Faith, Hope, and Charity

by Liyuna_Bass

Summary:

Jake looks for a way he can help people. (Jane sometimes helps others in... unconventional ways.)

 

[Set in my Skaian Pantheon AU, where the gods/main characters settled down to help build a society from the start instead of skipping ahead thousands of years. This is 7 Years Post-Landing.]

Notes:

Everyone applaud for these members of the Skpan Beta Squad: Lixxun, Orange, Madam_Melon_Meow, and Salep!

Chapter 1: Side A - Jake

It begins with a young Prospitian on your doorstep.

They were distraught. Terrified. Begging their Lord Page for help. And you aren’t good with other people’s emotions, you never have been, but damn it all, you would have to be heartless not to let them in. 

So you went downstairs and opened the door, and they stumbled into your entryway, sobbing.

You are alone with your visitor. Jade is out, doing something or other that’s probably important - you text her repeatedly, asking for her to come back to the house whenever she can. You do your best, offering your unexpected guest some hot tea, and they shakily take it, their thanks far more profuse than you feel comfortable with. 

You try to ask them what they need help with, and this just prompts more crying. You hesitantly reach out to pat their shoulder, and they flinch. (Is it bad that this makes you feel relieved, not being obligated to touch them?)

The youth is probably around fifteen or sixteen, you guess - you’re not very good with carapacian ages, except that this one clearly isn’t an adult yet, and from their slender build, is probably of the rank they call a ‘knight,’ not that you really understand what that means aside from their generally more human-like proportions compared to other carapacians. You can tell they’re not male or female, but you can’t recall the names of the other two sexes right now. 

They eventually stammer out that they need the hospital, but they’re afraid to go by themself - they don’t want their parents to find out, and everyone who attends the Shrine of Hope wouldn’t keep it a secret. 

The uncomfortable mention of them as your devotee aside, you don’t know a lot about family structures - and even less about carapacian family structures. But you know when something like that sounds wrong. 

They won’t share their name or initials. They don’t trust any of their family members. They claim their friends at school wouldn’t understand. They remain tight-lipped about everything else, and you decide against asking more than once.

So you drive them to the hospital.

They hover anxiously at your elbow as you try to check them in. You’ve never had to do anything like this, you’re sweaty and uncomfortable and crikey all the carapacians in the waiting room are staring at you and whispering - 

When Jane walks by, notices you, and comes over to help streamline the process, you’re almost relieved.

The teenager is not. They edge away from Jane, trying to keep other people between her and them at all times. You’re not good with facial expressions, just like you aren’t good with other people’s feelings, but you can tell Jane is hurt - at first. When she gets her first clear look at them, her eyes widen in surprise and worry, and she starts to maintain distance of her own accord. How very odd. 

They refuse to see a ‘refined’ doctor, only relaxing when they’re told that they can see a fellow ‘commoner.’ The doctor, a Dersite rook(? They’re short, only coming up to your chest, but not as tiny as most pawns), offers to allow you in as their trusted adult, but they decline, seemingly feeling safe at long last.

You wait outside the exam room, and Jane slides onto the bench next to you.

You cough. “So. Erm. I reckon you can tell what’s going on?”

She bites her lip. “They’re gravid,” she says softly.

You wrack your brains for the meaning of the word - “Oh!” You suppose you can see a teen being afraid of their parents finding out they’re pregnant. “They’re, eh, awfully young.” 

“Yes.” 

Jane is - well, brooding seems to fit, in both senses of the word. She’s glaring into space and tapping her foot, brows drawn in more of a worried way than angry (or you think so, anyway). 

You have a sinking feeling that at the very least, she has some reason to suspect that the father might not be the same age as the young alate (right, that’s the word! The ones that reproduce both ways) in the exam room. And if they don’t want the child, that explains why they wanted to stay away from Jane. You’re not sure if that’s how her powers work, but better safe than sorry, you suppose.

The doctor comes out, closing the door behind them. Their dark face is grave, and they look sternly at Jane. “We can’t let them go home. They need somewhere else.”

Jane sighs, and rises. “I’ll call social services - though goodness knows they’re not as equipped as they need to be, to deal with things like this,” she mutters. 

From what you’ve heard on the news (you have little else to do with your time, most days), this has been a bone of contention for some time. There’s too many people in this city, and not enough structures in place to handle all of the problems that naturally crop up - like domestic abuse and such. You’re obviously not well-versed in anything involving other people, but you do feel a certain amount of sympathy for the poor sods who are overwhelmed at their jobs. You’ve heard from a few of your more civically-involved friends that there’s been some success in many areas with organized volunteer operations, but there simply hasn’t been a lot of time for the ones in place to grow big enough.

