s that?” M refuses to look her way but can’t hide the blush still coloring their skin.
Nicte gestures at her current disguise. “Chef Louise.”
That drags the soldier from their humiliation. M glances over, surprised. “Wait, you know her?”
“Unfortunately.” Now that they’re free and clear, Nicte burns Lou’s face off again, leaving her in her baseline regular mask. M is studying her closely, as if trying to geometry around the fact that Nicte spent two years with the woman whose face she now commits crimes in. Unfortunately that opens up the potential for far too many personal questions, so Nicte gets back to the point.
“Thought you said you like people who are nice to you.” Amusement dances in her eyes. “I thought you were this close to bending over and asking the border guard to spank you for being a bad soldier. Woof.”
M briefly closes their eyes and emits a painful groan, and Nicte starts laughing. “Can it, Batan. I’m just relieved that your papers cleared and I don’t have to explain to Wade or Tally how you got yourself killed because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”
“For the record, a little light spanking can do a soldier some good,” teases Nicte, flashing a sultry smirk. She doesn’t mention how Sarah likes a little punishment every now and again. Something about being in charge all the time and letting go of that pesky need to control things. “Don’t change the subject. We’re discussing your hypocrisy here, and how to expand your Beltane options if you uncork your screw from your usual standards.”
Rolling their eyes, M huffs, “For your information, I can find someone appealing and still know it’s a bad idea.”
The admission catches Nicte by surprise and she flashes M a delightful grin. “Me too,” she says. “Doesn’t stop me, though. I like a good challenge.”
They share a knowing smirk and M gives the engine a little more fuel.
***
Nicte’s driving again in the final legs of the journey, and her bones are aching from sitting in this fucking car forever. M has been dozing on and off, leaving her with nothing but silence for company, and that’s fine with her. This road trip has led to what she almost dares to call ‘bonding’ and she needs to keep her reputation as an elusive, untouchable asshole intact.
“What’s the deal with your true face?”
The mumbled question catches Nicte off guard and she snaps a hard glare to the side. “Excuse you?”
M’s eyes are kind, their demeanor soft. It’s unnerving, but it takes Nicte’s defensive hackles down a notch.
“I just mean…” M scrunches their brow and looks curious. “Something about the way you said it earlier. I thought maybe you were just older and didn’t like it, but then you still have gray hair. So I thought, if it’s just age, why wouldn’t you hide that too?” Their look deepens, and something on Nicte’s face must’ve given her vulnerability away. “Something happened to keep you from living with it?”
Nicte crunches her grip around the steering wheel and clicks her jaw. “Look at the circus freak with the mental gymnastics,” she croons, an underlying layer of danger to her tone. “Better watch out or those thoughts might get you in trouble some day, kid.”
M seems unperturbed. “Fair enough.” They look out the window again but keep sneaking glances at Nicte. “I won’t say anything, you know. If anyone can understand wanting to be different than who you are on the outside, it’s me.”
That removes another layer of Nicte’s growliness when she answers, though the words come over a minute later. “A lot of reckless Work experimenting in my 20s. I left the Army and…” she trails off, not really looking to rehash her past with Sarah, particularly if it leads to their current involvement. That’s a secret just for them. When she fails to find a simpler way to explain what happened to her, she shrugs off the attempt entirely. “Anyway, just watch yourself when you’re growing your powers. Fixers can’t heal everything.”
M’s emanating sympathy and they ignore how Nicte squirms under it. “Does your partner know?” Another sharp glare and they hold up their hands. “Hey, you mentioned having Beltane plans you’re pissed about missing, it doesn’t take mental contortion to get that you’ve got someone. It’s clearly not Tally and I have a hard time imagining you being open with anyone else I’ve ever met, though to be fair I don’t really know you.”
Nicte’s brood-O-meter is high and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “No,” she answers shortly, “they don’t. Why the third degree? I was so looking forward to not killing you by hour ten.”
Eyes drifting to the horizon, M muses, “I don’t know. I guess I feel like I have to hide myself from people in my life sometimes, in case it makes them uncomfortable. Like I have to chip away a little bit of myself to conform for everyone else’s comfort.” They glance Nicte’s way but know well enough not to reach out with an empathetic touch, not yet. “I’m sorry you have to feel that way too.”
“Who says it’s for anyone else?” scoffs Nicte. “You really think I’m the type to conform for other people’s comfort? I’m not you, soldier boi.”
