Chapter 1: Blackbird
Summary:
Ryan faces her worst day and promises are made.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why you wanna fly Blackbird, you ain’t ever gonna fly…”
Ryan Wilder sang quietly, shifting on the bench she was secured to in order to adjust the soft head in front of her.
“…Why you wanna fly Blackbird…”
The song was theirs alone, one once chorused loudly in the humble apartment they called home in the inner-city Gotham neighbourhood of Brightcave Gardens.
“… You ain’t ever gonna flyyy …”
Ryan thought of how at first, she resisted moving away from the war zone of the Wayside Heights projects she’d grown up in; and how she hated the little first-floor apartment, along with the woman who rented it. The home was too colourful, too clean, too calm; and the woman; too patient, too warm, too giving – everything Ryan hadn’t known she needed.
“… No place big enough for holding…”
Now, what she wouldn’t do to see the bright yellow walls and eccentric mismatched furniture and her adoptive mother singing badly as she cleaned all four rooms like a great palace. It hadn’t been much, nor had it been for long – just four short years – but Mama Cora made it a home for them to belong, and for a moment, Ryan had been still.
“…all the tears you're gonna cry...”
Biting her lip, she quietened, expecting Cora to continue like she always did. However, no off-key notes came, only the reverberating siren of the ambulance they were in.
The only indication she was still alive was the tickling of jagged breaths over Ryan’s bare skin, and for that, she carried on.
“…Cause your mama’s name was ‘Lonely’ –”
Yet, as she sang Cora’s part, something like a sob distorted the tune, and the woman that had become her mother in every sense of the word looked up with heartbreak etched across her swollen face.
The expression of worry was clearly for her and not Cora herself, and it reinforced every prior action that proved her love transcended the ties of blood. Ryan wanted to weep for it but sang instead.
“… And your daddy’s name was ‘Pain’…”
Wiping at the blood which intermittently dribbled out the corners of her normally smiling mouth; Ryan grew concerned that, like always, she was going to lose this beautiful thing because fairytale endings didn’t belong to orphans like her. Bellowing louder, she tried to quell such truths.
“…And they called you little sorrow ‘cause you'll never love again…”
Since they’d been jumped, the older woman had barely been able to follow conversation, panicking for the paralysis of her broken bones, and it was only when Ryan sang, did she calm into the half-way lucid state before her.
Despite the blaring siren and hectic speed of the ambulance, in the patient compartment, the atmosphere was tranquil, and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if the stillness she clung to for protection was the calm before the storm.
It bewildered her to see her larger-than-life mother so small and fragile – words she’d never before associated with the boisterous nursing assistant.
“…So, why you wanna fly Blackbird –”
Seconds, minutes and hours seemed to have blurred into each other, and with Ryan’s head still ringing from the kicks she’d taken to the face, she wasn’t sure of how long it had been since she crawled to Cora’s bleeding side and pressed crimson fingers to 9-1-1.
“Ryan!”
She sounded so terrified. And just like at the apartment, Ryan couldn’t do anything substantial to help her.
“Mama?”
She had screamed, wailed, scratched, bit, spit, punched and kicked against the many arms which restrained her, but no matter what she tried, she hadn’t been strong enough.
She wasn’t strong enough for any of it.
The itch to flee seized her more than ever, but when she felt an oh so weak squeeze of her hand and saw the sudden dilation in the warm hazel eyes of the only person she ever trusted, she couldn’t go.
“Please, tell me she’ll be ok,” she begged the nervous paramedic beside them. However, she suspected, with the dull pallor of once rich ochre skin that Cora had lost too much blood for things to be well.
Without waiting for a response, she panicked. “Sh-she needs more blood!”
Whether it was grief, or the head injury, hysteria seized her as she frantically gripped her tighter. She cursed the belt around her chest and quivering sticky hands and blurring vision as she was again rendered powerless.
“Mama please, I can’t–”
Unintelligible babbles fell out of her mouth as she directed her fright at the nearest EMT who rushed around attending the fluids hooked into the arm she wasn’t gripping.
Gazing up through the sunroof and into the dreary Gotham sky, she bargained for more time with the God that had blessed her with Cora in the first place.
“Please Father, please…”
She swore to change her ways and not runaway every time she got scared; pledged to stay out of the streets and give up the friends her mother warned her were bad for her; and vowed to never get into another fight if he just gave them more time.
“Ryan–” The paramedic attempted.
“No!” She snapped, gaze never leaving the sky.
It was all she could do because she was terrified to look at Cora’s warm eyes and see fate.
“You need to help her –”
The words were redundant as the EMTs continued to rush around, checking vitals, administering fluids and pushing buttons on strange beeping devices.
The senior paramedic came into her vision then. “Listen kid, I promise you we’re doing everything we can, but you need to talk to her, okay?”
“I can’t–”
“Baby, look at me.” Cora’s voice was terribly soft, and when brown irises met hazel, the air was sucked out of her lungs, and Ryan froze. Tears leaked out from under Cora’s long lashes and her breathing was so ragged that with every intake discomfort visibly grew.
“Sweet girl, be strong for me,” she requested, gently – such a stark contrast to the chaos of sirens and machinery around them.
Ryan was still rigid; unable to move, speak or blink in fear of missing a single moment.
Yet, Cora’s expression didn’t show an ounce of disappointment. Instead, she managed a watery smile.
“Oh, look at you – you’re beautiful… It’s been my greatest joy to call you daughter.” Her words were strong despite her staccato breaths.
Ryan’s eyes flickered across every feature, recalling every loving gaze she’d ever received. “Mama,” she whimpered, finally moving and removing the belt which separated them. Despite the pain that seared across her injured body, she laid beside her and withheld her burgeoning tears.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I’m not strong like you say I am, I – ”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself, you hear me.”
Cora pinched her small chin between her fingers and looked deep into her soul until she weakly nodded in agreement. Sighing painfully, but never breaking eye contact, Cora spoke, “I need you to promise me something.”
Ryan willed herself to answer but the words made her think of all the other promises they made to one another. She thought of that first night in Brightcave Gardens, and how she’d tried to run again, and Cora’s reassurances that she finally found a forever home. She thought of promises made to not allow her past to define her and to flee from the street life instead of her caring foster mother. But Cora would never see that now; not when her eyes shut with pain, and she fought consciousness.
“Whatever happens today, don’t let it turn you back to the streets– ”
The realisation that she would be without a place of belonging once again was too much to comprehend.
“No, don’t leave me alone.” Ryan shook her head in absolute denial of reality.
“…fly away from this hell and make something of yourself, become someone that makes a difference in this world.”
“I can’t lose you, I won’t lose you,” she chanted repeatedly.
She hoped that maybe the sheer force of her refusal would keep Cora present, make this all one horrific nightmare of a life that wasn’t hers. She prayed to open her eyes and see her Mama sat ahead restored; laughing that tinkering laugh, smiling her warmest smile and humming the sweetest words.
Cora squeezed her hand tighter as her words became garbled and the light in hazel eyes began to diminish, and with it, Ryan’s dreams.
“Ryan, promise me you’ll fly – ”
After years escaping bad group homes and even worse foster families, wondering why she was trapped in this cold world all alone, Cora had dropped out of the sky with her pink converse shoes and blue home-stitched dungarees and showed her that hell was not a place called home.
Ryan didn’t see how she could do it without her. However, for the fearful wobbling of Cora’s chin, she couldn’t voice that. Thus, she agreed silently, clutching soft hands impossibly tightly, and desperately attempted to keep them bonded, for a moment longer.
Cora raised their interlinked digits to her cheek and kissed the back of Ryan’s hand.
“I love – you – my – number one – girl.” She managed between breaths.
Despite her protestations, as she watched her mother’s attention begin to shift to the sky, she knew she had to be brave. Steeling herself, she gently reconnected their gazes with a tender stroke of Cora’s cheek.
“I love you too, Mama. Thank you, for everything,” she confessed.
Another faint squeeze came from their clasped hands, and when she looked deep into the eyes that had cried tears of joy the first time she called her Mama, Ryan realised it would be the last time she could ever say it again.
“Mama, stay with me.”
Ryan shook her a little, but her pupils were becoming more dilated by the second.
The paramedic flashed a torch into them, and her hazy gaze met Ryan’s.
“Always – but promise me,” she begged almost inaudibly.
She was drowning in the blood oozing from her mouth, and as the paramedics begun CPR, Ryan held on.
“I promise, Mama.”
Despite the violent shaking from the effort of chest compressions, Cora smiled, her final comfort in a too short lifetime filled with faith, kindness and so much love.
There were a few seconds of total silence in Ryan’s mind despite the panic of the CPR. When they eventually called time of death, she screamed – a deafening anguish filled squawk, breaking through the air like thunder during a most violent hurricane.
And like lightening, Ryan was struck awake by the vivid night terror, mouth open and screaming silently for a memory long since passed.
Why you wanna fly Blackbird? You ain't ever gonna fly.
Notes:
Song: Blackbird - Nina Simone
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXJTMKv3ZmA
Chapter 2: Awakening
Summary:
Ryan finally awakens and fly's.
Chapter Text
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
On every occasion, after the nightmares which always felt too palpable to be fake, it took several agonising moments for Ryan’s heart rate to calm.
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
She closed her eyes tightly as her head spun and slipped into blackness. She wanted to scream or flee, but like that fateful day, she was confined to the spot. Held down by the weighted blanket her girlfriend, Angelique Martin, had purchased to stop her thrashing during restless sleep.
Ryan hadn’t had a full night’s undisturbed rest since Cora died. These days, she resorted to nightshifts at The Hold Up bar, and stayed awake zombified for days at a time until she fell unconscious, hoping pure exhaustion would stop terrifying hauntings.
Usually, she managed to force out the memories and propel herself into the daze she called her life – either through initiating sex with the warm body next to her, which to her shame, hadn’t always been Angelique, or running until she grew lightheaded enough to numb the pain.
Feeling beside her, she found only a cool pillow and crinkled bed sheets. Then, quelling the disappointment of loneliness, she forced away the heavy blanket with a whumpf, and checked the time. It wasn’t even 8am yet, which meant she’d only slept for 2 hours and had a long while until her next shift.
Lub-dub.
Her heart refused to calm, as did the imprint of Cora’s face behind her eyes. Rising from the springy floor mattress she called a bed, in the dinghy Wayside Heights apartment she shared with Angelique, she decided to distract herself with exercise.
As she left the bedroom, she was immediately greeted by the youngest member of her girlfriend’s False Face crew, Rudy. The teen was face down in a pile of his own vomit with an abandoned snakebite syringe beside him. Normally, such a sight would barely make Ryan blink, even if it did make her queasy, it was just another thing to swallow living in the hood. When she did raise concerns with her girlfriend; Angelique promised not to bring her ‘business’ to their home again, and insisted she was leaving the drug dealing life soon. But those declarations never came to fruition. Thus, so soon after being reminded of her own empty promises, Ryan couldn’t find it within herself to ignore the pitiful sight today. All she could think of was how ashamed her Mama would be.
Guilt-ridden, she roused the filthy teen to assist him toward their worn couch to sleep off the drugs.
Rudy grumbled at her gentle shaking, then panicked when he realised who it was. “No- no… please, don’t help me!”
“Come on kid, it’s ok, rest on something comfortabl–”
“No!”
She almost wondered if he was dreaming, until his wide emerald eyes met hers.
“Ryan, I don’t deserve it,” he garbled, heavily intoxicated.
They weren’t particularly close, but she always felt sorry for him, for his parents were alive but entirely negligent addicts. “We all deserve a helping hand.”
Although he pushed her away sharply, when he stumbled, she caught him.
“Y-you don’t understand… it was our fault,” he confessed, voice cracking.
“What are you talking about?”
“Cora…”
If it weren’t for his shame-filled expression, she might have psyched his babbling to the paranoia inducing effects of snakebite. However, a hammering in her chest told her it was nothing at all to do with his high.
“…Black Mask said he’d kill us if we told Ang or you… I - he,” he lost track of speech as his eyes rolled back into his head.
“Why would Roman threaten you?” She snatched him by the collar of his sticky shirt, smacking him awake lightly.
“Th-the war with Wonderland gang, he started it to take Eastside territory. He snitched on Mad Hatter, got him sent down…”
Again, he trailed off.
“Rudy!”
“…He knew his goons would retaliate, so he made us spread that you snitched.”
“Why me?”
His scattered gaze bounced from her to the door, and she prepared herself for the truth.
“I-I told him Ang was thinking of getting out, and he blamed you.”
It was easy to deduce the reason the fearsome leader of False Face crew set her up, for Angelique jumped deeper into gang affiliation then; promising street justice after what happened to Ryan. She boiled with hatred and blame at the realisation. Collapsing to her knees, rage ignited, and a frightening inferno threatened to leave only ashes in its wake.
“You better be gone by the time I come back,” she spat in a deadly tone.
She stumbled to the bathroom, burning with thoughts of guilt, disappointment and shame. However, with the flames, came resolve.
Staring into the mirror, she noticed her under-eyes bore dark, deep circles from countless sleepless nights. Her lip was split with a purpling bruise from the last run in with another False Face crew. Skin that used to be vibrant looked dull and lifeless. But the thing that shocked her the most, were her once rich molten eyes; they were no longer what reflected back in the mirror of her old Brightcave Gardens bedroom. They were vacant – harder and sadder than she remembered. They’d seen so much pain, and as she stared at the Desert Rose tattoo on her collarbone, inked in honour of Cora, she wondered how much more of this they could endure.
Stepping into the shower, she allowed herself to fall apart. Silent searing tears streamed out of her eyes as the water scolded her skin. It reminded her that she was alive and could no longer exist in this insentient state. The water baptised her anew and cleansed the grime of the last two murky years; allowed the soap to purge her of fears and nurtured grief. She used a pumice stone to remind herself of what it felt like to be her mother’s daughter again – gliding it over legs much skinnier and under arms much weaker than she recalled. By the time she was finished, she began to feel like the twenty-year-old girl she was supposed to be; before her life had been derailed by death, lamentation and poor decisions.
Resurrected, she stood before the mirror again, and prayed.
“I’m going to do the right thing today, Mama, no more excuses.”
And when she looked back up and saw a glimmer of an inferno in her dark irises, she knew what had to be done.
She packed her belongings quickly and sent the messages that would change her life forever.
Like clockwork, within an hour of scheming, Angelique returned home.
“No, Rome wait in the car, I’ll find out what’s going on with Rudy and straighten this all out.”
Ryan couldn’t hear the response, but she knew whatever it was, wasn’t good for the way the short brunette pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a deep sigh.
Stormy ocean eyes found hers in the dim light when the call abruptly ended, but Ryan couldn’t find it within herself to care.
“What the hell did you do!” Angelique hissed through gritted teeth.
“I made the choice that you wouldn’t,” she explained as Angelique rummaged around the cupboards for her cash stash. However, so caught up in conversation she failed to notice the duffle bags beside Ryan.
“By snitching on Rudy? – on Roman!” She accused, flashing her an annoyed look, as she counted through some bills. “You’re lucky I’ve got enough for Rudy’s bond.”
“They’re lucky that’s all I did.”
Her vexation grew into confusion then, neither of them were used to such fire from Ryan.
“The kid is getting a little out of hand, sure, and I shouldn’t have left him here, but the cops Ry? You know that isn’t how this works.”
“I did this for us,” she retorted, just about resisting the flames of fury.
Angelique released a humourless laugh and the little restraint Ryan had abandoned her. The simmering rage in her chest somehow burned hotter.
“You know what Ang, I’m sorry for believing you wanted something different for us, and I’m damn sorry that you can’t drug deal in peace!” She snapped.
The scathing words were intended to cut and did exactly that.
Angelique’s face twisted into something akin to betrayal, and she stalked up to her, towered above then spat her own insults. “And I’m sorry that I never got Cinderella-ed out the streets like you, so I could go around thinking that I’m supposed to be somebody!”
Similarly, Angelique’s fire could scold just as deeply.
“You forget that the clock struck midnight for me.”
An apologetic expression fell over delicate features then, tempering Ryan’s vexation a little. A part of her wanted to unleash hellfire on the curly-haired woman; resented her for her unwitting involvement in Cora’s death. However, she knew it was unfair to punish her for offences unknown – and for the fearless rogue, who rescued another little vagabond from kidnapping, when no one else cared what happened to frightened black orphans, Ryan owed her to try to save them both.
“This is me trying to save you now, you didn’t have a choice before, but I’m giving you one finally…”
She reached for a hand far too soft for the trade she was in.
“…run with me tonight, or live and die by the street life.”
Somehow, Ryan found herself on her knees, face buried into Angelique’s taut stomach, desperately gripping her. A beat turned into a melody of silence and when begging brown eyes met bewildered blue ones, she knew it was make or break.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Ryan admitted.
“Wh-what are you talking about?” She questioned finally noticing Ryan’s bags and rummaging through them to see their contents. “What are you doing?”
Angelique’s thick brows frowned deeply at her statement, and she understood the misunderstanding, this had been their cycle for almost as long as they’d known each other, but Ryan needed it to stop.
“I can’t live this way,” she answered pointing to Rudy’s discarded snakebite syringe.
Her nostrils flared in panicked breathing and Ryan’s heart broke from it.
It was Angelique who chased now, holding her head between her hands and checking her over for injury. “Stop. Is this about Rudy – did he hurt you? I swear I’ll let him rot in jail whether he’s my cousin or not, regardless of what Roman says.”
The actions were delay tactics, but Ryan was awakened and couldn’t regress for the life of her. She stilled her with a gentle cup of her pointy chin. “It’s not just about Rudy or False Face Crew or Roman.”
The name tasted bitter on her tongue.
“…I promised Mama to make something of my lif–”
“Listen, I get it, I messed up, again. I’ve been going through some crazy stuff and got lost in the game, but baby I swear to you, I’ll get out when I have saved enough money to do better for us.”
She answered her with a look filled with sorrow, because they’d had this conversation too many times before and Angelique knew that.
“Look at the money in your hands, we have enough to start anew; maybe not for the American Dream, but enough for a tiny version of it that won’t mean living in hell; cooking and selling and watching people die all the time…”
As she orated with immense zeal, realisation dawned on her. Hope had been churning inside her for far longer than she was cognisant of.
On the other side, Angelique stared at her like she’d grown two heads.
“…I know there’s a better life, where you can find proper work and I can take care of us when I get promoted –”
“On your hefty bartender salary?” She interrupted, tone dripping in sarcasm.
When the shorter girl pulled away, Ryan scrambled after her. “Babe, please, let’s go.”
“I’m sorry Ryan, I can’t leave with you.”
“Why the hell not!” If her shout had been visible, flames would have engulfed the room for the fury that exploded out of her.
Surprised, Angelique’s head whipped around. “Because I’ve spent my entire life trying to build something here. And maybe it doesn’t live up to your moral standards but it’s all I have. I won’t just walk away.”
She pulled out her phone then, the usual indication she was finished with a conversation, but Ryan wasn’t.
“It’s not all you have! Ang, this is Roman inside your head –”
“Not this again,” she said rolling her eyes as she texted away furiously.
Ryan snatched the phone away and flung it at the wall, surprising them both. “It’s his fault Mama died!”
An array of emotions rippled across Angelique’s pretty features; shock, anger, disbelief.
Silence suffocated speech.
Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before she spoke again. “How do you know?”
“Rudy.”
“Rudy’s an addict,” she interrupted.
If her disbelief felt like a knife to the chest, Ryan ignored it, remembering instead the loving girl who had been her first and only friend at the group home for girls.
Suddenly an angry knock sounded at their door.
BANG – BANG – BANG.
“Babydoll, open up.” Roman Sionis’ hoarse voice shouted through the intercom.
“You texted him up?”
The knife twisted deeper and all she thought of was Mama Cora’s violent death and that the person who caused it was only a wooden door away.
Angelique was frozen, stormy blues in a state of indecision. “I…”
BANG – BANG – BANG.
“Angelique–”
With a speed Ryan didn’t know she possessed, she flew to the door and flung it open.
“Ry–”
Somehow, on her descent, she’d grabbed the closest weapon – a table lamp – and upon visual of her mother’s killer, she struck him hard in the face.
The bulb broke over his forehead, and blood sprayed on her face, but that didn’t stop her.
Again, and again and again, she pummelled him with the limited strength her weak arms could manage, losing all control.
“Ryan!”
Although, the voice came from Angelique’s direction, she was certain it was Mama Cora’s terrified yell, but she didn’t have time to differentiate real from fake as Roman launched her over the table with a hard kick to her stomach.
Angelique helped her up, stood between them; Ryan’s gasping form, and Roman, bloody but furious.
That didn’t bode well for Ryan. She only managed to get in those hits because of the element of surprise. With the way his black eyes stared her down, she got a glimpse of the gangster the streets knew, and he was the unforgiving sort – none had escaped his justice.
“Is it true – did the WG’s attack Ry and Cora because of you?”
Spitting out blood, he spoke, “yeah. It was me. I didn’t think they’d kill the old bitch, but this is the streets game, you know what you signed up for Doll…”
He stared daggers at Ryan then.
“…as for you Cinderella, I’m going to make sure you join your precious Mama!”
He lunged at them, and Angelique pushed the table between and retreated.
“Run!”
Sprinting to the bedroom, they barricaded themselves inside and reality sank in.
“We’ve got to go now, he’ll never let this go,” Ryan said, scoping the three-storey drop from the window.
By the time she turned around, Angelique was looking at the door with an expression so determined, it was alarming.
As Angelique opened the window and felt around under the mattress, Ryan wondered. “What are you doing?”
Pulling out a glock and pointing it at the door, she spoke. “I’m setting you free, I’ll stall him.”
“No, this is our chance to be free.” Protested the lonely girl inside of her, who had clung on for so long. Ryan hugged her from behind, clutched her so tightly it was a wonder either of them could breathe. “If you love me, you’ll come with me.”
She felt Angelique’s smile from the wet cheek she pressed up against her own. “It’s because I love you, I have to let you go.”
BANG – BANG – BANG.
Roman’s thundering against the door began again and her soft hand tightened around the pistol.
“Ang no!”
Roman raged against the door; banging, scratching and screaming violence at them.
“And if you love me, you’ll let me do right by you at least one time.”
Ocean eyes met earthy ones and Ryan tremored at the reassurance reflected back at her. When her tears fell, it was Angelique who pulled them impossibly closer and hummed words of comfort.
“I know you think you owe me your life for rescuing you from the candy lady, but whatever debt existed has been paid a million times over. Cora was right, you’re meant to be somebody.” Angelique spoke with such fervour she was rendered quiet. “I’ve always known it. Admittedly, selfishly, I tried to hold on to you a moment longer, but we both know it’s time to spread your wings and fly.”
Something like resolve permeated from the base of Ryan’s chest and into her bones, something like steel; and she couldn’t prevent the wide watery grin which pulled at her cheeks.
The smile she received was sadder than tears despite the encouraging words.
“What about you?”
“I’ve got to save me, and I want to, but I’ve got to do it my way… I’ll be alright, you know that.”
Angelique held up her pinky-finger, and Ryan linked them in their special gesture before their lips met with finality in their every stroke.
Goosebumps prickled across her arms as the chilly breeze from the window ushered in a foreboding serenity and Ryan understood it was time to run.
As she prepared herself to jump, Ange’s thick voice called out.
“Hey Ry, do me a favour?”
“Anything.”
“Go and don’t ever look back – go be someone,” she croaked, winking despite her tears.
Ryan tearfully agreed and with a final glance back, she leapt down.
When she landed hard on her side, the wind escaped her lungs leaving them burning, alongside her back which was certainly bleeding from the chunk of metal which had scraped across it upon impact. However, she didn’t have a moment to contemplate her injuries when bats flew out of the old basement entrance she’d landed beside, causing her to finally take off running for her life.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter – went every stride as she sprinted.
She ran with nowhere to go, and no idea how to be free. Roman and his crew were likely on the prowl and so she avoided her normal places. Nonetheless, despite evading them for hours, as twilight approached, she eventually bumped into his two main lackeys and the chase began again.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
Her legs ran so fast she almost felt like they weren’t even hitting the ground, and if it wasn’t for the duffle on her back she may well have.
She felt them gaining on her and willed her short legs to move faster, but even on adrenaline, a superhero couldn’t run all night without tiring.
Doubts set in as she heard Roman’s car revving behind her.
“You’re mine Wilder!” Roman shouted, his footfalls fast approaching.
Pitter-patter.
Suddenly, her legs collapsed, but she didn’t stop, she crawled through the closest door she could see.
Attempting to rise, her legs gave in again.
Pitter-
A doorbell sounded as it opened behind her, and just as she was certain it was all going to end, she looked up and saw a tall man with a military uniform on, gazing down at her curiously.
Terrified, she begged, “please, help me.”
