The Job Will Never Get Done
Google Docs Link || Song LinkCowritten with Robin<3<3 Twitch, Hanagi, Abidel, & the Headmistress are @byrdstrolls
The second your feet hit the roof of Mondes Rosado’s hive, you felt regret. That was far louder than you wanted it to be. The poor residents must be scared out of their minds. You glance up to flash your pilot a thumbs up. The lights of your ship flash once to let you know she got your message.
It was rude not to use the front door. But, in your defense, you had been at work! Your private ship was just a bit too big to land anywhere nearby, especially without prior warning. You didn’t have time to think of sending anyone a warning. You followed your instinct.Your instinct told you to pack a bag of important things, and rush to the Rosado residence at breakneck speeds.
The garden you landed on was very well kept. You do your best to scuff back the dirt into place with your tail before making your way to the only door you saw.
You had little hope that anyone would be there. And yet, you knock.
You hear the sound of footsteps, urgent, darting away from the door. But no answer. The urgency in the sound had you concerned enough to try turning the knob. Your concern and muddled thoughts made it difficult to control your grip, and as such, the doorknob cracks as you twist it too far. Oops. The front door would’ve been much easier.
The knob falls to the ground as you release it. You gently nudge the door open, slowly as to not scare whoever had been on the other side. You weren’t entirely sure who you were expecting. One of the Cheongs, maybe. A pet, perhaps. Mondes surely would’ve answered the door, so it wouldn’t be him. Of everything you would have expected, none were your daughter.
Curled in on herself, brandishing only a pen as her weapon. Flat against the wall, shaking like a leaf. Her eyes were wild, frenzied, like a cornered animal. There was a growing pile of soda cans, coffee mugs and empty snack bowls that sat beside her, like guarding this spot had been a day-long endeavor. You didn’t catch any hint of recognition in that wild stare, not yet.
The silence felt thick, but you couldn’t let it linger. You push the shock down deep, replacing it with a warm smile as you duck into the doorway. You kneel down to be on her level. Less threatening. You could hear the sound of footsteps, frantic in their own way, approaching. Ascending the stairs. That was the least of your worries. You let the bag on your shoulder fall to the ground beside you, and hold your hands out.
“Hello, my bumblebee.”
She stiffens, in recognition but not quite relaxation- simply overtaken by a different kind of fear.
“You broke Mondes’s door,” She accuses. How small she sounded, tucked in on herself like that.
“I’ll fix it,” You promise, glancing back guilty.
“I’m sorry,” She says, the words only making it halfway through her throat before she chokes on them, trying to blink back tears springing from deep, dangerous wells in her eyes and heart. “I’m so sorry,” she says, arms clinging tightly to her sides, “I was-” She stumbles, words once again overtaken by sobs, she tries to find the words to explain, “I was so stupid,”
Wordlessly, you reach over and pull your daughter into a hug.
Bee’s eyes widen, and something ancient in her releases. She leans into your embrace, burying herself in your arms as if she could disappear into them. Shakily, you raise a hand to run through her hair. She feels so small in your arms. When did she get so skinny- when did she start to feel so hollow? Had you really been so absent in her life, that you completely missed her disappearing into thin air?
“I was so stupid,” You reply, trying to keep the waver from your voice. Stupid enough to let her enlist at all, stupid enough to spend so much time away from home. Something passes through her eyes like an unspoken argument, an unwillingness to let you have the blame, but she does not have the strength to voice it. She simply continues to cry. You hold her there for some time, rocking back and forth and muttering the occasional soft reassurance. You wait for her breathing to ease, for some of the tension in her shoulders to release, before you even attempt to speak again.
“Bee” You say, so gently, leaning back to cup her cheek, wiping a trail of violet tears from her eyes. “Who were you waiting here for?”
All at once again, she stiffens. The tension that took so long to release came back in an instant. “...What?” She says, quietly.
“Who were you waiting here for?” You ask, glancing at the dishes. “Looking so scared, wielding a pen at the door.”
“No one” She says, her voice jumping the octave, suddenly distant. Her crumbling walls bolt up once more. Desperately trying to maintain a long-dead facade. You stare at her, and she avoids your gaze. Knowing you of all people see through her like an open window, but still unwilling to back down on the lie.
“It’s okay, Bee,” You say. “I can help you, I promise.”
