Wow, this is really long! Almost too long for a oneshot! I'm actually quite proud of it, even if the ending wasn't what I intended. Haha I thought about splitting this into two chapters, but I don't think it would've flowed as well, if you know what I mean. In my opinion, there aren't enough AUs for the Ancestors, which isn't all that surprising considering that nobody writes them. . . . So have a weird secret agent/spy AU that focuses on the Dolorosa and Mindfang.
Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck; Andrew Hussie does.
Word count: 7,378!
"Yo Maryam! Where's your girlfriend?!"
You blush, and you're sure your entire face is red. You don't look to see who had shouted, and keep your eyes on your feet. Shoulders hunched upwards, you keep walking, your lunch tray held with shaking hands.
"Maryam, is your girlfriend ditching you?"
The shouts follow you as you try to find a seat, and you feel yourself grow hot with shame. She wasn't even your girlfriend. You'd only kissed once!
Beside you, your best friend shouts back, "Mind your own fucking business, dipshit!"
"Siilas," you plea, "Just ignore them."
He burns with anger, and he's scowling. He's the tech guy for your team, and he's tall and pale. He's thin, too, as if his bones were toothpicks. He hisses, his lisp growing stronger as he grows more upset, "Th'not right, Rotha! They shouldn't treat you like that."
"It's fine," you insist, because you can't bear to think about it. Instead, you duck your head further and sit at an empty table, shoveling food into your mouth and trying to ignore the jeers of the other agents.
It'd all started when you'd gotten back from your last mission. Your whole team had gone out on what should have been a reconnaissance mission, but one of your teammates had been taken hostage.
As a result, your organization had sent another team with yours to retrieve your missing member.
An elite team.
Long story short, together you'd succeeded. After your plane had landed back at headquarters, the weapons specialist on the other team had approached you. She'd flipped her hair over her shoulder, propping her hand on one hip and smiling at you. "Maryam," she'd said, "You did really good!"
You'd blushed, because she was the most talented agent you'd ever met and she was smiling at you.
She was also incredibly beautiful.
You'd managed to stammer out a, "Th-thank you."
She'd placed her hand on your cheek, and you'd gone all still. Her hands had been callused, but surprisingly gentle. She'd smiled once more.
And then she'd kissed you.
You're walking out of the communal showers with your towel around your neck and your hair still damp when you see her.
She's standing in a dark corner, but you'd recognize her anywhere. The curve of her hips, her long fingers, her painted blue lips.
You stiffen, but she hasn't seen you. She's distracted, talking and giggling to a man she has pressed against the wall. You feel sick. Her leg is hooking around his, and his fingers are intertwined with hers.
She laughs, and the sound is low and sultry. "What a pity your shirt went missing!"
He replies without missing a beat, "I dunno, Serket. I had it with me when I went into the showers."
"How mysterious!" she exclaims, and laughs again. "I think you look rather good, for only being the backup for your team."
"I think you're rather bold," he shoots right back, "for having kissed somebody else last week."
You feel shame again, the familiar shame that's been living in your body for what feels like eternity.
She clearly doesn't feel the same shame, for she says, "That was different! She only had level 4 clearance, and I thought I'd reward her for not fucking up the mission. Besides, you're better at kissing than she was anyways."
You'd rather like to curl up into a ball and die, but you can't move. You feel frozen in place. You can't tear your eyes from the sight of them, groping each other in the darkness.
"I think that's rather mean of you."
"Summer Nitram," she snaps, "I'll show you mean." And then she kisses him.
She kissed you nice and sweet-like, all lip and no tongue. You feel your eyes burning as she kisses this man, because she kisses him so passionately, so personally, it's clear they've done it before.
She was playing you the whole time.
Your tears spring from your eyes and you run. You don't even say hi to your teammates as you pass them, not even when they shout bewilderedly after you.
You barrel through the mess hall and down the hallways until you reach your dorm room. Then you lock the door and sob your eyes out.
You feel drained after that. You feel like a sponge that's been used on the dishes for weeks and weeks already. The sponge that's trash but is kept around only because people are too lazy to go get a new one.