His strangely warm eyes looked away when the door ahead of them opened, and Roman stood there menacingly, with his black mask concealing his face.
“Do we have a problem, Sir?”
“She’s my problem,” he huffed.
The stranger regarded her a long while and must have found what he was assessing for because when he looked back up at Roman, he glared at him with a hard expression.
“Not anymore. Unless you wish to have a problem with the United States Marines.”
Roman contemplated a few moments before angrily relenting. “This isn’t over, Cinderella.”
“I think you’ll find it is,” the Marine interrupted, pointing behind him. Like fate, a police car pulled up outside the entrance.
Roman promptly attempted escape only to be apprehended immediately, and Ryan released a breath so deep it seemed to have years in it.
“You alright kid?”
Looking around, she noticed the picture wall filled with squadrons of past times and couldn’t help but notice the looks of pride and belonging on each of their faces. Again, something like fate tingled in her skin.
“I will be,” she vowed, rising like a black phoenix from the ashes.
Chapter 3: Gilded Cage
Summary:
Sophie feels caged in as decisions are made regarding her future.
Notes:
Sophie POV
Words translations:
Ubaba: Father
Mwana: Child
Mwanadiki: Grandchild
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Being the granddaughter of a wealthy king, and a princess of a proud African people, known as the Royal Zambesi Nation, some might have considered Sophie Moore lucky, envied her even. For Sophie, it sometimes felt like a gilded cage. Her life revolved around being the perfect princess and daughter. Mistakes had no place in her life, and she had to prove herself as the golden child. She kept her family – the House of Morena – happy, followed their orthodox rules, upheld Zambesi customs and ancient African traditions. She was royalty by birth but had little to no power over very important aspects of her life.
As the eldest of the only two girls of the King’s twenty grandchildren, there were certain things expected of her, particularly by her mother, the Principal Princess, Diane Nandi. The King’s eldest child was a strict, religious woman, who was driven by heritage, accomplishments and money. These ambitions meant Sophie had been groomed for a role in the affairs of the traditional monarchy from young.
Truly, what she felt for her mother was a strange mix between admiration and fear. Admiration at the way she conducted herself as chairperson of the RZN Holdings board, the tribe's sovereign wealth fund; at how she brought their people forward thanks to the mineral rich lands fought for by the past kings; and the mining acumen gained when she married Sophie’s father. However, Sophie feared her for how firm she could be with her as her successor.
Thus, everything Diane told her, Sophie did with little protestations, usually comforting herself that it was for her own good and it was for the advancement of her people. Diane gave limited options on which subjects she did at school, which Universities she attended, which degrees she could achieve, and now, which man she would marry.
Certainly, most would be happy to be given such an easy life. If they knew Sophie didn’t entirely enjoy the position she inherited, they would scrutinise and judge her. But what the people saw was only the outer shell of who she truly was. They saw the princess smile wide but never noticed how it never quite reached her eyes; recite powerful speeches praising traditions she felt uneasy about and offer signatures with precious stone encrusted fingers but an unsteady hand. They didn’t see the inner palace and how it controlled her like a bird in a cage.
And what a beautiful cage it was, the table always full, the mansions furnished in the finest silk, satin and furs; the latest and most luxurious cars. Gems and jewels, marble and pearl, the Royal Village exuded more than wealth, it exuded opulence, prosperity and lavishness. It was a testament to the power and status of the House of Morena.
At twenty-six years of age, Sophie had grown quite used to her enclosure. She dared not to even dream of stretching her wings past its bars, knowing they’d only be clipped in the end. She currently sat at a table, listening to her mother and grandfather, King Kunda Solomon Morena, a man with coarse silver hair, and her deep amber eyes, as they discussed the terms of her engagement.
A profile of several men were laid out in folders on the table between them.
“Tyler Wanai is the one for our Sophie, Ubaba.”
“Which one is he?”
“The Zimbabwean minister of agriculture and minerals and a prudent businessman, exactly the kind of man my brothers can learn from...” Her mother explained, opening his file.
Although she evaded a different host of proposal offers only a few weeks ago, she had feared such conversations would arise again, especially the morning of the Golden Grass Ceremony. This annual five-day spring event, where thousands of girls and unmarried women travelled from the chiefdoms to the Royal Village and participated in celebrations promoting ancient Zambesi traditions, while raising awareness about respecting women, family values, and being proud of who you are. Sophie didn’t miss the irony in her predicament. On the last day of the festival, men were allowed the chance to propose, and a lucky maiden would leave ascended.
She knew it was unconventional for a royal woman to stay unmarried past their early twenties – and with Sophie creeping towards thirty, she was really pushing it. In her adolescence, she was allowed to reject dates, awkwardly declining most who came. Accepting a few when her mother urged but never putting effort for many more after that. Refusing marriage proposals had been allowed; it even amused her grandfather a few times, but now, as they spoke, Sophie knew her time was up.
Her mother had grown impatient and anxious.
“…and a tie with him and his vast lands and businesses could be beneficial to diversify our RZN portfolio and ensure that we aren’t reliant on one sector.”
Her grandfather was quiet as he often did when in deep deliberation.
“They tell me he isn’t well liked by the international community,” he answered, picking his words carefully.
Sophie’s attention piqued then, a potential lifeline in the engulfing waters of duty.
“Maybe not, but the Zimbabweans took back their rightful lands from the colonialists and didn’t have to beg nor bend over backwards for it…”
Unsaid words hung in the air.
The King shot her a warning glance. “Our struggle may have been long mwana but look at all that we achieved. None can take it away from us when it is ours by right and by law.”
“Tyler has business from South Africa to as far as Mtamba, it seems his standing with the West is inconsequential…”
As the family conversed, Sophie sat in her golden pen and listened absentmindedly. The princess examined her reflection from the shiny mahogany table. Her gaze glanced over her skin, the colour of the warm cocoa her father was so fond of, kept flawless by the strict medicinal regiment her mother had her on. She spent more time looking into her eyes idly wondering if there would ever be a fiery spark in her strikingly amber eyes like her grandfather’s.
“…As our mineral stores dwindle, and the settler and international community benefit from the resources being mined on our rightful land, Tyler has the means to restore those lands back to us and prevent our people falling into the same old poverty trap we see across the continent.”
Since colonial times, when tribes were pushed out by European settlers, King Chakasimba Morena ingeniously began the process of restoring Zambesi Nation’s lands. Where his predecessors unsuccessfully attempted restoration through war, he reestablished by buying land through the Catholic missionaries working among them, at a time when the colonial government policies alienated indigenous Africans from owning land. By the time of independence, with the Queen Mother as regent, until Kunda was old enough to be crowned the new Mambo, they discovered much of the reacquired land was mineral rich.
Kunda continued Chakasimba’s mission of land restoration, through further gradual purchasing, and eventually by marrying his only daughter to Marius Moore the aged Afrikaaner-American owner of the largest mining company in Zambesi.
Sophie was proud of her history and believed in her family’s mission and people’s prosperity, but she was still none too enthused about her prospective role.
A part of her questioned if she wanted to be married at all, especially having witnessed her parents' complex relationship until her father’s death in her mid-teens.
Also, she had only been on three dates with Tyler, which was more than most, but less than her previous potential fiancé’s. For his part, he had proved intelligent, articulate, well-travelled and didn’t expect her to be one of many wives as with the Zulu prince that was her last suitor. She was indifferent to Tyler, except as a tolerable man of his stature; the others were usually unable to hide their self importance so well. Tyler didn’t quite lord it around, but it was implied with his lifestyle of private jets, flash cars, and a security force even more intense than the Royal Family. As far as she could ascertain, he was happy to stride into a marriage on the basis of their cordiality, her status and whatever business ventures the House of Morena promised.
Sophie, on the other hand, had heard rumours about him which made her stomach churn; whisperings of a controlling nature and questionable ethics surrounding his businesses.
There was of course the issue of him being a man in the first place, but no one, including her sister Jordan, knew of her preference in romantic attraction. She kept her secret in the deepest depths of her being, and when asked for her unmarried status, her popular explanation was that she was simply too involved with her work to have chosen a suitable husband yet.
Even if she didn’t marry Tyler, her devout Catholic family and legally homophobic country would never accept who she truly desired – that one secretly exiled uncle, they never spoke about could attest to that. In fact, if her mother ever knew her secret, she would likely lock her up in a convent for life, punishing her for the terrible sin of Sodom and Gomorrah. Sophie was extremely aware she could never voice or act upon such wants, so she preferred to swallow the desires down along with any protestations against her engagement.
Her grandfather drew her attention with a leathery hand under her chin.
“Very well then. When he presents himself on the day of the Bulls Rite, he will have my permission for your hand, if you agree this time, mwanadiki.”
Although it was posed as a choice, the pressure of their unblinking gazes said otherwise.
“I barely know him,” she argued weakly.
The Princess spoke slowly, commanding her in that stern tone she’d heard all her life, “for years we allowed you the liberty of dating, and agreed a decision to be made this year.”
Much like now, Sophie hadn’t been part of that agreement: the elders spoke, she recounted gently, and they took her benignity as agreement.
The Princess’s hand gravitated towards the Bible, and Sophie suppressed a groan. “God made Eve for Adam, not to be alone. It’s time you became a real woman now.”
An exploding blotch of crimson appeared in Sophie’s mind – it was there when she shut her eyes briefly. She saw it, felt it, bleeding out at the edges, covering her whole internal frame of vision, until she was certain that when she opened her eyes, she would scream bloody murder at her mother.
She opened her eyes, clenched her water glass and took a long sip, and when she replaced it, she did not scream. Diane, incredibly, was still talking.
“…time you did your duty as I was obliged, and a long line of women before us. This is what we are born and raised for.” The tone held an edge to it, and curiously, she shared a talking gaze with her father.
“I don’t want this-”
Sophie’s eyes flickered between her mother’s hard frown and grandfather’s softer, but still expectant expression, sitting across from her, feeling conflicted.
“We all have our roles,” the King added.
Sophie deflated, just a little. Shoulders falling, curling inwards. Like she could fold herself into nothing at all.
A pit opened up in her chest that she tried to bury with resolve. “I accept my role,” she said, reaching across and halting her mother’s perusal through the holy book.
Her throat burned, as she fought the feeling which made her want to cry. “For my people, and as God intended, I’ll accept the proposal.”
If asked, Sophie would say that she was given a choice. In reality, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
“Yes, Princess, as always, you make the right decision,” Diane said smiling, satisfied at finally getting her way.
A quiet part of Sophie resented her mother, for she knew what it was to be married to someone she didn’t choose, and that she’d wished the same for her hurt. Nonetheless, Sophie plastered on her long perfected, closed-mouth, vacant smile despite the barely flickering flame inside her which felt like fighting.
“Your Majesty, your Royal Highness, can I be excused; I have to prepare to receive my regiment for the Maiden’s Procession.”
The King’s soft eyes narrowed in scrutiny and his mouth opened and closed, as if suppressing some thought. “Go on, make us proud mwanadiki,” he said instead.
Façade falling apart, she briskly escaped to her apartments.
She slammed the door with finality by leaning her back fully against it and stood for a moment as if casting around for something to hold onto.
With nothing to give her grounding, she allowed the tears to run as she collapsed to the ground, burying her wails into her shoulder. She allowed herself that small mercy.
She cried for so long that the distant sounds of the beginnings of the festival floated closer through the ajar windows.
By the time her sister came knocking, she had pieced herself together again, albeit tenuously.
Jordan launched into her the moment the door opened. As they hugged, she gripped her tightly, and Sophie felt guilty for hiding herself from her. If there was anyone who would attempt to question their conditioning in faith and tradition it was her brave young sister.
Pulling back, she almost wanted to say something, blurt out the hurricane she’d been hiding inside. However, the sight of Tati-Ana, the King’s niece, glaring at her behind Jordan reminded her why she couldn’t ever say a word. While family members like her grandfather and mother thought and expected too much of her, others like Tati thought entirely too little, and were waiting in the wings for her downfall.
“They say you’re finally to be engaged, Sisi!” Tati sneered embracing her.
“It appears so.”
Sophie led them to her balcony where they witnessed the droves of young girls and women, led by their village captains, arriving with loud song and lively dances to the Royal Village for the Golden Grass Ceremony.
As she watched them, Jordan watched her.
“You can just say no,” her sister assured, but the memory of the hard look in their mother’s eyes when she’d just encroached refusal, told a different story altogether.
The Ngoma drums outside, beating their thundering calls to the ancestors, yes...yes...yes. The thousands of maidens she heard ululating from beyond the balancing rocks of their mountainous lands, and the cool feel of the chain and pendant around her neck imprinting the stigmata into her chest, they spoke a similar tongue as well. Yes, was the only answer.
Jordan gently held either side of Sophie’s face when she tried to look away, and whispered, “it’s okay to say no.”
“Do you want me to say no?” Sophie asked, because she always asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“Just because it’s what Mama agreed to, doesn’t mean you have to too. We can serve our people in a different way.”
Reminiscent of flint striking steel, Tati’s shrill voice broke the moment. “There would definitely be something wrong with her if she said no to Mr Rough Diamond himself. He’s rich, handsome and charming. Who would say no to that?”
The levity of the moment briefly clogged up her throat, gruff voice made gruffer trying to work through the heaviness.
“Tati’s right. Anyway, I want this, to do my part for our people,” she lied.
Her sister’s scrutinising gaze told her she didn’t believe that.
“Your life’s work is for our people…”
Sophie’s role as Chief Maiden in the RZN Administration committee was her passion; particularly her recent project investing in security for all 33 villages which made up the Zambesi Nation.
“… And while I don’t always agree with your methods, look at the protections you’ve given our girls in your time as Chief Maiden. You already do your part.”
If she were entirely transparent with herself, she knew that she’d always poured everything into the work because she hoped the accomplishments could bring the reward of freedom of choice and acceptance. It stung deeply that her blood, sweat and tears weren’t enough, they had to have her beating heart too.
“Look at all you do, Jay, carving your own path – having a foundation at just nineteen years old. You’ll be the Chief Maiden our people need.”
“It’s because you’ve been so perfect I could do what I want. But I think you deserve that too, sis.”
The words shook her. They unearthed a sense of dissatisfaction with herself; and below that, a whole lifetime of sorrow.
“I’m getting too old to lead the maidens, it’s time I sat with the aunties judging everyone,” she teased, amusement weakly filling her tone.
Sophie didn’t want to upset her sister—she was touched that she cared so much but worried if they carried on talking about it, she would cry again, and wouldn’t be able to stop for the rest of the day, and headlines sensationalising the Princess crying before her proposal were the last thing anyone needed.
Tati, smiled menacingly at Sophie. “I did wonder if it was embarrassing being one of the oldest we’ve had.” She nudged her shoulder, her emerald eyes glittering with cruelty.
Sophie simply laughed and turned back to Jordan.
“I want this,” she repeated, clipping her wings, and sealing her extravagant cage.
Notes:
Let me know your thoughts on Zambesi!
For anyone interested the Golden Grass Ceremony is based on the Reed Ceremony/dance still performed by Zulu and Swazi people.
Chapter 4: Mtamba
Summary:
Ryan proves herself the resilient Marine.
Notes:
Trigger warning: character deaths, graphic descriptions of war and child soldiers.
Chapter Text
“Bravo-Two in position, over.”
“Roger, Two. Bravo-One ready.”
“Ready-team-fire-assist!”
“Watch out for– ”
“Breach!”
Those were the last words Corporal Ryan Wilder heard before a series of thunderous explosions rained down on their platoon in the middle of war-torn Mtamba, Central Africa.
“Marine down!”
They were there as part of the US AFRICOM cooperation mission to stabilise the region plagued with extremist militia wreaking havoc over control of mineral reserves. However, it felt far from stabilisation as they destroyed homes forcing back rebels.
“Bravo-Two to Eagle-Four, reinforcements and medical assistance required, do you copy?”
[Static]
“…Eagle-Four, do you copy?”
Frustrated, Ryan smashed the communications device against the collapsed makeshift structural support beside her. The sound bringing immediate awareness to the immense pain across her body from the impact of having been catapulted into the ground.
With the situation she found herself in – trapped alongside the remainder of her fireteam – she remembered how she’d volunteered for the assignment in Africa. Her cherished memories of tales Cora divulged from her time on the Continent with their church volunteer mission, had inspired her to be the difference in the world she promised to be. Despite the war, it was everything Cora described; vast plains of colourful ancient trees, coiling rivers with muscular currents, copper dust which swept over every surface, and sweltering heat that was inescapable even under the cover of darkness.
Yet, it wasn’t the landscape which stirred the greatest emotion – it was the many new but familiar faces that felt like a home long forgotten. Touring the Motherland brought peace to the yearning of belonging in the ancestral sense as the Marines did in the physical.
Now, gasping for breath, realising how close she had come to death, Ryan ruminated on life’s journey from the hellish pits of Gotham to the purgatory-like Mtamban mineral fields. The three short years with the Marines had seen more than she ever imagined.
It wasn’t all blood and guts and ichor. Sometimes there was joy. There was training in California where she’d met Iris West-Allen, the first person to make the Marines feel like belonging; then, that UN peacekeeping operation in Haiti, where nobody died; Afghanistan, where she proved women could survive just as easily as men, and was promoted to Corporal; and Japan, where she’d been one of few in the world to fly on the future generation Black Bat G -1 Night carrier aircraft.
However, it was mostly blood, sweat, tears, and pushing herself way past the limits people expected for someone of her background, and trying to make Mama proud everyday. Mtamba made that hard; especially when most days were filled with devastation. Conflict had ravaged a beautiful land and left her with an imprint of true horror.
Even if she were only to live the next several minutes, her mind would never forget the heartbreaking wails of grief, as people called out for their lost loved ones, inside war zones and refugee camps alike. She’d forever see the question in the eyes of newly orphaned children, of who would love them now, an expression she knew all too well. She’d always remember the lifeless bodies of child soldiers, their potential stolen away like the country’s diamonds by greedy smugglers. Death was everywhere.
Luckily, she had a good team in Bravo unit – Sergeant Kate Kane, who never missed a single target but always led with the heart; Iris West-Allen, her fiery friend who could get down to the bottom of anything with nothing more than a pen and paper; Kara Danvers, who looked like a wholesome fresh-faced print model but was really the toughest woman she’d ever met; and Stephanie Brown, who was always two steps ahead, and as annoying as it was during game night, that skill came in handy in the field.
Except this day, Stephanie hadn’t predicted that the militia somehow acquired new firepower, including the landmines which Bravo-One squad stepped on; triggering a cascade of explosions that blew apart the remainder of the diamond field they had been perusing for survivors of the rebels’ latest attack.
“Bravo-Two who’s still with me?” Ryan shouted over the ringing in her ears and head.
Iris coughed beside her but responded first. “To hell and back, Sis.”
Kara took longer. Groaning, she replied, “One functioning leg less but with you girls until the end.”
Blinking, attempting to see through the black smoke hugging them, Ryan just about made out Kara’s leg facing the wrong direction.
“Brown, can you –”
“She didn’t see it coming…” Kate started in her usual sardonic tone before it took a heartbreakingly regretful twist.
“…and neither did I.”
Ryan’s eyes stung with smoke, but she didn’t need clear vision to see Stephanie face down in the rich dirt, limbs blown apart. The sight was one she’d seen previously in Afghanistan, but never one she could get used to. Swallowing the bile in her throat, she crawled over to her and checked her pulse just in case. There was no thrum of life.
“Sergeant Kane, you’ll have a call to make when we get back.”
“You’ll have to do that for me, Wilder.”
Mere meters away, Kate lay with shards of shrapnel littered across her body and the largest piece lodged firmly into her chest.
Despite her head spinning, and the ground shaking, Ryan stumbled to her. “You first, and I follow. Those are your words. So, you have to be there, we need you to lead the way, Sergeant.”
“I’m certain the team will be in good hands, Corporal.”
“You should know us better than to think any of us would want to be in Montoya’s hands,” she quipped, as she assessed the chest wound.
“I wasn –”
“I know this is going to be hard for you, but try not to talk,” Ryan interrupted, pressing on the point of injury in hopes of slowing the bleeding.
“Danvers, keep trying to contact Base, and West-Allen to me, bring Brown’s med pack!” She ordered and the privates moved into action immediately.
Iris worked quickly before concluding. “The metal has gone straight through, if we remove it, we might damage a major artery, and she’ll bleed out.”
“And if we don’t?”
“She’ll bleed out… slower.”
Ryan weighed up their options. They were the only remaining unit, and although they were hidden away down an underground tunnel, it wasn’t smart to wait for rescue when it was likely the bomb explosions had drawn nearby rebels.
The need to prove herself gripped her as silence stretched while she contemplated. She looked to Kate, who watched her intensely, almost challengingly, despite the pain she was visibly in.
“If we double back, we can reach that old airstrip and radio to get Kane airlifted back to Base. West-Allen, help Danvers, and Sergeant, you’re with me. Now, are you coming willingly, or will I have to drag you?”
“I thought you said- not t-to talk,” she gasped, as Ryan carefully grabbed her by the underarms.
“Ha. Good to see you’ve still got your sense of humour.”
Between them they scrambled to assist; West-Allen and Kara first, whilst Ryan supported the precarious steps of the inclined shaft, and once they broke surface a few meters up, Ryan began hoisting Kate up.
With each pull, groans sounded from both women, yet Kate’s grew into adamant protests. Suddenly, just as they lifted above ground, Kate’s final protest came with a halting hand to Ryan’s shoulder, and hissed, “No.”
“I can carry you,” she insisted, but soon stopped when her vision unclouded and she noticed the hazy look in cobalt-blue eyes, one she’d seen before.
“I wasn’t talking about Sergeant Montoya,” Kate said, lifting her bloody hand to Ryan’s.
Her brain short-circuited at the possible implication of those words, or maybe it was the sight of her mentor’s deteriorating breathing.
Like those few years ago, which felt like a lifetime away, laid on the ground of West Point Academy recruitment centre, she once again felt fate’s hands on her skin.
“W-who were you talking about?”
Lifting a pink lip in her usual knowing smirk, Sergeant Kane winked and gestured zipping up her mouth. “Spoilers.”
Understanding spread between the eyes of the remaining three of the team that had started to feel like family.
“Take this,” Kate said removing her dog tags, forcing them into Ryan’s hand. “And get our girls back safe.”
She was honoured, for it was one thing to be in a position, but a whole other feeling to have people believe you worthy of being there.
Tightening her fist around the tags, Ryan accepted the responsibility. “I’ll get them back.”
“Good, now let me die in peace.” She requested, staring ahead at the gorgeous sunset of pink and orange behind them.
Ryan couldn’t quite find it within herself to smile, not when cobalt irises dilated, and she realised the lives of her makeshift family were in her hands.
She didn’t have time to dwell on death or discoveries, however. In the distance, the recognisable sounds of Mtamban United Front militia chorused, and she propelled into action.
“MUF! MUF! MUF!” Came the chants from the nearby road.
“Let’s move out, head for the bush and we’ll wait for nightfall to make way to the airstrip,” she directed, taking one side of Kara while Iris had the other.
They sprinted for the bush, Ryan hoping to reach cover before they were seen.
“MUF! MUF! MUF!”
They hobbled so fast that Kara’s leg was sure to be broken, if it wasn’t before. Ever the woman of steel, she didn’t cry out even as the tears fell.
Just as they made it to the trees, the symphony of war began again, and bullets chased their steps.
“MUF! MUF! MUF!”
As they ran through winding verdant vines and between slicing sharp leaves, Ryan attempted the radio again.
“Bravo-Two to Eagle-Four… Bravo-Two to Eagle-Four …”
“MUF! MUF! MUF!”
“Bravo-Two to Eagle-Four!” She hissed, hearing the bristling of soldiers getting closer.
“Seventh Marine Division, Eagle-Four to Bravo One-Two, does anyone copy?” Came Sergeant Montoya’s voice through the radio.
Ryan never thought she’d see the day where she was pleased to hear that husky voice.
Despite the dust clogging her throat, she managed to croak out a response between deep breaths. “Bravo– copy – Corporal Wilder – speaking, Sergeant!”
“What’s the situation down there, Corporal?”
Suddenly, the bush ended sharply, levelling off to an open pit mine with a death promising drop into its centre. They were trapped.
She equally felt the panic she saw in the wide eyes of her team.
Her voice choked as she spoke. “Sergeant Kane is down, as are the rest of Bravo-One team, and one of ours, Stephanie Brown. We’ve got MUF on our tail, we need a rescue team and medics.”
“Position?”
“Approximately 2km southeast of Anglo-Wanai diamond mine.”
“Hang tight a little longer, we’re not far, listen for the chopper and stay alive.”
“Roger.”
Within minutes of the communication ending, the rebels could be heard distantly, but Ryan knew that wouldn’t be for much longer.