She continues to look away, ever so quietly shaking her head as tears well in her eyes.
“You know I would move heaven and earth,” you say, “to keep you safe, Bumblebee. Please, my love.” You plead. Trying your hardest to not seem as desperate as you felt. She starts to sob again.
“You can't,” She says.
“I’ll find a way.” You say.
“Don’t go to her,” She begs, and your pan kicks into overdrive, playing the pronoun game, running through every she/her you know.
“She’ll tell you things about me,” She says. “She’ll turn you against me.”
“Who?” You ask one more time. “What things?”
“Don’t,” She begs again, eyes darting to the corners of the room as if unsure she’s being watched.
“Bee,” You say helplessly. “Nobodies watching. Who did this to you?”
“No one” She repeats. “did anything to me. I did it all wrong. You don’t understand.”
“Help me understand,” You ask softly.
She is silent, trying to control her breathing for an age.
“She promised me so much,” She sobs. “She gave me so many things. I was so greedy," she says.
And your mind runs into overdrive once more, thinking back through the past few sweeps. Desperately connecting dots, remembering her, remembering her coming home from the holidays, with new laptops, fancy fighter vessels, top of the line scientific equipment, lavish gifts for her siblings, you remember having asked her, where it all had came from, asking her how she could afford it all, she had dismissed you with a vague and cheeky,
“School” she had said. She had gotten it all from school.
“Peonie,” You guess, naming one of the few teachers you knew. Her head shakes quietly.
“The headmistress.” You guess, next, and she pales, pulling tight like a barbed wire, the whites of her eyes peeking through the hands that snap up to cover her face.
“No!” She insists, sharply, angrily. Yes, you think, with a near unfounded certainty.
“It’s okay” You say, pulling her close as she starts to cry. “You’re safe. It’s gonna be okay” You repeat, hoping the words don’t fall as flat as they feel. They must have some effect, as she goes limper in your arms again, crying quietly.
Is this how Jodiah felt? This inability to say anything meaningful? This deep, painful ache in your chest, knowing there are better words out there, but being unable to say anything? Bless his poor pusher, and bless your little Bee’s as well. You pull her back into your chest, wrapping your arms around her once more. You press a soft kiss to her hooded head, silently hoping she knew she was safe now. You hold her as if you were afraid she’d disappear once more. Never again, you thought, would you allow this to happen.
The blankets you had kept for her, and could never bring it upon yourself to discard, get draped over her shoulders. You do your best to bundle her up. Like you had when she was little, and afraid of the dark. The dark couldn’t hurt her when she was bundled up so safe. You wouldn’t allow it. Did she remember those days, you wonder. Did she remember hugging her stuffed shark, almost as tight as she did now? She looked about as little as she had back then. You would smooth her hair back and promise her the dark couldn’t do a thing. Now you were going to ensure that.
“I’ll be back soon,” you promise her with a soft, almost sad smile. You stood slowly, wanting more than anything to pick her up and take her home. Somewhere she could really heal. Where she could be safe. Where you could hold her close. But you knew that wouldn’t be feasible. Not yet.
Hanagi Cheong, the brains of the operation it seems, is everything you expected her to be. Jaded, confident, but not at her fullest. You could hardly blame her. So young, and yet she’d seen more than you could imagine. She looks up at you without much outward fear. If you were planning ons staying, you would’ve taken a seat, something to make talking easier.
You hand a business card to her. It was a typical Fleet issued business card for those higher up fools such as yourself. On the back, however, was a different number.
“Please, if you and your family need anything- not just in regards to Twitch- reach out.”
The rust eyes the card suspiciously, and rightfully so.
“It’s a secure number.” You smile softly, “It was my matesprit’s, before she passed. She smuggled Fleet-issued medications into rebel districts, and to this day has yet to be caught. If anyone has a secure line…it’d be her.”
You’re not positive Hanagi truly accepts this, but she takes the card with a soft, “Thanks.”
You keep your smile warm, your hands clasped together in a passive sign of pleasure. You’ve had many centuries to perfect your body language. You could fool just about anyone.
You check on Twitch one last time before you leave. Mostly ensuring you could leave her. It hurt more than words could describe. But you would be back- you promised her that.
- - -
The pilot of your ship gives you a curious look when you tell her your next location. She opens her mouth as if to question you, something you usually were happy to indulge in, but there must’ve been something in your expression to shut her up. Your facade must be slipping.
