Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chief was surrounded by a plush softness. Without opening her eyes, she snuggled into the smooth sheets. It felt like she was sinking into clouds, and it was so comfortable that her consciousness began to fade again. Why did her body wake her in the first place? She breathed in a deep breath and smelled a familiar scent. Jasmine. How nice. She could stay here all day with no complaints.

Jasmine.

Chief’s eyes shot open. Nothing she owned should have carried this scent.

She sat up in the large bed for two and felt a twinge of pain in her temples. Ignoring the headache for now, she took in a blurry view of her surroundings. It was dark as none of the lights were on, but the curtains had not been drawn to cover the floor to ceiling windows that made up one side of the bedroom wall. Under the darkness of night, the city lights down below were bright like a sea of twinkling stars. Chief’s apartment was high up, but not this high up.

Where am I?  Chief wondered. Her hand smoothed over the soft duvet. How did I end up here? Digging through her hazy memories, she remembered going to a party at the MBCC. What happened there was a mystery, but Chief must have been affected by the alcohol judging by her current condition. She wasn’t a lightweight. Not really. Maybe drinking on an empty stomach, with lack of sleep, and too much stress had knocked her out much too quickly.

The room was clean, modern, almost minimalistic. She felt at ease. It was comfortable here, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t recognise the space at all, but something deep in her heart told her that she preferred this place than to her own home. Why was that? Have I been here before? Chief wondered.

On the bedside table was a digital photo frame. From the little light that filtered in through the windows, she could make out what was in the image. It was one of herself with various members of staff as well as a whole host of Sinners all lined up. It reminded her of the class photos that schools would sometimes take. But this was better. It was better because she felt a gentle warmth in her chest when she looked at all the smiling faces. This was her family after all, not a bunch of similarly aged kids with whom some she was friends with, and the rest were strangers. These were the people she loved and cared for.

She broke her gaze away from the photo. It was likely that someone brought her here after she’d gotten drunk, and it was likely someone who was in the photo—someone she knew.

She glanced at the image again, but it had changed. It now showed a picture of herself smiling widely with a bouquet of flowers in her arms. When had this been taken? She had no memories of it. The previous image had been taken several months ago, but Chief hadn’t the slightest clue as to the origins of this photo that was now on display. Why did she have flowers, and why was she so happy?

Looking away from the image, she noticed a potted plant in the corner. It was large and looked like a small tree of some sort with its thin and tall trunk and large bushy leaves near the top. Whatever this was, it looked like it was well taken cared of with how it was flourishing.

Observing the rest of the space around her, Chief put the pieces together. The person that this room belonged to was someone that knew the Chief and likely someone that the Chief knew as well. There was a good chance it was someone from the group photo, the person seemed to value cleanness and organisation judging from how the room was furnished and set out with zero clutter, and the well cared for plant showed a nurturing kindness.

Jasmine.

Who smelled of jasmine? She was sure that she’d come across this scent multiple times at the MBCC. Weren’t smells supposed to help with recalling memories? Why couldn’t she figure this out? Maybe it was the aftereffects of a slight hangover.

Well, it didn’t really matter. Whoever this person was, they were kind enough to bring Chief home and put her to bed. For that, she was grateful. She cleared her parched throat and stood up from the bed, intending to go get herself a drink and thank the owner of the room.

When she stood, Chief was hit with a sudden bout of dizziness. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let her knees bend and dropped back to sit on the bed as she held her head with both hands. She really should drink more responsibly. Her adjutant was going to give her that disappointed look again when she finds out that the Chief got drunk and could have gotten easily kidnapped or even assassinated. And Chief would have cared about such a thing if she didn’t feel so nauseous right now.

Minutes later, the dizziness settled. She opened her eyes to see ducks. Pyjama pants? Chief thought, staring at the garment that covered her legs. With ducks on them? She frowned, then looked at the rest of what she was wearing. It was a pyjama set with differently clothed cartoon ducks printed all over as a pattern.

Panic gripped her heart.

The pyjamas were not a problem; they were comfortable. The ducks were not a problem; they were cute. But someone had changed her clothes. Who? Why? Did she happen to vomit all over herself? Did she pee herself? Even worse, did she shit herself? Oh no, what if she slept with someone, and they cleaned her up afterwards, which was why they put her in fresh pyjamas?