Not to mention many citizens are too busy with their own lives to spend a large portion of their time devoted to such arduous causes. There’s not enough resources devoted to those organizations to allow volunteers to make less intense commitments. Not enough power behind them. Conviction is easy to lose when you see so few results from your efforts, and lost conviction can invite despair.

You feel a strange charge of... intention, of Hope, and for a moment, you’re not sure where it’s coming from - and then you realize it’s coming from you.

You’re not sure what you could possibly provide to such an endeavor, how you might contribute. But you know that you can do something. Those working to fix things can’t afford to lose heart; something must be done about situations like this. Children like the one in the exam room need places to go, places that they know will be safe, and sure, you might not be able to do it alone, but here is finally something that could use up some of that desperate unrest, that feeling of being useless that continually plagues you.

It’s probably too much to hope that it might fix everything wrong with you, but if you can just do one good thing -

You pull Jane aside afterwards, and she listens to your proposal with a raised eyebrow. She’s skeptical. But that hard-to-find spark in you is there - you have a clear sight of it, and you struggle not to let it go or grip it too tight - 

Slowly, but surely, as you keep talking, the Hope kindles into a flame. You don’t let it grow too big, or it’ll burn itself out and leave you with nothing. If you can keep it small without smothering it -

Well. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? All the Hopes you’ve managed to sustain before have been short-term, powered not by your own will but by the certainty of your trust, by time loops and others’ prophetic visions. Maybe, just maybe, you can do it without the training wheels.

That’s the thing about Hope, the thing you wish you could tell your younger self. It’s not easy. It’s not really about believing in something, or having faith in yourself, or wanting something badly enough, or even just making things happen. It is all of those things, yes - but you couldn’t possibly begin to explain the unconscious complexities of your aspect you simply can’t find words for, the things you have come to know without knowing. Perhaps your class is to blame there. 

Jane agrees to help. She understands your vision, but doubts your ability. All your friends tend to - after all, you often disappoint them.

But here’s something about things that happen often: you get used to them, more and more. And if you’re lucky, as time goes by, they start to bother you less and less.

 

~

 

Jade, when you hear back from her, is annoyed, having rushed home only to find it empty, and you not answering any of her calls until she’d worked herself into a tizzy. You apologize, and she seems to accept it - though as always, you find yourself wondering if you did it right or flubbed it without knowing again.

A few days pass. There are emails sent back and forth, your signature stamped in the right places. You flounder over video calls, and struggle during meetings, ending up letting Jane do most of the talking, much to your embarrassment.

You’re not comfortable with other people. You don’t understand them, and you struggle to visualize them outside of any context with you in it. That’s something you doubt will ever change about you, unfortunately. You try to bear it in mind, knowing it’s a flaw, but you don’t always succeed.

One day, Jane tells you bluntly that she feels like she’s organizing this all by herself, and you feel a tad helpless and guilty.

A neutral, unbiased opinion is very valuable to you, and anonymous support groups are happy to provide that - a stellar example of organized volunteer work in action. 

 

~

 

[NM_Nine]: So, what’s the consensus? Am I a narcissist?

 

[HP_Three]: no

[HP_Three]: just very socially inept

[HP_Three]: inexperienced maybe

 

[SF_Four]: Have you ever spoken to a psychiatrist? I know it’s hard to get ahold of one, but you should at least consider it if a personality disorder is something you’re this worried about. 

[SF_Four]: You can’t exactly get a reliable diagnosis from strangers online.

 

[Ace_XH]: u mmmmmmight? have some elements of it?? i agree with SF that u shouldnt be relying on us for that

[Ace_XH]: i think ur family prbbly knows u mean well but i can see how theyd find some of ur behavior annoying

[Ace_XH]: so ur a lil self absorbed but it doesnt seem like. debilitating

[Ace_XH]: lacking in empathy isnt the end of the world u just have to be aware and make up for it wherever u can

 

[NM_Nine]: It does rather feel like it could be the end of the world sometimes!

 

[HP_Three]: you just have to make an effort to look past your instinctive obliviousness and try to engage with people

 

[NM_Nine]: I have trouble telling when I’m stepping on someone’s toes, in that case. I’m told I have difficulty with boundaries, both setting them and seeing them! 

 

[Ace_XH]: well, u know that abt urself at least! just try to do better, and remember to apologize when u realize u’ve done wrong!

 

~

 

You don’t know what the devil you’re supposed to be doing. It would make things much simpler if she could just tell you, but neither of you want that. It brings up unpleasant feelings for you, and probably her as well. You want to work together. 

You just wish the flame of Hope did more than just burn with a desire, that it could help illuminate the way, tell you what needs to be done. 