It would not take long to get there. Truth be told, using your ship rather than any other local means of transportation could easily be seen as a waste. But your ship is the only place you can hang your coat, the only place where your strife still resided. A large war hammer hung on the wall, happy in its retirement. You had affectionately called it the HammerHead when you were young and still cool. It was more a decoration than anything these days. It would occasionally accompany you for public appearances, where you’d hold it by your side like a true guard. Or some laughable version of a grim reaper. There was hardly a need for such primitive means of a fight these days- being the Head of Security means you had access to just about anything you may need.
But this mission was personal. It required a more personal means of communication.
You instruct your pilot to enter the Fleet Academy’s airfield, not to wait for permission to land. She seems uneasy, but trusts you. Why shouldn’t she? You didn’t technically need permission if you were doing your administrative rounds. You never warned the caverns of your visits. Why should you warn the Academy? Your administrative rounds came early this sweep, is all.
You rolled your chin down to your chest and back, rolled your tight shoulders up and down. This did little to ease your pilot’s growing nerves. The ship landed on the pad, and she turned around in her chair to finally meet your gaze.
“Sir?”
You pause your stretching, raising your brows, “Yes, Bevins?”
You feel her bronze eyes study you closely. Bevins had been a good pilot, she’d been with you now for many sweeps. She had yet to see you limber up before going on rounds, yet to see you bring your strife along. You fear the silence between you two would last a sweep.
“...Should I make some phone calls?” She finally asks.
You smile softly, giving her a nod of confirmation, “That would be wise. Let the Ghoulkeeper know I may need him to ensure Merkii gets dinner.” You pause for a moment, pondering your options, “And let Syndicate know I’ll be cashing in that favor.”
She looks unease, but nods, and finally opens the hatch for you to leave.
You had been around too long to not know exactly how your actions would play out. This was far from your first rodeo. The Fleet could take your freedom, take the future you so desperately wanted. They took your matesprit, turned your only biological descendants into barely functioning disasters. They can muddle your name, riddle you with scars, take what was left of your autonomy. But you refused to let them take another daughter. What could they do? Add another 300 sweeps to your contract? Hah, that alone was laughable. Let them do what they want with you, but you would not let them hurt her again.
Anger was not an emotion you pride yourself on, you worked hard to keep it buried deep within your chest. The gravel crunches softly beneath your boots as you make your way in, reflecting on the irony. Had you not scolded the young rockstar for holding his anger deep down? What was it he had said- he kept it there in a glass bottle. At the ready, like a molotov cocktail. You understood now.
Once you are inside the academy, security is sparse. This building was built to keep threats out- it was not prepared for one to walk so easily through the front door, wearing their banner, carrying fleet flight codes. It's early, just past sunset, and the headmistress’s office door is guarded only by her secretary, boredly sorting papers. Abidel nearly spits up their coffee when you enter.
“Her Beloved Annihilation” They cough, attempting a salute and frantically trying to clean their messy desk, electing instead to just stand in front of it instead. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just visiting. Making my rounds,” You respond with a faux smile. Trying to appear unthreatening. It was near impossible to appear such with the anger that boiled inside you. The lime reminded you, momentarily, of Jodiah. Abidel was not the source of your displeasure, you had no reason to treat them with any hostility.
Their eyes catch your guarded, iron gaze, and trace your arm down to your weapon. Though you tried to appear at ease, you gripped the hilt of your strife tightly.
“Right,” The limeblood squeaks. They do not dial up the button to alert Nandor when they buzz you in the door.
“Thank you, little one.” You pat their desk lightly in appreciation, taking a silent note of the various knick-knacks, “While I have you here- I believe an old friend of mine studied here a long time ago. Would you mind fetching me his files from the archives? Hantos Charon would be the name.”
“Oh. Um, yes…sir.” The lime is frozen for a second, as if uncertain of your request. You wait with the same forced smile until they gain their senses and leave quickly. You might’ve felt guilty sending them on a wild goose chase for records that didn’t exist if it wasn’t done in their best interest. You quietly straighten out one of the little knick-knacks that had gotten knocked over in their haste to clean.
You take a deep breath and exhale out slowly. You hoist your hammer against your shoulder, steel your jaw, and head into the Headmistress’ office.