M’s eyes flicker, squinting softly. “So it’s for you? The hiding?”
Nicte’s eyes all but roll out of her skull. “What can I say, I can be a little vain sometimes. So sue me.”
M laughs, taking the unspoken cue and easing off the 20 questions. “Hey, that’s fair. Sometimes I wonder if anyone using that kind of Work has ever forgotten what their base layer even looks like. It’s trippy stuff, kind of cool when you take all the murder and deceit out of the equation.”
The remark, casual as it is, takes Nicte by surprise. Collar and Bellweather were so opposed to using the Work, she kind of expected their coven leader to find it abhorrent as well. Though to be fair, M has reason to find it fascinating, and they remind Nicte more of Tally than the other two. They have her candor, her curiosity and sympathy. Most annoyingly, they also have her ability to procure sympathy from unlikely sources.
Scowling at the thought, Nicte turns her attention back to the road. They’re almost there. She just needs to survive another half hour with this wannabe empath, then she can lose herself in the familiar comfort of her emotionally stunted girlfriend — or whatever they are — and take a little pleasure without the emotional flaying. Today’s been a lot more get-to-know-you than she’s ever been comfortable with, meanwhile she and Sarah are so far past being able to work out the details of their shit that they decided ‘fuck it’ and then literally went right back to fu–
A sudden, muffled buzzing from the trunk nearly makes Nicte swerve into the meridian. Goddess, since when is she so jumpy?
“Uh, what’s that?” asks M, eyes wide and uneasy.
“How the fuck should I know?” grumbles Nicte, subtly catching her breath.
“It’s your briefcase.”
“It’s Wade’s briefcase,” she shoots back.
The quick, rhythmic buzzing continues, and M’s eyes dart between Nicte and the trunk. “Do you think it’s a bomb?”
“Please,” scoffs Nicte. “As if Wade would ever trust me with explosives.”
Frowning, M quietly muses, “Maybe she needed someone expendable to carry them.”
“Fuck you, I’m not— we are not expendable,” argues Nicte. “It’s probably just a pager or something.”
The buzzing grows louder, and M shifts uneasily. “Batan…”
“Goddess above,” huffs Nicte, swerving over to the shoulder. “Fine, I’ll check it out, if that will shut you up.”
M looks surprised. “She gave you a key?”
“I don’t need one,” Nicte informs them as she unbuckles. “Craven’s not the only one with x-ray vision around here.”
A moment later they’re both standing behind the car, and Nicte eases the trunk open. M reaches for the briefcase handle and Nicte slaps their hand away.
“Don’t touch it,” she scolds them. Then she takes a deep breath and focuses her energy, engaging her Sight. The first thing she Sees is a couple pairs of handcuffs. Then a surprising amount of lace. And then…
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” hisses Nicte, eyes scrunching shut in frustration as she finds the source of the noise.
“What?” asks M, looking like they’re three seconds away from calling in a back-up squad.
Nicte growls, long and low. “I am going to murder that woman. I’m going to murder her and feed her to my bats for breakfast.”
Something about Nicte’s ornery response makes M chuckle nervously. “Uh, I probably have to arrest you for saying that about our President, you know.”
Unamused, Nicte grabs their hand. “Look,” she says, forcibly Linking and extending her vision to the other party.
M gasps, first at the sensation and then at the image. “Oh… oh my.”
“Yep, this is what we’ve wasted our Beltane on.”
“Quite the collection,” remarks M. They squint. “Is that a ball gag?”
Nicte huffs and tosses her hands, breaking free of M’s grip. “I can’t fucking believe this. Is this a joke?”
“It does kind of feel like one of those hidden camera shows,” admits M. Their eyes bulge and they quickly, loudly add, “By the way, Nicte is totally joking about wanting to kill the President.”
“No I’m not,” Nicte snarls, and promptly slams the trunk. She stalks back to the driver’s seat and slams that door too, for good measure. She barely even waits for M to buckle up before stepping on the gas. She has fucking had it with this trip, and needs it to be over.
That damn buzzing continues to grate at Nicte’s nerves, her hands clenching the steering wheel as she speeds down the highway. After a few minutes it finally dies down to a tolerable level, and M glances back at the trunk again.
“Well,” they mutter, “at least she packed extra batteries.”
Nicte snorts, and it devolves into a snicker. Before she knows it, they’re both giggling like a couple of schoolchildren, and Nicte has to slow down so they don’t careen off the shoulder.