You feel like the discarded white bits that you peel off of the inside of an orange.
You feel like an ice cube that's held under running water.
The feeling lasts for days, and you hate it. You hate Siilas' concerned questions, hate the pointed looks people send your way, hate how a room falls utterly silent when you walk in.
You stop talking. Talking is tiring. You hate how you still love Mariette Serket, even though she embarrassed you and burned you.
This all peaks when you're assigned a project on poisons. Your partner: Summer Nitram.
When you meet each other in the labs (which are underground, level 4, the deepest you're allowed to go), he smiles at you. He's incredibly handsome, muscular and effortlessly rugged. He looks like the type of hot that happens when you don't try and somehow manage to make messy look attractive. You detest that immediately. You want to hate him, but when he meets you he smiles.
He must know you're the girl Mariette kissed.
(The whole base knows. Everybody knows. You bet your superiors know, too.)
But he still smiles and says, "Hi, I'm Summer Nitram. How're you today?"
Your voice is frosty as you reply, "I'm fine."
The look on his honey-bronze eyes hurts your heart, because he looks as if he's done something wrong, but he hasn't.
It's all your fault. If only you hadn't fallen in love with Mariette. If only you could stop caring about her. If only you could just move on and forget this ever happened. But you can't.
But your heart has always been too soft. Your teachers always used to you that you're too kind for this job, that you'd never make it far as a secret agent.
They were right, of course, which is why you're still a level 4 and this man, who's hardly been here a year, has a clearance level of 6, no less.
"I'm Rosa Maryam," you say, and try to smile. It feels forced on your face, like plastic, but he relaxes anyways.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Maryam." He has a kind face. You hope Mariette won't hurt him. "Let's get started, shall we?"
As much as you want to, you can't hate Summer Nitram. He's the kindest man you know, next to your teammates, but he's also dating Mariette Serket.
You see her again, a couple days after you've been working with Summer.
You're playing with some images on the computer when she walks in. She has that look on her face like she always does, as if she's won the lottery and is going to spend every penny one-upping everything you do.
She doesn't even look at you, even though you're sitting right across from Summer and it would've been so easy to just turn and say hi.
She leans down and kisses Summer on the cheek, and you feel your stomach burn with the familiar shame. "Hi, love."
He chuckles and you're convinced he looks nervously at you, although you must be imagining it because nobody cares about you, nobody other than your team. "Hi, Mariette. Aren't you supposed to be working?"
"Key word there being supposed," she says, smirking at him. "I was in the area, so I figured I'd stop by and say hi! How's the research going?"
He lights up and begins to talk about everything you two have been doing. He talks about the plants you have in the next room, the experiments you've been running, the new equipment you just got grants for. She listens to his every word, and you try so hard to focus on your work but you can't help but stare at her.
And then Summer mentions, "—and it was all because of Rosa, really. I couldn't have made it this far without her."
Your cheeks turn scarlet when she turns her face to look at you. She blinks, pretending to see you for the first time. "Oh! Hi!" She smiles, but it's fake fake fake and why can you think of nothing but her lips against yours, her hands at your waist, her breath minty in your mouth? "I had no idea level 4s could even work on this stuff."
"Hi," you manage, but your breath catches in your throat and you feel the familiar pushing at the back of your eyes and throat and you know you're going to cry. "I-I'll let you guys catch up," you say, "I'm going to check on the plants."
"It's fine," Summer assures you, "You can stay!"
"No, it's fine," you say quickly, and then you run. As soon as you enter the green room and shut the door, you're sobbing again, and you hate it.
You hate crying and you hate the way Mariette makes you feel but mostly you just hate how stupid and weak you are, for breaking down like this.
Summer doesn't come to find you, and when you finally gather yourself and wipe your eyes and reenter the room, he's bent over a microscope, back at work.
Mariette is gone.
You're not able to forget about your problem, but it certainly gets easier once you and Summer finish your assignment and he moves on to work with Hannah Megido because she has higher clearance and it's too classified for you to work on.
You're fine with that, though, because, when he's around, so is Mariette and you can't even be in the same room as Mariette without feeling as though you're dying a little.