Kara was worse for wear, and Iris’s nostrils flared in fear, and for promises made, she formulated a new plan.
“West-Allen, Danvers, I’m getting you out of this alive, you hear me?”
The two nodded almost imperceptibly and Ryan initiated her plan. “Gather as much shrubbery as you can and camouflage yourselves.”
Before she could hand over her machine gun to Iris, her dark eyes narrowed. “There are things worse than death, Ryan. Please tell me you’re not going to do what I’m thinking.”
“I’m a survivor, you know that. Nothing in life has broken me so far. I don’t plan on starting today.”
Iris attempted to pull her back, “I’ll be back in a flash, stay here,” she lied, and Ryan took off running before Iris’s stubbornness had the chance to rear its head.
She ran loudly towards the rebels and eventually, sprinted directly into their territory.
With her pistol, she took out the first one easily, an inexperienced teenager, she knew would haunt her in days to come. With the round fired, it drew the others, and when the next two soldiers emerged, she shot 4 times before they dropped.
However, her luck run out when she was caught unawares from behind, huge muscular arms wrapping around her, reminding her of the powerless girl who’d failed to protect her mother.
She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Thrusting hard she threw her head into the attacker’s forehead, stunning them both momentarily.
Her vision swayed and the ground grew unsteady as she hurtled towards it. She rolled away and the rebel followed, and with him hovering above her she caught a look of his face for the first time. A great scar from brow to chin graced his marble skin, but it was his red eyes, which stared at her with hatred, that made her hesitate momentarily.
Her hesitation cost her and soon a powerful kick to the gut caused her entire body to quake, forcing the wind out of her lungs.
Her insides burned from her chest rippling out to every extremity. This was how the rebel found his hands around her neck.
He clenched and clenched, until her vision started blurring. Although, she couldn’t see, she still heard; the distant sounds of a helicopter.
Rescue.
If there were no hands squeezing the life out of her, she might have breathed in relief. Unfortunately for her, the adamantine fingers clamped around her like a boa constrictor did not care that the US war machine was descending.
Breathe.
It wasn’t quite a thought, more an urge – a survival instinct so deeply rooted, it drowned out the panic and replaced it with a deep, steely calm.
You must breathe.
This time, the voice sounded distinctly like Cora’s, and so she gasped for life, quickly laying out a plan between huge breaths disguised as choked gasps. It wasn’t a great plan, just the bare bones required for survival; more of a desperate prayer than anything substantial, but it was all she had, and she clung to it.
Fingers scrabbling for purchase, nails gouging into vulnerable flesh, she counted the numbers in her head and forced herself to grow limp when all she wanted to do was thrash and scream and fight. She forced herself to grow weaker even as his hands grew stronger and she held on to the last bit of air in her lungs with a strength of will and a determination that felt like tungsten.
Finally, he released her and when she collapsed to the ground, she didn’t even have to pretend that she was dead, because that’s how she felt; all her tissues screaming for air and her vision blurry, and her body numb and depleted. But still, there was little spark of elated relief that made her proud to have held on to life.
Just as she dove into the black pool of unconsciousness, she heard a singular gunshot and the fading voices of rescue.
“Ryan…”
The sound was familiar, but distorted as she came back to.
“…Wilder...”
She blinked open her eyes and shut them swiftly at the light shining in them.
“Corporal!”
Iris’s face came into view.
“Am I dead?” She croaked.
“It’s good to know you think I’ve got the face of an angel, but you’re very much alive, I’m afraid,” she said wiping the dirt off her face.
Ryan coughed as she attempted to chuckle. “I figured as much, what kind of heaven doesn’t have me waking up being fed grapes by a tall Amazonian-type goddess.”
Iris helped her up. “Unfortunately, there’s no Amazonian goddesses here, just two grape-less but very grateful Marines,” she said, eyes glistening with appreciation.
“You made Sergeant Kane proud, I’m sure,” Kara added from where she laid beside her, looking worse for wear, but also smiling gratefully at Ryan.
Despite their encouragement, the fact there was only the three of them who survived made it difficult for Ryan to feel entirely relieved. Especially, when all around them stood wreckage.
Noticing the change in Ryan’s face, Iris interrupted what was sure to be a downward spiral of nagging thoughts. “I know that look, and as your best friend, I’m asking you to see the good today. You saved us.”
The words were much needed, and Ryan sighed deeply, attempting to look past the destruction all around them, and focus on the two people she had managed to protect.
“Thank you, Sis.”
Their attention was drawn away to the landing chopper, and Sergeant Renee Montoya at the helm of a rescue force.
“I didn’t think I’d ever be pleased to see the sight of her,” Iris whispered, giving her a hand up.
“My thoughts exactly,” she agreed.
As they started towards the aircraft, Ryan paused suddenly, a sound pulling her attention. “Iris, did you hear that?”
The blood drained from Iris’s face as she looked at Ryan, “hear what?”
Ryan held up a finger, listening. Then, miraculously, heart-jarringly, she heard the sound again.
The song of prayer travelled through the rubble, and it was unmistakably the voice of a child.
“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”
Memories of Mass flooded her consciousness then; recollections of Cora’s introduction of faith into her life and she was astounded by how this prayer could travel miles and years across the globe giving comfort from one scared child to another.
“Is that another-”
“It’s a prayer.” She explained as she cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out to the approaching squad. “Quiet!”
The sounds of the Marines approaching slowed, Renee looking at her in confusion.
Then, in the quiet, there was the chanting again, slightly louder and clearer.
“…Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven...”
The sound of a child hoping.
“Sergeant!”
Immediately, the unit gathered around. Amidst all the destruction, there was a child. Somehow alive.
“What have you found?” Renee asked quietly, handing her a weapon.
“There’s someone still here.”
Listening closely and carefully, everyone moved around at her silent direction. Ryan paused at hearing the sound coming near her right, rushing towards the ruins of a collapsed tunnel.
“Heat sensor?”
To Ryan’s annoyance, one of Renee’s men, and her least favourite Marine, Russell Tavaroff, rushed over, bringing up the scan. Nothing showed up.
“Are you seeing things Wilder? There’s nothing here Sergeant!” He called, obnoxiously loudly, but Ryan wasn’t dismayed.
“Move the angle and do it again,” she pressed, through gritted teeth.
Rolling his eyes, he ignored her. “Look, Sergeant, we’re all tired here, and going on a mad goose chase because Wilder is making stuff up again –”
She snatched the device from him and chucked it at Iris who scanned the area lightening fast, revealing just as Ryan thought; a small red and orange ball buried within rubble and mud. “This is the place.”
“Alright squad let’s get to digging,” Renee said into her comms. “We think we found a survivor.”
“Bring a medic, they’re likely hurt,” Ryan added.
“Corporal, I’ll take it from here, your job is done, that’s an order.”
However, Ryan was already on her knees, followed swiftly by Iris, and even Kara in her incapacitated state, digging for an entrance.
“Corporal-”
She half-listened, crawling whilst homing in on the child’s voice, searching for an entrance.
“…and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us…”
She located an opening quickly, shifted the large beams in the way and shone the light from her weapon inside.
“Here!”
Two pale pinpricks twinkled back at her, belonging to a boy no older than ten. She swallowed bile when she distinguished a female body beside the child, completely still, and beyond her, another child – smaller but very much alive.
“There’s two kids and a body!” Ryan called, lowering her gun in favour of a flashlight.
With a huff, Renee paused on any argument she’d been brewing and ordered, “follow Wilder, bring the medics.”
It appeared the deceased woman had protected her children at the cost of her own life. The scene transported her to a similar memory from her past, and she understood viscerally that she had to protect these children.
Iris coordinated the removal of the major structures blocking the way inside the destroyed shaft. Once the opening was clear, Ryan led them down, focused on the eldest child.
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. In the name of the Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit.” Ryan finished the declarations of the Lord’s Prayer.
Frightened earthy eyes glared at her; alarm and curiosity clear from the sweat gleaming over his forehead and his nostrils exhaling audibly.
Ryan stepped cautiously closer, but within milliseconds the child scurried back, pointing a gun towards her, as he shielded the smaller boy. Although not an uncommon sight, it was horrifying to watch her squad pointing their machine guns at a child.
“Weapons down!”
Immediately, Iris lowered her weapon, however the other war-weary soldiers remained firmly in offensive positions.
“But Corporal-” Russell began.
“He’s just a boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she interjected.
Renee stepped in, flashing her gun’s light over the children. “That’s the MUF’s uniform. You can’t reason with child soldiers; they have nothing to lose. I’d sooner trust a madman with a gun than a kid with one.”
“How we treat people during the darkest moment of their live is the benchmark of humanity. No disrespect Sergeant, but if we shoot him, while his brother watches, we create another child soldier for the exact same militia we’re fighting and waste more children’s lives. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sick of seeing dead kids.” She spat glaring up at her.
She understood the hesitation, there wasn’t a day that went by where they weren’t reminded just how vicious child soldiers could be. Something beyond her reasoning made her hold her ground, and it appeared for the first time, Renee understood her and relented. “Back away. Tavaroff, you stay on kids, just in case.” She directed. “I’m giving you five minutes before I do things my way, Corporal.”
Ryan felt more than saw the retreat of the squad. The boy looked between them, eyes rapidly following every move of every person with a gun in their hands.
“Back away slowly,” Ryan commanded.
The child’s gaze remained on where the armed Marines were previously visible and Ryan dropped her weapon, held her hands up in surrender.
Still, he looked fearful, especially when the smaller child peaked out from behind him.
“Bonjour,” she greeted, softly diverting his attention. ‘Hello.’
The boy spoke then, pointing to the insignia on her breast pocket. “Américaine?” ‘American?’
“Oui, Afro-Américain.” ‘Yes, African-American.’
His lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, and for a moment, the weeks of no sleep, bombing and chaos were worth it.
His inquiry shifted to her dog tags and again he spoke. “Bat-woman?” He attempted in his thick accent, to her delight.
On the back of the tags Kate gave her was the engraved bat emblem, which had been Kate’s symbol of freedom, and subsequently their team’s.
“Yeah kid, I’m just like her, fighting the bad guys.”
“Je suis bad guy.” He said, something like horror flashing over his eyes. “I’m a bad guy.”
Ryan smiled sadly, looked beyond him at his scared sibling. She lowered to their level, took off the tags, pointing to the bat symbol on it and reaching out to him as she spoke. “Mon nom est Ryan… Je suis ici pour vous aider...” ‘My name is Ryan… I am here to help you…’
The boy followed her every word, and with each one she saw the yearning to believe something different.
“…You’re not a bad person. Look at you, you have protected your brother, you are a good boy. I can see in your eyes you have seen and been made to do bad things, but you’re not a bad boy…”
As he focused on the bat, Ryan edged closer until she saw the grip on the weapon far too big for his hands, loosen, just a fraction.
Ryan was keenly aware of Tavaroff’s presence, not only from the red laser which was pointed at the boy's chest, but from the fact she’d reported him over a snafu where there were civilian casualties, which consequently had gotten him demoted. Thus, she was hyperaware that he was waiting for her to mess up.
“…I know that you believe no one cares about you, and I also know that if you pull that trigger the horror won’t stop.”
“How do you know so much about me?” He asked, wondrously.
“Because when this place was destroyed, we set out to rescue those who remained. I set out to find you because you matter. I see you, and you are meant for so much more than this.”
He looked to his brother and nodded – and immediately her stomach dropped.
Everything seemingly happened in slow motion. From the youngest child reaching for something in his pocket, to Tavaroff panicking and Ryan picking up her weapon and shooting him.
Two shots reverberated, and she turned to see that she had been the quicker shot.
Tavaroff had narrowly missed the child who now stood frozen in fear with a small cloth outstretched in his hand and glistening between the creases a dirty pink diamond the size of a small pebble. A blood diamond.
Although its value was going to be astronomical, it was sickening that the price of it was death and destruction.
As the chaos of the squadron returning to the scene ensued, the two boys ran to her, hugging her for protection.
“She shot me! Wilder! She shot me!”
Despite the shock on her fellow Marines faces, the way the children gripped her, trembling but trusting – for a moment everything was all worthwhile.
“Oh my god, Ryan, what did you do?” Iris whispered, standing protectively beside her.
Dropping her gun to the floor, undeterred by the ones from Tavaroff’s team pointed at her, she lifted the children into her arms, and looked to the sky, “I did what I promised my Mama.”
She held them tightly as they cried heartbreaking wails that told a story of unimaginable pain. “It’s alright, you’re safe, I’ll protect you,” she cooed as they whimpered at every new noise.
Meanwhile, Russell was given the once over, and despite his theatrical show, he was totally fine for Ryan’s bullet had lodged itself into his ballistics vest.
However, Ryan knew her troubles with the incident wouldn’t be over any time soon.
Chapter 5: Silence
Summary:
Sophie battles with an internal battle between known and unknown
Notes:
Translations:
Mambosana: Little Princess
Ubaba: Father
Shirikadzi: Queen Mother
Chapter Text
By the time the final event of the Golden Grass Ceremony arrived, the Bulls Rite, Sophie was no less ready for an engagement than she had been when she received the commandment and broke down crying.
Now, while there were no sobs, her chest felt hollow as the regiment captains helped her dress and prepare for the Maidens Ascension.
The teenage girls enthusiastically chattered on about their excitement for the day of proposals; their final opportunity to wear their traditional colourful garb and celebrate their heritage. Usually, she humoured the excitement, was the perfect host for the exalted girls, but wondering if the next time she would participate would be as a married woman, teaching and encouraging girls about the institution of marriage, left her with a melancholy she couldn’t fake laugh out of.
However, the captains failed to notice the flat, nearly dead look on her face – too busy adorning her neck with the sparkling golden cross which displayed her commitment to God; fixing her black-feathered crown, representing her family’s totem, the crow; tying her tasselled belt around her midriff and straightening the beaded sash which revealed her chest, symbolising the pride of womanhood; and lastly, attaching the vibrantly-coloured cape which bore her King’s face on it, in allegiance to the Royal Zambesi Nation.
When they were finished, the blaring sounds of the kudu horns boomed to summon the soon-to-be fiancées, known as the Chosen.
Sophie gave a single heavy sigh as she watched herself stand in the mirror slowly so as to prevent her elaborate costume from bunching and twisting in unflattering places. She gladly donned the body-bearing traditional regalia all her life, but for the first time, she felt exposed in her barrenness; like nothing more than a pound of flesh.
A knock brought her out of her musings, and the royal guards appeared, dressed in their signature black suits, gun-vests and ear-pierces, to escort the young captains away before she joined to begin the Ascension.
Sophie didn’t care for many of the royal guards. They were usually arrogant ex-police servicemen or military she found distasteful, and many treated her as the stereotypical dimwitted princess without ability to hold intelligent conversation, despite her working with their Commander, Jacob Khanyi, on RZN security projects. Jacob was the only one who treated her like a normal person, well – more like a daughter, being he’d fathered two girls and lost them both, and she’d felt fatherless even when Marius was alive. Where her father was frequently physically absent with work and emotionally distant for his age, Jacob was always there watching over her with a gentle smile and encouraging words. As such, she was grateful for his steady unassuming presence when he arrived to accompany her for what she was sure to be the last moments of what little freedom she still had.
“Excuse me, Your Royal Highness.”
It seemed like she only blinked the once in the time he’d accompanied the captains; rendered frozen glaring at the reflection in the mirror.
Jacob tucked his lips inside his mouth in a half-weary half-commiserative grin, as he looked at her sideways. “So, today’s the day we’ve been putting off, mambosana.”
He’d called her ‘little princess’ since she was a toddler running away from the lashings the palace Governess promised to give her.
“I’m not so little anymore,” she commented, straightening to her full height, towering above even him.
“No, I suppose not,” he said wistfully. “But short or tall, I’ll watch over you always.”
His voice was soft but so vehement she almost wanted to start sobbing all over again.
A look of gratitude spread across Sophie’s face, and she squeezed Jacob’s hand, trying to communicate how much she appreciated the words. At that moment, she almost confessed everything to him. Everything about the fear and panic that had been growing inside her ever since she agreed to an engagement; and the taboo desires she’d locked away all these years.
“Even if I was to disappoint everyone?”
In a culture where it was emphasised to honour the elders, disappointing them came with a great shame every child feared.
“You could never disappoint me.” He assured, and signalled they sit. She followed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I think you should do whatever you feel you need to do.” He paused, something more hanging in the air.
“But?”
“But whether it’s this time or the next one, or another after that – if you believe you can outrun an engagement forever and still be a part of this family, this nation, you are in for a major disappointment.” The message between the lines was loud even though his tone was soft.
There was a sad smile on his downturned lips as she shook her head in tearful denial. Heart beating in that way which threatened to explode in her chest and leave her devastated, she scrambled. “I-I don’t know what y-you mean.”
He fell quiet for a moment, then turned to better look at her. His greying brows were twisted with concern as he spoke. “I’ve watched over you since the day you were born and maybe because it has been my life’s work and joy, I see what the others don’t… or won’t.”
Her skin flushed hot then cold with the devastation of the never before unearthed truth dancing around the suddenly still air. She hid her face in trembling hands, shame confronting her. Her breathing grew sharper as she willed herself not to cry and ruin the tribal paintings across her cheeks. Gently, Jacob pulled her hands away and held them in his own. His blue-rimmed charcoal irises shone with familiar love as he regarded her. She gripped onto him desperately, wrinkling the edges of his normally immaculate suit, and eventually the storm under the surface quelled with a final harsh exhalation. Surprisingly, something akin to relief washed through her, for having put down, if only for a moment, the thing that sat on her shoulders everyday like a worsening load.
“What do I do, ubaba?” She confessed, voice barely a whisper.
“I can’t make this decision for you,” he said, squeezing her hand in assurance. “And I’m sorry you have to make it all.”
They sat in silence in the wake of the closest she’d ever been to admitting her truth.
She was enormously conflicted. The options were limited: leave everything behind which made up the pillars of her personhood; her family, her royalty, her tribe, her country, her African-ness, her job, her faith for an undiscovered fragment of herself which felt like a black hole of unknowns.
Although she was brave enough to have survived five brutal years of Catholic boarding school in the English countryside at Ampleforth Abbey College; persevered after her father’s untimely death during her first month at Columbia University; escaped a kidnapping attempt at the hands of a gang who sought to make a statement to the government; and endured the Zambesi quasi-military training at Point Rock Academy, an intense program historically only allowed for Princes – however, she didn’t know if she could withstand everything she faced to lose if she chose what felt like a broken shard of herself.
Jacob interrupted the stillness, “there is an old African proverb which says, ‘silence brings wisdom of the ancestors.’”
Despite her inner turmoil, when she weighed up her options, she understood she had to do as she was bid. She wondered if that sinking disappointment inside her chest was the wisdom of the ancestors.
Pursing her lips into the tight feigned smile which belonged to ‘the Princess’ persona, she nodded appreciatively, and stood, ready to begin her journey again.
Like always, Jacob followed.
“However, I think another statement might be truer to you,” he paused them with a gentle hand on her forearm. “Zora Neale Hurston once said, ‘if you are silent about your pain, they'll kill you and say you enjoyed it’”.
She looked up at him wide-eyed, like he’d thrown her a lifeline.
It had always seemed strange for a fierce guard to be so interested in reading, but she always admired and benefited from his wealth of knowledge. He had passed on his love of reading with his first gift to her – Batwoman comics – it was a gift she cherished.
As she opened her mouth, ready to sing a song of freedom, her mother interrupted then, an authoritative cough bringing the Commander to attention, and stealing Sophie’s voice from her.
“I don’t want this.”
“Princess,” he acknowledged.
“I’d like a moment with our Chosen before her ascension,” she demanded.
Jacob nodded at Sophie encouragingly before he bid her farewell. “Very well, I’ll be outside when you need me.”
Approaching slowly, Diane regarded Sophie’s traditional attire with a proud smile graced on her usually stony face.
“Beautiful Sophie, were my grandmother still alive as the Shirikadzi today, she would be so proud of how you honour her…”
The Golden Grass Ceremony was historically sanctioned by the King for the Queen Mother – Shirikadzi – to honour her as the Great Crow, the spiritual leader of the nation. The maidens laid before her their reeds, and she bestowed blessings from God and their ancestors. With the King’s mother deceased, the title had passed to his aunt.
“… you honour us all.”
It was difficult to reconcile the pleased feeling she felt at making her mother happy, while simultaneously resenting her for it.
“I have something for you that she gave me when I was engaged to your father,” she said revealing a small box. Inside sat an ostentatious crow ornament embellished with black jewels.
Sophie ran her fingertips lightly over the sparkling eyes of the crow, “it’s beautiful Princess, thank you.”
Grinning, the Princess fixed it to Sophie’s feathered headpiece. “It’s tradition to gift it after your engagement,” Diane whispered, chuckling as Sophie stared with her brows raised comically in shock at the deviation from protocol. “But I had a feeling that you’d need this now.”
Her knowing gaze made Sophie’s skin prickle hot and cold again, and her heart batter almost painfully against her rib cage.
Usually, she wouldn’t dare question what the piercing look meant, but for a moment, she felt brave. “Mama, I don’t want...” she uttered in a begging tone, teetering dangerously close to the landmine which would blow up her life entirely.
Diane’s face turned icy, and she glared at her unyieldingly. Sophie was certain her heart would beat out of her chest then.
“…t-to break tradition,” she faltered, almost panting as she expelled a gulping breath.
Sophie was too weary and afraid to open what felt like Pandora’s box – the thing she’d been avoiding since the first time she led as Chief Maiden, where she shared her first kiss with Amaya Jiwe, the pretty captain heading the M’Changa province maidens, as they chased each other through the golden reed fields. A suppressed part of her understood that despite her endless striving for perfection, she had, and always would have, one flaw in her that she could never fix.
“Do you understand what our family’s totem means?” The Princess questioned, turning Sophie around to examine herself in the mirror with the new decoration.
“Totems represent our close relationship with animals and the land. We pass them down generations to define our kinship,” she explained, repeating the understanding she gained from the chiefs reciting their oral histories.
Diane rested her chin on her shoulder, and no longer watched her reflection, but her eyes instead. “But do you understand what it means to be of the Crow?”
Perplexed, she shook her head.
“The Crow is our totem because it is a spiritual animal, which connects us to the spiritual world and this land. Our people must remain connected to God and the ancestors, which is why we have these ceremonies and traditions, for without them we are lost. Crows represent freedom, and after our peoples struggles, we must see our land liberated.”
Sophie wanted to laugh at the irony of it, her mother talking of freedom when she was being subjugated with an engagement she couldn’t refuse. Alternatively, she said, “I understand what our totem means.” She didn’t mention that in some places around the world, crows were a sign of death, and that’s how she felt inside, like she was dying.
Diane reached out and caressed her cheek. Despite herself, needing some comfort, the young princess nuzzled into the touch and closed her eyes with a tired sigh.
“Pray with me,” her mother urged, joining their hands.
“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”
Silently Sophie felt compelled to make her own petitions, “God, in your wisdom, give me faith to be what you intended.”
When they were finished, Diane left her with Jacob.
“So, what will it be, mambosana?”
With one last despairing look in the mirror, she relented. “We go.”
Chapter 6: Survivor
Summary:
Ryan faces trials and proves herself a survivor
Chapter Text
Clunk-clunk, clunk-clunk, clunk-clunk.
Ryan had done this march before – the walk to her superior's office to reprimand her for whatever perceived infraction she had committed. It wasn’t that she made a habit of finding trouble, but when she believed something was right, she acted upon it, sometimes before her mind even processed it.
Thus far it had only been minor things, nothing that required any form of disciplinary action besides a good yelling at.
However, this time, as Ryan walked, she wondered if her actions in Mtamba had taken things too far. Not only had she ignored her commanding officer’s orders, but she’d also shot at a fellow Marine when she’d rescued Didier and Kevan, the boy soldiers.
Upon return to US soil, the murmurs around Quantico Base about her had been both complimentary – on her actions and Kate’s nomination for promotion to sergeant – and concerning. Everyone that spoke to her gave congratulations but always followed up with, ‘but you know Tavaroff’s not done, right?’
Even now, she didn’t regret it, nor would she have done anything differently; she saved lives and that’s all she cared about.
Nonetheless, the insecure part of her still worried that the home she found in this institution was going to be snatched away, as with all good things. Especially, as she discovered that they were headed to the Base Commander’s office and her stomach knotted in anticipation.
Renee knocked and Colonel Oliver Queen opened the door. Immediately they stood at attention. “At ease, Marines.”
He looked over his shoulder then. “That will be all Lance Corporal.”
If Ryan needed anymore evidence of pending bad news, Russell Tavaroff walking out the Colonel’s office, flashing her his usual sneer, was it. She remained waiting as Renee went in first. Wanting to hear every charge against her, to at least mount some form of defence, she itched to press her ear against the door. Ryan inched as far forward as she could without toppling over but just as she heard a voice she didn’t recognise, the door flew opened.