But that isn’t the nature of Hope. Hope isn’t like Light, it doesn’t show you the truth, doesn’t help things fall into your lap just-so. Hope isn’t like Breath, giving you the strength to go on and bolstering you with confidence. Hope isn’t like Doom, guaranteeing a definite result with ironclad certainty, no matter what happens.

Hope is powerful. You’ve seen it firsthand. But it’s powerful the same way a whispered argument is powerful, the same way a lost young man is when he trusts his friends not to lead him astray, the same way a scared child is when they ask a stranger for help. It is not loud. It is not bombastic. It is not brash or bold or courageous. It is not all the things you would like to be. Hope is not the aspect of an adventurer or a hero. But it is strong. 

Hope does not help. It’s only the start. You often wish you had realized this much sooner.

But if it can last? If you can keep it alive? If a dream becomes a goal, and a goal becomes reality? That’s where magic can happen. You’ve seen it. You know it. It’s never happened by your own design - but it can.

And that Hope ignites, joining the first.

You resist the urge to cover your shame by telling Jane to just leave it to you and you’ll figure it out, trying to bluster your way through it on your own. Instead, you try to listen. You start writing things down, asking questions, until you figure out what she needs from you, because if you just ask what she wants from you it will turn into a fight, and you don’t want that. You don’t understand why it has to be like that, but you try. You work.

You settle on your role, being the main public face of the charity, performing most of the community outreach, your name and endorsement drawing needed attention - though of course two gods are better than one. Jane is already well-known for her work at the hospital, and already understands the basics of how an organization should be run. The two of you are both still working on understanding the funding and non-profit aspect, pooling your resources until the organization can be sustained on donations. Bake sales and block parties seem to work quite well.

You end up taking the lead, surprising both yourself and Jane. She runs the schedule and sets the goalposts, helps you remember the big, practical things that don’t occur to you, but it’s you who requisitions the properties for the shelters, who films the public service announcements, who listens to the suggestions of other councilmembers. It’s you who makes the choices of where to go next, who calculates the logistics and makes risk assessments. You are slowly becoming more than just a dreamer.

To aid your shared endeavor, the two of you start delving into research on social statistics, learning about the history of arranged marriages, the complexities of carapacian sexism, the dynamics between clones and the natural-born, the class system based in military rank, the way some conservative guardians view their adopted troll and human children as more of a sacred duty than part of their family - 

In some ways, it’s easier for you to generalize people. To put together numbers in groups, like the stress points in a machine. To think of the bigger picture, even though these are all people just like you. It suits you better than trying to help on a personal level, you think. Is that bad?

It’s been a long time, since you hung out regularly with just you and Jane like this. Not since the Game. Not since before -

You don’t like thinking about it. If you don’t think too hard about it, it’s pleasant, being friends with Jane. Not that you ever stopped being friends - it’s just -

You don’t like thinking about it, so you don’t. Is that bad? To want to put the past behind you, where it belongs? 

When the two of you sit together to go over funding and publicity, talk to Sollux over the phone about designing a website, or even just - chatting about nothing, making small talk, it feels almost like being with Jade. Except it isn’t, it’s Jane, but -

You don’t like thinking about the things she did to you, seven years ago. Things so far in the past, things that are hard to forget. The things she’s apologized for, over and over - the things you’ve forgiven her for, over and over, until she stopped begging for forgiveness. 

You didn’t stop forgiving her, though. Like Hope, forgiveness is a thing you need to maintain.

When the two of you sit together, it’s easy enough to put out of your mind. There is usually something else to focus on, work that needs to be done. It’s in the quiet moments, when you aren’t talking, when you sit too close together, that it becomes dangerous, that your forgiveness flickers like a candle in the wind, that you remember-

And you try to replace that memory with the knowledge that she hated herself for it. That she still hates herself for it. She has never said that she does - not to you. But Dirk and Roxy are a little less tight-lipped about it, and are generally quicker to reprimand you. You’re grateful to them for that, as annoying as it can be, because without that perspective, you wouldn’t know that you’re not alone. 

Is it bad, that you feel comforted by that? That you’re happy that you’re not the only one still scarred from the things that a younger Jane did in her altered state? 

 

~

 

Just like you ended up coming to visit Jane at the hospital, she ends up coming to visit you at the Shrine of Hope.

You go more often than you used to. Needing to establish the presence of the Crocker-English shelters has changed things a little - you are no more comfortable with the reverence they pay you than you were before, but the shrine volunteers are a little more used to you now. You’ve spoken about the charity and the values you hold, and they are listening. Slowly but surely, you’re gaining momentum, and the fire of this small Hope you hold will have fuel for some time. You’ll keep your goals realistic, and ration it carefully - leave the experimentation for other sparks of opportunity that will surely come along your path.