One of your teammates pulls you aside. "Hey, Rosa, are you alright?"
You smile. It's been getting easier to smile like this, although it still feels fake and plasticky. "I'm fine, Seymour."
But Seymour Vantas merely narrows his red-brown eyes. "Will you talk to me though? If you're not?"
You nod and lie through your teeth. "Of course." He frowns as you leave, but he doesn't go after you.
In the end, it takes you having a breakdown in the middle of questioning a captive for your team to realize that you're a horrible piece of trash.
They forbid you from finishing the questioning, forcing you out of the chamber and telling you to wait in the hallway. They finish up quickly, and when they come out, they look at you with hard eyes and you feel empty. You feel like a walking lie.
The littlest one, your team's weapon specialist and linguist, sits you down and snarls, "Tell us what's going on."
You want desperately to deny everything, but it's Daphne Leijon and the day you lie to Daphne Leijon is the day the world explodes.
And so you tell them. It sounds stupid and it's hard to explain, because it is stupid, really, your problems.
You tell them about Mariette, and how she kissed you and then ignored you, how she somehow managed to insult you every time you saw her. It's ridiculous. You feel like a teenager, getting sad over something so small as a kiss.
But your teammates somehow, miraculously, understand, and they hug you and together you try to piece yourself back together.
It's hard, and it takes a lot of time. When you're feeling sad or empty or pointless, they don't pity you, and you're glad for it.
They stay with you, and they slowly pull you back into the warmth.
Months pass. It's a slow change, barely noticeable, but it slowly gets easier to shake off the sadness when it comes.
You're able to find times when you're at ease, times when you're happy and it doesn't feel strange.
Summer visits occasionally, whenever he's not off on a mission. As he has higher clearance, he goes on a lot more missions than your team, which gets stuck doing nothing but research more often than not.
He never brings Mariette with him. He never mentions her, either. He merely comes to play video games with Siilas or to watch horrible romcoms with Seymour or bake with Daphne. At the beginning, he treated you as if you were glass and might shatter at any touch. But now he's more relaxed around you, and he talks and laughs and jokes with you.
It helps.
It helps that you're able to think of him as Summer Nitram and not as Mariette's boyfriend.
It is nearly five months after the kiss when you're assigned to an extermination job with none other than Mariette Serket.
Your team is furious, but there's nothing they can do about it as you all have low level clearance and nobody respects your measly number 4s.
Even Summer, who at this point is at 8, can do nothing about it.
You're on the plane with her as you fly off, and you're keenly aware of every breath she takes, every time she moves her hands to shuffle her cards, every time she brushes her hair behind her ears.
You sit several seats away from her, your book open in your lap, the words passing through your mind without sinking in.
You're relieved that you don't cry.
Still, though, you feel the familiar darkness threatening to overwhelm you.
It was supposed to be a simple extermination mission. Get in, kill the targets, get out. But the best time to kill your targets (four men and one woman) is at a party, and it's a party of massive scale. Important people from all over the underworld are invited, and you and Mariette are forced to go undercover.
She's wearing a blonde wig and a low cut cerulean dress that brings out the colors of her eyes. She's beautiful, and you're pleased that your heart isn't sent thundering by the sight of her.
You wear a black and green dress that sparkles, and thin gold chains for your wrists and ankles. Your skirt has enough layers for you to hide weapons in them, although you also slide a few pins into your hair.
She blinks when she sees you, and she whistles. Twin spots of crimson appear on your cheeks, and she laughs. "Who knew you had tattoos, Maryam?"
She say quietly, "You look nice."
The admires herself in the mirror, smacking her lips and grinning, before beckoning. "Come on. Let's get this party on the road!"
You hail a cab, and soon you're at the party. She displays the pilfered invitations, and the guards let you in.
The party is awash with gold and diamonds. Everything seems to sparkle, and everybody seems important somehow. There's dancing going on in the center of the room, with a live band playing. Ball gowns and suits twirl around each other on the dance floor, a chaotic whirlwind of colors. Tables are scattered along the walls, and waiters slip silently through the chairs, bearing platters of food and drinks.