Queen assessed her as she snapped back to position. She hoped she hadn’t been caught, and foolishly added another infraction to her case. The smirk on Renee’s face said otherwise, and when they called her in, she hesitated at the doorway. It felt like a trap, but as always, she faced fate head on.
Raising her chin up, she stood before the Sergeant, Colonel and a woman in a sleek suit; all eyeing her like keen scientists dissecting a new discovery.
Momentarily no one spoke, and Ryan resisted every urge to squirm in her seat. Yet, just as a pleading outburst was about to force its way through her tightly pursed lips, the Colonel’s phone rang.
“I better go lay out the red carpet for her majesty. Sergeant Montoya, go and prepare the others.” He said, escorting her out.
If Ryan hadn’t spent the better part of the last three years inside war zones, the anticipation may have triggered her worst impulses to ruin all good things before they could be snatched away. Instead, she waited.
The mature black woman looked vaguely familiar, having noticed her a few times around the San Diego training base, when Ryan first joined, and later at one in Japan. She had a heart-shaped face and memorable kind eyes that reminded her so much of Cora, she’d been struck with a wave of grief the first time she saw her. She wasn’t part of the corps from her attire alone, and the more casual way she carried herself – although, she still looked important, which did nothing for Ryan’s nerves.
“Corporal Wilder,” the woman spoke warmly, as she flicked through one file of seven on the desk between them. “I’m Cecile Horton. As you can probably tell, I’m not one of your boys, I’m with the CIA.”
Panic seized her; she couldn’t believe that her actions in Mtamba caught the attention of the CIA. She’d worried that Tavaroff’s case would get her discharged at most, never could she have imagined her actions would be seen as a threat to national security.
Her throat restricted from fear, and all she managed was a simple croaked, “Ma’am.”
“What to do with you then,” said Cecile meeting her eyes, her expression soft but inscrutable. “Your Marine entrance test scores were unusual, Wilder. Once every decade unusual. Your aptitude tests were 96 percent, psych evaluation perfect for psych ops but then your PT results ranked better than most men and they pushed you through Force Recon.”
The reminder of how far she had come, and how hard she worked had flames lighting in her chest.
“I was an all rounder in high school. Won state in the heptathlon. As for my test scores, I was hungry to get out of Gotham” she explained, voice quivering only slightly.
Cecile dropped the thick file on the table with a loud thud that felt reminiscent to the slamming of a cell door.
“There’s hungry and then there’s starving,” she commented, shifting forward and sizing her up again.
As far as Ryan could tell, things were still in the balance, and she held onto that tiny hope. “If you knew where I came from, you’d understand it was life or death for me.”
Her mouth downturned almost pityingly in response. “I’m aware. I’ve had my eye on you for a while.”
She wondered just how long they had been building a case against her. The disappointment she felt was reminiscent to the thirteen-year-old kid that spent several nights in Blackgate Juvenile Detention Centre when she’d again thought the ends justified the means.
Cecile pushed the the folder with her life’s journey towards her. “I see an unusual story here. No parents, in and out of group homes, teen runaway, juvenile detention.”
As she turned the pages of paragraph after paragraph, Ryan barely glanced at them, unsurprised they had this information. Bit by bit it came out of her during the recent torture sessions they called psych evaluations. However, she’d be damned if she let some words on a paper encapsulate a hard life lived.
“I never knew my father and my birth-mom died giving me life. The foster care system sucks, and it was often easier to try my luck on the streets. With the streets came juvie; I tried to get my girl out the drug game her foster dad was pushing, but obviously, the GCPD didn’t stop to ask all that. These things are all true, but the woman who raised me taught me they aren’t who I am. They are only chapters in my story.” She explained.
Cecile’s perfectly pointed brows raised, impressed.
“Indeed. I read the chapter where the seismic shift happened. You were adopted at age fourteen and your high school career turned out to be a flying success, so what I don’t understand is why you didn’t go to college – why you’re here and not out there achieving all the things these tests say you should be?”
She almost wanted to laugh thinking of the moment the clock struck midnight in her life and her world returned to the same old rotten one she’d known and loathed. It seemed like a wholly different lifetime compared to where she was now. However, she’d never forget the pain, that was imprinted onto her like the tattoos on her skin.
She hated having to display life’s battle scars, begging someone to see her – particularly a someone she had no idea what their intentions were either. However, the warm almond shaped eyes that bore into her had Ryan spilling out about wounds which bled still, something even the psych experts couldn’t squeeze out of her. “My adoptive mom died in my senior year, so I stopped caring about the world, about my self. Eventually, the fog cleared, and I got on my feet again, and did what I do best – I ran, no, I flew as fast as I could and didn’t stop until I made it through the doors of West Point recruitment centre. This uniform saved my life.”
“What were you fleeing from?”
“Flying towards,” she corrected, “somewhere I could belong.”
The older woman’s cheeks spread into a wide grin then, smiling sweetly at her almost like a proud mother. The thought panicked her. The encouragement she’d yearned for coming from the person that was likely going to be taking away the things she was uplifting her for now was a recipe for disaster.
“Look, ma’am, I don’t want my history to paint a picture about what happened with Lance Corporal Tavaroff and Sergeant Montoya in a way that isn’t true. We were there to rescue. I heard the children and acted. I only shot him to prevent more casualties, more children dying unnecessarily. Tavaroff is a trigger-happy kind of guy, and I knew I wouldn’t miss. As you said, my scores are good, I have 93 percent degree of accuracy in shooting-”
To her surprise the woman threw her head back and chuckled. “Oh yes, I just heard about that.”
Ryan was truly confused then, having seen Russell only moments ago.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Insubordination by disobeying my commanding officer's order, shooting at a fellow Marine?” She answered honestly, tired of dancing around the elephant in the room.
“Certainly, you won’t be making Sergeant here with those charges.”
Finally, the other shoe dropped. The familiar cold disappointment which settled into the chambers of her heart felt worse than all the past times. This time, she had really tried to make a difference. Now she doubted if the people who saw greatness in her were wrong. It appeared she was destined to ruin every good thing that came into her life.
She imagined herself sat in a Fort Leavenworth cell, then a dishonourable discharge and eventual return to the dark streets of Gotham. She trembled at the thought, but still, she didn’t break.
Hanging her head low, she answered, “what will happen to me then?”
“You survived combat in Haiti, gang wars in El Salvador, two tours in Afghanistan, then volunteered for a mission in Mtamba. Survived an explosion, capture and rescued children – and you think I got on a flight all the way from head office for a little disobedience?”
Ryan’s head snapped up.
“I know you Marines are strict, but there’d be barely anyone left if we trashed every hardheaded fool who ignored an order or two. As for the shooting, the two witnesses said Tavaroff shot at you first and when that was just now relayed to him, he dropped all grievances.”
The other woman’s expression was unreadable, and Ryan remained unsure as to whether this was praise or punishment – because if it was the former, she hadn’t lived a life where that made sense.
“We won’t punish you for being a good Marine, Wilder.” Colonel Queen interrupted, Ryan not having noticed his reappearance.
Approaching, he continued. “True Marines are the strong. We protect the weak. We are merciless in that endeavour. We are fighters, like you.”
She stood up then, as he came to stand beside Cecile.
“She’s the one ma’am.” He nodded.
Ryan was dumbfounded at the turn of events.
Cecile faced Ryan more fully.
“While there’s 1.4 million active-duty personnel in the military, only less than a thousand can we call on that make a true difference. I believe you are one of those few. You have an opportunity, Ryan. To fight for a higher purpose…”
Ryan’s skin tingled with that feeling she had come to recognise as fate. The faces of those few who had believed in her flashed through her mind, each of them beaming.
“…But it means walking away from the life that you lived up to this point and never looking back.”
The Marines had become her entire life. Roman along with the Wonderland gang were rotting in jail, and Angelique had made it out too, hidden somewhere under witness protection for testifying. Mama was gone. Gotham had moved on without her.
That life had long been over.
Ryan straightened, nodded in understanding. “I’m ready for it. I want this.”
“Good. I’ve been betting on you for a long time, Wilder,” she said, offering her hand to shake.
Ryan shook both their hands as they smiled brightly at her.
“Very well. Follow me,” said Queen, leading them out the room.
Ryan was lined up with six other women, when they heard the reverberating sound of heels coming towards them.
Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.
The shoes sounded expensive and the walk important – that, along with the select group of Marines, male and female, lined up in the fighting cage, waiting for this guest to arrive. At the top of the platform stood Queen and Cecile also waiting for the woman of the hour.
Eventually, the click-clacking stopped, and a woman appeared in a sophisticated fitted crimson dress and killer red bottom heels to go with it. With the fanfare around her, she may have confused her for royalty. She was regal with a soft muscular frame, wore a pristine curly silk press, and when she removed her large sunglasses to greet her companions, Ryan thought she belonged more in a high-rise tower yelling orders at people than the fighting cages of Quantico.
“AAATTENTION!” Called the Colonel.
With a coordinated stomp they all stood nose up, chest out, shoulders back and stomach in.
The woman murmured something before Queen yelled the names of seven women.
When Ryan stepped forward, she got a better glance at their esteemed guest. She was obviously Cecile’s senior in rank and in age, by perhaps a few years. Her makeup was immaculate which only accentuated her prominent cheekbones, sharp jaw and piercing dark – but strangely familiar – eyes. However, as she assessed the Marines from the elevated stage, her face was twisted into a no-nonsense frown.
Queen passed over the files she recalled from the office, when she’d been talking to Cecile; and realised the mission they were preparing her for was for this woman. Simply from her heavy presence, Ryan found herself yearning for whatever the challenge was in a keenly curious way she hadn’t before. This worldly woman was an imagination of a future she could and wanted to have.
“If your theatre is Africa, I have six that could work, but one particular one that’ll get the job done.” Queen spoke, and although he didn’t glance at Ryan, shuffling through the folders, she knew she was that one.
“I’d like to see them for myself first, I’m not used to having my assets picked for me.” She answered, peering down the line.
“Jada, trust me, I’ve found you the very best,” Cecile said passionately, kind eyes finding Ryan.
Again, the click-clacking rang as they descended the stairs, and she began her inspection.
Ryan was the furthest from the cage entrance, and thus, the last to be viewed. Ruby Flowers was the first, and within seconds Jada returned the folder to Queen. “No.”
Flicking through each folder, she passed Pamela Isley, Evelyn Rhyme, Margot Magpie and one other woman that had been flown in especially, Dinah Drake, and gave curt noes.
She stopped at Circe Wallis beside her, something like interest piquing in her rich molten eyes.
“You’ve done undercover work in the past?”
Circe nodded. “I did, ma’am.”
“It didn’t end so well however.” Queen added, redirecting their attention to the last folder.
“Didn’t end well, how?”
“I went into psychosis, ma’am.” She explained, voice thick with emotion.
“That’s unfortunate.” Jada passed over the file and finally landed on Ryan’s.
“She’s the bird you’re looking for,” Cecile assured as she perused the story of Ryan’s life.
“Cecile…” she began, something like disappointment in her tone.
Ryan swallowed the way it made her feel. She was used to not feeling enough, but it would be a lie to say it didn’t sting a little bit more from someone she admired.
“…She’s too street,” she commented, not yet having looked up at Ryan, examining the words and not the person.
“She’s the one,” Cecile said, firmer, a real finality to it – as she stopped Jada’s examination with a hand over the page.
Jada looked up then, and something like shock washed across her features; her mouth agape slightly, familiar dark eyes unblinking, and ochre skin paled as if she’d seen a ghost.
The reaction stirred the well accustomed flames of rejection in the young Marine.
Jada quickly flicked back to the first page of the file and her head snapped to her two colleagues. “R-Ryan Wilder?”
“Yes, she’s the one I told you about before.”
Cecile’s face showed exactly what Ryan was feeling, confusion at Jada’s visibly visceral reaction to her in comparison to the other Marines.
Whatever had overcome Jada left as quickly as it came, and she sized her up more seriously.
“What’s her background?”
“Grew up in Gotham but her adoptive mother was with the Red Cross in Mtamba after the independence civil war and Zambesi during the Cholera epidemic of ’09.”
Jada’s dimple twitched in a near smile. “She was adopted.”
“Her mother died,” Cecile flashed her an apologetic look as she spoke. “So, no familial ties here, you don’t have to worry about her getting homesick and going AWOL on you.” It came out in a joking tone that even Ryan’s eyes glittered in amusement, however Jada’s almost misted with sadness before she blinked back to hardness.
“How’s she with languages?”
Oliver answered then. “Clean. Done four language courses, picks them up well.”
Jada never took her eyes off Ryan, and while she had already been through this with Cecile, she felt exposed in a different way.
“Do you know any native languages?”
“My mom taught me some Swahili and Zambis, continued with them when I joined the corps, ma’am.”
For the first time, Jada looked mildly impressed.
Her attention turned back to the folder and over Jada’s shoulder, Cecile sent her an encouraging wink.
“You did a tour in Afghanistan?”
“Two,” Ryan corrected. “Trained in San Diego, El Salvador for recon, UN in Haiti, military parachuting in Japan, AFRICOM in Mtamba.”
“Passed S.E.R.E. school on her first go too.” Cecile quipped.
Jada’s interest turned to a frown which dashed Ryan’s hopes again.
“She’s got a record.”
“Expunged juvenile misdemeanour,” Ryan countered without missing a beat.
Jada didn’t look convinced. “You slung drugs?”
Before the words even came out, knowing how they always sounded, she winced. “The drugs weren’t mine and the cops didn’t bother to find out.”
Those dark eyes bore into her as if they could pull out the truth from the intensity of the stare. “You lying to me?”
“The. Drugs. Weren’t. Mine.”
Cecile pulled them away, whispering although Ryan could just about hear. “It’s not on any records and let’s not act as if the CIA have never disappeared anything before.”
Jada’s response was undistinguishable but from the interaction thus far, Ryan was sure the woman wasn’t enthused. It seemed Jada was doing everything in her power not to pick her and she wondered why. She knew she didn’t have the best background, but her military career proved her capabilities. She swore if she made it past this selection, she would determine the cause of her resistance.
“She’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but she’s a fucking badass.”
Ryan couldn’t help the the breathy chortle she released at Cecile’s words. Even though she didn’t know her well, her faith in her stirred reminiscent feelings of the warmth she felt from Cora.
“What exactly am I supposed to do with a badass Cecile?”
Almost pleadingly, the woman championing her reached over and held Jada’s forearm. “She’s damn smart, top ten percent on the officers' scale smart. She’s fighter and a survivor and here for the right reasons.”
The two shared a long look, about something even Queen wasn’t privy to as he bristled uncomfortably beside them.
“You said you wanted to do it differently this time. She’s different. She’s not Ocean.”
Jada had that look – like she’d seen a ghost – on her face again, and Ryan realised that her attitude had nothing to do with her but what happened to Ocean.
The words appeared to get through to Jada for the way she relented and nodded in agreement at the Colonel. “Show me.”
“Wilder! Tavaroff! On the floor.” Queen shouted.
Immediately Russell smirked, having been frothing at the mouth to enact his revenge on her.
“I won’t miss my shot this time,” he taunted, putting on protective gear.
“Whatever,” she snarled, irked that this would be the fight used for her display.
Cecile approached her as she stared down Tavaroff and began attaching her gloves. “Don’t let that man child get in your head, it would be a great shame to not see you rise to your potential because of a self-centred idiot.”
“No, he’s not,” she hastily exclaimed, trying to keep her imagine intact.
“He’s in there, I can tell, which means he already has the upper hand,” she replied matter-of-factly at her feeble attempt to convince her otherwise.
Ryan growled, adjusting her gloves and reaching for her helmet. “I’ve got this.”
“If he loses, he loses nothing. But if you lose, you lose everything you could be. That’s why you need to annihilate him,” Cecile said, looking at the helmet in her hands.
Ryan immediately put it down and jumped onto the sparring mat.
“You think you’re that good?” He cackled, removing his own cockily.
“I know I am, so let’s get on with it.”
The Colonel beckoned them forward. “Fight!”
Like the cocksure oaf he was, he attacked first, throwing his arm with unrestrained power. Ryan swiftly missed the initial thrust of his arm and the crowd of Marines around them released mocking jeers.
Angered, Tavaroff swung again, which she blocked. The force behind his attack made her arms shake, and she knew that his strength was going to be her biggest problem. Russell was twice her size; grown as if pumped with iron. He used his weight to his advantage, and Ryan felt him push against her, and trying to bare all of his weight down against her, and for a moment she strained against it, her muscles screaming at her. However, she had grown up used to fighting people bigger than her, and his bulky muscles didn’t intimidate her in the slightest.
He kept swinging, full weight thrown into the action making him slow and heavy. Ryan sidestepped them, jabbing at his ribs with every movement. The punches were quick and maybe less powerful but eventually she saw the impact of her controlled fire. He grew breathless and the next punch winded him, causing him to release a pained grunt.
From her periphery she saw the impressed glow in not only Cecile’s eyes but Jada’s too. However, the momentary distraction cost her. His fist came into contact with her jaw, shaking her entire being, and turning her legs to jelly, she collapsed and felt opportunity begin to slip through her fingers.
Where she expected to see annoyance on Jada’s face, she found concern twisted between her brows instead.
“You didn’t actually believe a little hoodrat like you could win this did you?” He ridiculed as she gasped for breaths.
She continued to watch Jada, who strangely nodded at her almost encouragingly, as if she wanted her to win, despite all her earlier protests. Something in that action propelled Ryan into action.
She rolled backwards and jumped back to her feet. Easily, she shook the ache from her bones. Now she was filled with strength, and she knew she had to win.
They fought until it was punch for punch, carrying on even as they drew blood, and she swallowed each one, using the pain to steer her on.
With a final effort she tackled him and managed to take him down. She pummelled until she could barely recognise his face and released every frustration she’d ever felt about not being worthy enough.
And eventually, as Russell couldn’t escape the barrage of hits, the Colonel called it to a stop. “Enough!”
Ryan stood victorious, breathing heavily, a question in her eyes.
Cecile winked at her, and it filled her with pride, but she knew only one person’s opinion mattered in that moment. Surprisingly, when she looked at Jada, for the first time, a genuine smile which reached the tip of her cheekbones was planted on her face as she walked towards her. “Okay, Ryan, let’s go.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” she said striding beside her.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Jada’s smile fade, and was surprised when she stopped her ever so gently with a hand to her forearm.
“I’m not an officer. I’m…” her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, struggling to form the title.
“Boss?” Ryan supplied, which seemed to make the other woman wince a little.
Strangely, she found herself trying to alleviate the moment. “Okay, how about Bosslady?”
One side of her mouth twitched in a half smile as she finally responded. “Jada Jet. Jada will do just fine.”
“Okay then Jada,” she said as they entered the empty auditorium. “What’s the mission?”
“Classified.” She answered, halting Ryan’s movements, crossing her arms and slowly regarding her again. Where before it felt like being dissected, this time there was something wistful in the way dark eyes absorbed her in.
“I don’t get to know my mission?”
Doubt which she believed had been extinguished radiated off the older woman. She chewed at her lip in a nervous gesture that looked foreign on her.“I’m not done vetting you yet.”
“But Cecile-”
“Cecile doesn’t run this program. I do. And I say you’re not vetted yet.” She snapped, spitting out the other woman’s name like poison.
“What more do you need to know?”
Jada picked up her file and flicked through it again, slower like she was taking in every word this time. Her eyes roved slowly, like she didn’t quite believe it. Again, disappointment filled Ryan.
“Cecile tells me you’re a survivor. My question though is why. Why do you want to survive?” She opened her file on the page with a list of all Ryan’s missions. “Other people would have given up for less. You haven’t. Why?”
“I’m not ready to die.”
“I can see that.” Jada replied, a hint of amusement in her smirk. “But why?”
Ryan’s mind flashed to her most painful memories; the losses of her mother, Angelique and recently Kate Kane, all people who believed in her, all people she carried with her daily.
“Does it really matter?” Ryan replied, exasperated by this woman not wanting to see her.
“Of course it does. The will to survive is the most important trait in a soldier. The strength to carry on fighting when your body is battered and your heart guides you. So, what is it the French say – what is your raison d'être?” The more she pressed, the more it felt like a grenade waiting to explode, especially as familiar eyes suddenly willed her for more.
Ryan was taken aback but answered candidly. “My reason for living is the promises I made to people who loved me.”
Ryan watched the laugh-lines around Jada’s cheeks crease but not in amusement, rather frustration.
“I’ve had a thousand would-be soldiers tell me about promises. Why are you really here?” She said stalking up to her and towered over her, despite her short stature, captured her eyes in a stare so powerful she felt ensnared by it, like she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.
“I-I don’t know.” She stuttered, fumbling.
Jada’s challenging gaze was unyielding, but beyond it something like pleading danced in molten pools of brown.
“Then why are we talking – I’m looking for a hero not the lost and found?”
She sighed deeply, quelling the fear swirling inside. “Trust me, I know I'm not your typical hero or symbol. And I’ll be honest, I’m not here because I love Uncle Sam, like he has ever done much good for me…”
Ryan never quite aligned with the institution’s doctrine of American exceptionalism as someone that came from the very fringes of society, but the opportunity to be someone who made a difference in the world had stuck.
“…I’m here because when I was orphan Annie, who had nothing and no one, a great woman saw me and didn’t see something to be forgotten or discarded. She saw my light in the dark, and through her I began to see it too. Then I lost her, and things were dark again, real dark. Until I ran through the doors of West Point centre and the man who protected me saw my light and told me that I could share it, that I could protect people and become someone that saw the light in others too.” By the time she’d finished talking she was out of breath from the speed and fervour with which she spoke.
Jada’s glassy smile was laced with something deep rooted that Ryan couldn’t quite place, and she was curious as to what it was, but she couldn’t focus on that, when she still didn’t know if she was enough for Jada.
The other woman circled her then, slow precise steps which made Ryan feel like prey, but she held her head up; proud, strong, certain in herself.
“Are you religious?”
Confused, Ryan answered slowly, “my Mama was Catholic, she took me to church when I started living with her, but she never made me get baptised or confirmed.”
“Any tattoos?”
Finally, the line of questioning indicated a dying battle, hope.
“Just the Desert Rose, and bat.”
Jada stopped stalking then, frowning like she didn’t believe her again. “Show me.”
“I’m not a liar.” Ryan answered, pulling down her shirt and revealing the flower tattoo on her clavicle first, then turning to show the bat symbol on her back.
“I’m not risking it again,” Jada answered ominously. “What’s the flower for?”
She grew quiet, remembering the woman who’d changed her life. “My m-” her throat was hoarse with sudden emotion, “it’s to honour my moms, my adoptive, Cora, used to always buy me desert roses on my birthday. She said they had healing properties to lessen the pain of life without my birth mom.”
For all of Jada’s aloofness, in unexpected moments, her eyes revealed great depths of emotion, like then, when they softened almost pitifully. “She sounds like a good mom,” she croaked.
“The very best.”
Jada cleared her throat, and swiftly changed the subject. “And the bat?”
“The mantle Sergeant Kane passed onto me. She called us Bravo Bat team because that was her symbol.”
Jada nodded slowly and her frown returned, twisting her sharp brows. “Show me all of it.”
Ryan hesitated, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into, but her only solace was that Jada fidgeted with the pen in her hand, looking equally as uncomfortable, despite the expectant expression on her face.
Ryan unpeeled her layers rapidly. “Is this how you CIA suits get off?” She couldn’t resist the quip to lighten the mood and to deflect a little from what she would reveal. However, Jada zeroed in instantly on the grotesque scars littered across her body. Many had faded with time, looked barely more than white ink tattoos on dark skin but Ryan was still conscious of them.
Looking horrified, Jada surged forward, taking in every bump and ridge, like she was actually concerned despite being in the middle of humiliating her.
“What are these?” She grazed the maze of lacerations on her skin gently like she could undo them with a caring brush of her finger.
“These are from a belt, courtesy of foster family number seven.” Usually that answer was enough, but something in dark irises demanded more, and for reasons unbeknownst to herself Ryan explained. “They didn’t want to lose the checks so they made sure to punish us where the teachers and social workers couldn’t see.”
Ryan could’ve sworn she saw flames rise in dark irises, but it was hard to see as Jada blinked rapidly. “Is that why you were a runaway?” She uttered in a voice so low Ryan struggled to hear.
Unable to speak on painful memories, Ryan simply nodded. She didn’t dare say that the physical scars were nothing in comparison to the mental wounds.
“These are from when I jumped out a three-story window, after I beat up the drug dealer who killed my mom.” Turning, she revealed the rest of her journey’s souvenirs. “So, that should answer all your questions about how much pain I can take.” Gesturing to her naked figure, she continued. “And this should tell you how much indignity.”