Shit, Chief thought, staring out the windows at the cityscape below. She could feel the sweat gathering on her forehead and on her back. She could possibly have slept with someone in the group photo she’d seen earlier. Oh no. This was really bad. She’d have to take responsibility. She would. She’d do it. It was only right. Did she have to prepare for marriage straight away? Or would they be okay with keeping it a one-night stand and never speaking about it ever again? Workplace romance was unprofessional, wasn’t it? Would she lose her job?—unlikely. But still…

Now, what if it was someone from Paradeisos or The 9^th Agency? Chief felt her heart stutter as she reached up to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Her parched throat and mouth felt as if it was drying up even more. Was this a trap? Was this planned? Did they—

She heard the door open behind her.

Chief didn’t dare to turn around. She hadn’t even formulated a plan yet. What were the next possible steps she could take? Why was it that she was prepared to deal with corruptors, mania, Black Rings and the like but not this. She felt a little annoyed that the MBCC didn’t cover this in training. Maybe she’d suggest waking-up-in-a-foreign-room-with-no-clear-memories training to be mandatory when she next returned to work.

‘Chief,’ came a familiar voice from behind. ‘You’re awake.’

Turning ever so slowly, Chief met eyes with… her adjutant. Of course. Jasmine. How could she forget?

‘How are you feeling?’ Nightingale asked.

Chapter Text

Nightingale stood by the bedroom door. She was holding a glass of water and what seemed to be a box of pills.

‘Night—’ Chief coughed from the dryness of her throat.

Stepping around the bed, Nightingale offered the glass of water to Chief. She sat down next to Chief on the bed and rubbed Chief’s back.

After consuming half a glass of water, Chief could speak again. ‘Thanks. I’m okay.’ It was the truth, but it was also a lie. Her current condition was nothing compared to how she often was after dealing with mania incidents or making it out of deadly missions. But the pounding headache was definitely not nothing either. Honestly? It kind of sucked.

And maybe Nightingale knew that. She opened the box of painkillers and passed a blister pack to Chief. ‘Take two.’

Chief followed her adjutant’s instructions. ‘Thank you.’ Sometimes she wondered why Nightingale wasn’t the chief of MBCC when she was always so well prepared and capable. Feeling like the pills were lodged in her throat, Chief drank some more water.

It was only now that Chief noticed the silk nightgown that Nightingale was wearing. The adjutant’s hair was not in the usual hairstyle. She wore it down. Chief choked on her drink. Her throat was sore, and she was sure that some of that water had made its way up her sinuses judging by the burning sensation she could feel behind her nose.

Nightingale was rubbing the Chief’s back again. ‘Careful.’

Gulping, Chief felt her face heat up. ‘Did I—did we…’

Nightingale raised a brow. ‘If you’re wondering if we did anything… intimate…’

Chief waited, heart pounding.

‘We did.’

Chief stared.

‘More accurately, you did,’ Nightingale said.

There was silence in the room as Chief took in a shaky breath. She was sure that her loud heartbeat could be heard. How could she have done something like that with her adjutant? More importantly, how could she have done something like that and forgotten!

‘You clung to me all the way here from MBCC headquarters and wouldn’t go to sleep without me,’ Nightingale said. ‘So you had your arms around my waist for most of the night in bed. When I tried to leave, you woke up and demanded that I spoon you, refusing to rest unless I did. It was only a few hours ago when I finally managed to slip away without you noticing.’ Nightingale smiled. Her next words were quiet. ‘You were cute.’

Chief blinked rapidly. ‘So, we didn’t…’

‘Sex?’ Nightingale’s eyes seemed to light up with amusement. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not tonight.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Chief sighed internally. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed. Wait, what did she mean by ‘not tonight?’ Chief wondered.

‘The only reason you’re in those pyjamas is because Hella spilt a cocktail on your shirt, and Cabernet tried to make the excuse of not wasting a good drink to latch onto you. Garofano managed to produce some spare clothes out of nowhere, and they just happened to be this.’ Nightingale nodded to what you were wearing. ‘Better than having Cabernet suck on your collar.’

There was a strange look in Nightingale’s eyes. Maybe she didn’t like Cabernet. Chief would have to figure out how to help them get along later if that was the case.

‘Was Garofano the one who changed my clothes?’ Chief asked.

‘That was me.’

And again, Chief felt herself heat up. This time, it was her entire body. She could even feel her pulse in her fingertips, and she was glad for the lack of lighting in the room. I—um, thank you.’

‘No problem. I’m your adjutant.’

‘Is that really all you are?’ Chief’s eyes widened from her slip of the tongue. Why did she voice that thought? She blamed the alcohol.

