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The jeep's engine grumbles loudly in protest as it nears the top of the sand-dune. Before the wheels can lose any more momentum, Chief reaches down and adjusts the gear lever. The change in transmission drags a burst of life from the recalcitrant vehicle and kicks it forward again, cresting the top of the dune in a majestic spray of golden sand.
Chief barely has a moment to celebrate before the jeep plummets down the other side at a breakneck pace, suspension juddering like the jeep has a grudge for what it's just been made to do. Her elbows lock into position as she fights to keep the wheels straight.
For better and for worse, the descent proves quick. Chief drags in a nervous breath of hot, stale air as she glances sideways at her passenger.
Hilda hasn't moved at all since they started driving this morning. The cryptographic expert's eyes remain firmly fixed on the endless dunes of Whitesands, her face framed by blazing sunlight, as if hunting for a hidden cypher in the grains of sand and rocky outcroppings of the desert.
The look on her face is the same one she always has back at the Bureau. Calm, contemplative, a tad distant; even bored at first glance until you noticed the analytical glimmer behind her eyes.
Chief almost wants to stop the jeep and take another photo to add to her growing album of profile shots. But the memory of Hilda's polite request she not do that mid-travelling brings her up short. Reluctantly, she turns back to the compass hastily bolted onto the dashboard and does her best to check their bearing.
“How many days away are we?”
Chief drags her eyes away mid-calculation to glance at Hilda. The Sinner hasn't moved her head or eyes, but it still feels like she's evaluating her.
“We'll be there by tomorrow,” Chief replies confidently. “Things have been calmer than I thought out here, so we're making good time. Tomorrow, I promise.”
And just like that the conversation ends. Hilda goes quiet again, the only sound between them the hum of the engine. Chief drums her fingers on the wheel.
“Aren't you going to ask where I'm taking you?”
“As I recall,” Hilda says, “I was told not to ask. You mentioned it would spoil the surprise if I knew before we got there.”
“That's true,” Chief admits. “I did ask you not to ask.”
And the fact that Hilda hasn't asked at all is exactly what's nagging at her. The silence drags on and Chief risks another look to the side. There's still no change in Hilda's demeanour, no adjustment of interest. Absolutely zero sign that being near to the surprise destination has made Hilda more interested on where exactly she's being taken. She just remains staring out the window in her wide-brimmed hat and wide-sleeved olive coloured desert clothes.
Chief finally cracks. “You know, I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting you to be so co-operative when I asked you not to ask anything. You haven't even tried to get one little hint out of me the whole time we've been out here.”
“Is that so unusual?” Hilda finally pulls away from the window to lean back in her seat, still not looking at her. “When you ask someone not to ask, them not asking is usually what you want.” She pauses. “Did you think I wouldn't be able to resist because I'm a former spy?”
“What? No, that's not why I thought that at all.” Chief blinks in surprise. The thought actually hadn't crossed her mind even once, and now it's come up, she can see she's stumbled into a mistake. “Really, didn't even consider it. I just-.”
A jarring impact interrupts her. The jeep shudders as it jumps into the air, one side churning through sand, the other hanging suspended for a moment before thudding back down to the ground.
Chief shakes her head to clear the daze and waits. Five seconds pass, then ten, and nothing in the jeep gives the ominous, telltale signs of coming loose or being about to break. Chief slumps back in her seat and tries to remember what she was about to say.
“I just,” Chief finally continues, “guess I'm not used to someone actually listening when I have a surprise for them. Hecate's always a good girl about that sort of thing, but if I ever tell OwO or Hella I'm taking them somewhere special I get about two minutes of quiet before they start going 'hey Chief come on just gimme a hint and I promise I won't get in trouble any more', or 'oh oh we're going to the West District to start shooting a new movie aren't we Little Clapper' or something like that. It's why I've given up telling them anything and just walk them into the surprises blind now.”
Chief takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself. Now that she's let it all out, she is painfully, painfully aware how much she sounds like a single mother complaining to her prospective partner about the kids she already has.
“I'm sorry,” she says in a hurry, “I didn't mean to compare you to child-.”
“It's okay.”
The pressure on her shoulder completely derails Chief's apology. Even through the thin fabric of the desert outfit, even after hours of driving in a baking metal box, Hilda's hand is still cool to the touch.
“You should know by now that I'm the type of person who's patient, Chief,” Hilda says. “If you don't want me to know before we get there, I won't ask. And I promise I'm not even trying to figure out where you're taking me. Though I will admit that I am curious about it.”
The touch withdraws and Chief takes one final glance. Hilda's actually looking at her now, and in that brief moment of eye contact, all her nerves and worries just disappear.
“Tomorrow's when we should be getting there, wasn't it?” Hilda asks.
Chief nods, eyes fixed on the compass. “Tomorrow for certain. You have my word.”