Jada was frozen, something akin to panic in her breathing.
“I know I’m not your typical solider but I’m capable, I can do this.”
This woman that had seemingly stood ten foot tall, deliberating like a Roman empress at the top of the fighting cage, who looked like she could make giants fall with one sharp side eye looked afraid as she finally acquiesced. “Ok. Let’s see if Cecile was right about you.”
Distracted by that familiar yet frightening feeling of fate which battered her heart against her ribs and tickled the hair across her skin like a phantom touch, Ryan dropped her assessments of the older woman.
“So, what is the program?”
Recovered, Jada straightened like a school teacher and explained. “Initially, it was known as the Lioness program, which simply required female soldiers to frisk and interrogate female insurgents. We couldn’t have a man running his hand over a Muslim woman’s body or teenager’s groin. It evolved into our Birds of Prey operation,” she paused then, watching her with a distant look again.
Ryan wondered if that look was about the Ocean person she’d overheard mentioned.
“…Now, we locate the wives, girlfriends and daughters of the government’s list of high-value targets, usually terrorist masterminds or financiers of war, and we plant an operative within their orbit.” She gestured to Ryan as she continued. “The operative makes friends with them. Earns their trust. Leads us to the target, and we neutralise the target. Some might consider that cruel and outside the lines of what’s just. What do you think?”
Something uncomfortable churned in Ryan’s stomach. The thought of being dishonest, even for the greater good, wasn’t something she jumped at. However, recent memories of child soldiers, destitute refugees and destruction in Mtamba in the name of diamonds and wealth came into her mind.
“Honestly, it makes me uneasy, being dishonest,” she said, remembering Didier and Kevan then. “But if it means protecting vulnerable people against monsters then I’ll gladly do it.”
“Welcome to the birds of prey program, Ryan.”
Notes:
We are getting closer to a meeting I promise.
Thoughts on Jada Jet?
Chapter 7: The Bulls Rite
Summary:
Sophie accepts her fate.
Notes:
Translation:
Ngoma: Type of drum
Ziyité: Hail
Amashiri: Great Crow
Simboti: Leopard
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sophie descended the spiral stone staircase of the Zambesi Palace, escorted by her royal guard, Jacob, and begun the long walk to the gardens to meet her future fiancé.
A shiver ran up her spine at just the thought, fiancé didn’t sit right with her and neither did fiancée – it filled her with dread and disgust. However, she remembered her mother's urgings of family and duty, and thus marched forward.
She was led to the front of the procession, with girls as young as toddlers loudly whispering excitedly, and women ululating with pride as she walked by.
Her entrance to the Royal Village gardens was as grand and over dramatic as it was unnecessary. The regal ngoma drums pitter-pattered like light rain, the master drummer struck the cow skin base in time with her stride the moment she set foot on the pitch – and didn’t cease until she had arrived before the stage, laying her reed, for the final time, at the feet of the Queen Mother’s podium.
With a flourish, Jacob presented the princess to the grandstand filled with the expectant faces of the elders of the family and curious gazes of esteemed guests including: royalty from other kingdoms, Zambesi’s President and ministers, foreign dignitaries and her soon-to-be fiancé Tyler Wanai. The tall slim man, with smooth umber skin, wore his tribe’s traditional leopard print garb and eyed her with an encouraging smile which made her stomach sink.
Her reality cemented when she saw him stood ahead of the line of ‘bulls’, waiting for his moment to ask the King’s favour to propose to the maiden of his choice.
As Chief Maiden of the ceremony, Sophie was first to dance – first to be traded away.
The old Queen Mother stood and watched her with delight as she spoke, “great are the maidens who carry our kingdom, may God and the ancestors bless you!”
King Kunda struck his cane in the air and the shrill calls and thunderous cheers began, and so did she.
Sophie’s feet stomped in small but intricate steps causing the rattling anklets to hiss across the pitch. Gradually, as the rest of her body begun twisting, the musicians' clappers and drums joined.
The girls of her regiment sang the Maiden’s song as she danced.
Drumming, singing, clapping, and clattering coalesced seamlessly creating an increasing in pace polyrhythmic sound.
Her feet and hips did most of the work, in the traditional dance she’d performed since she could walk. However, maybe because it was the last time she would perform it, something about today’s performance felt different. Twenty years of doing the same steps, she’d mastered it, but as the music went on, it was as if she was discovering them anew.
She dreaded to think of the videos which would surely circulate across social media come the morning.
She peaked up as she kicked and stomped to the beat, but like usual, the faces around her didn’t seem to notice her struggle. Instead, as she kicked again, higher this time, the exciting movement elicited sharp whistles and encouraging hoots.
Focussing solely on the gesticulation of her body, dancing like her life depended on it, her movements grew desperate.
If she was going to sacrifice her heart, the people she was doing it for would witness her pain, it was the very least they could do.
However, even that rebellion was overshadowed, when the men's aggressive mock-fighting drew the audience’s attention.
Tyler used his great cowhide shield to pretend to strike the men playfully attacking him with blunt spears. Victorious, with his shield held high, he began ascending the steps of the stage towards the King, while the other bulls bellowed and begun their own tune, deep throaty voices meshing flawlessly with the maidens.
The men could only join in song when one dared the climb towards the Nation’s ruler. Tyler rose with each thud of the drum, until he reached the top.
With a dramatic pang, the drums stopped, and like the music and audience, Sophie stilled too, never having been at the centre of this part of the ceremony before.
Tyler dropped on one knee before clapping in their customary show of respect before her grandfather, presenting him with his spear.
As displeased to see him as the princess was, her mother was ecstatic. She’d have said outright giddy if the Principal Princess could publicly show anything besides her stoic exterior. Sophie winced as her grandfather’s booming voice offered a king’s greeting and expression of gratitude to the eager man.
“Hail!”
“Ziyité!” Tyler repeated.
King Kunda fixed him in a scrutinising gaze, but the young minister didn’t cower under it, instead he brought out a small box from his pocket for him to assess. Eventually, pleased with the gift, her grandfather laid an approving hand on Tyler’s shoulder and bid him forward.
It was done. Now, it was her turn to say yes. Although, it didn’t even matter if she said it verbally even, if he simply grabbed her hand and placed the ring in it, that was historically considered consent enough in her culture. Global influence meant people normally performed the on-one-knee proposal and ecstatic ‘yes!’ courtship, however.
Sophie understood that regardless of what she did, their engagement would be.
The drums began again as Tyler sprinted to the pitch.
Yards from her, facing her head on, he crouched as he initiated the dance of the Bull and Maiden.
The rhythm of the drums and clapping were fast and repetitive.
Di-Di-Di-Dum. Di-Di-Di-Dum. Di-Di-Di-Dum.
He remained crouched with his head lowered and jerked both arms and forcefully pawed the ground with his right leg, as if imitating a bull kicking soil from the surface.
In return, the maiden shook her waist and twisted her hips vigorously in sync with him as he crawled forward and and she backed away.
As the music’s tempo increased to a crescendo, they culminated their opposing movements with an intense pelvic thrust directed towards each other, causing the audience ecstasy and provoking the loudest roars and elephantine thuds.
For a moment, she was swept up in it. The smiles on people’s faces as they hollered and smiled was difficult to despise. She knew life was about more than just that moment, where she felt her people’s pride, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she held onto that moment, whether she might survive the future carved out for her.
Again, the beat slowed, and he returned to his chase while she twisted her hips and evaded.
The dance depicted a game of prey and predator. Truly, that’s how she felt, a wingless bird thrown to the wolves.
He crawled up to her again but this time she was at the edges of the pitch, the maidens behind her ululating and waving for her to go back. Thus, she advanced forward and once more the instruments picked up pace.
Eventually, they met in the middle, a final thrust before he pounced and trapped her hand.
As quickly as her elation came, it was gone, and her blood ran cold when she caught his eye properly, having been avoiding it the entire time.
She noted his chiseled features – a prominent chin with a dimpled cleft, a strong brow bone with thick black hairs, his wide straight nose and pouty but straight lips. She supposed he was objectively attractive, and although she found his dark eyes, which weren’t quite the right shade of brown, and defined square jawline attractive, his handsome features were not gentle or soft enough to make her breath catch.
She chided herself for wishing he had fuller softer lips and smaller gentler hands.
He twisted her hand in his rough sweaty one and it made her want to recoil. However, a quick glance at her mother’s glaring expression threatening harsh punishment had the princess gritting out a curt ululation through a tense, fake smile and clenched teeth.
She very carefully schooled her features into polite neutrality as Tyler clapped before her.
“Amashiri!” He greeted. ‘Great Crow!’
“Simboti!” She clapped, reciting his totem greeting in his tribal language, Shona. ‘Leopard!’
He looked surprised but charmed, and in her periphery, she saw the Princess’s approval and the flashing of cameras from the media stand.
She was the quintessential princess performing flawlessly without revealing the depths of her hurt.
Tyler looked at her, smiling as he pulled out the same box he presented earlier. Inside sat an obscene pink diamond which looked like it cost a king’s ransom.
“Your Royal Highness, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” He asked, as he slipped the ring on her finger.
Looking at the glistening pink jewel, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. It filled her with an eerie sense of foreboding which prickled in her chest.
The ground was the quietest it had been in the entire 5 days of the Golden Grass Ceremony. Even in the distant bush, where the music of the land could usually be heard, there was tranquillity – keen anticipation where she only felt apprehension.
The silence must have gone on long enough for she noticed the King stand up from the corner of her eye.
“Yes!”
Although she knew she was going to relent, she was still surprised when the agreement flew out of her mouth.
She didn’t repeat the treacherous three letter word again; couldn’t for the nausea swirling in her stomach.
As the crowds released their breaths in ear shattering calls of elation, she buried the lump in her throat, along with her heart's desires.
Etiquette dictated that she offer her shackled hand for her new fiancé to kiss, never had she despised such a custom as much as she did at that moment. His grip felt bruising, and his lips lingered on her knuckles longer than she wanted.
She gave away another piece of herself and she realised, this was not a final concession but the continuation of a lifetime of hacking away pieces of herself for other people. It felt like all of the segments which made up her personhood were only hers at a price.
Sophie’s eyes closed, and she clenched her dominant hand. This was her life. It was destined to be this way, chosen for her from the day she was born. Sophie pushed forward her hand, casting the dreams of another life aside. Dreams didn’t belong to her, and she had to grow up and do as her duty bid.
With a herculean effort she held back the tears that threatened to shatter her composure and ignored the roaring in her heart.
The festivities continued from there; proposal after proposal, every bride looking a million times more elated than hers. Luckily for her, she could hide her sadness in her normally public aloof posterior, something else she had her mother to thank for.
In the end, when all the pageantry was completed, the party began, case after case of Umqombothi beer, passed around for a final night of celebrations before the guests returned to their lives.
However, after one too many conversations with excited girls and aunties asking her of wedding and future plans the princess had all she could take for the night. Therefore, under the pretence of exhaustion and the need to obtain her beauty sleep she retreated to cry herself to sleep.
Luckily, she didn’t need to inform her soon-to-be husband for he had left immediately after the proposal as he was never anywhere his extensive security couldn’t protect him entirely.
She retreated to her uncle, the Crown Prince’s palace, furthest from the King’s residence, knowing she wouldn't be found by her mother. It was a small act of rebellion, but one she greatly relished because it comforted her just when she thought she had no fight left in her.
Notes:
Dances described half based on reed/Umhlanga dance of South Africa & Jerusarema/Mbende of Zimbabwe:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQrS4x8EM7Q
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rr9mkHaLcVc
Chapter 8: Bird of Prey
Summary:
Ryan meets the team
Chapter Text
Ryan could scarcely believe her last 48 hours – from thinking she was going to lose her job to being hand-selected by the CIA for some covert mission. To say her life was a rollercoaster would be an understatement. Yet, as arduous as the experiences were, she couldn’t quell the excitement which bubbled in her chest as she sat across from Jada Jet, CIA station chief, on her way to an undisclosed destination to begin her mission.
Unfortunately for her, Jada wasn’t exactly the most loquacious of people to be riding with. She had barely said a word to her outside of instructions since they boarded the plane. While Ryan wasn’t opposed to silence, she even managed the last six hours in quiet after an eight-hour sleep, but she itched with burning questions both about the mission and the complicated woman before her.
“So, when do I get to know about my mark?” She asked, testing the waters.
Thus far, all she knew is that her mission was to supply intel on the Zambesi royal family and their ties with the target, Tyler Wanai; a government minister and mineral mine and agricultural billionaire from Zimbabwe. However, she had no information about her mark as of yet, and that filled her with unease.
Jada was typing furiously on her laptop, as she had for the journey’s majority, forewent glancing up and uttered a curt response of, “when it’s time.”
“Thanks,” she commented sarcastically. “That’s super helpful.”
Again, silence enveloped them, but Ryan was nothing if not tenacious. “Has anyone ever told you, you talk too much?” She joked, much to the irritation of Jada, whose mouth twisted in frustration even though she ignored the question.
“Ookayy, I guess not.”
Ryan was likeable by nature, childhood bullying had made her so, thus she found it difficult when she couldn’t get through to someone. Yet, there were already moments with Jada where something like a heart shone through her dark eyes and Ryan was determined to draw that out. Pondering upon all she knew about the older woman, and her guarded heart, she changed her approach.
“I take it Ocean was your last Bird?” She probed, biting the bullet.
Piercing eyes snapped to hers then, fire behind them. Yet, that was the extent of her warning as the other woman took a large gulp of her wine.
Ryan placed her hand over Jada’s on the glass she was refilling, hoping to get her to pause for at least a moment. “It’s clear to me you blame yourself, but do I need to worry that I’ll end up the same way?”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out Ocean’s fate; it was obvious from the brief grief that had washed across black eyes when Cecile first tentatively mentioned her. Even now, the way Jada snatched her hand away like Ryan’s touch scolded her said it all.
Jada’s sharp brows furrowed furiously as she held a waggling finger up to Ryan. “Hey. No. We don’t do that.”
Confusion coloured Ryan’s features and Jada fixed her in a stare so icy it could freeze the ocean they’d flown over. “I’m not here to m- mother you, that’s Cecile’s style, not me. I tell you what to do, you do it, that’s it.”
Usually, she let rude superiors' comments bounce off her shoulders, but there was something in particular about Jada’s words which stabbed at a sensitive wound.
“I’m not looking for a mom or to be babied,” she paused as the words seemed to hit Jada for the way she turned her head slightly as if recoiling from a slap across the cheek.
“Look, you know what motivates me, I just want to know the same,” she said far softer than she intended.
Blinking, the glaciers melted, just a little, but still no words came.
Huffing, Ryan relented. “Maybe you were right, you should have picked someone else, this isn’t going to work.”
A breathy snort came from the other woman then. “You like to be in charge, is that it? With your eight months being Corporal?”
She had her undivided attention then, and Jada watched her like she was taking her apart, figuring her out and putting her together, like she was nothing but bits and pieces of a gun – it filled her with the overwhelming urge to duck and find cover.
But she was Ryan freaking Wilder, goddammit, so she pulled back her shoulders instead, held her gaze and reflected back a stern expression of her own.
“I’d just like to know the person responsible with my life and death if my cover is blown.”
Jada nodded stiffly. “Good. I don’t need another kid expecting to play dress up like some kind of superhero. If your cover’s blown there is no saving you.” She refilled her drink again, emptying the last dregs of dark red liquid. “That’s what this job has taught me. You have to save yourself, then we come get you.” She sipped the wine and met Ryan’s gaze again. “You can trust me to do that.”
Despite the brutality of her words, the answer satisfied Ryan enough because she didn’t need someone to lie to her. The prospect of capture or worse didn’t scare her enough to pull out of the mission, and she knew that her willingness to do the things others were afraid to do and survive was what propelled her up the ranks.
Expecting Jada to have returned to her laptop, Ryan was surprised when she found the other woman’s attention on her, mouth open, ready to speak again. However, when the pilot’s voice interrupted to prepare them for landing, she saw the thoughts washed away with the last of her alcohol.
Arriving at Lanseria airport in South Africa, Ryan was greeted with the familiar wave of sizzling warm heat of the African continent as she followed Jada’s clicking heels across the tarmac.
“I thought you said we were going to Johannesburg?”
“After,” Jada explained, her pace not even slowing as she texted on her phone. “You’ve got some people to meet first.”
“Who?”
The roar of a loud engine hurtling towards them, answered the question. From the back seat of a large SUV tumbled out a blonde wearing eccentric clothes who looked like she belonged more in a kids book than the CIA.
“Our team.”
The blonde with pale skin and fiery teal eyes approached them.
“Get back in the car please Alice.” Jada commanded, more like a tired mother than a CIA chief.
The woman – Alice – ignored her, instead leering at Ryan and giving her the up down, unimpressed.
“I’m sorry, do we have a problem?” Ryan quipped.
Translucent eyes caught the bat on Kate’s dog tags. “Problem? Batty, this’ll be your biggest nightmare,” she winked.
As Ryan squared up to the taller woman, Jada’s arm sprung up, grabbed her hand and pulled her away.
“Ryan, meet Bethany Alice, our resident expert on undercover missions.”
Observing her odd pseudo-Victorian fashion choices of a burgundy garter with striped stockings, Ryan couldn’t prevent the spluttering laugh she released. “Sorry, it’s just you don’t seem like you could blend in, even if you wanted to.”
“That’s exactly the point of this little ensemble,” Jada chimed, causing Alice to turn her sneer towards her instead. “A sad cry for help?”
“I learned a long time ago that cries for help don’t work, especially with you,” Alice spat, staring daggers at Jada.
A beep from the driver caught Ryan’s attention but the two women continued their argument.
“You’re really going to pick a fight after I saved your drunk ass?”
“I was drunk. But I’m extremely sober now,” she interrupted.
“Come on then, get it all out.” Jada huffed.
Alice childishly gestured zipping her mouth up.
“Being petulant and unhelpful doesn’t achieve anything. Bethany, you’re better than this.”
Ryan watched with keen curiosity because for all Jada had scolded her for wanting to be babied, she seemed very willing to mother Alice.
“Oh my god, was that a compliment?!” She asked incredulously.
“You’re very smart and pretty, now let’s go,” she said opening the door.
“We’re not all like you!” Alice snapped. “Not all of us have an icy empty space in our chest. We can’t just carry on like normal, like nothing happened.”
“This is the way it is. The mission ended and now we have a new one,” her voice wavered, just a little, despite her cold words.
“God, you’re such a bitch!”
Jada let the words go through her, like the insult didn’t even phase her, and Ryan imagined she’d probably been called a lot worse.
As Ryan went to intervene, deescalate the vicious flames being thrown, Jada stopped her with a gentle squeeze of the hand she hadn’t noticed was still around hers.
“Beth. You were strong enough to escape your childhood, so you’re strong enough to get through this. That’s why I didn’t worry about you. So, next time you want to drink yourself stupid, call me, I have the world’s best wine collection and won’t let you go out drunk. Okay?”
Despite the flames having been close to a wildfire, it appeared Jada’s soft words had extinguished all of the blonde’s rage as she relented, gazing at Ryan and offering her a quick, “my bad.”
As if the exchange hadn’t even happened, the two women proceeded to get into the car. The driver – a great spartan looking man – hopped out the front and took her bags.
Apologetic, he said, “so, you’re our new bird?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. I’m Ryan Wilder.”
“John Diggle, QRF team lead, welcome to South Africa.”
Ryan wondered about what the rest of the team were like if this was the reception she received. However, she didn’t have to wait long until she was walking into the entrance of the safe house on the outskirts of the city centre.
The area she walked into was a studio space converted into an operations den with monitors, cameras and weapons. The reality of her mission sank in as she took everything in. Her eyes landed on the recliner seat opposite the three screen monitors, where a young guy in a full suit and thick glasses watched footage.
He turned around at her entrance, momentarily surprised, before sitting up and calling towards the other rooms, “Mary, they’re here!”
“Is this the new girl?” He asked, looking to Jada. However, it was Alice who answered, bouncing around her like she hadn’t given her the least welcoming greeting of all time. “Yup, I think she’s going to be quite the handful.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Ryan commented with a humourless laugh.
“Oh, you wound me, little Bat.”
A pale man with scars across his skin walked in, followed by an East Asian woman smiling excitedly then, sitting on the recliner, close to the man in the suit, waiting for Jada’s lead.
“Afraid you’ll have to introduce yourself. Mary has this thing about hearing people say their own names-”
“Not this old thing again, Jada!” The woman interrupted, raising a finger with the hand not on her...friend’s shoulder. “You and Dig will never let me live it down.”
“Because where’s the fun in that?”
Ryan had only known Jada for all of maybe 48 hours, half of which she had mostly treated her as a hostile, but even she could sense the way the older woman transformed into something slightly warmer in the presence of her small team. And, with that relaxation, Ryan felt the slightest ease give on her own personal tension.
That appeared to be all Jada was going to do as her phone rang. “I’ve got to take this, John will show you around.” She said awaiting Ryan’s approval before she made her way across the room. The only stop she took was to wrap a quick, one-armed hug around the Asian woman, who returned it with her own. The guy sitting stared up at the pair affectionately before turning to look back at Ryan.
John took over introductions where she left. “You’ll have to forgive Jada. She’s not the best with introductions.”
“You can say that again,” Ryan commented, snorting lightly, thinking back to their first meeting.
“I take it she put you through the ringer,” the Asian woman asked.
“Where does a sparring match with the guy that literally hates my guts the most and a humiliating strip search after, rank on the Jada Jet scale of intros?”
Where she expected a laugh, or affirmation, she found none.
“Did she at least buy you dinner first?” The scarred man quipped, amused, while the others, including Alice, shared a talking look which made her stomach twist in a worrying knot.
Before she could ask about the look, John swiftly moved on. “So, Ryan Wilder, this is Mary Hamilton, our medical consultant and expert on all things to do with your mark.”
“Hey, Ryan,” Mary said jumping up and hugging her, ignoring completely the hand to shake Ryan held out for her. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You’ve met Alice,” Dig said, pointing at the blonde, who blew her a kiss.
“Charming,” she answered sarcastically, to which the others did laugh that time.
“Wait till you get to know me,” interrupted the scarred man, smiling sweetly. “Victor Szasz at your service. Primary marksman, all-round weapons expert and therapist on occasion.”
She eyed the bumps across his skin but made no comment on them. “Therapist, really?”
“Yeah, if you want to totally ruin your life,” the guy at the monitors answered.
“I’ll have you know, Alice considers me a great confidant,” he quipped.
“Exactly my point,” he joked as the blonde woman threw something at him, knocking off his glasses.
“And this is Luke Fox, but everyone calls him Nightwing.”
“Why Nightwing?”
“Our last bird’s codename was Nightingale and I’m the wingman available at every hour of the day or night on comms,” he answered, swivelling in his chair, pointing to all the cameras and monitors.
Clasping Kate’s dog tags she smiled. “I’m not Nightingale –”
“No, you’re not,” Alice interrupted, spreading a melancholy through the air.
Ryan began to retreat but an encouraging nudge from Diggle made her continue.
“How does Batwing sound?” She asked, offering up her fist.
A frown had settled across his brows, and he gazed into her eyes, searching for something. He must have found it for the gentle smile which spread across his face. “Ok Batwing, I can get down with that,” he answered, fumbling Ryan’s fist bump with his open hand, to the amusement of the others.
“We’ll work on it,” Ryan said, laughing at his confusion.
“Come sit,” Mary encouraged. “I’m sure you’ve had quite a heavy couple of days.”
‘I’ll say,’ Ryan thought, belatedly realising she had also spoken it aloud. It didn’t seem to offend anyone, instead they shared a bemused look before they settled around her.
“Well, if there’s anything you want to know, don’t be afraid to ask,” Mary added.
“Except me, I know I look sweet, but that’s just my face,” Alice chimed, although she didn’t leave.
“The first thing we should probably do is get her something to drink.” Szasz said offering her a Savannah Beer. “I doubt Jada had anything on the flight but wine or… red wine.”
She nodded in gratitude before taking the drink, swallowing the cool bubbly liquid, feeling it ease the dryness she wasn’t aware of at the back of her throat. With the eyes on her, she gulped the whole bottle down in less than a minute, but all eyes seemed to watch her with an equal mix of intrigue and possibly compassion or care.
When she finished, she placed the glass on the table, gaining her a couple cheers.
“I like the new girl,” Szasz commented.
Ryan took the compliment with a shrug, but desperately wanted to shift the attention off herself. “So, are you all CIA background?”
“Hell no, before Jada found us, Luke and I were FBI, Dig was Marines, Szasz Navy SEALs and Alice…” Mary trailed off.
“Was a contractor of sorts,” she completed.
“Seems like you’re a happy little family,” Ryan said.
“More like misery loves company,” countered, Alice immediately.
“What she said,” Jada added, walking back in.