Nightingale looked equally shocked with her large round eyes and slightly agape mouth. She recovered quickly. Smiling, she said, ‘And I’m your Nightingale.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Whatever you want it to mean. Friends, colleagues, something more, something less…’ She glanced to the side, and a sadness swam in Nightingale’s eyes as she stared at something.

Chief turned to follow her line of sight. It was the digital photo frame. The image was now one of Chief with Nightingale. In the photo, Nightingale stood in front of Chief who had her arms wrapped around Nightingale’s neck and shoulders. Nightingale’s hands looked to be laid gently on Chief’s. They both had their heads turned towards each other, and they both sported pink cheeks. The two people in the photo looked happy. Very happy. It was surreal. Chief had never seen such an expression from Nightingale before. When had this photo been taken? The two people in the image looked much too close to be called just friends.

Chief continued to stare at the picture. In her mind, she saw Nightingale’s worried face, the adjutant’s expressions and mannerisms when Chief had awoken from that coffin with no memories of the past, her gestures of subtle care every single day, the disappointment that she tried to hide whenever Chief mentioned that her memories weren’t coming back, and… it clicks. ‘When I—before I lost my memories, were we…’

Nightingale stood up from the bed, and Chief turned to watch her make her way to the bedroom door. ‘Let’s have some breakfast, Chief. I cooked up your favourite.’

Chief frowned. She has no memories of telling Nightingale her favourite.

‘Don’t look so sad,’ Nightingale said, but she was the one who had tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve made my peace with it. If you never remember me, then so be it.’

‘But that’s—’ Chief ignored her headache as she stood up. ‘I don’t want that, Nightingale!’ Her loud voice made the pain in her temples worsen, and she winced, but she continued at a lower volume, ‘I want to remember.’

‘Sometimes we don’t get what we want, Chief.’ Nightingale offered another sad smile that was much too forced. She made to leave.

‘I want you,’ Chief said. ‘Even if I don’t remember. Even now… I want you.’ Her vision blurred, and she could feel her tears begin to pool in her eyes. Was it a cruel joke that she came to love the same person that she’d loved in the past? Nightingale didn’t respond, and Chief couldn’t see her reaction through her blurry vision, so she pushed on whilst clutching at the fabric of the pyjamas that covered her chest. ‘My mind may not remember, but my heart does.’

No response.

Chief looked down at the bed between them. It was the only physical object that separated her from Nightingale. It was too bad that it wasn’t the only thing that kept them apart. If it was, Chief would have vaulted over it to reach the woman on the other side. But relationships were not that simple, and life was not so easy.

‘The me from before loved you, didn’t she?’ Chief said. She heard Nightingale shift. ‘The me right now also loves you, even though I don’t have memories of having ever loved you in the past.’

There was no reply from Nightingale.

‘Is it because of how I am now?’ Chief asked, not daring to raise her head. ‘Do you… not love me anymore?’ The questions had been barely whispered, but they were loud in the silence between them.

There was the soft sound of raindrops. Chief wiped her own eyes to look at Nightingale, only realising then that it hadn’t been rain. It was the sound of teardrops hitting the floorboards. Her beloved adjutant was crying, and Chief felt like someone had torn her chest open and ripped her heart out. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. She never did want to make Nightingale cry. She only had herself to blame for the pain in her chest.

‘Impossible,’ Nightingale said through sniffles as she wiped her tears with her hands and watched Chief make her way towards her on unsteady feet.

‘I’m sorry,’ Chief said. She ignored her pounding headache and vertigo. Focusing instead on soaking up Nightingale’s tears with the edge of her duck patterned pyjama sleeve. ‘I was dramatic, wasn’t I? I didn’t mean to make you so upset.’ What could the Chief know about the pain of someone who had been forgotten? How foolish of her. She should have taken more care—

‘Impossible,’ Nightingale repeated.

‘What is?’ Chief asked gently, still dabbing at Nightingale’s cheeks.

‘To not love you anymore,’ Nightingale whispered.

They stared at each other.

Then a grumble sounded from Chief’s stomach.

Nightingale chuckled. ‘Let’s talk over breakfast.’ She turned to leave and stopped when the Chief didn’t follow. Nightingale held out her hand. ‘Come on, my beloved Chief.’

Chief reached for her adjutant’s hand and forced herself to hold onto it gently instead of clutching at it like a lifeline. ‘Beloved’ Chief repeated in her mind. She said ‘beloved’.

Nightingale’s hand was warm and soft. Chief knew she would have to let go eventually, but maybe she could hold it again. Nightingale had given her hope. And that, Chief would never let go of.