A string of minor obstacles almost keeps them from making it in time, but somehow they manage. Chief groans in exhaustion as she pulls the handbrake up, glad more than ever she'd asked Kawa-Kawa and Korryn how to handle travelling through Whitesand.
Overhead, the merciless, burning blue of the daytime has been replaced by the diamond-studded canopy of the night sky. Chief reaches over and drags a thick nighttime blanket around her shoulders to ward off the inevitable cold winds.
“Hilda.” Chief gently shakes her companion's shoulder. “Hilda, wake up.”
Hilda stirs and takes the offered blanket without a word. The Sinner blinks the sleep from her eyes and looks around, the promise not to try and figure out where they are now forgotten.
The door to the jeep opens with a loud kthunk in the stillness of the desert. Chief hops out and sets off, glad to hear the sound of Hilda jumping out to pursue her.
“How much farther?” Hilda asks. “Are we...going to be okay leaving the jeep behind like this?”
Chief waves a dismissive hand. “Don't worry about it. After all, we're here.”
Chief comes to an abrupt halt and Hilda follows suit. She stands there, waiting, looking out over the ruined buildings ahead of them. Most of them are barely visible, worn down and reclaimed by decades of exposure to Whitesands. Here and there though, a few are vaguely recognisable. A coffee-shop here, a garage half-filled with sand, and in the distance what looks like the bleached bones of a bar.
“Where-?” Hilda starts to ask, but the wind carries away the rest of the question. In the corner of her eye Chief watches her take a faltering step forward, the cogs in her mind gradually locking into the right configuration.
“This,” Chief steps forward to say, “is somewhere I thought you'd want to visit, eventually at least. And given how things are with Fraser, I doubted we were going to get another chance if we waited. I know this place might not have any memories for you personally but it's the best I could haggle out of the other side given how things are. So,” Chief says, reaching out to grasp Hilda's pale hand in her own.
“Welcome to Escherton, one of the outermost towns in the former Sevael Republic.”
“Welcome home, Hilda.”
Hilda stands there, the moment dragging on, and Chief wonders if she's done something horribly wrong. She had thought about it before planning all this, about whether it would help after the crushing despair Hilda had felt at learning her beloved home had fallen while she spent the decades frozen in defiant agony, or just make it worse .
Then Hilda begins to walk. Chief follows, pulled along as her girlfriend's feet kick low bursts of sand into the air. They pass the outer ruins of the now-desolate town, the only other company a few creatures skittering through the dark and the rare lone tumbleweed.
Chief's fingers begin to move, tracing the circle and crescent cipher they exchanged in the LINK system against Hilda's palm.
Are you okay?
Hilda doesn't say anything. A moment passes. Then her fingers trace her reply against Chief's palm, the friction a source of warmth against the cold.
Did I ever tell you about my childhood?
No, Chief says quickly.
I always wanted to make my home a better place, Hilda says. My schoolfriends and I used to talk about it. Every other week we'd have a new idea. How we'd build more schools, give everyone a job, and make a society where anyone could talk with anyone without fear of reprisal.
Chief smiles wistfully as the story carries on. She can picture it even now, Hilda and her friends going home after school, laughing and talking earnestly about the future, debating and mapping out the course of their lives and their country's.
Hilda's hair flutters in the breeze, her eyes alight with memory.
Cryptography was part of how I said I'd change things. I said I'd use it to break down the ciphers and codes built to keep people apart, to keep the people of Sevael safe until they didn't need protecting any more. I wanted to retire after that, and find a university somewhere. Become one of those old professors whose subject people think of as an irrelevance in the modern era. A curiosity to pass the time creating crosswords and other trivial puzzles.
Starlight glimmers and refracts in Hilda's eyes, and Chief's heart skips a beat as she realises that Hilda is crying. Then Hilda turns around and lunges for her, arms wrapping around her shoulders, and all Chief can do is yelp as Hilda hugs her tighter than ever before as the sobs wrack her chest and overwhelm her.
It's such a crushing hug that Chief almost doesn't catch the repeated message written against her hand, an endless transmission from Hilda's soul to hers.
Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.
After what could be a few minutes or an hour, Hilda pulls back. Her eyes are red and raw. She sniffs, looking around the ruins of Escherton before turning back to Chief.
“I'm sorry you had to see that. This was...more of an experience than I thought it would be.”
“Hey,” Chief says softly, “don't apologise. Take all the time you need. I should've asked before springing this on you out of nowhere, so this is my fau-.”
“Please don't say that,” Hilda interrupts. “I'm glad you brought me here. And if possible, I'd like to stay a little longer. Another day, even, if we can spare the time. To say goodbye.”
“Of course,” Chief nods. “Take all the time you need. I'll be here for you if you need me.”