“How many Birds of Prey ops have you done?”
This time Luke answered, “We’ve done three as a group.”
Looking at Jada, who had returned with something like a dark cloud around her, as she watched their exchange, Ryan deduced, “you’ve had more.”
“Yeah,” she sighed.
“How many more?”
“More.”
“How many?”
“Too many.”
The room was so still, the sounds of the bustling of Johannesburg’s dawn could be heard in the distance; beeping cars, shouting bus conductors and the blending calls of different languages.
“Do they all die?”
“No, but one did,” Diggle answered.
“Is that what happened to Ocean?” Her voice felt dry as all eyes looked at her.
“What happened to Ocean is that we didn’t go and rescue her,” Alice’s tone was laced with accusation as she looked at Jada.
“But – but you said –”
“I know what I said!” Jada snapped.
“And what happened with Ocean won’t happen with you, because you stood there and told me you’re a survivor, so you better goddamn make sure you fucking live so I can get you out!” She hissed, instilling such fear in Ryan that her throat suddenly felt dry again.
A silence suffocated them in the wake of Jada’s explosion. However, soon after, her ringing phone interrupted the stillness, “why do you keep calling me, Franklin?” She answered, rushing out the room.
“She doesn’t talk about it,” Diggle started. “Jada’s damn good at her job, we all are, but Ocean was a wildcard, and the first we couldn’t save in time.”
Alice scoffed but provided nothing further.
“In time?”
“Her cover was blown because of a tattoo we didn’t know she had. She didn’t make it out before ISIS caught her and…” He paused, glancing distantly in the direction Jada disappeared to. “Jada ordered the airstrike because there are things worse than death. But she blames herself.”
Ryan understood that there were worse things than death and thought back to childhood when she was abducted, and Angelique rescued her. She hated to imagine what the likes of ISIS would do to a female spy.
“Good. Take it from someone who knows what it is to survive capture, we could have saved her,” Alice’s voice was thick with emotion, and Ryan couldn’t help but feel for her.
“Why does she blame herself?”
“Because I lost a bird. So, this time I’m not making any mistakes, it gets done right – can you do that, make sure you live?” Jada said reappearing.
She had more than just her own baggage on her shoulders, and as she looked at the grief-stricken eyes glaring back at her, she understood she carried theirs too.
Nonetheless, she didn’t falter. “When do we start?”
“Right now.” Jada replied, smiling for the first time, hopefully.
Chapter 9: World's Collide
Summary:
Ryan is entirely unprepared for what awaits her undercover self.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As Ryan walked out in the most expensive clothes she’d ever worn – an ivory Chanel pencil skirt, matched with a black V-neck Fendi halter top, red-bottom Christian Louboutin’s and bling worth enough she could retire on – she felt her stomach churn with nerves as Mary applied the finishing touches.
The whole night previous she’d tossed and turned with what felt like anticipation. For the life of her she couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t the eve before war where her life hung in the balance. All she had to do was befriend a likely vapid heiress, gain some intel and find a way to access her target. Easy. The fluttering in her stomach said otherwise, however.
“You. Look. Hot!” Mary squealed.
“I’m not supposed to look hot, I’m supposed to look friendly.” Ryan commented, examining herself sideways in the mirror.
“Trust me, hot rich girls befriend other hot rich girls, even if it is solely for a toxic competitive friendship,” Alice quipped, reclined on the window-seat pretending poorly not to have been paying attention.
“Hate to say it, but Alice is right,” Mary added.
Before she even had a chance to feel out her new skin, Jada and Diggle interrupted. “We move now, your mark has left the compound.”
The nervous fluttering in her gut turned into churning summersaults, as it suddenly dawned on her how unprepared she was. Nevertheless, she wasn’t given a beat to salvage anything when she was all but thrown into the backseat of the SUV before it sped off with a screech.
The moment her seat belt clicked in attachment, Jada pounced. Leaning forward, expression stern in that way Ryan recognised was her interrogation face, she began drilling her on the information she had only been given a few hours ago. “What’s your name?”
“P-Penny - Penelope Devereaux.”
“Where are you from?”
Ryan paused, retracing her memories.
“Where. Are. You. From.”
“Born in Mtamba but raised in the US.”
“What are you doing in South Africa?”
“My father-”
She knew it was wrong before the words had even left her mouth.
“Uncle,” Jada corrected, immediately.
“Uncle. Crap!” She exclaimed, agitation and anxiety growing. “I’m staying with my uncle and getting some industry experience before I start College.”
“What does your uncle do?”
“He’s a…”
As they hurtled through the busy streets of Johannesburg, the fast approaches and sharp turns did little to quell the nausea swirling in her stomach.
Ryan felt the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears. Felt acid rising from her stomach, her throat heavy when she swallowed. “I can’t do this-”
“He’s a senior adviser in the UN,” Jada supplied as she flailed.
“A senior adviser in the UN,” she repeated.
It didn’t feel like her life, and although she understood that was the whole point, she was afraid she wouldn’t be convincing enough.
Attaching a comms device disguised as a tragus piercing, Diggle briefly interrupted, “you’re not alone, okay.”
“Batwing to Batwoman. Four blocks ahead,” came Luke’s voice in her ear and over the radio.
Jada’s attention wasn’t distracted by anything. “Here’s what she looks like,” she continued, shoving her mark’s professional profile image in front of her.
Ryan took a quick glance and memorised the features very methodically: brown skinned, light brown eyes, full features.
She looked away, her panicked thoughts being at the forefront of her consciousness.
“Look at her again.”
Ryan quickly studied her pretty features, committing the face to memory.
“Got it.”
“Sandton City Mall in T-minus 5,” Luke provided again, as the car stopped where Zsasz and Alice hopped out.
“W-where are they going?”
“They’re your eyes in the sky, and John and I will be your eyes on the ground.”
She was trained to withstand torture. Trained to fight, to kill, and deal with the unknown. She had been ready for a special operations placement, desperate for one, even. She’d begged Jada for a chance to prove herself, pleaded for her readiness and here it was, and she floundered.
“W-wait, I don’t even know her name. I-I –”
“You're not supposed to know her name. You haven't met her yet.”
“This is too fast, I’m not ready,” she croaked, wide-eyed.
Where she expected disappointment or a look which screamed ‘I told you so’ from Jada, she found encouraging, steady, faith.
Jada placed a calming hand on her cheek, and to her surprise, the warm touch spread something like tranquility across her being – whether it was the softness itself or the surprise at her almost nurturing gesture, it worked long enough to slow her racing thoughts. “Look at me,” she said gently. “You’re blind on purpose so you don’t slip up and say something about her you’re not supposed to.”
Ryan found herself nodding, despite her thundering heartbeat.
“Up ahead. On the right, Jada you’re up,” Diggle called out from the driver’s seat.
Jada picked up a designer shopping bag from the backseat and shoved it into her hands. “You’ve bought a bracelet from Swarovski to wear to the UN event coming up.”
Ryan nodded, truly taking in information for perhaps the first time in their ride.
“I get out first. Don’t follow me. Don’t look at me,” she instructed.
Jada reached for the door but turned around a final time. “Ryan, just be yourself. Keep things vague and focus on her and you’ll win her over,” the other woman offered a moments advice, to her total surprise. “Scared, nervous, whatever you’re feeling. You’re a survivor.”
Again, Ryan nodded.
“Say it.”
“I’m a survivor.”
She didn’t even have a chance to process or respond to the kind gesture as Jada immediately continued out the door.
Diggle drove a little further eyeing her encouragingly from the rearview mirror as she got out.
“Crap, I don’t know where I’m going.”
“Relax, the Mall’s up ahead.”
“Shaka Zulu Lounge,” Luke added, over the comms.
Ryan found herself moving, stepping out into the unforgiving heat of Johannesburg summer, and walking like she was supposed to be there. She willed herself not to look around, not to search for Jada in the sea of faces.
Adrenaline guided her legs and Luke led her direction. “Elevator to your left. Number 23. Rooftop bar.”
The elevator pinged and the doors opened.
Left. Right. One foot in front of the other. She reminded herself that she was a Marine; that she trained for this; and everything in her life had led her to this moment.
The luxury balcony lounge overlooked the busy city and buzzed with life as she walked in; patrons dresses to the nines hovered around tables, sofas, the pool, the bar and dancefloor; and were either engaged in lively conversation or jived to the chill Amapiano beats which floated out the speakers hugging everything in a leisurely mood.
However, to her trained eye, Ryan saw beyond the surface. “Two armed guards by the entrance, another three at the balcony. Two around the bar,” she murmured casually into her comms.
She focused on her breathing, taking deep breaths to bring her heart rate down and manoeuvre in the same easy way as the people around her. Focus.
“We’ve got eyes on that, find your mark,” Luke replied.
“Roger.”
Walking with confidence, like she was supposed to be there, she scanned every person as she headed to the bar. She tried to recall the features she’d snapshotted to memory in the car and match them against every face she saw. Woman after woman passed her and none seemed to ring familiar. What did feel familiar was the tingling in her skin and fluttering in her gut as she caught the side-profile of a woman whose mere aura seemed to magnetise Ryan’s whole everything.
She knew that she couldn’t allow her gaze to linger, but for the sudden calm which spread throughout her body, starting from her thundering heart to the very tips of her extremities, her eyes remained glued.
Suddenly, a vague memory came to life – and hazy lines, bland curves and low-quality ink became soft flesh, long bones and rich brown skin the complexion of which was warmer than gold and glowed like the sun.
“She’s by the dance floor in the suit pants and white blouse.” Luke’s voice shook her out of her reverie, reminding her of what she was there to do.
Mission, focus.
“Roger,” she squeaked, glancing away, and taking a moment to pull herself together.
When the bartender served her, she ordered a tequila shot with her soda, feeling the sudden need for a little Dutch courage. As she sipped, she observed from her periphery, waiting for opportunity. It was obvious the bodyguards Ryan noticed were for her mark in the way they all focused on her. If they were not enough of a barrier, it appeared there was also the buffer of two other women who danced freely around her as she swayed stiffly.
In spite of this, Ryan didn’t have to wait long before her mark approached the bar, stopping a mere few empty seats away.
The Marine in her resisted every urge to turn her head and get a better look at the mark, despite the fact she could literally feel – like a searing heat – eyes fixed to her side-profile.
Come on Wilder, say something. She thought to herself.
As quickly as the opportunity came, it also left.
But wait. Ryan noticed something glimmering on the bar, where her mark had previously stood. It was a black credit card trimmed with what looked to be real gold and a diamond embedded in the centre of it. Opportunity struck again, and she wouldn’t miss it.
Taking the card, she chased the woman.
“Excuse me,” she attempted, but the loud music didn’t project her voice. “Miss,” she called, reaching for her shoulder. Suddenly, the woman turned around, colliding directly with Ryan, who spilled some of her soda down the arm of her mark.
“Crap!” Ryan exclaimed, as she threw her hand backwards as much as she could manage, which really just ended up pouring the remainder of her drink down the front of the guard who had somehow managed to materialise in the split second their collision occurred.
“Jesus.” She swore again, gazing down at the puddle of liquid wondering why the ground hadn’t obligingly opened up and let her fall into the bowels of the earth, never to be seen again.
She’d been going for helpful not clumsy.
“Looks like you and Jada have the same charm when it comes to introductions.” Luke commented.
Ryan wanted to tell him to shut the hell up but as she caught the first real look at her mark, she was rendered silent. She found herself fairly intimately in her mark’s space; face to face with the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen. Her striking eyes were a marriage of golden honey hues and deep caramels creating a colour like glowing amber and a feeling inside Ryan like something slotting into place.
As if all the air had been sucked out of the room, the other woman heaved in a sharp intake of breath which drew Ryan’s attention to lips so full that the fluttering in her stomach pooled.
Involuntarily, Ryan expelled a breath which felt everything like relief despite the situation they were in.
“Mambosana, are you alright?” The guard’s voice interrupted the all-encompassing moment.
Her mark glanced away briefly before she snapped back to Ryan, gazing down at her with an expression that was mostly unreadable but seemed to have the edge of softness to it.
“Earth to Batwoman, speak!”
“Sorry,” Ryan pushed out, brain reengaging. “About the drink.”
The other woman continued to stare at her, turning her head sideways questioningly although no words came.
“You left your card,” Ryan supplied.
Amber eyes looked down at the wet card in her hand, and for a moment accusation swirled in them.
An old feeling that didn’t belong to the person she was dressed as bubbled up then. “Look, I’m not trying to steal from you, you really left it at the bar,” she quipped, defensively.
Accusation softened then.
“We’re ok here, Jacob,” she commanded softly in Zambesi, sending the guard to his position by her companions.
“Sorry, it’s been a bit of a hectic day.” She spoke in a quasi-American accent with curved words and the sprinkled deep tones of Bantu languages; and Ryan was certain she’d never heard such an interesting voice. “Thank you for being my saviour and not my headache,” she finished, tone playful, and reaching for the card.
Simultaneously, Ryan reached forward, resulting in them colliding again, except this time their digits intertwined. The meeting of their skin had Ryan expelling another breath, while the other woman inhaled. She expected her to yank away from the audible sound of her inhalation, however she kept it in place, regarding her both with curiosity and fear.
Seconds passed, the woman’s fear seemingly getting the better of her as she slowly took her hand back.
“Keep the conversation going.” Luke encouraged.
The reminder kick started thoughts she found herself not wanting to have – including how she could use the emotions glistening in amber eyes to her advantage.
“Well, I lost my drink in the process,” Ryan spat out before the woman could speak. “Maybe you can get me another and we’ll call it even on the saviour front?” That got her talking; the thought of the conversation being over, the operation going with it.
Renewed intrigue washed away fear, and her mark’s brows rose in surprise and something like a smirk pulled at her cheeks.
Agreeing with a slow nod, she turned back to the bar and Ryan’s eyes remained fixed on her, regarding her expressions and body language, studying, collecting intel the way she was trained to do.
“You’re American huh?”
“That I am guilty of.”
The woman gave a small breathy laugh.
“Well American’s usually are,” she retorted, her eyes sparkling with humour, not malice.
It was Ryan’s turn to laugh then. “Says the woman with the Dubai Royale card, what are you the daughter of a corrupt President?” She joked.
Smirking, she tutted. “Granddaughter of the King of Zambesi Nation.”
Pausing, Ryan pretended to be overly surprised, and the other woman let out a delighted laugh.
“I’m Princess Sophie Morena Moore, but you can call me Sophie,” she introduced, offering her hand.
Ryan looked down at the hand, took it and met twinkling eyes again. “And you, who are you the daughter of?” Sophie prompted, nodding to the long-forgotten Swarovski bag.
Ryan held her gaze, frozen, thoughts back in the car again.
“No one so grand, my parents are from a small village in Mtamba. I’m just Penelope.” Her tongue felt heavy with the lie. “Penny. Devereaux.”
Something lit up in Sophie’s expression and Ryan realised how awful it was going to be to have to lie to her.
“Nice to meet you, just Penny,” she said in a husky low voice that went straight through Ryan.
For a brief moment, they grinned like shy schoolgirls, squeezing – holding – hands in a way that felt more intimate than it ever had before. If she felt the beating of a heart in her hands, she tried not to think too deeply into it; and let go first.
Dark eyes grew serious again, back into Marine mode, fixed back on the mark. Watching. “Wait, Moore – isn’t that American?”
“Yes, my father was Afrikaaner and American. I guess you and I are both guilty,” she teased.
Ryan felt uneasy again, swallowed the guilt in her throat. “I guess so.”
Sophie regarded her, taking in every detail as if she was the one undercover and not Ryan.
“Are you here on vacation?”
Without missing a beat she recited her practiced lies, “I’m visiting my uncle, he’s a senior advisor in the UN and I’m getting some work experience before I start College.”
Sophie flashed her an excited smile then, and something horrible swirled in her stomach, but she couldn’t focus on that, especially as Luke’s voice travelled down her ear. “Maybe you’re not so bad at this, Wilder.”
“My sister and I are representing the King at the UN event at the Mandela Centre in a few weeks, will you be working?”
“No, just watching.”
Sophie gazed at her sideways, a knowing glint to it. “Hoping to catch someone’s eye,” She probed, more a statement, than a question, and looking away for really the first time since they’d sat down.
Ryan wondered what that meant but silenced any dangerous hopeless thoughts immediately.
Knowing they needed things to relate to with one another, Ryan added a new lie to Penny’s life. “Uh maybe, something like that.”
A smile which didn’t quite seem to reach her eyes strained across her face, and Ryan didn’t know what to make of that. Nor did she know what to do when Sophie looked her down and up, eyes lingering in certain places, and by the time their gazes met, something burning in bronze irises. “Well with a body and face like that, you’ll have a queue out the door, I’m sure.”
The woman who’d survived war in some of the worst places on earth, crumbled under the piercing gaze of a princess. Ryan dropped her head at the compliment, laughing nervously.
Hoping to change the subject, Ryan noticed Sophie’s ring – a pink diamond – and she couldn’t help the sick feeling which gripped her. However, it did remind her that she was there for a mission, and no matter how sweet Sophie seemed, she was entangled in some nasty affairs, and surely couldn’t be all that innocent afterall. A quieter part of her knew that those thoughts were orphan Annie protecting her heart before it could get hurt.
“I take it you’ll be going with the…fiancé?” The word tastes bitter on her tongue.
Visible dread passed over pretty features – one she didn’t try to hide from Ryan, and it suddenly made her feel like Sophie had entrusted her with a terrible secret.
“No, he doesn’t really attend public events,” she explained, with a grin like a lightbulb just went off in her brain. “I’ll be going alone…”
There was something leading in her tone.
“…Unless, you’d like to go together?” She asked, breathing audibly again. “I can help you narrow down that queue,” she added, voice casual but strained.
The expectant twinkle in the raise of her brows made Ryan’s heart skip a beat, and for that look alone, even if she convinced herself it was solely for the mission, she relented. “Sure, it’s a date.”
“You’re in.” Luke confirmed.
And as she was… in too deep.
Notes:
Finally!
Let me know what you think & where you think they will head next?
Chapter 10: Disappointment
Summary:
Sophie battles on both sides of disappointment and self as Ryan confronts her with some harsh truths.
Notes:
Sophie
Warning: Very long chapter with political jargon but I hope it doesn't take you out of the story x <3
Translation:
Ubaba: father
Mambosana: little princess
Miskanzwasana: little troublemaker
Pore pore: slowly slowy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Disappointment was a feeling the Chief Maiden of Zambesi was well acquainted with. In childhood, when Sophie learned that God punished those who didn’t obey with fiery eternities, the first inklings of disappointment stirred; every time her father didn’t return home the day he promised, it reared its ugly head again; she was dismayed upon discovering that the training at Point Rock was the closest to a military career she would get, even though the princes in the family were permitted to continue; and she was deeply disillusioned in knowing that a marriage to Tyler Wanai meant she’d be limited in what public engagements she could attend, including the likes of the UN event she was currently at.
However, all those disappointments, for a moment, seemed to pale in comparison to the pangs of heavy-heartedness she felt pooling in her chest every time she looked at the entrance of the Mandela Building, at the Kimberley Process Anniversary Masquerade, and didn’t see the face she wished to most.
Sophie didn’t know what had gotten into her, how a chance meeting with a stranger could have affected her with such an overwhelming sense of intrigue. A quieter part of her whispered it was yearning, but she was unable to acknowledge that yet, not when there was a countdown to her days as an unchained woman.
Nonetheless, there was just something about Penny Devereaux that she couldn’t get out of her mind.
Never had she been so instantly drawn to someone, having first noticed her from across the dance floor, looking uncomfortable despite her efforts to appear casual. Sophie was unable to resist floating closer and toiled within herself to find something to strike up conversation, and although she’d thought better of it, when the shorter woman tapped her shoulder, offering a forgotten bank card, it felt like fate – or maybe it was her subconscious sabotaging her. Whatever it was, when they collided, Penny cursing in her nasally American accent, and Sophie speechless, she thanked God for whatever stars aligned to bring them together.
The revolving doors opened again.
For a better view of the late arrivals, Sophie adjusted her sleek black feathered headpiece, which protruded at her forehead like a beak.
Another pang of disappointment.
Sighing, she tuned back into Jordan practising her speech.
“…And after civil wars in Sierra Leone, Liberia, Angola, and Congo, in 2003 the Kimberley Process Certification Scheme was approved by the UN, to prevent trade in blood diamonds-”
“Conflict diamonds,” Sophie corrected.
“To prevent the trade in conflict diamonds and ensure that mineral purchases didn’t finance violence by terrorist movements or corrupt governments…”
Still no sign of Penny.
Even though it was a masquerade event, where the guests were mostly unrecognisable in elaborate masks, the likes of which belonged more at the Met Gala than the UN; Sophie just knew she would recognise the other woman in whatever disguise she wore.
Those expressive eyes the deepest hue of the richest earth kissed by spring rains, a shade which promised to stir life from dormant seeds, with the kind of intensity that expanded a singular moment into a personal eternity – they would forever be seared into her mind for the breath that had smouldered in her lungs, burning like freedom, that very first glance.
“…hello, earth to Sophie!”
Snapping fingers appeared in her line of vision, drawing her attention back to their owner. “What?”
“You’re restricting what I can say, so the least you can do is actually listen to me.”
Sophie met Jordan’s nervous expression. “I’m sorry Jay, I thought I mentioned the woman I met at the Shaka Bar is my date-”
The word caught in the back of her throat for some strange reason.
“…my guest tonight. But here, you have my undivided attention, read the next line.”
Jordan’s flashed her a questioning look but continued. “On the twentieth year since the Kimberley Process’s inception, Zambesi is proud to have been South Africa’s Vice Chair this year. In future, we aim to bring ideas that will achieve the original goals intended by the first council and address the fundamental flaws-”
“We aim to further the achievement’s attained previously and continue meeting the goals laid out originally. Don’t add the bit about fundamental flaws,” Sophie corrected.
A frustrated growl escaped from her sister, as she glared at her disapprovingly.
“…continue meeting the goals laid out originally by establish accountability and transparency, repairing relationships from former partnerships including Global Witness...”
It was Sophie’s turn to glare at her then. “Definitely don’t mention Global Witness, you know they abandoned the scheme because of the diamonds situation in Zimbabwe, and with my,” she paused then, still uneasy accepting herself as an engaged woman. “Situation, our family would look extremely hypocritical.”
She knew the response before the words even hit her ears.
“That’s because we are.”
“You know it’s more complicated than that.”
“Maybe for Sophie ‘the Princess’,” she remarked. “But I’m asking Sophie, my sister.” The soft pleading in her voice held her attention away from the sound of opening doors.
“Ubaba?” Sophie called, looking for support from their guard, Colonel Jacob who stood nearby.
Having long been used to the Princesses arguing he smirked softly and offered a simple, “listen to your sister, miskanzwasana. She has done this duty perfectly for many years now. You would do well to follow her.”
Jordan huffed, “Ubaba, you always take her side. I can’t be so perfect like her.”
“There are no sides, I support you both, you know that,” he added, affectionately rubbing both of their shoulders before stepping away.
“Sisi, I’m not asking you to be me. I’m asking you to do your duty and represent the country.”
“And when you marry Tyler, will you represent the country then too?”
The sharp words had Sophie glancing away, only to be be transfixed by another’s familiar gaze, and like the first time, dark eyes stole her breath, as did the woman they belonged to.
Oh.
Oh.
Penny looked even more radiant than she remembered – face veiled in a black bat-shaped mask which accentuated those piercing molten irises; dressed in a flowing red gown comprised of a strapless basque bodice, which displayed a healthy scope of her neck line, matched with a tulle waterfall skirt with a high slit on one side, that teased the silhouette of a well-toned thigh and ochre skin that had Sophie gulping despite the ensnared breath she still hadn’t exhaled.
Squinting, Penny scrutinised Sophie’s mask before her face stretched into a smile so bright it was like looking into the sun on a Zambezi dawn river cruise; blinding but so beautiful it’s impossible to tear your eyes away.
“I take it that’s your guest?” Jordan interrupted, suspicion dancing in her tone.
“W-what?” Sophie stuttered, only realising then that she had been openly staring and completely abandoned their former conversation, not that she even wanted to talk about that in the first place.
“Uh yeah, that’s her,” she answered, waving her over.
Penny sauntered over, carrying herself with elegance and grace, and commanding attention even with her short stature that didn’t reach the average height of most women.
“Damn, bar chick’s fire!”
If she caught the curious inflection to Jordan’s voice as she looked between them, Sophie ignored it for the woman in front of them.
Stopping so close she could smell her zesty perfume, Sophie greeted her with a warm smile that started at the base of her chest and spread to every part of her; and Penny maintained her gaze as she unabashedly observed.
