This all takes place more or less immediately following Chapter 36 of Victory or Death.
Warning: foul language. Ryker be pissed.
Ryker could feel his nails digging into the palms of his shaking fists as he watched that goddamned piece of shit little goddamn fuckboy flouncing off out of the cathedral on some smug fucking self-righteous high like the fucking nancyfucking POG-ass douchecanoe he was.
He'd thought he could hide it, bury his feelings like he'd been doing for months now, shove the anger away with the guilt and all the other shit where it couldn't do any harm, where he'd eventually forget about it, but it just… Wouldn't… GO… AWAY.
Trying to push it down was like trying to push against a jet stream, it just kept rising back up harder and faster, but he kept trying, kept pushing, kept shoving, because he didn't know what else to do. It was the only thing he'd done for months, for years, for he couldn't guess how long at this point, and it was swallowing him. He was drowning in it, and he wanted to scream.
His throat felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper. Something wet was running down his face. His eyes were stinging badly enough, he could barely make out the red spot on the pillar in front of him. His hand hurt, and it felt… not good, but… better. Purifying.
A slender hand wrapped around his wrist pulled him up short despite no making no effort to stop him. Everything seemed to snap back into place in an instant, and the weight brought him to his knees. She followed him down, her hand on his shoulder now, the other wiping at the tears that still fell freely. Her hands were rough against his skin.
"Though our tears be as many as the spots of rain in the woods," she began softly, "one for every fallen soul…"
Her feet were bare, he noticed, with a scar cutting down her right ankle to the sole, as he raised his eyes to meet her own. They were a brilliant green and glittered with her own unshed tears as she smiled at him.
"…there would not be enough," she finished. The conviction in her words was compelling, stirring within him a longing familiarity. Her presence was as like to Jiani, to Jen, and yet something wholly her own.
She was beautiful, with short black hair and pale skin, and garbed in simple, undyed robes. A large, emerald-green shawl of much finer make sat upon her shoulders, and it was this she tore a strip from to tend Ryker's wound, despite his protests. Another scar decorated her left hand, he noted as she wrapped his, and one more her opposite wrist.
A larger hand was laid gently upon his shoulder, and he looked up to see one of the NPC priests smiling down at him.
"Stand up, my son," he directed, helping Ryker to his feet, "You look like you need someone to hear you."
The girl followed the older man, picking up a shepherd's crook he hadn't noticed before. With an encouraging smile, she took his wrapped hand and pulled him along behind the priest to a surprisingly humble office just off the side of the altar.
"Now," the priest began, once they were all seated, "what brings one of the Astra Militarum to such violence in a peaceful place?"
Ryker flexed his hand, the pull of the green wrapping across his knuckles a small comfort. "I apologize, father, I didn't mean to cause a scene."
"You can make amends by confessing what troubled you to the point of causing one anyway," came the not-unkind reply.
Ryker floundered for a place to start before simply settling for the first thing that came to mind. "'Where there is an enemy, rage'."
"And yet, 'where there is a victory, rejoice', and you have won a great victory." The father grinned at his unexpected parishioner's expression. "Just because I am not ayatani does not mean I haven't read her Epistles, my son."
"Why?"
"Well, given the influx of your Specialist Regiments," he explained with a gesture to Ryker's uniform, which was visibly different from any of the locals', "I felt it prudent to brush up on a number of recognized doctrinal variations. But you're not here to discuss theology, are you?"
"No, father."
"Tell me, then, what troubles you."
With a hesitant glance at the shepherd girl, leaning comfortably on her crook, Ryker began. He was careful to avoid going into details neither of them needed to know, but the priest seemed content to let him tell only those parts he wanted to, and the shepherd girl smiled at him as if she knew exactly what he was talking about anyway.
He confessed his guilt at his role in Jiani's death, he confessed the growing uneasiness and need to fight that had gnawed at him the longer they struggled in the Underhive, his hatred of the Players that were responsible for Neo's death, and how it almost destroyed his friends. He spoke at length of his worry for Jen, that she would push herself too far, that it'd end up harming her in the long run, and admitted a spurious comment from a near-stranger had been his breaking point in the main chapel.
When he finished, he'd felt lighter than he had in a long time. The shepherd girl gave his hand a proud, momentary squeeze. The priest folded his hands atop his desk and leaned forward in his chair.
"It's natural to feel these things for those we cherish," he said, "but we must ever be careful not to let them take our devotion away from the God-Emperor. Confession is the tool meant to relieve ourselves of this burden before He Who Is On Terra, and so I am glad you have come to me with this." Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward once more. "And personally, I would suggest telling this woman you speak so highly of how you feel. If she is as intelligent as you make her out to be, she will listen."
"Thank you, father."
The priest stood and made some sign over Ryker's head that he didn't recognize. "Go with the Emperor's Blessing, my son."
Ryker copied the sign he'd seen others make after standing himself, crossing his hands over his chest in imitation of the ubiquitous double-headed eagle. "And with you, father." He glanced over and blinked in surprise. The seat the shepherd girl had occupied was empty. "Wait, where is she, where'd she go?"
"Where did who go?"
Ryker pointed at the empty chair. "The…the shepherd girl."
The priest gave an unexpected twitch, and Ryker was abruptly reminded that he was talking to an NPC who, despite his sophistication, had a pool of responses limited to his purpose. "Go with the Emperor's Blessing, my son."
Ryker hid a frown as he made the sign of the aquila once more. "…And with you, father."
As he approached the doors, he looked back towards the pillar. Someone had already cleaned up the blood, like it was never there.
"Derek."
A shiver ran down his spine. He hadn't heard that name since this had all begun. Slowly, he turned back towards the entrance. The shepherd girl smiled up at him, her crook nowhere to be seen. Her shawl was once again whole. Reaching up, she pulled him down and placed a kiss on his forehead.
"As I have been called to the holy work, so I will call others to me," she whispered, and released him.
Ryker blinked, and she was gone.
Victoria was helping Tristan clean out her flamer while the two men of Ryker's squad performed their own weapons maintenance when their Sergeant returned. With a nod and a wave at the chorus of greetings, he withdrew his own weapon and removed himself to the far end of the long armory table before breaking it down to clean.
"He seems… better," Artyom ventured after he was out of earshot.
"Maybe he finally got laid. OW!" Pallin glared at Victoria, his hands clasped over his nose.
"That was way out of line, Pallin, and you know it," she hissed with a glare of her own, turning the metal cleaning rod back to breaking up the carbon buildup in the flamer's barrel.
Having looked up from his end of the table at Pallin's cry, Ryker returned to his own weapon after a moment with an amused smirk. After another silent minute, a familiar tune drifted down the table to the guardsmen.
"Here's forty good Thrones on the drum
For those who volunteer to come
To 'list and fight the foe today
Through the Warp and far away…"
Victoria found herself humming along with a smile when she heard Artyom call out, "Tris?"
The flame-trooper turned back to her compatriots from staring at Ryker's end of the table with a confused look. "I didn't know the Sergeant could sing."
Of course there's a perfectly logical explanation for everything. But where's the fun in telling you it?