You’re speaking with one of the volunteers, when she enters the pavilion. 

Their use-name escapes you at the moment, but they’re telling you about how the atmosphere of the shrine has changed since you started all this - how the usual speakers were once all about tough love and enduring silently through hard times, having faith that things would turn out all right. It’s become more popular to talk about fighting for change, making your dreams a reality, and being strong for those who cannot be strong for themselves. 

You’re even more glad you’ve started this. That you’ve helped others start to understand what Hope really means.

Jane slowly approaches, and they stop talking with an abrupt squeak. 

“Hi, um. Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt -”

“Oh, erm, it’s no trouble at all Lady Maid I’ll just -” And they rapidly slip away before either of you can tell them they don’t have to. You both sigh in tandem.

“One of these days they’ll get it,” you say, shaking your head. “Anyhow, what brings you here on this fine day, Jane?”

She bites her lip. “I just - wanted a second to speak to you about something. In private. No rush. I was in the area, and I didn’t feel like... Well it didn’t feel right saying it over Pesterchum. When do you think you’ll be done here?”

This immediately makes you very, very nervous.

“Well, erm. In an hour or so. We could - catch lunch? Would that be alright?” You’re starting to sweat. There’s no reason to sweat - why do you have to be nervous? Why?

Jane smiles in relief. “That sounds just about right. I’ll, um. I can get us a table at that Dersite bistro, around the corner? I’ll wait for you there. I’ll - I’ll see you.” And now she is the one who slips off.

God on high, you hope this isn’t some way of tricking you into a date - No! Shut your mouth, cruel thoughts! She surely wouldn’t do that to you! She wouldn’t!

Would she?

 

~

 

The Dersite bistro is a quiet, out of the way place, the air inside drenched in incense and coffee. The booths are enclosed by bead curtains, but the server helpfully leads you straight to where Jane is waiting.

You have a lump in your throat as you sit down. Jane perks up, smiling. You adjust your glasses. Water is set out for you both.

“Well, now, erm. What did you want to talk about?”

Jane takes a deep breath. “It’s - well. To start with, I’m proud of you. And I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m surprised. I’m sorry, and I should have believed in you more. I...” she hesitates. “I’m - grateful. And that might not - it might seem a little out of the blue, but I’ve been feeling - well,” and she huffs a little laugh, "hopeless, about the state of things. 

“Like we - the gods - failed, or are failing. Like it’s all going rotten, even this early. I see so many terrible things that people do to each other, every day, and it feels like every injury or illness I heal is just replaced by two more, even worse than the last. Like society as a whole just keeps getting more and more cruel no matter what I do. And - I don’t know - doing this project with you, the charity, it’s... Easier to see that things are fixable. That our mistakes don’t have to be catastrophic. We’re doing good here, and this doesn’t - it doesn’t always backfire on us, or come at some terrible cost. It’s still hard, but that just takes work, it’s not a bad price to pay. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is - I needed this. I needed this, and I didn’t know it was what I needed until we started getting results. It’s easier to remember that what I do does make a difference. That I am helping people, even if I don’t always get to see how their lives improve. So -” and she raises her glass, blinking tears out of her eyes with a weak smile. “Thank you, Jake. For making my world a little brighter.”

The lump in your throat has grown, but a smile is spreading across your face.

All this time, she was feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, the terrifying stakes of the Game haunting her more than you thought. You’re glad that you did something that helped, even if it was by accident, even if you were ignorant to her struggles. You feel like an ass for having kept yourself so far away from your friend for so long.

You reach out across the table, and clasp her hand in yours. It’s the first time you’ve actually touched her of your own accord in seven years, beyond bumping next to her in passing or grazing limbs when sitting next to each other. It’s warm - it doesn’t tingle, or make you want to pull away. Her hand is wider and softer than Jade’s, but reminds you of her all the same. “And you are very welcome, Jane. I know I’m far from the best at providing any kind of support, but if you ever want to talk -”

She sets her glass down. She doesn’t meet your eyes. “Thank you,” she says, but it’s more hollow this time. Something about her voice is - brittle.

Jane pulls her hand away and meets your eyes again with a warm smile. You’re confused, and a little hurt - but then you realize: in seven years, she has never reached out to touch you, either. A wave of guilt washes over you. 

“I’m sorry if I -”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jane says firmly. “Nothing.”

The bead curtains part as the server enters to take your order, and the both of you realize, with some laughter, that you completely forgot to look at the menu. You order a couple of appetizers while you start deciding in earnest. 