Sophie drank her in; full red lips, soft well-defined jawline, and skin glowing beneath the glittering lights of the chandelier, rich and brown and lovely, and beneath the black of her mask, her hooded eyes were sharp and alert.
“Hi,” Sophie sighed, unable to prevent the dreamy edge to her tone.
Ryan released a breathy laugh with an almost shy twinge to it. “Hey.”
“You’ll have to bat away your queue of admirers looking like that.”
What a lame thing to say. Sophie didn’t understand why she said it, suspected it was because she wanted to get rid of the apprehensive look on the shorter woman’s face, but she didn’t really understand why she wanted that, either.
Hoping to redeem herself, she tried again, “you look… wow.”
Sophie cringed, shutting her eyes tightly. There was a huge vocabulary of words she had at her disposal, yet, none seemed close to entirely encompassing the how absolutely radiant Penny looked.
This time Sophie blew out the nervous laugh, squirming at her flailing attempts of apparently basic communication.
Certain she was going to see embarrassment reflected at her, she peaked up, but there was nothing of the kind.
“Maybe I just need a scarecrow to ward them away,” she trailed off, that smile fixed firmly on her face and a teasing glint in her eye as she took in the feathers of Sophie’s mask.
Jordan, however, did look wholly unimpressed with their poor humour. She cleared her throat suggestively, interrupting the beat which only just failed to become a pregnant pause, seemingly reminding them both that she was there.
Sophie’s cheeks felt hot instantly, and she suddenly found it very difficult to face either woman.
“Well, you really look beautiful,” Penny started, drawing her attention back. “Both of your Royal Highnesses do,” she finished with a sharp exhale.
Another involuntary smile pulled at Sophie’s cheeks, recalling Penny’s text asking how to address her publicly after revealing that she didn’t want them to think her an ignorant foreigner.
Glancing between them, Jordan squinted, deciphering them in a way that made Sophie panic.
Not allowing a single second for any queer ideas to manifest, she straightened the non-existent crease at the abdomen of her feathery gown and spoke, “Jordan, this is Penny Devereaux, her uncle works for the UN, when we met it turned out we were both attending tonight so I invited her to join us.” She explained unasked questions as if she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be. A part of her felt like she was doing something wrong in pursuing a friendship with the woman she felt magnetised to. “And Jordan here, is my baby sister.”
“Nice to meet you, Penny,” she greeted, in a tone so sweet Sophie knew something was up.
In response she linked arms with Jordan, warning in the gentle gesture.
“Nice to meet you too, and I’m sorry I’m late… I uh, my uncle had another engagement.”
If Sophie didn’t know any better, she’d think she was lying, but for the worried vein which quickly pulsated across her forehead, Sophie let it go.
“And here I thought African timing was bad,” Sophie teased, hoping to alleviate her worry.
The side of Penny’s mouth lifted in an appreciative half-smile as she answered. “It’s definitely a universally black thing… except if you’re a princess apparently.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before Sophie is ever late anywhere,” Jordan interrupted, bursting out chuckling.
Joining her laughter, Penny added, “I should’ve known, she always messages at the exact time she says she will.”
“Oh god, you noticed too? She’s done it ever since she’s had a phone.”
“Must be a Millennial thing,” teased Penny, reaching over and gently nudging her.
Feigning annoyance, Sophie rolled her eyes, however she couldn’t maintain it, especially as her heart felt fuller watching the two women get along so easily. It stirred something in her she didn’t understand.
“It’s a Chief Maiden thing that Jordan will soon be doing too,” she said turning to her sister. “You won’t have the luxury to live pore pore anymore.”
The African ‘slowly, slowly’ laidback approach to life wasn’t something that had ever really been afforded to her; always too busy trying to be the perfect daughter and princess.
“Pore pore but still gets things done though, sisi,” Jordan countered smugly.
“Sometimes,” she retorted. “But you definitely pulled it out the bag today. You’ll do great.”
Jordan smiled thankfully as her attention drifted back to the notes of her speech.
“Hmm,” she hummed, not convinced.
Noticing the shift, Penny spoke “Sophie tells me this is your first royal engagement?”
Surprise coloured Jordan’s features and that deciphering glint returned. Sophie could understand why, her sister hadn’t really seen her forthcoming with anyone before, let alone a stranger.
“Yes, my first representing Zambesi,” she answered, worrying at her lip.
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Yeah, it’s just I’m not making the speech I wanted to,” she commented to which Sophie frowned at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Sophie says I can’t say what I really want.”
Penny lifted a puzzled eyebrow, the picture of confusion. “You’re not a fan of the UN? They do a lot of good.”
“In terms of peace and security, the UN’s record has been nothing short of abysmal…”
Penny looked a little offended but hid it well, and Sophie thought to intervene but was interested in hearing the other woman’s thoughts.
“…mainly because of the permanent five’s power to veto. At least with the recent failure in Ukraine it has pushed them to recognise a need for reform.”
Jordan must have hit a nerve because Penny leant forward towards her, lowered her voice. “Strong opinions for someone involved in a scheme by that same organisation.”
“Yeah, but it’s one of them.”
“One of what?”
“UN, KP, NATO, AU, just another organisation who are part of the problem and have failed to stem the flow of blood diamonds and civil conflicts.”
Penny huffed, but her narrowed eyes revealed genuine intrigue. “Okay…how do you propose to stop the problem?”
Her sister exposed her teeth in a wide grin when Penny asked about her favourite cause. “By targeting the issues which cause it in the first place; poverty and economic inequality.”
The defensiveness that had seized tension in Penny’s shoulders, eased, as she pulled off her mask to reveal her admiring expression. “Go on.”
Jordan looked equally impressed, glancing briefly to Sophie in pleasant surprise.
“There is no guarantee that diamonds with KP Certification are in fact conflict-free due to the corruption from both government officials in the producing countries and the companies who buy them. I’m currently using my Foundation to partner with grassroots organisations like the African Women’s Network for Peacebuilding to require the companies who buy and sell these diamonds to pour back into the communities where they source their materials in sustainable humanitarian projects in the same model as our Zambesi community.”
“What’s the Zambesi model?”
Having dedicated her professional life to her role in RZN Holdings, Sophie answered then. “The mining companies pay royalties in exchange for the right to mine the minerals on our land. These royalties go into our sovereign wealth fund, which we invest into projects, civic administration and social services.”
Strangely, surprise coloured the other woman’s face. “That’s how your family have amassed wealth?”
“Yes, not all royal families have gained wealth through looting and pillaging. Our model is considered to be Africa’s most progressive community investment project, with our total assets being around six billion dollars,” Jordan finished.
After surprise, came amazement and Penny’s grin was so bright that Sophie couldn’t help but feel proud of her sister. “She’s passionate.”
“I can see that,” she praised. “It’s great that she uses her privilege to help the underprivileged.”
Penny’s eyes floated to the sparkling engagement ring on Sophie’s finger, and her smile dampened, although she tried to hide it when their gazes met again. The accusation which swirled in her expressive eyes couldn’t be easily hidden and Sophie wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.
“What’s in your speech that Sophie won’t allow?”
A hostility she wasn’t wholly sure where it stemmed from radiated from her suddenly. She took a small step back and a careful chasm emerged between them; her body and feet angled away from her, and her attention focussed primarily on Jordan. Sophie felt her own defences raise.
“Anything criticising the KP’s failures; the realities that there are still diamond funded wars, child labour, child soldiers and anything demanding government transparency.”
Sophie understood Jordan’s aims and reasonings – in theory, revealing government finances would force them to be held accountable for how much they spend for the benefit of their populations. However, in reality, if Jordan were to say those things, in that setting, it would only result into scrutiny of their family as opposed to her good intentions. These systems that Jordan criticised may well have been imperfect, but Sophie believed in fighting to change the culture from within.
Pursing her mouth and nodding, Penny flashed her a look of disappointment and it penetrated through Sophie like a knife.
Never had she been on the side of being the cause of someone’s disenchantment, such was the life of a golden child, and the way it unnerved her made her wonder what it was about this woman and her demanding gaze that affected her so. Sophie barely knew her, and yet it felt desperately important to redeem herself to her.
“W-We’re not here representing ourselves so as much as you make valid points, you’ve got to make a speech the government and King approve,” she pushed out rapidly in explanation.
“Whatever, fine,” she said, sighing in frustration.
“There are other settings we can make an impact,” Sophie assured.
While Jordan relented with an understanding nod, and Penny followed the gesture, the short woman didn’t quite seem convinced. Disapproval still sat on her face in a soft scowl.
Hoping to alleviate the tension, Sophie reached for her arm then, “We should find our table.”
Penny looked down at the touch, a variety of emotions washing over her, but nothing Sophie could yet distinguish settled. Instead, a tense smile formed as she agreed. “Sure.”
Despite whatever unaddressed animosity now existed between them, Penny didn’t pull away as Sophie led them through the crowd. Her small hand clutched hers gently, fingers linked intimately, and calloused palm sliding against Sophie’s suddenly clammy one. However, that was where the closeness ended, and as the night progressed, the distance between them only seemed to grow with each celebratory speech. By the time of Jordan’s diplomatic address, Penny’s jaw clenched like she was refraining from rage or tears.
“…and when Zambesi chairs this process next year, we hope to bring our unique perspective and further change for the betterment of the communities most affected by,”
Jordan paused, and Sophie held her breath, anticipating the words she knew the young princess itched to say – horrid details of corruption by UN soldiers, failure by corrupt government officials and stories of child soldiers and labour.
“…affected by the consequences of conflict.”
Air rushed out of her mouth in relief, but Penny wasn’t so relieved, looking rather like a child who discovered Santa wasn’t real.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, biting the bullet.
Her mouth opened just a fraction, internal conflict clear in her expression, and she adjusted her ear piercing before forcing that tight smile again. “Nothing.”
Sophie might have let it go, if it didn’t feel like losing the threads of something real.
“It’s clearly not nothing.”
She huffed heavily. “I just find the celebrations a little distressing, this is not what I imagined for the night.”
There were many an elephant in the giant hall that each speaker carefully danced around as they glorified twenty years of limited successes.
“Have your family been affected by the war in Mtamba?” She wondered, seeing how viscerally she was affected.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Y-yes, my family have. That is uh- that’s why my mother moved us to the States.”
The other woman avoided her eyes, and Sophie reached over to coax her attention back to her. Gently, she grabbed her hand and stroked the scarred skin across her knuckles. Dark irises found amber ones, eyes still wide, yet not in horror but something else so overwhelming that they both recoiled back slightly, apart but still just touching by the tips of their digits.
Sophie cleared the tightness in her throat. “Have you ever been back?”
“Yeah, and once you see the devastation, you can’t unsee it,” she answered, a dismayed inflection to her words.
“But that’s not the only reason you’re upset right now,” Sophie stated more than queried.
Again, Penny twisted her piercing in a nervous gesture, and looked at her sideways, seeking something like permission in the lift of her brows. Something churned in her chest at the apprehension of what the other woman might voice, but still she found herself nodding in allowance despite this.
Penny’s hand extended around her ring finger and examined the jewel momentarily before she let her go and unleashed her tongue. “Okay. I guess I just find it funny that you can sit there with a massive, pink diamond on your finger, which you probably don’t truly know if it came from conflict or not, and not want to say anything to ruffle any feathers when you arguably have the greatest platform to make a statement.”
There was absolutely no reason why the words should’ve sting, especially when her sister had only recently called her out on the same thing, but they did, and trying to analyse why only ignited a fire in Sophie she wasn’t used to.
Offended, she retaliated, “look, I don’t disagree with Jordan’s sentiments but we’re here on an official engagement, it doesn’t matter what she or I want.”
“I hear you, but I believe you show up as yourself wherever you are, what and whoever you are.” She looked down at herself queerly before she continued. “Do you know that the people who are affected by these blood diamonds wish people would speak up about them, remember their lives and their deaths.” A low bitter laugh came from her mouth while the audience clapped at the end of Jordan’s speech.
“…While we sit and congratulate each other about all the good work we’ve done.” Her eyes narrowed then. “What about the children being orphaned from conflict right now, the women abused by soldiers, and the everyday people losing their homes and fleeing?”
Each word was fuel to Sophie’s stirring flames, and the smoke prevented her from seeing the truth in that moment, too embarrassed and confused by how easily the other woman was able to pierce through her.
“Penny, I understand- ” Sophie interrupted, unable to take the implied accusation in her tone.
“Do you?” She asked in a raised tone of voice, but Sophie shot back anyway.
“…every single point you make.”
“Have you ever visited the orphanages filled with children who’ve lost their families to war? Really spoken to the people in a refugee camp?”
The people nearest their table flashed them with looks of concern that made Sophie swallow the heat which had just been climbing up her tense larynx.
Exhaling and inhaling deeply through her nose, she said, “Penny, I didn’t cause these things, so stop talking to me as if I did.”
“No, you didn’t,” she agreed, exasperated. “You’re just the proud owner of a rare extravagant diamond representing your country’s great work against conflict minerals, too afraid speak up in case you have to look in the mirror and see that you play a part in this too.”
Sophie was silenced, mouth opening and closing uselessly. She’d never been challenged quite so easily before, and it sent her reeling.
Scoffing, she found her voice. “You Westerners love to critique us, but where is this level of scrutiny and responsibility on the European royal families?” It was petulant and she knew it, but she felt so undone by the other woman, that she didn’t have it in her to care.
“Where is their scorn?”
Penny’s brows raised as if the words had cut her, and although that was her intent, Sophie found no satisfaction in it.
“Many of the diamonds, including the world’s largest one, that were stolen from southern Africa during colonial oppression now sit on the King of Britain’s Crown and sceptre. Much of the conflicts we see on this continent stem from the vestiges of colonialism, where is your call for them to speak up?”
The retort seemed to wash over her with a splash of guilt and her dark eyes softened. “If I cared about a princess of Britain, I’d be saying the same thing to her.”
The softness she now spoke with disarmed Sophie again, left her floundering despite the fact they were warring.
“…But with that diamond on your finger, how are you much different to the royals who benefited off exploitation?”
Earthy molten eyes seized hers. She looked like she was expecting an answer, an honest answer out of her. But Sophie had no answers to give or maybe she just insisted on avoiding questions and answers altogether.
She thought of her fiancé, known as ‘Mr Rough Diamond’, and her stomach churned with nausea. There were rumours about him that she had avoided, knowing her wedding to him was certain, but the guilt which filled her seeded the need to know the truth, because her truth was she couldn’t definitively say he had no ties to conflict diamonds, and by extension nor could she say the same about her family, and that left her tremoring.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said weakly.
“Then show me,” she whispered, all but begging.
Jordan returned then, interrupting their silent staring competition.
When Sophie’s name was called for an address moments later, her hands still shook as she picked up the cards with her mother’s speech, having been there as her stand in.
“Are you ready Princess?” Jacob asked, when she still hadn’t moved out of her seat.
Nodding, she took his offered arm.
The calm and collected Princess persona faltered as she made her way to the stage. When she reached the podium and looked out into the audience of masks, all covering up harsh truths, it was the hooded eyes glaring at her in disappointment that had her removing her own crow headpiece and putting down the cards with the Princess’s speech.
The trembling stopped.
“I was going to make a rather different speech tonight,” she started, finding Penny again. “But I was rightfully reminded that I must speak up, even when it makes people uncomfortable, for those living and dying in conditions far worse than uncomfortable.”
The audience shifted awkwardly as total silence descended across the hall.
“I won’t prattle on about all the successes of the Kimberely Process as well, I think we have truly recognised those things tonight. What we have failed to mention is that we’ve still got a long way to go on this issue. It is our responsibility to highlight that there are still conflicts funded by blood diamonds in many places including DRC and Mtamba, two of the most mineral rich places in the world, yet also the poorest. In other places like Zimbabwe…”
She paused then, noticing the spreading murmurs and the fearful look on Jacob’s face.
“…corruption by government officials caused our founding partner Global Witness to abandon us. Transparency for all involved in the diamond industry is not a question but a must, if we truly wish to achieve our mission. I believe that all producers, governments, and sellers must publicise where every diamond is mined, its worth, and its traceability…”
She felt the tension rise in the air but carried on.
“…Our narrow focus on mining and distribution has meant that broader issues around worker exploitation, safe working conditions, the use of child labour and fair pay have been pushed aside. Also, as something the Zambesi people know intimately, KP also fails to deal with entire populations being evicted from their ancestral homes to make way for mining-”
Anxiety spread across her, making her tongue felt heavy and heart thrum in her ears. She saw her sister and Penny looking at her with pride, and for that alone she wasn’t deterred.
Taking an audible breath that echoed into the microphone and across the room, she continued. “I believe that even we here at KP must be open to scrutiny to ensure that that we don’t remain the perfect cover story for blood diamonds as we have become.”
The hall was so still, even a pin drop could be heard. Sophie couldn’t breathe for the passion of her own words. However, when Penny and Jordan stood up and clapped, followed by every other person in the hall she couldn’t believe it.
Clapping turned to cheers and camera flashes, and for a moment, disappointment stood at bay.
As Jacob escorted her back to her seat, he warned, “the Princess isn’t going to like what you said up there, Mambosana. Are you prepared for the backlash from this?”
As Sophie was greeted with an excited hug from her sister, followed by one from Penny – the other woman pulling her close and tight with something akin to awe shining in her dark eyes – Sophie couldn’t find it in herself to care quite like normal.
“I’m prepared to face whatever comes from this,” she answered, heart full from the small act of defiance that felt both like rebellion and redemption.
“I hope you’re right about that, there are disappointments you may not be ready to face.”
When she returned to Zambesi that night, and found herself in the palace office for the Principal Princess, investigating into her future husband’s file, it was she who was disappointed by what she discovered. It sunk so deep into her gut that she eventually found herself bent over a chamber heaving the entire contents of her stomach out. Sophie had believed there were no further depths to the disappointment she’d experienced in her life, but this new revelation, took her to the pits of hell.
Notes:
Thank you all for the wonderful comments, love your interactions as it really encourages me to keep going! I know there is lots of angst but there will be fluff pockets ;) x
Chapter 11: Mama
Summary:
Ryan endures her hardest challenge yet while coming to terms with a sad truth.
Notes:
Ryan
Trigger warning: graphic descriptions of violence.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You’re a survivor. The phantom chorus that sounded a lot like an amalgamation of Mama Cora, Kate Kane, Cecile Horton and Jada Jet bounced across her head as Ryan stood imprisoned in some dank vault in a location unknown to her.
You’re a survivor, my number one girl. Her mother’s encouraging voice rang, and she smiled as best she could with swollen cheeks.
Although she couldn’t recount the hours spent unconscious, after she was injected with a sedative upon capture, it was the first time she experienced a second’s peace in the four- no, three days since she’d been snatched and thrown into the back of an unmarked truck.
The only logical explanation was that her cover was blown; and then she wondered why they took her and if Sophie knew. That last musing plagued her. Would Sophie care? Would she save her? Was she the one who ordered it?
It made her head throb worse attempting to pinpoint the exact moment she may have slipped up – maybe when she turned down Luke’s urgings in her ear to not goad the princess she was supposed to be befriending into debates about the moralities of blood diamonds; but then she thought of the way Sophie recited the speech which defied the world’s expectations of her, gaze locked onto Ryan’s from across the great hall, filled with something earnest that made her stomach flip in a good way, as opposed to the painful twisting it did now.
Without any evidence but the feeling in her chest which felt like clairvoyance, she knew that even if Sophie had discovered the truth, she couldn’t be aware of what was happening in that dark crypt. Furthermore, if her capture was a consequence of Sophie’s UN address, Ryan regretted nothing; couldn’t for Didier and Kevan, and all the others she’d seen devastated by conflict minerals.
Nonetheless, there Ryan was, chained to a metal bar and hanging from the ceiling like a carcass, in a room so lightless she had to listen for the faraway stomps of Gumboots dancing to the cacophonous rhythms of excavation to indicate whether it was night or day. Even if she couldn’t distinguish the clanging of bulldozers, squeaking of grease tables, and slurping of water dredges; she was almost certain she was in a mining district from the unforgettable rotten egg scent of exposed earth. Then, the sizzling heat which wafted into the chilly chamber every time her hooded tormentors entered was unmistakably the punishing fever of Southern Africa. Beyond those general identifiers, there were the sounds of engines too loud to be cars and too quiet to be jets; and in the calmest times, she heard the powerful whooshing of flowing water and characteristic buzzing of aquatic insects. If her nourishment starved body and sleep deprived brain could be believed, she was likely by the tiny airport in the mining town of Vereeniging, located where the Klip River emptied into the Vaal River, south of Johannesburg. Thus, if she could just fight her way out of confinement, she might make her way back to safety.
You’re a survivor. This time the voice sounded distinctly like Jada’s.
They had a deal, Ryan was to stay alive long enough for her to retrieve her, and with the recollection of that agreement, she pulled at the chains around her wrists, gauging how much force she needed to muster to get free.
Lucid for the first time, she squinted attempting to identify any features which might aide an escape. There were thick metal doors opposite her, a squeaking fan above and a camera in the corner of the room, too high to reach.
Suddenly, bright lights turned on and she blinked rapidly, preparing herself for the coming assault, as was the routine of torture she quickly became accustomed to.
The metal doors swung opened, and Ryan clutched her chains defensively. “I’m a survivor,” she assured herself.
She had already endured interrogations whilst being hosed down, beaten, starved and tormented with blaring vuvuzelas, in that order and on repeat since capture.
Two masked figures attacked her then, yet not in the way previously established, likely from her having managed to strike them back the last time. This time, they covered her face with a thin veiling and began pouring gasoline over it.
“You’re an American spy!”
“What is your name!”
“What are you doing here!”
They screamed simultaneously, as they dowsed her in gasoline.
“I-I’m not a spy,” Ryan repeated the same lies from day one. “My name is Penny-Penelope Devereaux, a-a student… and I’m staying with my u-uncle.”
“You’re here to sabotage our political ambitions, yes?”
“No,” she gasped, inundated by intoxicating vapours.
Just when she thought a pause was near, the veil was removed to force open her mouth and accommodate a hose gushing with water. Ryan wanted to scream, but nothing escaped her throat but gurgling as she slowly drowned. Moments later, a winding punch to the stomach projected out all the liquid collected, and they started again.
“You’re an American spy!”
“What’s your name!”
“What are you doing here!”
Although she had been trained for this, studied diligently every aspect of S.E.R.E classes, nothing could have prepared her for this level of agony.
Rule number one in the surviving torture teachings was to never surrender to thoughts of death. Thus, delirious and intoxicated, she imagined a different ecstasy; one where she drowned in amber pools of soft desire instead.
“Thank you for being my saviour and not my headache.”
She recalled the first words spoken tenderly to her by the woman that felt like destiny fulfilled as unconsciousness took her.
Ryan was somehow transported to that moment; anchoring gazes, lingering caresses, and liberating breaths – she yearned for what she’d only been given but a brief touch of, and she decided it wasn’t enough. Nothing in her life had ever felt more critical than surviving right then.
“Ry…”
“Rya..”
“Ryan!”
Her spirit was violently revived, and welcomed by a colossal surge of pain that made her release a screech so clamorous that even God in heaven above heard her denial of death.
The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gurgled in a spluttering cough. Her head pounded so hard that she thought she may explode right then.
“Sophie?”
“Not quite, sleeping beauty,” came the familiar drawl of Victor Zsazs.
On either side of her chair stood the scarred man and Alice, hoods down dressed in the clothes of her tormentors.
“Don’t tell me you’re waiting for Princess Charming,” Alice teased as Ryan’s brain played catch up.
She was sat on a chair in the middle of her cell and her hands were no longer attached to a chain but still cuffed, and in front of her, Jada peered down entirely unperturbed, and realisation dawned.
“This was a freaking training exercise?!”
“Survive. Evade. Resist. Escape,” Jada answered militantly.
“I've been through S.E.R.E, you sadistic witch!” She yelled, lunging forward unsuccessfully, for the two sets of arms which pushed her shoulders down and back onto her seat.
“To achieve your objective, you’ll have to blow your cover. Can you escape before they know what you’ve done?”
Jada continued but Ryan couldn’t hear her for the rage that filled her as she struggled against her restraints trying to get to her. If she got the chance, she was certain she was going to tear her apart with her teeth, hands, feet and anything else she had at her disposal.
“…Most can’t. What’s likely is that you’re taken and tortured until you break.”
“I already told you I won’t break!”
“Everyone breaks,” Jada said, her own voice breaking, that hard façade slipping, just a little.
However, Ryan was far too incensed to make sense of that glimmer of softness.
“Not me,” she spat.
Jada bent down at the waist, bringing them eye level; molten brown boring into molten brown. “Everyone.”
A gruff spite-filled laugh escaped the young marine then. “So, what, just because you failed with Ocean you think you can do whatever you like with me?”
If she couldn’t pierce her skin, she’d pierce the icebox she called a heart.
