Chapter Text
"I suppose I'll go first," Shadowheart sighed, her words puncturing the awkward silence. "Allow me to say we don't really need to be here."
She glanced around the office, at the non-confrontational green walls with their proudly framed degrees and diplomas and at the shelf packed with every psychology book the layperson would recognize, not entirely sure how her wife had convinced her to come here. It wasn't as if therapy could fix the dissonance between the two of them. Therapy couldn't fill the gaps in her memories or salve the incessant lie she had to live around her lover.
"We've already been married two years–" Shadowheart continued.
"Three," her wife corrected gently.
"Right. Three years. So, you could say that this is somewhat of a checkup for us. A chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil, replace a seal or two..." Shadowheart trailed off as she noticed her wife's piercing blue eyes watching her intently.
"Wow, Jen. I didn't know you were so into cars," Makaria said with a smile that made Shadowheart's cheeks warm with a blush. "It's kinda hot."
"Hmm. I'll have to keep that in mind," Shadowheart remarked.
"Very well then, let's pop the hood," the therapist said. "How about we start with how you two met."
"It was in Neverwinter, I believe," Shadowheart said.
Or had that been the honeymoon? Shadowheart racked her brain, trying to remember the information that she had been forced to relearn over and over again. The fragments of half-remembered moments swirled around in her mind like bits of grass in a whirlwind.
"Waterdeep," Makaria helpfully supplied. "I was stationed up in Daggerford with the army, and I'd gone into the big city on the weekend to party with a friend."
"Right," Shadowheart sighed.
She rubbed her temples as bits and pieces of that night came back to her. Wyll, carrying around a tray of food and bottled water at his own birthday party to ensure everyone had plenty of both. His roommate, Gale, giving drunken lectures on particle physics. Makaria hitting on her in such an endearingly clumsy way that Shadowheart had shared the evening and some wine with the soldier on the balcony, before sending the woman home with a kiss and an exchange of phone numbers.
Far less pleasant memories from that night drifted back as well. Flashes of her giggling in the arms of her mark while she tried to ignore Wyll's reproving glances. Luring him back to the Sharran safehouse with the promise of sex, only to make him scream under her knife while she dragged the information she needed from his lips. Leaving the mess behind for her associates to clean up and heading out into the night.
Makaria had answered her phone on the second ring, and one thinly veiled excuse about the hot water in Shadowheart's shower being broken later, she was knocking on the door of her future bride's hotel room. Makaria's shower had been warm, as was her bed. Enough so, that Shadowheart had availed herself of both for the remainder of her stay in the city.
Shadowheart snapped back into the present when a large hand encapsulated her own and squeezed reassuringly.
"Jen, it's ok," Makaria soothed. "We can do this some other time if it's a bad day for your memory."
"Oh right, I remember seeing something about memory issues on your intake forms," Dr. Shafer muttered, flipping through pages. "Something about complications after a car accident when you were a child?"
Shadowheart nodded.
It was a half-truth. A lifetime ago, a truck had run a red light and hit Shadowheart and her parents while the little family had been driving home from church. Her parents had been killed instantly in the collision, but Shadowheart had been fortunate enough to survive the ordeal with a large scar running across the bridge of her nose and right cheek.
The crash hadn't harmed her memories though. Those, she had surrendered in order to keep her sacred mission in Baldur's Gate a secret. Unpleasant as it was sometimes, her work to bring about the future Lady Shar envisioned was the least she could do to repay her adoptive family.
The interrogation continued past misplaced memories when their therapist began asking more pointed questions about their marriage. How much sex were they having? Was it any good? How was their communication? How satisfied were the two of them with the relationship as a whole?
Shadowheart usually viewed her time with Makaria as the reprieve, rather than the malaise when it came to her duties to the cloister. This time, however, she had nearly sprinted from the room in relief when her pager went off, all too eager to escape.