Your lunch date with Jane is not a date-date, and you couldn’t be more happy with that. You carry on with lighter conversation, and she makes no mention of the things that weigh more heavily on her heart. You know that you’re probably not the best person to be bringing those things to. You hope she has someone who she can talk to. For your part, if you can give her an escape, some perspective, a break...

Well, what are friends for?

 

~

 

The Crocker-English Society for Public Welfare gets a ringing endorsement from the rest of your friends, and Callie helps the two of you host a charity drive - an auction of various relics from Earth B, and some belongings that you and Jane are getting rid of in your next spring cleanings. For some no doubt disturbing reason, those are exceptionally popular. But if it helps your endeavors, you’re happy to provide. 

The young person you took to the hospital months ago shyly approaches you there, flanked by their supportive foster parents. You successfully manage to hide them from the invasive press, and you find yourself beset by their gratitude, blessedly less tearful and happier than when you met them the first time. You do your best to point out the courage it took for them to ask for help, and how that played so much more of a role than merely driving them to the hospital. They seem a little skeptical, and their foster parents start telling you the story of how the Crocker-English Society stepped in to help their placement. 

You are grateful to Jane, too. Without her, none of this would have been possible - you may very well have remained aimless and unable to fulfill your Hope for the future. You make sure that every heaping of praise and congratulation is laid on you both equally.

And, well? You carry on. You watch the flame. You make sure it matches the amount of fuel you give it. You make room for others to warm themselves at its side. Things are looking brighter.

Chapter 2: Side B - Jane

Notes:

Once again, a round of applause for these members of the Skpan Beta Squad: Lixxun, Orange, Madam_Melon_Meow, and Salep!

It begins with a young Prospitian at the hospital.

They’re an adolescent, perhaps thirteen or fourteen (knights always look a little older than they actually are, in their teens). They’re not accompanied by an adult of their own species - instead, they’re nervously tagging along in the shadow of a baffled and uncomfortable Jake English.

You approach to help them fill out the forms they need, since Jake doesn’t seem to know why they’re even here - the kid keeps their reason for visiting close to their chest. Literally, clutching the tablet out of view while they enter their answers, as if terrified of someone looking over their shoulder. They shy away from you in fear, hiding behind Jake. 

You don’t understand why, and you’re a little sad and hurt. You mean them no harm, surely they know that? 

You finally get a clear look at them as you surreptitiously circle around, talking to the nurses about who’s available for walk-ins (they’ve specially requested a common-gendered doctor, not wanting to see a male or female). You cautiously reach out with your powers, feeling for the pulse of their Life to see what might be wrong -

And your blood runs ice cold. A pit opens in your stomach.

They are growing more Life inside of them. Small, muddled little nodules that could become something more, given time - they’re gravid. 

They’re just a kid.

When you were fourteen, you bickered over cartoons with Dirk and Roxy, and printed out your own merch for obscure webcomics. You remember picking at zits and whining about not getting to go to public school.

This kid is pregnant. They’re pregnant and scared.  

They’re pregnant and scared, and they went specifically to Jake.

You feel sick. Not just for what must have happened to them, but because you’re the reason that Jake is seen this way. A safe space, because he knows what it’s like.

Doctor Lollipop is the only commoner pediatrician currently on call. They’re a major, rook-rank, and a Dersite. They’re the perfect fit for this patient, you know them to have an excellent way with adolescents. The young alate practically runs into DL’s arms. You gesture to indicate you and Jake will wait outside, and Lollipop gives you a nod of acknowledgement. 

The door closes. You sit with Jake on the bench.

His presence no longer makes your heart flutter the way it used to. You’re grateful for that. These days, you think he might feel more like an annoying younger brother to you. It’s a nice change from the crippling guilt and self-loathing that defined your late teenage years. 

He clears his throat. “So. Erm. I reckon you can tell what’s going on?”

You bite your lip, and suppress the tidal wave of cold fury welling up in you. “They’re gravid,” you whisper hoarsely.

It takes a moment, but his eyes widen. You keep an iron grip on your nerves to stop yourself from trembling. “Oh. Hrm. They’re, um. Awfully young.”

You swallow against the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

Despair wars with sorrow which wars with anger, which wars with something cold and unnameable. 

That cold and frigid determination wins over all else. The decisions you make are sometimes difficult to live with. But if it makes the lives that you live to serve safer? Then they are decisions you will make readily.

DL slips out of the exam room with a haunted look in their eyes. “We can’t let them go home,” they say quietly, after shutting the door. “They need somewhere else.”

You sigh through your nose. “I’ll call social services - though goodness knows they’re not as equipped as they need to be, to deal with things like this.” They nod in agreement and resignation.