You and Mariette loiter near the wall, searching for your targets. She keeps a running commentary as you look, her mouth hidden behind a fan she clutches daintily in one hand. "Oh, look at his hair. That is the most ridiculous mustache I've ever seen. You know, I think he looks familiar. I think he might be in one of those stupid movies your teammate likes."
You feel the need to defend Seymour, even if his movies are stupid. But it just takes too much effort to speak, and you're sure that she'd just shoot you down if you ever tried to argue.
"It's Jonathan Eldradun! Who knew he had connections like these? Maybe we should put he in the watch list. I always thought he was suspicious. Oh, I love this song. I wish we could dance. Pity."
You twirl the glass of wine you're holding, although you don't drink it. You can't afford to get drunk here, and you know for a fact that you cannot hold your liquor at all. You listen to Mariette ramble on about the different people at the party, speculating on their importance, their economical standings, and their sex lives. She's deliciously detailed when it comes to her guesses about who's fucking who, and your cheeks remain a steady pink the entire time.
She breathes in sharply suddenly. "Katherine," she says, because that's your alias for today, "Look there, at the top of the stairs."
For a second, you're confused. You hadn't looked around yet, not really. You'd been too focused on not giving in to the urge to just sit and stare into the distance. But there are stairs, stairs that lead up to a second level of the party. Standing at the top, his hair combed back and his arms crossed, is target number three. You feel a sharp spike of panic, even though you trained for this. You never expected to have to off somebody in such a public place. You're shocked you were placed on this assignment, considering your test results when you left the academy.
Mariette is grinning viciously, like a spider reeling a helpless fly towards its mouth. "Come on," she says, linking her arm with yours. Your skin burns at her touch, but you nonetheless allow yourself to be dragged across the dance floor towards him.
He sees you coming, of course. Mariette's hardly trying to be discreet.
She flirts with him shamelessly, and you're stunned that he doesn't get suspicious.
There's something magical about Mariette, though. It's as if she's an enchantress, casting spells over her beguiled victims. She steals your glass of wine, although she doesn't drink it, trading it for her fan.
Target number three responds eagerly to her flirting, melting like putty in her hands. And oh, how skilled her hands are. They linger tauntingly on his neck, his cheeks, his chest.
You feel useless and deeply uncomfortable, loitering at the edge of the action like a stupid little puppy dog. You wonder briefly of Summer knows his girlfriend does things like this.
But then she's broken target number there's personal bubble, pressing herself to him, all the while talking about what a wonderful party is is and how good the food is.
You remember when she'd flirted with you, and how effortlessly she'd placed you under her spell. The shame is coming back, though you try to suppress it. She's doing the same thing here, and she does it so flawlessly that you're not sure target number three even knows what he's doing.
She tilts the wine glass, and her eyes go wide. The perfect amount sloshes over the side to stain his shirt. She shoves the glass at you, and you leap backwards and catch it at arms length to avoid getting it on your dress.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, the very picture of ladylike dismay. You nearly drop the glass are the pure cliché of her actions. You're shocked he doesn't realize he's being played
He laughs and awkwardly tries to blow it. "It's no problem, miss."
Mariette shakes her head empathetically. "No, here," she steals a napkin from a nearby table and pats at his chest.
You flush when she says to you, "Can you go grab another napkin?"
You go to do so when he grabs your arm. "No, it's fine," he says with a warm smile, "I have something I can change into."
"Let us come with you!" Marietta says, winking, "It's the least I can do."
He raises his eyebrows, the only sign he's given so far that he suspects anything is off. "I am a married man, miss."
A lie, you're sure of it. If he was married, he wouldn't have let Mariette drape herself over him like that earlier. Mariette pouts. "I'm sure she won't mind."
His glare turns scathing. "So you want me to take you and your pretty friend to my rooms?"
For the first time, Mariette's act falters. She looks at you, shocked, and you refuse to meet her eyes. You shouldn't be called pretty, not now and not ever, but especially not beside Mariette, who's curvier and has longer hair and brighter eyes.
You laugh, and it feels even more awkward than your smile. It's the wrong thing to do, because he begins to turn red with anger.