***
Later, Shadowheart sat on the bed in the hotel room she had booked for this assignment, retelling the afternoon's events to her handler, and only real friend, Nocturne.
"Wow," Nocturne's voice came from a hidden earpiece when Shadowheart had finished. "I can probably get that therapist's license revoked, if you'd like. I'd just have to pull the right strings."
Shadowheart didn't answer, turning her wedding ring around and around her finger as her thoughts twisted in similar circles in her mind. These long periods of waiting before her missions were always the worst parts. With a sigh, she stood and began pacing.
"Sometimes, I wish I could be the woman Makaria thinks I am–silly as that is," Shadowheart admitted, slipping the ring into her handbag for safekeeping. "Was I a fool for thinking this could ever work in the long term? I hardly deserve her like this...I can barely remember our life together. It's mere flashes of half-remembered moments. A lot of the little things–the truly important things–are lost to me."
"I wish we would have had more time to go over the details between your meeting with Mother and the appointment."
"What difference would it have made? Rote memorization of second-hand facts isn't a relationship, Nocturne. Makaria knows something is wrong, she's just been too kind to say anything about it. She deserves more of me than I have left to give."
"As your case officer, I feel I should remind you that your wife is merely part of your cover story, and you shouldn't be so concerned with your relationship with her."
"And as my friend?"
"Babes, I think you just need to get out of your head about this. Makaria is a grown-up, and knows who she married–at least the parts you're allowed to show her. You're more than this job, and that's what your wife sees," Nocturne replied. "If it makes you feel better, there's plenty she doesn't tell you about. You don't come away with a service history like hers without some baggage."
Eager to steer the conversation back to the mission, Nocturne suggested they review the details of the target. Ja'arath was an employee of the Gith Corporation, a well known paramilitary group that had begun to branch out into the defense technology industry in recent years. Ja'arath was one of dozens of middle managers within their R&D department, senior enough to have clearances, subordinate enough to not be missed.
The perfect candidate for a little chat with one of Lady Shar's faithful.
"Alright, Shadowheart. Our guy just showed up at the bar downstairs," Nocturne announced finally. "Ready?"
Shadowheart gave herself a once-over in the mirror, taking a moment to smooth the rumples in the simple amethyst-colored dress so that it hugged her in all the right places. Turning, she admired the long plait that Nocturne had helped her bind her hair into that hung down to the center of her back. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting herself slip into the character she would be portraying.
"Ready," she breathed.
Surrounded by her squad and their assorted weapons in the back of an armored truck that trundled down a dirt road, Makaria frowned at her phone once again. Still no new messages. Jen apparently hadn't even read the one she'd sent earlier, checking in after that mild disaster of a couples counseling session.
She sighed. What had she even expected to accomplish with therapy? Jen believed that she was safely coaching a high school football game, when the truth was that she was speeding toward danger at the behest of her holy order. A Selûnite order that Jen didn't even know existed, let alone the fact that Makaria was tasked with leading one of its strike teams. Though necessary for Jen's own protection, that secret ate away at this relationship in ways that therapy could never hope to solve.
Makaria knew that her wife was probably just busy–Jen was always complaining about the demanding workload at the veterinary hospital–but Makaria longed for some sign that Jen wasn't angry with her after the way they had parted, with Jen rushing off to work after a hurried goodbye.
Makaria was debating whether another message would seem clingy, when a deafening belch resounded from the seat beside her.
"Holy hells Karlach. Can you not do that in my good ear?"
"I thought your left was the good one?"
"It is now, damn," Makaria swore, making a show of rubbing her ear.
She glared over at her friend, intending to chew her out, but paused when she noticed Karlach was clutching her chest with a pained expression.
"You alright, K?"
"Oof. Heartburn," Karlach grimaced, massaging her chest.
"I'm not surprised. How the hells you eat four burritos on the way to these things is beyond me."
Makaria was hard-pressed to choke down even a protein bar through the pre-mission nerves.