Social services is as good as helpless. Even if the courts find the culprit guilty, they will still be preying on those in prison, and the justice system is far too lenient, in your opinion. Jail time, restraining orders, house arrest, mandatory counseling, community service .... Sure, after a few years to think about what they’ve done, they might change. But you’re not happy with the idea of taking that chance.

Jake pulls you aside with a gleaming light in his eyes. 

“I have an idea,” he whispers. “But I may need your help.”

As he talks about shelters and help lines and advocacy groups, you let yourself be briefly buoyed up by his latest dream. It’s a lovely idea, if you could only bring yourself to believe it could work. That people could overcome their fears and join forces to make the world a better, safer place, spreading love, kindness, and generosity. And who knows, with his belief, it could very well happen. 

You love Jake very much, even if you’re no longer in love with him. And your love for him is why you agree to help. It’s likely that this could be another two-week fascination of his that peters out into boredom as he moves on to something else, but his heart is in the right place. 

You believe in this cause, on principle. It’s a sound idea. A noble one. And you want very much for it to succeed. It would make you so happy, knowing that children like the one that approached him for help might not have to be as scared, might know that there are people out there willing to fight for them. It’s a dream you would love to be a part of, even if your faith is weak.

But you make difficult decisions. A Maid does the dirty work, the things that will keep the garden flourishing. Even if the pests could theoretically coexist with the vulnerable sprouts, it’s still safer, in your opinion, to get out the bug spray. At the very least, you need to be a little ruthless in the early days, until the garden is strong and flourishing and able to fight infection off on its own. Like a patient who needs surgery to remove tumors and parasites, before they can rest and recover.

Later, you find DL in the break room. 

You put a hand on their shoulder, and ask them grimly: “Do you know who the sire is?”

They pause, bobbing the teabag in their mug. 

“Their father,” they finally say. 

You inhale sharply through your teeth. DL doesn’t look at you.

“I think you could stand to show a little more mercy, Lady Maid,” they say softly. “For yourself, if not for the unrepentant.”

Your hands twitch for your scepter. “I’d love to believe that’s a viable option.” 

There are three people in this hospital who share a secret, including you and Doctor Lollipop. You turn away from them to go find the third.

Being a Maid is not like being a Knight. A Maid doesn’t throw herself into danger to protect her aspect. It also isn’t like being a Witch or an Heir - a Maid does not hold command, but serves a higher power in the way she best sees fit. Being a Maid is not like being a Sylph, a Maid is not necessarily a caretaker or healer - even if you, in particular, can choose to be. 

A Maid does the dirty work. A Maid makes the tough decisions and performs thankless acts of service. A Maid keeps important secrets, silently bears the burden where others cannot. The Maid is not the class of a leader, of someone inherently powerful and confident and strong; it isn’t the class of many of the things you value. But it is yours.

The nurse meets with you in a hall closet outside the morgue, where hardly anyone ever goes. There are very few deaths in this hospital, especially when you are on duty. 

The tall, lanky Prospitian knight looks down at you, arms folded subserviently behind their back. There isn’t much room here, in your favored meeting-place, scarcely a few inches between you. Maybe that’s why the two of you tend to favor it, for all that you refuse to let anything come of it.

Sometimes, a Maid delegates. Just because she isn’t a leader, doesn’t mean she can’t have subordinates.

You silently hand them a folder. They flip it open and inspect it carefully, dark eyes flicking back and forth over the documents. They close it again when they are done.

“The other parents are probably complicit,” they whisper, breath misting in the cold between you. Their voice is always like a silken thread across the back of your neck, when the two of you are alone - coaxing and fervent, almost prayer-like.

You shake your head. “ Don’t touch the other two. Get him alone, make it look like an accident. The kid doesn’t have any siblings still living with them, and they’re not going back to that house regardless. We’ll see how the spouses behave with the source of the poison gone.”

The side of their mouth twitches into a small smile. “I trust your judgment, Lady Maid.”

There has always been a strange tension between you, the woman who serves Life, and them, the major who discriminately distributes death. Like a praying mantis, you allow them to haunt your garden in exchange for their obedience, weeding out the small threats. You sic them on the foxes who prey on your charges, and like a loyal dog, they always answer your call. 

Holding their metaphorical leash is the most terrifying power you have ever held, and you include your responsibilities as a goddess in that. They would do even more for you than this, if you were to only ask. If you were to let your iron grip of your morals slip, just a little bit further. If you thought you deserved to have more .

They memorize the file, and hand it back to you. They bow slightly, taking hold of your hand and kissing it with half-lidded eyes, their breath hot on your wrist. And then your Executioner leaves, going out to gladly do your bidding.

You really hate yourself sometimes. 