Mariette drops the napkin and fishes in her skirt pocket for something. You're shocked when she pulls out a tube of lip stick. You shoot her a look that you hope says, Now? Really?! But she's too busy applying it to notice you.
Target number three days hotly, "I have a lot of allies, I'll have you two know. It's one thing to come and flirt, but quite another to try and lure—" He stops talking then, and you're bright red.
Because Mariette kissed him. She's kissing him hard, and you see tongue and you feel sick. You avert your eyes, and so you don't see the moment when target number three changes his mind. Your partner is giggling, her eyes glowing. "Come on," she purrs, "Let's find somewhere private." She grabs both you and him and drag both of you off. She enters a side corridor and tries to open a small door, and you're startled when target number three shakes his head.
"No, go into the next door," he says, "The waiters go through this one all the time."
Mariette smiles broadly at him, and before you know it, all three of you are in a storage closet. You stand as close to the door as you can, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as you try to shake off the veil that has fallen over your mind. She's kissing him again, and you hear the sounds they're making and refuse to look up from your shoes.
You wish suddenly that you were somewhere else. You wish you were back at the base with Seymour and Siilas and Daphne.
A moan that sounds suspiciously like your name brings your attention sharply back to the matter at hand. Target number three has shoved Mariette against the wall and is doing things to her neck that contradict his earlier claim of marriage. To your surprise, Mariette's cerulean eyes are vividly lucid, and focused entirely on you. She mouths at you, Hurry up!
You nod spastically and drop the fan to pull up your skirts. There are small syringes strapped to your thigh, and and you grab one. Your hands are shaking and you mentally chide yourself. You trained for this for years! Why does your mind turn foggy after just one problem with one girl?! You step towards target number three and stab his neck with the same ease you used to be able to do effortlessly.
Target number three sags to the ground and Mariette snaps, "What took you so long?!"
"Sorry," you mumble. What else are you supposed to say to that? My brain stopped working? You pull the syringe back out of his skin and there's blood on the needle. You wipe it on his sleeve before inserting it back into its sheathe.
Mariette is straightening her top as if nothing had happened. "Come on," she says, smirking, "Let's go find the rest of them." She makes a face at the body lying limply on the ground. She chews her lower lip and then asks, "How long does it take before it kills him?"
"A minute," you say shortly. She nods.
"Oh. So he's still alive."
You nod. She makes a face and then shoves the body into a corner, dropping a conveniently placed tarp over him.
"Alright. Let's go find the others!"
You manage to find and kill targets number one and four the same way, Mariette effortless seducing both of them. You're running out syringes by the time target number four stops twitching. You're also convinced that there's something in Mariette's lipstick, although why it doesn't affect her escapes you.
You spot target number five sitting at a table at the edge of the dance floor. He's talking to a couple other men, and sipping from a glass of wine. He's younger than he looked in his picture, with blonde hair and green eyes and tanned skin. You expect Mariette to saunter in and do her thing, but instead she places her hand flat on your back and breathes into your ear, "Your turn, Silvia!"
You go white, and you hiss, "I don't think that's a good idea!" You don't remember your alias being Silvia, but you suppose that doesn't really matter right now.
She laughs, and you hate how confident she is. Mostly, though, you hate how you're envious of her. "Come on! Just smile and bat your eyelashes! It's easy." And then she shoves you and you stumble practically into the lap of target number five.
You're not sure if you're redder than him or vice versa. You're both very nearly the same color as the wine in his glass. "S-sorry," you stammer out, cursing Mariette vehemently in your head, "I-I wasn't looking where I was going."
He laughs awkwardly. "It's fine."
You jerk away from him and you know, suddenly, that you won't be able to pull this off the same way Mariette can. For one thing, you're simply not pretty enough. For another, you don't have her kind of confidence. And so you say, "Can I talk to you? Privately?"
His eyes narrow and he asks, "What do you need?"
Thankfully, all of your old schooling comes flooding back and your acting kicks in. You lower your eyes and sigh. "I can't talk in front of these people."
He blinks and asks, "Are you one of Alvisk's girls?"