“I hope Horse knows what he’s in for,” M wheezes, bending over in a failed attempt to catch their breath.
Nicte swipes at the burning in her eyes and wonders when the last time she laughed this hard was. “Please, the old stallion’s probably got Viagra up the wazoo.”
“He’s about to have something up the wazoo,” M cracks, and they both dissolve into laughter again. If the President is indeed watching through secret means, she deserves to hear it.
***
It takes everything inside Nicte to hold it together when she passes off the briefcase a short time later. Wade is acting totally normal, and Nicte doesn’t bother to hide the fact that she’s glaring.
“Smooth trip?” Wade asks, and Nicte reminds herself there are no conjugal visits for terrorists in prison.
“I’ve had worse,” she bites instead, but she’s secretly smirking when she side-glances M. M, to their credit, barely cracks a smile and straightens their posture. Jesus, they’re just as much of a goody-two-shoes as Tally, and Nicte’s gonna have to work on loosening them up in the face of authority.
“Batan behaved admirably,” M states back, and this time does actually laugh when both Wade and Nicte share a look of bewilderment. “What? I’m alive and she didn’t hex anyone into oblivion. I call that a win.”
Nicte’s glaring, and Wade is starting to smile herself. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope you two would hit it off,” she admits. “I felt you’d be compatible, and Beltane of all days is the time to form new connections, or so I’m told.”
M’s jaw slips, mortified. “Wait, you were trying to hook us up?”
Nicte clears her throat, suddenly as awkward as she’s ever been. “Uh, thanks Madame President, but I’m already seeing someone.”
“Compatible as working partners,” clarifies Wade, her tone both irritated and amused. “I’ve been reviewing my staffing list and believe there may be some upcoming uses for both of your talents. If you can work together and not cause any international incidents, it could benefit our fight against the Camarilla greatly.”
Nicte licks her lips and awkwardly itches the back of her ear. “We’ll manage,” she says stiffly, and M is being a little shit by grinning at her while Wade walks away, briefcase in hand.
“You looove me, admit it,” M teases, staying on Nicte’s heels as she trudges through the gardens and away from the main entrance. “C’mon, admit it. I’m not boring, you had fun!”
Nicte says nothing and tries to shoo M away. “We have different definitions of that word,” she deadpans. “Now go away, I have something to take care of.”
She’s starting to worry about the nicest way to lose M because she can sense Sarah’s presence nearby, and now that their mission is complete, she’s got a boatload of anger from Wade’s trickery to work off. Preferably on Sarah, and preferably bent over a toppled tree, if she can find something around waist height. There’s something cathartic about working out her aggression in a little dominance play and seeing who comes out on top. Sarah hasn’t changed one bit in thirty years and is just as keen on the experience, so it’s a win for both of them.
There’s just that pesky little thing about Sarah having no reason to be here as far as Wade and M are concerned, but Nicte’s spared any further stress when Sarah appears out of nowhere by her own choice.
“You once told me you’re an incredibly fun person,” Sarah muses as she steps from the treeline, and Nicte freezes in place, glaring. “You would do well to let others see that side of you, dear.”
M blinks when Alder makes her appearance and nods respectfully. “Ma’am,” they say like a true soldier, straightening their posture.
Nicte’s completely unsure what the hell Sarah is thinking, but as usual, this mushroom reborn version of her has an annoyingly ethereal quality and gives many less fucks than she used to. Still, it leaves Nicte scrambling for a reason for her presence, and it doesn’t help that Sarah seems amused by her fluster.
Whether it be that amusement or Nicte’s obvious discomfort, M clearly puts the pieces together. Their eyes widen just a little and flick between the two of them, and Nicte whirls to shove a pointy finger in their direction.
“If you say anything to anyone, I will filet you ten ways from Sunday, you got me?”
“You’re being a touch dramatic, Batan,” Sarah teases, apparently finding the freak out endearing. She sashays closer to her paramour, seemingly unperturbed about hiding her own affection. “You told me to be here in ten hours. It’s been eleven. I assume you stopped for snacks.”
There’s a bark of laughter to Nicte’s left and she glowers at M, who looks not only enlightened, but freaking delighted. It’s kind of a pity, because Nicte now has to kill someone she only just kind of discovered is maybe okay.
“Hey, don’t let me keep you any longer,” M muses, taking a couple of steps back while raising their hands in surrender. “Happy Beltane, folks. Many happy returns.”