The words barely phased the hard woman.
“What I like is bringing agents home,” she explained slowly, like Ryan was a simpleton, and she felt like one for ever trusting Jada. “What I don’t is writing letters to parents explaining how they died in some bullshit training exercise because I can’t tell them that their daughter was necklaced and scorched to a crisp in the backend of Africa somewhere...”
Diggle rushed in then, concern contorted into a frown, alarmed eyes finding Jada who barely flinched at his sudden presence.
“…Of course, I don’t have to worry about that with you. You don’t have anyone who cares.”
Her cruel words usually wouldn’t sting, but something about the silence in the small room as they bounced against the walls, cut deep.
“You bitch!”
Ryan lunged again, managing to stand this time, but the older woman easily side stepped her attempt as she was tackled from behind and twisted into a familiar hold – the one hold she couldn’t bear for the reminder of when she was powerless to save Mama Cora, held down by an anaconda chokehold.
“Time for round two,” Jada instructed.
Diggle stepped forward, warning, “Jada, stop.”
However, Alice’s grip grew tighter and Jada’s mouth more venomous.
“Maybe I should send the letter to Angelique?”
Ryan stilled momentarily, a chill sliding down her neck and raising goosebumps the expanse of her skin.
“But I guess I can’t send it to her either. She’s dead. Did you know that?”
Ryan gasped for air from the revelation or maybe from Alice’s asphyxiating arms.
“Drug overdose, unsurprisingly.”
The grief which washed through her, only made her see red and she scratched against the arms coiled around her neck.
“You don’t want to do this,” Diggle tried, placing a hand on Jada’s bare shoulder which she shrugged off before she stepped close, peering into Ryan’s crimsoning eyes.
“Now you have no one again. No one is coming to save you-”
“How can you do this to me?” Ryan shouted, exasperated.
“You’re doing it again Ryan, looking for your mama everywhere you go,” she reprimanded.
“What- I-I’m not-”
Something about the insult made her feel exposed.
“You did it with Kate Kane, even Cecile – and now me-” The older woman faltered, eyes seemingly misting, before blinking back the hardness.
“You’re nothing like her!” She interrupted. “My mother was good, and kind, and she opened up her heart and home to me, saved me. You’ve never done anything like that for anyone. People die on your watch!”
For the first time, Jada looked struck, like the insults had flown out of Ryan’s mouth and actually slapped her across the cheeks.
The fiery-eyed woman recovered with an audible gulp, swallowing away the hurt, for her own striking words. “Looks like you and I aren’t so different afterall. Cora’s gone because you failed to protect her – and now you’re here proving how strong you are? That you’re not just an orphan desperate for a mama, that sound about right?”
“Ok, you’ve made your point!” Diggle hissed, looking like he was going to be sick, as Ryan felt herself wretch out the water in her stomach.
“Can’t be broken huh?” Jada quipped, signalling to her associates.
Alice squeezed harder, Zsasz joining the restraint as Ryan struggled against them.
In spite of the overwhelm, eventually, she managed to swipe out one of Alice’s legs, toppling them all. Still, the other two overpowered her swiftly, subduing her against the ground.
A call of anguish came from deep in her core as all her muscles contracted.
“That’s enough,” she heard Diggle beg as she thrashed like a fish out of water, feeling more stifled by the second, and closer to a point of surrender.
When Jada’s next goading statement came, Ryan wished for unconsciousness again; liberated in beautiful dreams, baptised in amber pools hearing sweet words rather than poisonous ones.
“No, look, she’s almost there.”
“You’ll never break me!”
“I make it a point to avoid Congressional hearings, and this is gonna put us in front of one,” Diggle insisted. “She’s done.”
Diggle directed his attention to the two bodies Ryan struggled against. “Master Sergeant Zsasz, Alice, stop!”
“She’s done when I say,” Jada urged.
“Alice, don’t listen to her.”
Furious blue eyes focused on Ryan as she again locked her in an anaconda hold.
“Beth, she can’t survive this…” Diggle’s voice was pleading in a way that had Alice hesitating.
“Think about what happened to Ocean, keep going,” Jada countered.
“…it’ll just hurt her more!”
Ryan didn’t pause to consider Diggle’s implications; she took Alice’s lapse and bit her hard before twisting out from under her and head-butting Zsasz. Both her teammates were unprepared for her attack, and she took the moment to get her licks back before Luke and Mary ran in and held her as she cried and screamed hysterically.
“Ryan, look at me, it’s ok, it’s over,” Mary assured, as she secured her face between her hands, coaxing her to see her and not the violent red rage that had seized her.
Breathing heavily, she calmed with every sharp exhale.
It was over.
She flashed Jada a victorious smirk as the other woman shook her head and fixed Diggle in an icy side eye before storming away, clicking heels the only sign she’d ever been there.
“You can’t let them get away with this,” Luke said to Diggle, however the giant man already had Ryan’s tormentors by their collars.
“You don’t ever carry out an unsanctioned mission on a teammate behind our backs again, or I swear to God you’ll be the next names on the CIA hit list!”
“Hey, take it up with your girlfriend, not me,” Alice retorted.
Zsasz shrugged him off laughing, “Victor Zsasz, at your service.”
Shoving them away, Diggle turned to her, “you ok, kid?”
“Fine, I just want to get back to the house,” Ryan lied.
“See, no harm no foul,” Zsasz added, as she limped away, supported up by Mary. “Well, a little harm.”
Luke spun on his heels and punched the other man square on the jaw then, before returning to Ryan’s side and heading out the vault.
It was satisfying hearing her tormentor grunt in pain, a fraction of what she was feeling. However, Zsasz and Alice were the little fish, and her real vendetta was against Jada, and as she sat in the back of the SUV, Ryan quietly burned for revenge.
Notes:
Jada is really putting her through hell :(
Chapter 12: Alone
Summary:
Sophie deals with the fallout of her speech, alone?
Chapter Text
Click-click-click, click-click-click.
Never had the high pitch whirring of capturing cameras plagued the young princess of Zambesi so much as in the days following her UN address.
Each fast-paced click felt like the chasing footfalls of flesh-thirsty bloodhounds, and as she peeped open a heavy eyelid and caught herself onscreen – head down and briskly manoeuvring through paparazzi and journalists to her escape – she thought she looked an awful lot like someone would when pursued by terrifying beasts. There was something in the prominent vein pulsating across her forehead, the flitting of her head about the place, the flared nostrils as she took in measured breaths, and the lonely, frightened look in her gaze which gave it away to anyone who looked past the titles and tiaras.
“Now on Al Jazeera news, Zambesi’s Chief Maiden Princess Sophie has been the first of the royal family to publicly address the speech made at the UN Kimberley Process masquerade ball…”
Sophie sighed tiredly as the news cycle clip played on her bedroom monitor. It was the press shots of her exiting the latest meeting in a long line of exhausting sit downs to discuss the ever-developing fall out.
“…Your Royal Highness, I’m Vesper Fairchild of The Tantu Times. The people want to know if you have any reaction to minister Elliott Tomi’s comments that ‘you’re a loose cannon and stepped over the line into the arena of political campaigning’?”
Sophie wanted to pull the duvet over her eyes for how much she looked like an antelope in headlights when she’d turned to face the reporter. However, she couldn’t tear herself away from the screen.
“I was simply trying to highlight a global issue, that’s all,” she answered, reciting the exact statement she was mandated to repeat.
The government and her mother’s office had given her strict instructions to not be pulled into political games, especially with national elections coming up, and she hated with a passion how the drama around the address was taking away from the points she made in it.
“It’s been interpreted that you’re aligning yourself with the Zambesi Democratic Congress party’s more liberal manifesto, do you think that’s wise?”
Even now in the solitude and safety of her own apartments, no condemning or judging eyes looking through her, she felt bewildered and at a loss with the witch-hunt.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she floundered.
Diplomacy was something she understood like the back of her hand, such was the existence of the royal family whose entire position within Zambesi depended upon their perceived impartiality, yet ever since the arresting question which fell from a sharp but pretty mouth – how are you much different from the royals who benefitted off exploitation – was posed to her; to be silent had begun to feel like complicity, or further complicity when she thought of her recent nauseating discoveries.
Just as her trusty guard Jacob, was about to redirect them back towards the getaway vehicle, she spoke a final time.
“I’m not a political figure, nor do I want to be one. I spoke from my heart, and I want to bring awareness to people in distress, whether it is in Africa or any part of the world. If I aspire to be anything at all, besides the best version of myself, then that is a humanitarian figure, highlighting issues that are close to my heart.”
Although the videoclip didn’t show the reporter’s face, the camera seemingly panned instead on her ringless finger, Sophie still remembered the Cheshire grin that had spread across sharp features; wide and teeth-bearing like a lion seeing its first wildebeest of the day.
“And is your fiancée Tyler Wanai, ‘Mr Rough Diam-”
Thankfully, Jacob interrupted then, “we must move on now, thank you.”
The controversy in the press was bad enough without her having to answer for her future husband’s controversial government party, nor did she want to think about him at all really, her stomach knotting even then in bed.
She switched off the television with a huff, instead ready to allow sleep to take her to the land of unconsciousness where she wasn’t battling against the world on her own and could lose herself in intangible fantasies of acceptance and liberation. If the accompanying thoughts to her desires came with flashes of piercing molten eyes, reaching soft hands and gentle encouraging smiles, she suppressed it, until invocations turned to flesh.
“Hey, you.”
It was the first phone call of three Penny had returned, and Sophie couldn’t prevent the relief she felt when she heard that gliding thick American accent drift down the phone. “Hey, you back.”
The relief was more than that of an answered call, but a prayer. With the heated exchange between them during that fateful event – despite its pleasant ending – Sophie had feared that the other woman was finished with their new friendship. Then, when the first two calls went unanswered and unreturned, the third was a final, knowing when to take a hint.
However, even as late as 11:35 at night, that was far better than never, and Sophie sprung up in bed when she saw the name on her phone through blurry eyes.
“Did I wake you?”
She felt a breath away from collapsing with exhaustion after a long day of PR meetings, but she was happy to fight the tiredness if it meant finally talking to Penny.
“No,” she answered, unsuccessfully supressing a yawn causing the other woman to release a breathy laugh. “But, I was about to sleep.”
“I can call another-”
“No!”
She didn’t even allow the sentence to complete before she protested.
Real smooth Moore. She cringed.
“No,” she corrected with feigned nonchalance. “I’m awake now, and pleasantly surprised to be hearing from you,” she said, playing with a loose thread on one of her pillows as she held the phone to her ear.
Awaiting Penny’s response, she stilled, feeling off kilter again, but in a nervously elating way.
“Yeah...”
“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you were avoiding me after the way things went at the KP ball.” A deeper question danced between Sophie’s words; her leaving it open for the braver woman to fill the gaps of where they stood.
After the address, despite the applauding and hugging – more a lingering clutch between them – they hadn’t managed to speak properly the rest of that evening. Sophie went into princess mode, meeting guest after guest, whilst Penny seemed to hover nearby but not close enough. After reports of the defiant speech reached her mother’s ears, Sophie and Jordan’s exit was swift, barely leaving her long enough to wave goodbye, and certainly not long enough to determine their standing with one another; of whether theirs could be a friendship, or they were strangers who intersected but never paralleled a road together.
“Not at all,” Penny stressed. “I actually wanted to reach out sooner.”
Sophie heard her open and close her mouth wordlessly from the other side of the phone.
“But you didn’t,” she finished, a twinge of accusation squeezing her throat, and shielding a hurt she hadn’t even realised she was experiencing until that very moment.
“Yeah… since the college semester started, time kinda got away from me.” The sentence stretched like she was making it up, however for the softening of every new word, Sophie thought little of it. “And honestly, I didn’t really know what to say with everything in the media, a part of me was afraid you’d blame me.”
“I don’t blame you for the fallout, I chose my own words afterall,” she explained.
“But?” She deduced, and Sophie imagined her squinting those dark eyes in deep thought.
“I just hoped you would’ve reached out sooner is all,” she explained, voice a near whisper, feeling strangely vulnerable. “A part of the reason I rightfully made that speech was down to what I learned from you.”
Although Sophie understood that she had no right to expect so much from a woman who was essentially still a stranger, a part of her thought she might have reached out sooner for the expectations to do better which she felt Penny had put on her that night.
A heavy audible exhale travelled over the line and Sophie felt its weight, and she wondered why. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should’ve checked in on you. How has the fallout been?”
“The level of coverage has been unexpected and a lot of people are unhappy with me...”
That was putting it lightly. Dozens of articles, news cycles and even short documentaries were produced on the address, then, as predicted, scrutiny into her family and RZN history.
Like Sophie’s personal contradictions, the Zambesi government’s trading relations with Zimbabwe were hypocritical to the blood diamond issue because they never publicly condemned their neighbouring country for the Global Witness report which revealed their diamond corruption problem. Sophie’s statements had officials of Nyami Boathouse, office of the Prime Minister, scrambling to repair the public relations damage by affirming their commitment to ‘working toward a worldwide ban on conflict diamonds’, and that her remarks were merely misunderstood.
“…His Majesty and the palace aren’t exactly pleased with the attention, my mother even less so…”
The political fanfare was second only to the personal sensationalism. Her family were enraged with the scrutiny into their lives – those with more lavish tastes, like the Crown Prince were especially under fire, and there were claims that the Morena family had sold out with her mother’s marriage to an Afrikaaner-American man, and that Sophie’s engagement to Tyler was continuing this legacy. That had gone down so poorly that the entire family PR teams were tasked with planting stories within the media to attempt to rehabilitate their image.
Sophie was certain that had she still been a child she would’ve been confined for the rest of the year to the Royal Village under the punishing tutelage of governess, Ayanda Walla, who had a particular penchant for caning, as Jordan’s backside could attest.
“…We went from being a relatively unknown royal family to being on the international stage. Now it’s become this whole political thing here in Zambesi,” she explained, hearing a sharp inhale that had her wanting to ease the other woman’s concerns. “It’s not all been bad though, the foreign press has been encouraging; they’re more focused on the blood diamond issue than my family. The New York Post dubbed me ‘Princess Sophie Diamond, The People’s Treasure.’ And I’ve been asked to be this years Class Day Speaker at Yale and do an Oxford Union address too.”
This time, the breath that drifted through her ears, seemed to be in relief than heaviness, and the idea that Penny worried about her warmed her insides.
“What you said up there was amazing. You were right to speak up and you should be praised for it. You’re one of the good guys.”
The validation intensified the warm feeling inside her, and for a moment, the pressure on her shoulders didn’t seem so heavy. However, the feeling dropped when she remembered what she had discovered in her husband-to-be’s file. Of all the scrutiny into her the engagement to Tyler had yet to make waves, which she found a little suspicious.it was only made worse when he reached out hoping to comfort her with news that the wedding was being moved forward, although to a date she was yet to be made aware of.
“Thank you,” she said, resigned.
As if sensing the change in her, Penny softly asked, “how are you dealing with everything?”
She wanted to reveal the discovery that had her vomiting long into the night, but she didn’t know how to articulate it to the other woman when she hadn’t yet come to terms with things herself. A quieter, more selfish part of her wasn’t ready to see disappoint swirling in piercing eyes again.
“I’m managing,” she paused, rubbing at the ring finger which no longer adorned dark secrets. “It’s just got me reevaluating some things in my life.”
“Like?”
My engagement. She swallowed the statement at the tip of her tongue.
“If maybe I should leave the rebelling to Jordan,” she lied, failing to make the switch in topic casual.
A clipped note that was nearly an utter sounded from Penny and she wondered if she would call her out on the omission; but despite the noise, the other woman allowed her lie. “My mom used to tell me that the right path is always the hardest.”
“She sounds like a wise woman, who raised an equally wise daughter.”
“Yeah, that’s my mama,” she affirmed after a short pause.
Sophie heard the thickness in her voice and wondered, “how are you doing?”
“I’m… ok,” she started, nervous. “I uh- I got into a car wreck. That’s kinda why I was AWOL.”
Sophie immediately felt terrible for her earlier assumptions. “Oh my God, are you hurt?”
“A little bashed up, but I’m recovering.” Penny breathed into the phone, all tired and soft-sounding, and Sophie suddenly, very desperately, wanted to be there in person to hold her hand again, to be there to support her through whatever she needed.
“Do you want me to come and visit?” The plea exited her mouth before she even had a chance to process it.
She felt her cheeks heat with how desperate she sounded, and she almost took the offer back. The urge to be around molten eyes and low drawled tones was stronger and she found that she didn’t want to take the words back, even with the series of upcoming official engagements making it near impossible. Yet, if a yes came, Sophie knew with resolute surety that she would somehow find a way to take the mountain to Mohammed.
“Uh-” That clipped sound again. Sophie felt it there, a held breath full of unspoken words and explanations about something she couldn’t yet understand but hoped to in the future, and Sophie thought, God how I long for this voice, but then it passed.
“No, thank you. I have m-my uncle taking care of me.” That was a lie, and Sophie knew it, but for her own lie that the other woman allowed to pass, she allowed this one.
“That’s good, but are you really ok?”
There was a long lull and she urgently wished she could see the other woman’s face; to trace a sharp jaw, measure the frown across straight brows and read the emotions behind expressive gazes.
“Penny?”
“Yeah, I’m ok.”
Another lie, but it was one for one and Sophie wouldn’t let this one go. “You don’t sound ok.”
In fact, the whole call something felt just minutely off. At first, she’d written it off as tiredness for the late hour, but something in her tone seemed almost dejected.
“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not the first idiotic college student to get into an accident,” she dismissed.
You’re not the only one who cares, felt too much to say although it danced on the the roof of her mouth.
“If I cared about another idiotic college student I would be asking them the same thing too,” Sophie said echoing the sentiment that had rendered her defiant in front of the world.
Penny released a surprised nasally tittle. “Touché.”
“So, what’s wrong?”
Although she couldn’t see her, she felt the amusement die.
Her mouth opened wordlessly, struggling, before quivering truths came. “I recently heard that someone I grew up with died.”
It all fell into place then, the grief which lingered in the spaces where words were meant to be.
“Penny, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, solemn in a way that didn’t seem to belong to the person she’d gotten to know.
Sophie swallowed down the urge to ask if Penny wanted her to come over again, and instead wondered, “were the two of you close?”
“Not for a while, but she was my first- my only,” she trailed off, like the word was just out of reach. “Friend for a long time. And I-” A defeated sigh followed another pregnant pause. “I’m s-struggling to fit in here,” she confessed, forced out like she hadn’t been expecting to say it.
“At college?”
“Yeah…”
“Which makes you miss her more,” Sophie surmised, being well acquainted with the feeling of being the grieving foreign girl at school.
“Exactly, and it just reminds me of how alone I am now...”
The confession confirmed Penny’s earlier lie – that she had someone looking after her – but for the pained admission which felt like it came from a secret vault, Sophie said nothing.
“…Especially when I feel like my family doubt me which has started to make me doubt if I can make it to the end of this journey I’m on.” By the end, her voice hovered just above the faint static of the line, but Sophie felt every word.
If she’d been in front of her then, she would’ve reached across – maybe squeezed a small hand in hers, maybe pulled her close and embraced her tightly in her arms, maybe more – and wiped away the frightened frown she imagined plaguing pretty features.
With the lack of physical proximity, she reassured her with words instead. “From the little I know about you, I don’t doubt that you can do anything you put your mind to…”
She didn’t vocalise that she’d seen destiny sparkling in her eyes from the moment they met.
“…and forgive me if I overstep, but I believe your friend would tell you the same thing.”
Penny released a joyless laugh, “she would.”
She sounded faraway, and Sophie found herself chasing. “I’d like you to know that you’re not alone. If you ever need anything, you have-”
Her breath caught, the confession feeling like tripping into a black hole.
Almost as if sensing the loss in her voice, Penny finished, “I have Sophie Diamond, The People’s Treasure who cares.”
If it felt like falling, Penny had been there to catch her, and she released air sharply, like breaking water after being submerged.
“Exactly,” Sophie confirmed.
“Thank… you.” It came out clipped, the joy dying with every syllable and Sophie feared it was disappointment in her cowardice.
In an effort to be brave, her own confession came. “I can understand what it is to feel alone though.”
After spending her entire life associating confession with dark wooden confines, the burning smoke of myrrh, harshly judging holy men and the promised condemnation of God; unburdening the depths of her truths was more than difficult. Yet, somehow, it felt liberating with Penny’s keenly listening ears.
“Really – you have so much family and are always surrounded by people?” Surprise shaped the words, as if the thought was unfathomable.
“Being surrounded by people who don’t see you, the real you I mean, feels like being in a room all by yourself.”
Although a few beats of stillness settled, Sophie didn’t feel alone then.
Suddenly, a soft voice interrupted, “I see you, everything that you are, even the parts that aren’t uncovered yet.”
Beats morphed into thick silence, with only their laboured breathing – in and out, and in and out – the line’s faint static, and a distant beeping coming from Penny’s side, indicated either woman was still there. Too lost in the moment, Sophie didn’t question what those sounds could’ve been.
Unable to articulate just what those words evoked, she chewed her mouth, twisting her lips in a nervous gesture.
“And I want to see you, send me a picture?” Sophie looked around her bedroom in the suddenly charged air which followed.
God, am I desperate or what?
“…So I know that you’re ok,” she added, rushed.
As she opened her mouth to take it back, to salvage her dignity, Penny answered just as quickly, making it immediately feel like a lie. “I can’t.”
Some sort of shifting came from the background, and she almost wondered if there was someone else taking care of her, until an explanation came. “I look pretty awful.”
The other woman being self conscious wasn’t on her cards in that moment, and she released her dark and green and unexpected suspicions; and feeling guilty for even wondering, especially when she was the one hiding things.
“I don’t think that’s possible with a face like yours,” she said, hoping to draw that joyous sound Sophie had at some point committed to memory despite only having heard it a mere few times. She was rewarded with a short breathy version of it, a laugh which started an exhilarating flutter in her stomach all the same.
“Well, if I can’t have a picture, what about you in the flesh?” She tried very hard not to make it sound like a hopeful question.
“Oh Princess,” she started, fake scandalised, a smile in her voice, and if Sophie didn’t know any better, she might have believed that Penny was flirting with her. “I’m not that kind of girl, you have to at least buy me dinner first.”
She was definitely flirting with her, and despite the itch to quip back with her own low tones, Sophie crumbled under the weight of shame that came from noticing the rosary on her nightstand.
“As in, I’d like to see you clothed,” she corrected, although it tasted like a mistruth, and rolled her eyes at how pathetic she felt.
“I know,” she laughed again. “What do you have in mind?”
Sophie cleared her throat harshly.
“If you’re free next weekend, I’ll be back in Joburg, there’s something I want to show you.”
“Perfect, next weekend it is,” she answered, a smile still in her voice.
“Great.”
They suspended themselves there in that calm over the phone for a while longer. A goodbye pending but unsaid – neither of them rushing to hang up. Sophie breathed while Penny did whatever Penny was doing, which was mostly the same as her, except when it sounded like she put the phone down to do something, just a little too loud and crinkly, apparently thanks to the phone not having been far enough away. Sophie imagined she was getting ready for bed or something, and the thought made her grin.
“Hey,” she said after a while, because she had to, “Penny? I’m falling asleep over here, so I should probably go, unless you wanna stay on the line and sing me to sleep.” She added the last part as a joke—obviously, it was a joke.
Successful, too, because Penny snorted. “I could,” she answered, low tone returned. “But I should probably take a shower.”
Sophie blinked against the image of her taking a long hot shower, remembering the tease of toned muscles she’d seen beneath the silhouette of her ball gown. She very much did not think about it after that first flash. It was just that simple. She didn’t.
If that was a lie, she didn’t think it counted in their tally as it was to herself. Besides, she was too distracted, anyway, with Penny’s offer making something inside of her stutter.
Sophie yawned just in time to play it off as casual, though the yawn itself was very real. She rolled over, clutching the phone to her other ear and closed her eyes. “I should probably go back to sleep,” she mumbled into it.
She heard Penny hum from a distance. “Ah so I did wake you up?”
Sophie burrowed her head deeper into a pillow, drifting— “In that case, maybe you should put me back to sleep to make up for it,” she sighed, missing the innuendo.
Penny however, caught it and laughed the first full version of the noise that made Sophie’s heart feel full.
Fully awake the princess would’ve been mortified by that. This Sophie, the one this close to the first peaceful rest she had since the headache from the fallout of the UN address began, just heard the faint snort of laughter and a hushed, “goodnight Soph,” from Penny on the other end and didn’t understand it until the morning when it all came rushing back to her as soon as she opened her eyes.
Oh God. She chanted under breath, burying her face in her pillow and hoping to be smothered into nonexistence.
Then she remembered everything else that came from husky tones, and it made her feel the very opposite of alone.
Notes:
Thought?
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