The name translates into target number one in your head, who is currently lying belly-up in the same closet as target number three. You nod and give him what you hope is an apologetic smile. He groans and says to his friends, "Sorry. I have to take this one."
Mariette falls into step next to you as you lead him towards the closet that target number four is stashed in. He catches your hand and asks, "Do you mind if we talk in my rooms? I'd like to freshen up a bit before I return."
You don't have a problem with that, as there's less of a chance that his body will be found there, and you nod. He takes the lead then, stepping up stairs gilded with gold to the next floor.
Beside you, Mariette winks and mouths, Not bad. You don't bother to give her an answer. You still feel useless. You still feel out of place. You know it's going to be Mariette who will deal with him and hide the body. All you do is stab. He stoops before the door to fix his shoe. He waves you in and, like an idiot, you push open the door and enter. Nothing happens until Mariette comes in beside you, and then the room explodes.
It doesn't really explode. But there's a lot of light suddenly, searing your eyes. You hear gunfire and blindly try to get out of the room. But you hear shouting and Mariette grabs your arm and pulls hard. You both land on the ground, and you struggle to blink away the bright spots in your vision. You're both lying behind a couch and Mariette swears vehemently under her breath. She fumbles for her gun and fires once over the armrest. You hear a bang and another shout.
You pull out your own gun as well, but your hands are shaking. Mariette crouches and peeks over the top of the couch. She ducks back down almost immediately. "I think there's four of them?" she hisses, "Good news, though. Target number two was kind enough to meet us here, so we won't have to go looking for her." She frowns when she sees how pale you are and says cruelly, "What, afraid of being hurt?"
You hear pounding footsteps and dare to peak over the top of the couch. A man is running towards you, and he has a gun and a knife and oh god your heart is pounding in your throat and you're so afraid. Mariette fires at him, and he goes down. The others linger out of sight, hiding behind corners or furniture. They fire occasionally, and you're terrified that the couch will give way. Feathers fly into the air as the bullets shred the pillows. Mariette fires back, carefully, precisely. There's a scream and she whoops triumphantly.
You spot target number five standing in the doorway. He, too, has a gun in his hands and he has it aimed at Mariette. You fire without thinking, and he dives out of sight. You fire again and Mariette turns to help you. Everything is chaos, and you're acting on pure instinct. Everything becomes a blur.
Target number five goes down with a strangled scream, leaving just two more. You see target number two, but your insides freeze up. She looks utterly calm and you could've sworn you see her smile.
There's a bang as her gun fires, and then Mariette falls.
For the first time in a very long time, you act. You don't just watch and wait. She raise your gun and you fire. Target number five has the grace to look shocked. She didn't expect you to do that. She falls with a high-pitched scream, and you fire wildly at the remaining man. He dives at you, and you freeze up. To your shock, Mariette tackles him. They roll around on the floor, dripping blood, and she somehow manages to wrench the gun from his hands. He pulls a knife from his coat pocket, snarling and shouting. You scream a warning, but Mariette either doesn't hear or ignores you. The knife slices across her face, and she falls away with a cry. Now that she's clear, you tighten your finger over the trigger. Three bullets sink into his chest, and the floor runs red with blood. Immediately, you sprint to Mariette. Your heart drops and your stomach lurches upward. The knife had torn a vertical slash across the left side of her face. You don't need to clear away the blood to know she will never see through her left eye again. The bullet wound in her left arm is bleeding too, and you scrounge up your remaining medical skills and tie your bracelet around her arm, above the wound. You're fairly sure that's supposed to slow the bleeding.
She lies limp against you, and she mumbles, "Maryam. You did good. Real good."
She said something similar to that before she kissed you, and you say to her, "We have to get you out of here."
She nods and you shoot to your feet to scour the room. Target number two and one of the men aren't quite dead yet. You slit their throats.
You leave the lights — undoubtably stolen from the concert hall across the road — on, so as to slow whoever might come to investigate the sounds of gunfire and screaming. Finally, you run to the balcony. You're on the second floor, you think. It might be the third. You're not entirely sure. Jumping to the ground would be a death sentence, but luckily there's a tree that has conveniently strong branches that lean over the balcony. You could make it down easily. But Mariette. . . .