"Need to keep my strength up," Karlach shrugged. "Anyway, I don't get why we're even out here. Some stoner guy gets nabbed by a doomsday cult, and they send us to bail him out?"
Karlach gestured around the interior of the Bearcat at the assortment of highly-trained operators and heavy weaponry.
"There's gotta be better things we could be doing than tangling with these 'Absolute' ignots."
"That's above my paygrade. Selûne says go, I go. There can be any number of reasons she only entrusted this to us. Maybe Halsin has information we need, maybe she doesn't want to risk him compromising anyone else. Maybe she just really doesn't like The Absolute operating out of one of her safe houses, I don't know," Makaria said before joking, "Want us to pull over and let you out?"
"And let you have all the fun? No thanks, mate. I just wish I had that kind of faith in something."
Unlike the rest of the vehicle occupants, Karlach wasn't a Selûnite. She and Makaria had served together back in their army days and had been best friends ever since. When Makaria had been putting together her team, Karlach had been at the top of her list. Faith or no, there was no one she'd rather have at her side in a fight.
The troop carrier ground to a halt at the end of a long driveway, and the team began collecting their gear and filing out the back of the truck. Makaria took one last look at her phone's lock screen in hopes that she had missed a text, but her view of the photo depicting her and Jen embracing each other in their wedding dresses was unobstructed by any new notifications. She smiled at the way the camera had captured Jen mid laugh while Makaria pressed a kiss to the top of her bride's head. Things had been so simple then.
Jen's probably just busy treating some animal at the clinic , Makaria told herself. She imagined her wife taking care of a sick kitten, and suddenly felt ashamed at being so desperate for reassurance. Jen had never been shy about letting Makaria know when she was upset in the past–a trait of hers that Makaria had always appreciated.
"Come on, Soldier! We've got hero shit to do," Karlach called from outside the truck.
Makaria tossed her phone into her seat, grabbed her helmet and rifle, and joined her team in the moonlit air.
Makaria surveyed the woods around them as she pulled a balaclava over head–another protection for Jen–and then buckled her helmet on over it. It was a decent night, a slight haze of clouds diffusing Selûne's light enough to preserve their stealth, but still allowing them to see well enough to creep toward the safehouse through the forest.
Makaria keyed her radio mic.
"Moonlight, this is Longsword, radio check, over."
Isobel's voice crackled back from the TOC a moment later.
"Longsword, Moonlight, roger, over."
Isobel was a welcome surprise. Since she was still mourning the loss of her partner, Makaria hadn't expected the officer to be back in the operations center so soon, but perhaps work was how she coped.
Makaria glanced toward the sky. She couldn't see it, but she knew Isobel was monitoring their progress from a drone high above them. It gave her a small measure of comfort to know someone was watching over her.
After confirming with Isobel that the area surrounding the safehouse was clear, Makaria led her team across the short distance from the treeline to the house and had them stack up on the door. As they approached, she noticed that the place was a mess. Someone had smeared a substance that looked an awful lot like blood along the exterior of the house, writing proclamations of faith in the Absolute over all else. Discarded beer cans and liquor bottles littered the property. As the team reached the door, she saw that someone had crudely gouged the Moonmaiden's symbol off of the door and replaced it with a smeared handprint in the same bloody substance.
The other thing she noticed reaching the door were the sounds of pumping dance music and raucous partying coming from within the dwelling.
"These guys seem fun," Karlach murmured.
"Party's over," Makaria said. "Nymessa, get the lights."
Nymessa swiftly snipped the powerline to the building with a large pair of cutters, plunging the interior into darkness. There was a moment of shocked silence inside the house, before it erupted into panicked shouting and clamor.
"Ooh! Can I kick the door this time? Pleasepleaseplease?" Karlach asked, bouncing on her feet.
Makaria rolled her eyes, but stepped aside for her friend.
"Just don't get shot," Makaria warned.