Sarah doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by this development, while Nicte is contemplating disappearing for another thirty years. Her genuine panic clearly comes through to M, who pauses in their retreat and takes on a more serious expression. “My lips are sealed. Your business doesn’t leave them, soldier’s honor.” There’s still a hint of amusement in their eyes, but they also seem really sincere when they say, “I’m happy for you both. Beltane is a celebration, and if you’ve found a life worth celebrating together, then it’s nobody’s business until you want it to be.”
While still frayed, Nicte’s tension eases. “Thanks, kid.”
“Of course,” says M, eyes glinting playfully. “All secrets keep, right?”
“Glad to see you’ve retained your training while on loan to the Secret Service,” Sarah remarks, only half in her General voice. Sliding an arm over Nicte’s shoulder, she adds, “I was afraid this one might have been a bad influence.”
While Nicte scowls and considers how best to repay Sarah for her insolence, M smiles fondly. “No, ma’am,” they say. “He’s a good partner. I’m sure you’ve noticed that too.”
Nicte’s jaw slips and Sarah raises an eyebrow. “I have,” concurs Sarah, squeezing Nicte gently in her grip. “Yes, he is.”
Blood rushes to Nicte’s cheeks and they duck their head sheepishly. The gender fluidity isn’t news to Sarah, but it’s rarely something she acknowledges out loud. Clearing their throat, Nicte glances up to make eye contact with M. The two of them share a look, even a brief nod of awkward acknowledgment, and then M is heading back toward the main house.
Sarah presses her lips to Nicte’s temple, idly running her fingers across the back of his neck. “I think you made a friend. I’m oddly proud.”
Nicte scowls and swats Sarah’s hand away. “Shut up and take off your pants.”
***
M stays for dinner with Marshall Horse and the President, which is awkward as all hell because they can’t bring themself to make eye contact with either. The holiday is a good excuse to duck out early, leaving them to their briefcase activities.
They’re unlocking the car when a familiar presence approaches, and they turn just as Nicte comes stalking across the driveway.
“I thought you’d be busy,” M declares, giving Batan a once-over. She’s still in the same clothes as earlier but sans the billowy jacket, and her ponytail is in disarray. “Did Alder win round one?”
Nicte bites back the Push she feels rising in her throat, and just narrows her eyes while M chuckles to themself. “Don’t make me change my mind before I’ve even offered it, dude.”
Frowning, M turns from the car and faces Nicte, crossing their arms. “Change your mind about what?”
Nicte looks uneasy, if such a thing exists in her repertoire of suppressed emotions. She glances at the mansion’s entrance and makes sure none of the Secret Service agents are within earshot. “Look, I’m the last damn person wanting to endow the Army with my Work. I kind of have an issue with people stealing my shit and using it in ways that piss me off.”
In the back of her mind, Sarah winces. Nicte takes half a second to reach out to her and calm those fears. They’re of the past and not relevant anymore.
M’s furrowed brow is only deepening so Nicte continues before she loses them. “If you ever want it, I can gift you the ability to change form. Usually it’s a requirement to be an active Spree agent or wanted fugitive under my supervision, but then the world went and changed, so my old rules are suddenly a little more flexible.”
Startled, M doesn’t quite know what to say. “The fire Work? You’re offering me the ability to change my appearance?”
“It’s not that you need it,” Nicte clarifies, “or that I think you should hide. It’s the opposite.” She looks uncomfortable and as though the words are struggling to come to her. “We get a raw deal, both in the Army and in life, people like us. Sometimes having control over how we look in any given moment can take the burden off for a couple of minutes.”
M is speechless and spends a good ten seconds rolling over the possibility in their mind. Nicte speaks again before they can come up with a response.
“Besides, if Wade’s planning on sticking us together on multiple occasions, it’ll be handy if my partner has a few tricks up their sleeve other than folding into a ball and rolling away from danger.”
That jars M from their stupor, and they let out a bark of laughter. “Can I think about it?” they ask, and it’s hard to miss the relief in Nicte’s eyes.
“Offer doesn’t expire,” she confirms. “When you’re ready, if you’re ready, let me know.”
“I will,” they say. Arching an eyebrow, they add, “I assume the General can get you home in one piece?”
“Debatable,” chuckles Nicte. “But I’ll survive.”
“All right, then.” M extends a hand to Nicte. “See you at work?” They grin. “Hopefully with less mystery packages next time.”
Nicte smiles and doesn’t even try to hide it. Accepting the shake, she says, “I sure fucking hope so.”