You turn your head and are dismayed to see Mariette standing beside you. She's leaning heavily on the wall, and her breathing is short and raspy. "There's a tree," you begin, and she steps forward to see. You have to catch her, and she swears.
As soon as she sees the tree, she makes a face. "I can make that, easy." But there's false bravado in her voice, and you're certain she's lying. You can't go back downstairs to go through the party, however, and you're not—
You yelp, because Mariette releases you and launches herself over the balcony. You sprint forwards and your heart dives into your throat. She catches one of the branches with her good arm and hangs precariously. For a couple seconds, you're convinced she'll fall. But she miraculously manages to drop down onto another branch. You watch, heart pounding and eyes wide, as she topples from branch to branch. She's shaking so much you could almost call it vibrating. Halfway down, she looks up at you and smirks.
"Aren't you coming?"
You glare at her but stop immediately. You're shocked you can glare at her, if you're being honest, shocked because Mariette is always so much more than you. You feel a spurt of confidence, and you leap over the balcony as well. For once in your life, you're able to do something more gracefully than her, although you take no joy in that considering her current state.
She waits for you on the ground, and you hurry to join her. She nearly passes out once you do, and you sling her good arm around your shoulder. There's nothing you can do to hide the blood, and so all you can do it hope nobody sees you.
She faints in the doorway of your safe house, and you thank god that she didn't faint earlier because you wouldn't have been able to carry her that far.
You clean up her wounds and bind them as best you can, and then you're flying back to base.
When you arrive back at base, you're both hospitalized. You're released after an extensive checkup, although they keep Mariette. She hasn't woken since you brought her back to the safe house, and worry is gnawing at your insides. They don't let you in to see how she's doing, because you're not on her emergency contact list and you're not related to her.
All agents are given at least 24 rest hours after they return from a mission, more depending on the mission. You get three days before you have to return to working.
Your teammates are relieved to see you.
"We were worried about you! Not that you're not purrfectly good at taking care of yourself, but we were worried!"
"Eh, I knew you'd come back. Jutht don't take tho long nextht time, alright?"
Seymour doesn't say anything. He just grabs you and hugs you hard.
You smile, and though it feels tired it doesn't feel fake, and that's good. "I'm glad to be back," you say, and you've never said anything more truthful in your entire life. Later, they ask for details about your mission, asking how things went and what happened. They dance around what they really want to know. How did things go with Mariette?
You tell them everything, honestly and openly. You tell them about the men you killed, the gunfight, the party. You tell them how Mariette isn't actually that bad, although she's still cocky and arrogant. They laugh and gasp and swear, and you love them for it.
When you're finished, Seymour hugs you again. He then says frankly, "You look like shit. Go sleep for twenty hours."
You actually laugh at that, and you let yourself be led off to your bed. Daphne and Seymour hug you before you go in, and Siilas slings an arm around your shoulders.
"I'm glad you're back," he says, and you hug him too. He blushes and you laugh again. He blushes further and shoves you into your room. It's the best sleep you've had in years.
The next day, Summer visits you. He came back from a mission a couple days ago, and so he has time off too. He invites you to coffee with a wan smile, and you accept.
You sit together in the mess hall, talking about anything and nothing, when you ask, "How's Mariette?"
He goes still, and he looks so very tired.
"I'm sorry," you say quickly. You feel stupid for not realizing he might be here to take a break from everything. "You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to."
"No," he says, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "You have a right to know." Even his hair, dyed bright red, seems to droop. "She'll . . . live."
Your brow furrows. That doesn't sound good. "But?"
"Obviously her eye is gone," he says, and you nod, "but they're not sure her left arm will ever be fully functional again."
You cringe at that, understanding how much of a blow that will be to Mariette. She's left-handed, and specializes in fighting, not research. "How is she taking it?"
He's clearly surprised that you ask, but he answers anyways. "As well as anybody else would. They put her on a ton of drugs, though, so she's not entirely all there." He purses his lips. "She'll live." The two words sound worn in his mouth, as if he's said them so many times they've lost their effect. He smiles hopefully at you. "Sorry for that. How are you doing? It must have been hard, being out in the field after so long at base."