The door shattered into splinters beneath Karlach's boot, and the strike team rapidly poured into the building. Caught unawares, many of the cultists were still scrambling into their fighting positions and were quickly cut down before they could reach cover. Others seemed to forget all sense of self-preservation and charged directly into the hail of gunfire. Their last moments resembled a grisly stop-motion scene in the intermittent lighting of flashbangs and muzzle blasts as they roared praises for their false god.
Though uncoordinated, the resistance was fierce, and it took several bloody minutes of fighting room to room before the house fell into an eerie silence.
"Hells," Makaria breathed, looking over the carnage surrounding them.
"They just ran at us," Karlach muttered, uncharacteristically quiet. "Like they didn't even care."
"They're just a bunch of kids..." another of the soldiers said, before muttering a prayer to the Lady of Silver to guard their souls.
It was true. The majority of these cultists had been in their late teens, early twenties at most. They should have been starting their lives out in the world instead of being snuffed out so meaninglessly here.
Makaria shook her head, attempting to banish the lingering images from the battle from her mind. There would be time to process later. Right then, they had a job to do.
To expedite things, Makaria split the squad into two teams of three. She, Karlach, and Nymessa would search the cellar for any signs of their objective, while the others secured the main floor.
Picking their way through the fallen cultists and debris, Makaria's party made their way to the trap door leading down into the cellar. It was the only place left for Halsin to be stashed. Makaria flicked the flashlight secured to her rifle and led the way down the stairs into the darkness.
The cellar's dark was oppressive. Their flashlights cut narrow swaths through the black, but couldn't quite banish the feeling that they were being swallowed whole, nor the notion that they were being watched as the team wove their way around dusty crates and forgotten furniture.
As Makaria passed a large wardrobe, a figure darted out from behind it and slammed into her right side, toppling her over. As both of them crashed to the floor, Makaria felt the cold steel of a knife slice into her side, just below her body armor. She let out a cry and rolled onto her back, just in time to see her assailant raise a gleaming knife above their head in preparation to plunge it into her throat.
Makaria would have laughed if she had air in her lungs. All of her training, all of the things she had survived, only to meet her end in a dark, dusty cellar in the middle of nowhere. The irony was hilarious.
Before the steel plunged down on her, a loud gunshot reverberated through the still air, and Makaria's would-be killer slumped off of her and onto the floor.
"You alright, mate?" Karlach asked, lowering her shotgun.
Makaria gathered herself up and checked her side. The cut was painful, but not too deep. She let out a small, breathless laugh as Karlach pulled her to her feet.
"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."
Encountering no other surprises, the three of them finally located Halsin in the far corner of the cellar. Unconscious and bound to a chair, the hulking bear of a man was covered with cuts and bruises, but thankfully still breathing.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," Karlach grunted as she hoisted the massive man onto her shoulders.
Makaria radioed in the success to Isobel, and by the time the four of them had rejoined the rest of the squad outside, there was already medical transport arriving for Halsin.
The field medics quickly attended to Makaria's wound while she quickly ran through her report with superiors. There would be a more thorough debrief tomorrow, but she was free to go enjoy the rest of the night. She had traded her gear in for her cell phone and civilian clothes, when Karlach bounded up to her and the rest of the strike team.
"Who else is starving? There's that new shawarma place over on the east side. You guys in?"
Makaria shook her head grinning.
"I've got to get home. It's my turn for dinner tonight."
Nymessa made a whipping motion with her hand while the others laughed.
"Gods, you're boring now that you're a married lady,' Karlach prodded. "I'm almost surprised the missus hasn't got you on a leash, the way you let her control your life."
"Don't worry, she does sometimes," Makaria riposted, waggling her eyebrows.
It was her turn to laugh while Karlach mimed throwing up.
As her phone screen lit up to reveal Jen's laughing smile, it struck Makaria how close she had been to never seeing it again. She lifted a silent prayer of thanks to Selûne, but it didn't assuage the guilt that had returned to the pit of her stomach.