 

~

 

A few days pass. There are emails sent back and forth, your signature stamped in the right places. You talk to the right people, consult the relevant legislation, ensure everything is up to code, hire freelance specialists, set up the websites with Sollux and Roxy, put out advertisements for volunteers, secure funding from yourself and Jake and Dave -

Jake’s new charity organization comes to life in your hands, and when he isn’t struggling to articulate whatever the hell he means over your meetings with City Council officials, he’s silently resting on his laurels, letting you do the hard parts for his project, all by yourself.

No, that’s not fair. Jake isn’t very communicative. That doesn’t mean -

Does he understand what to do? Did he come to you hoping for instruction, or for help? You don’t know what it is he wants from you, he isn’t doing anything - 

 

~

 

[ix_PN]: I just don’t know what the hell he’s thinking!

 

[ML_iii]: girlie this sounds like a communication issue

[ML_iii]: (sorry u r a girl rite)

[ML_iii]: u gotta b more direct, tell ur bro wat things look/feel like on ur end

[ML_iii]: n u can’t just tell him hes doing this that n the other thing wrong, that’ll come across hostile n bossy

[ML_iii]: just explain how this is impacting you, im sure he doesn’t wanna b dead weight either

 

[MO_Ace]: ^ seconded

[MO_Ace]: No one is lazy on purpose, not with a project they really want

[MO_Ace]: And from the way things sound, even just on your side, this is a project you’re both passionate about, even if it was his idea initially. it can be hard, sometimes, to be upfront with someone without being rude, but speaking plainly works wonders. make it about the difficulties *you’re* facing, and not what he’s ‘doing’ to you

 

~

 

You tell him how it feels. You might have been a little too honest.

But he starts trying harder, and that reassures you.

 

~

 

A week after that fateful day, you hear a pair of familiar initials in the news - the young alate’s father, found dead in his place of work, at the bottom of a mine shaft. He apparently was operating heavy machinery alone, against regulations, and suffered a fatal accident as a result. He was pronounced dead on arrival - his body was mangled and crushed beyond the point of you being able to resurrect him.

Sometimes, when they have been within your power to heal, you have had to make the tough call to restore them anyway, even if they don’t deserve it. Sometimes this means they have a new perspective, and change their ways. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Ever since finding your Executioner, though, the vermin’s corpses have never made it to your hospital in one piece. Sometimes, you are relieved and grateful that they make sure you don’t have to take that chance. Other times, you are bitter and furious that they have been robbed of the opportunity to learn their lesson. 

 

~

 

More and more, Jake starts to take charge. You’re so glad - and proud of him.

As the two of you spend more time together, Jake educates himself more on carapacian culture, and you both do intensive research on the sources of various societal ills - you add more things to the list of what needs to be done, looking into supporting and working with the Mental Health Coalition, bolstering social services with the infrastructures you’re building together, helping compile lists of educational materials for the general population...

It’s hard, as always. Maids do the dirty work. But they don’t have to do it alone. Jake steps up, making suggestions and tackling the items he is best at handling. Little by little, the load is lightened.

The ‘Life’ aspect of your role has always been easy for you to comprehend - the ‘Maid’ class was, and in many ways still is, a mystery to you. Aradia’s anecdotes are helpful sometimes, in their own strange way - the idea ‘submitting to the inevitable’ isn’t something that resonates with you, but she is a Time Player. 

That’s the thing, about being a Maid. Your aspect has just as much sway over you as you do over it. Aradia sees where the timeline needs caretaking, and she performs that task. You have the power to heal, and so you use it. You serve Life, and therefore you serve life, for life. A caring goddess does what she must for the good of her followers. A good friend does what she must to protect her loved ones.

If you had understood that, as a girl, would you have succumbed as easily to Her Imperious Condescension? To the hidden whispers of selfish power and domination, all while being played for a fool? 

Being a Maid means sacrifice. Of yourself, of life, for life, to a purpose which may not benefit you. You exert control not for yourself, but for others, and you have so few good choices - and now there is this. A way to contribute that isn’t hard and miserable and inflames your guilty conscience. Good that you can do where the burden feels light on your shoulders. The repayment feels like it returns a thousandfold.

One day, you see someone in poverty making use of the food banks and soup kitchens. The next, you hear about a domestic abuse survivor finding the courage to speak openly about their experience. Every time you meet a former convict who believes the lowering rate of violence in prison and on the streets allows them to live a safer life, on the straight and narrow... You feel less like a murderer, and more like a gardener, seeing the pruned parts of her shrubs growing back healthily. 

The work you do on this project puts your boots on the ground, taking you to see the fruit of your labors. You see your patients outside your hospital, healed and happy. You see lost and hurt children being placed with families who will love them the way they deserve. You see previous victims of the cut-away weeds flourishing in their absence. 