You shrug. "I'm fine." If anything, you think the mission has changed you in some way you don't completely understand yet. You don't flinch anymore when people shout at you about your "girlfriend", which certainly counts for something, right?
As if on cue, somebody bumps into your shoulder as they pass. Your coffee spills over the edge of your cup and you hear a snide voice.
"Hey, Maryam. You crying 'cause your girlfriend's gonna die?"
You're horrified at the words. You're used to teasing. It's quite another to say Mariette will die. You turn to stare, wide-eyed, at the tall blonde standing behind you. You don't have time to say anything before Summer throws his cup of coffee at her.
"Shut up!" he roars, and there's an anger in his eyes you've never seen before, "Go away before I tear your tongue from your mouth." The girl flees, covered in coffee, and you place a hand on Summer's arm. He's breathing hard and he snarls at you, "How do you stand them?!"
You shrug. "I'm used to it."
It's the wrong thing to say, because Summer's face turns red with anger. "You shouldn't be! You're smart and kind and you don't deserve this!"
Your cheeks turn red and you urgently say, "It's okay. Calm down."
He sags against the table, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry about what Mariette did to you. I . . . I know that doesn't count for anything, and I know she can be a horrible person at times." He looks at you with tired bronze-colored eyes. "I've ben trying to get her to stop, but I just don't think it's possible sometimes. I-"
You interrupt him. "Summer. I understand."
He frowns. "You do?"
You nod and smile at him. It feels warm and strange on your lips, but he relaxes. "I understand Mariette."
He understands you when you say that. He sighs and laughs softly. "That's impressive, Rosa. It really is. It's hard to understand her."
You nod, and take a sip of your coffee. "She's just afraid," you say simply, "You're good for her, though. You keep her good."
He nods. "I will."
You hadn't meant to make that an order. You'd merely been stating a fact. But you smile again and offer to buy him another coffee anyways.
You don't see Mariette for months after that. You mostly work at base, dealing with numbers and test subjects and questioning captives.
You're shocked when you get a mission that requires you to leave base. You're even more shocked when you see Mariette Serket typed innocently beneath Rosa Maryam in the "Agents" column. You meet her in the plane, just like last time.
She looks wonderfully healthy compared to the last time you saw her. Her arm is completely gone, replaced with a prosthetic, and the left side of her face is a nightmare of scarred flesh and discolored skin. But she's smiling at you, and it's a genuine smile that warms your heart. "Rosa!" she exclaims. She uses your first name, not your last, and it sounds so natural on her tongue. "Guess we're doing another mission, 'ey?"
You nod and somebody shouts, "Maryam, where's your girlfriend?" It's a reflex, you know. You don't hear shouts like these too often anymore, but there are a couple people that just automatically shout it every time they see you. It barely registers in your mind anymore, but Mariette reacts as if somebody had just pissed on her.
She turns and props her natural hand on her hip. "You," she snaps, "Why do you say that?"
The shouter blinks in surprise.
Mariette says, voice all sickly sweet, "Yes, you."
The shouts says slowly, "I don't know." They clearly don't recognize Mariette for who she is. "I guess it's funny?"
Mariette laughs a little, and you shoot her a what are you doing? look. "Say it again!"
The shouter starts to sweat. Awkwardly, they say, "Maryam, where's your-"
Mariette promptly throws the trash can at them. Your jaw drops. Mariette's aim has certainly improved, especially considering she's now right-handed. It lands perfectly over their head, spilling it's contents over them. Somebody had just thrown away some kind of leftovers that was slimy and had lots of sauce and what looks like animal guts. Mariette is too busy howling with laughter to notice everybody staring. "Now that," she exclaims, "is funny!"
You nudge her. Straight-faced, you tell her, "Hey, Serket. Not bad. You did really good."
She just laughs harder, and you feel yourself smiling too. You're pleased that the smile feels completely natural, fitting over your lips as effortlessly as a glove slips over a hand. "Not bad, Maryam!" Mariette exclaims, "Not bad!"