She tried to push away the way she longed to tell Jen the truth, and the gnawing remorse that she never could, as she dialed her beloved's number and prepared to step back into the lie.
Shadowheart threw her quarry a pretty, mindless smile as he led her down the corridor to his room. Ja'arath granted her a cocky smirk in return as they came to a stop outside of a room. Shadowheart was almost disappointed at how easy this assignment had turned out to be. A few drinks, a little stroking of an ego, and the man had fallen over himself to get her to bed.
"Three thirty-three," she said. "Must be my lucky number."
"Good things come in threes," Ja'arath agreed, holding the door open for her.
Shadowheart cocked an eyebrow at him as she sauntered past.
"Hm, I suppose you'll be good for me then?"
Shadowheart quickly scanned the room as Ja'arath locked the door behind them, taking note of the laptop sitting on the desk beside a stack of folders, all just begging for perusal.
The sound of a safety being flicked off made Shadowheart whirl around.
Ja'arath was barring the exit, a pistol aimed at her chest.
"Did you really believe me to be so foolish? Do you truly believe you are the first to attempt to steal company secrets from me? Tell me who it is you're working for, and I may allow you to live."
Shadowheart smiled coquettishly.
"Kinky. I'm all for a little roleplay now and again, but you really should give a girl some warning before pulling a gun on her."
Nocturne swore in Shadowheart's ear, before quickly assuring her that help was on the way.
Shadowheart's handbag began to vibrate while the muffled strains of Patrice Rushen's "Forget Me Nots" filled the air.
Makaria, your timing is awful, Shadowheart thought to herself.
"What is that?" Ja'arath demanded.
"A phone, clearly."
"Slide it over. Slowly."
The barrel of the gun followed her every move as Shadowheart rummaged through her bag. When her fingers brushed past the handle of her own pistol, Shadowheart briefly considered grabbing it instead, but decided not to wager her life on her quickdraw abilities. Not yet.
The ringtone cycled back to the beginning as she set the phone on the floor and then kicked it toward Ja'arath's feet. As soon as he broke eye contact to scoop it up, Shadowheart made her move, drawing her own pistol. She couldn't keep the triumphant lilt out of her voice when she addressed her foe.
“You really should let me answer that. It will be my wife wondering where I am, most likely.”
“I thought you told me you were divorced,” Ja'arath said, looking up from Makaria's portrait on the phone screen to realize that he was staring down the silencer of Shadowheart's pistol.
"I lied."
Shadowheart aimed between his eyes and squeezed the trigger. Ja'arath crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap, but she fired twice more for good measure. Anything worth doing was worth doing properly.
While Patrice melodiously asked her not to forget the good times they'd had, Shadowheart pried her phone from the dead man's hand and answered it.
"Hello lover," she said, smiling despite herself.
"Oh? 'Hello' to you too," Makaria laughed in response.
"I'll admit, it sounded more debonair in my head," Shadowheart parried. The adrenaline must have been making her delirious. "How was the game?"
"It was…a bit touch and go, but we won seven to three," Makaria said. "There's still a little bit to pack up here, but I should be home in about half an hour. How are things looking on your end?"
"I'm just finishing up with my last patient here. We had a Labrador that tried to eat more than he could handle, but he's all sorted now," Shadowheart answered, watching the pool of blood beneath Ja'arath slowly spread.
Nocturne burst through the door, followed by two agents Shadowheart couldn’t recall the names of, all with weapons drawn. Shadowheart waved apologetically at her case officer before speaking to her wife again.
"I just have a load of paperwork to get through, and then I'll be on my way too. Give me…" Shadowheart raised an eyebrow at Nocturne, who held up two fingers. “...two hours.”
"Great! Any requests for dinner?"
"Surprise me," Shadowheart requested, as if her wife ever could.