One way or another, when you are alone, you weep.

You have become something terrible. You always were something terrible. Jake has given you a way to feel a little more human, sometimes. A reminder of why you stain your hands with blood and make yourself more and more of a monster. You make yourself worse for them to feel safe. It’s for them. It’s all for them. 

 

~

 

You get lunch with Jake.

He seems a little nervous - you didn’t say why you wanted to meet in person, outside of your usual plans. The unexpected always catches him off guard. But - you have so many feelings filling you like a storm, and you have to let them out somehow. You can’t say everything, but you have to say something.

“Well, now, erm. What did you want to talk about?”

You try to breathe. “It’s - well. To start with, I’m proud of you. 

“And I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m surprised.” Surprised. After everything you’ve gone through, you’ve learned nothing. How shameful, that you didn’t have faith in him. You swallow against a lump in your throat. “I’m sorry, and I should have believed in you more. I... I’m - grateful. And that might not - it might seem a little out of the blue, but I’ve been feeling - well,” and you can’t help biting out a mirthless chuckle, “hopeless, about the state of things. 

“Like we - the gods - failed, or are failing. Like it’s all going rotten, even this early.” It’s only been seven years, and your city is so big, so complicated, it struggles under its own weight. “I see so many terrible things that people do to each other, every day, and it feels like every injury or illness I heal is just replaced by two more, even worse than the last.” Images flash behind your eyes - cracked exoskeletons, burns on the skin of wailing children, bruises for which your patients won’t meet your eyes, the presence of unworthy loved ones for whom they will lie, even to a goddess. “Like society as a whole just keeps getting more and more cruel no matter what I do. 

“And - I don’t know - doing this project with you, the charity, it’s... Easier to see that things are fixable. That our mistakes don’t have to be catastrophic. We’re doing good here, and this doesn’t - it doesn’t always have to backfire on us, or come at some terrible cost. It’s still hard , but that just takes work, it’s not a bad price to pay. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is - I needed this. I needed this, and I didn’t know it was what I needed until we started getting results. It’s easier to remember that what I do does make a difference. That I am helping people, even if I don’t always get to see how their lives improve.” That helping doesn’t always have to feel like a heavy weight upon your heart. That even as the bodies pile up and the blood soaks your hands, the dead still fertilize the soil of your garden, which grows healthier and more beautiful by the day. 

“So -” You raise your glass to him, trying to smile through the tears. “Thank you, Jake. For making my world a little brighter.”

He smiles softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. He -

He reaches out. And holds your other hand.

“And you are very welcome, Jane.” 

His hand is warm and calloused. His eyes are earnest, and something about him just - glows . He has suffered so much, even at your hands, and he bolsters you still.

You suddenly want to spill your guts. Tell him everything. Confess and beg forgiveness for your sins. There’s just something so loving, innocent, merciful, and Christ-like about him and -

“I know I’m far from the best at providing any kind of support, but if you ever want to talk -”

Like an angel, he is unbearable to see. You look away and set down your glass. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

You pull your hand away, swallowing. You can’t bear it. Right now, the idea of your touch feels foul. Defiling. 

“I’m sorry if I -”

You look up again. He’s confused. Hurt. The glow is gone, the connection you don’t deserve broken. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing ,” you tell him firmly.

His brow is still creased in worry - but the server comes to ask if you’re ready to make your order, and the flow is interrupted, the course altered. You try to forget your indiscretion - you know Jake won’t read too far into it, won’t pry.

Your friendship continues as it always has - with him expecting the bare decency of you both being honest with each other, and you lying and hiding things from him. Bile creeps up the back of your throat. 

You put on a brave face. Your conversation moves on to lighter topics. His glow returns, and you remain in his shadow where the light won’t burn your sinful hands.

He is the fire by which others warm themselves, and later feel bold enough to step back out into the darkness. He talks about how he couldn’t have done any of it without you, how he wouldn’t have known where to start - but what is life, without hope? Without the will to survive, despite all the odds? Without him, your efforts would still feel like they were for nothing. Without him, your charges would never find refuge in the first place. If you are the gardener, then he is the sun. He provides so effortlessly, without even thinking. 

You are lucky, to have him as a friend. You are lucky that he has remained so, after all these years. You are lucky he still hasn’t seen you for what you are. For all of this you are so deeply, desperately grateful.

So you will carry on. For him, and for them. You will prevent parasites from choking the garden, hiding his light from the innocent, and you will tend the sick and blighted with the water he cannot provide. You will keep the faith, put your trust in him. One day, they won’t need you anymore. You look forward to it.

Notes:

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 11 of The Skaian Pantheon