Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

For all intents and purposes, Sarah Alder was being courted. 

For as far as the extent of her “lesbian stereotypes” knowledge went, the courter was checking off quite the boxes, aside from the U-Haul ones. 

Long distance? Sarah had never caught sight of her . Oblivious? She was, as to her existence. She only had a name. Emotionally fucked? The woman wrote like she was carving love letters into tree bark with a hunting knife. Hopelessly romantic? Every note read like she was preparing to die in Sarah’s arms despite them never having met. Commitment issues? Unclear. But sending gifts for six years (not)straight certainly implied something.

Colonel Lyra. Off-base stationed, dedicated, persistent, and—to Sarah’s utter dismay—absurdly sentimental.

For the past six years, like clockwork, Sarah received a meticulously wrapped package every Valentine’s Day and on her birthday (which, she swore on every goddess above and below, was classified knowledge). The first time, she’d assumed it was a mistake. The second, a fluke. By the third year, she suspected espionage .

She had never met Colonel Lyra, never even heard of her before these unsolicited tributes had begun. The gifts were always accompanied by letters, ones that dripped with an effortful professionalism that barely veiled the raw, painstakingly lesbian yearning underneath.

The first gift had been innocuous enough. A finely aged bottle of scotch with a note:

My Esteemed Sarah,

In the quiet hours between duty and dream, your presence has kindled a warmth rivaling even the most robust Scotch. May this modest bottle serve as a token of my admiration—a tribute to your indomitable spirit and steadfast leadership.

With unwavering respect (and perhaps a spark of something far more incendiary),

May it warm you in cold seasons, on behalf of me.

Colonel Lyra.

Sarah had accepted it with grace, ignoring the unseasonably warm August weather.

The second—an intricately carved wooden box with a phoenix motif—had been gifted alongside a letter that spoke of admiration in a tone that could’ve passed for devotional scripture. It had been filled with fine herbal teas, all handpicked and, according to the note, 

Dear Sarah,

In the realm of rebirth and hope, I find you akin to the phoenix: radiant, relentless, and ever rising from the ashes of mundanity. The herbal teas enclosed are but a humble attempt to encapsulate the refreshing complexity of your character—a blend of spice and serenity, much like the unpredictable cadence of battle and life.

May each sip transport you to verdant fields of possibility.

Eternally in awe (and with a dash of droll infatuation),

Colonel Lyra.

The Colonel’s language was, in its own over-the-top way, a series of metaphors that made Sarah wonder if she’d accidentally mixed her military reports with a volume of Victorian poetry. Anacostia snorted, remarking that the teas were “so exotic, they might just start their own revolution .”

The third year was when Sarah started feeling watched.

A custom-forged dagger, the hilt embossed with an inscription in Latin: A furore Sarah libera nos . (Deliver us from Sarah’s wrath.)

My Indomitable Sarah

As its edge is honed to perfection, so too is my admiration for you, ever sharp and unyielding.

Let this dagger be both a symbol and a reminder: that beauty may indeed be as perilous as it is resplendent.

With both reverence and a touch of apprehensive delight,

Colonel Lyra.

Izadora had been delighted. Anacostia had wept laughing.

Then came the fourth year, on her secret birthday. A handmade quilt, embroidered with patterns depicting the battles of the early militia, including her own insignia—historically accurate. Uncannily so. The letter? Still disgustingly sweet.

My Dear Sarah,

I know how much you loathe the civilian tradition of birthday celebrations but let it be known that it is not only on this divine day where you are celebrated, as I hold you to the highest form of devotion known to life, with every dawn that spills gold across the earth and every hush between heartbeats

May this envelop you in warmth as genuine as my admiration for you.

With the utmost sincerity (and a mischievous nod to destiny),

Colonel Lyra. 

Not high enough to show your face, eh? Sarah had scoffed the blush away. 

The fifth? A twenty-five-page letter detailing, in excruciatingly formal prose, how Colonel Lyra had witnessed a hawk circle above during a routine patrol and thought of her. The metaphor extended into existential musings about power, duty, and longing.

My Unrivaled Sarah,

As I beheld a solitary hawk circling the vast expanse of blue, my thoughts inexorably wandered to you—soaring in your own majesty. This lengthy missive, though perhaps as unwieldy as a field manual, is my earnest attempt to articulate the inexpressible—a yearning that flutters as freely as the hawk yet remains grounded in the gravity of my devotion.

Pardon the verbosity, dear General of my heart, but know that each word is imbued with the sincerity of a thousand unspoken confessions.

Forever adrift in your orbit,

Colonel Lyra. 

Sarah had needed a drink. In her orbit? It was only a matter of time until the hawk flew into a coconut tree.

The sixth had just arrived.

This time?

A handcrafted bust . Of herself.

Sarah stared. It was finely detailed. Too finely detailed for the woman not to have seen her on base. The angles of her face. The exact lines of her uniform. The expression—stern, but with the barest hint of an enigmatic smirk. She squinted and caught the barely there trace of a kiss mark. 

The note?

“You have always been a monument to history. I sought only to make it tangible. Perhaps, General, we are all merely seeking a place to land.”

Sarah dropped the letter onto her desk and exhaled sharply through her nose.

Anacostia, standing nearby, barely stifled a laugh.

“You’re being courted,” she said, and the unbearable amusement in her voice made Sarah glare.

“I am being stalked ,” Sarah corrected.

“By a woman who seems prepared to handcraft an entire museum in your honor,” Anacostia countered, still smiling.

“Think about it. Lesbian situationship at 340 years old? Cougar love.” Devon commented with a snort.

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose.

Six years. Six years of unsolicited yearning, immortalized in gifts of increasing extravagance.

For the love of all things sacred—who was Colonel Lyra, and why was she like this?

***

“You don’t think it could be a former Biddy, do you?” Izadora asked, tipping her glass toward Sarah with a smirk.

They were in the middle of one of their biweekly drinking sessions. With no extra minds around to share her humanly dwellings, Sarah had grown fond of these nights—usually just her, some of her former biddies (who were still as annoying as they had been in a 80 year old body), Izadora, and her daughter. Occasionally, Petra Bellweather would join, which was more of a punishment than a pleasure, but she endured it. Some things never changed. Like Petra’s knack for making everything a strategic debate. Or, more importantly, like Sarah’s feelings for a certain redhead.

Sarah thought about it. “Lyra” didn’t ring any bells. She had never had a Biddy by that name. And for all the admiration in these letters and gifts, whoever Colonel Lyra was, she certainly hadn’t been there during her worst moments.

Never a Lyra to steady her when she was too weak to stand.

Never a Lyra to drag her stubborn ass to bed when she refused to rest.

Only a Craven.

Tally had been there when Sarah first stumbled out of the Mycelium, dazed, her body barely remembering how to move. While others stared at her like some ancient relic dug up from the earth, Tally had marched straight toward her and caught her in a firm yet soothing grip. No hesitation. No fear. Just that steady warmth Sarah hadn’t realized she was aching for.

They had hashed it out. 

The truth had settled heavy between them. Tally had betrayed her in the hangar, yes, but she had done it in pursuit of something Sarah herself had once urged her to seek—truth. And how could Sarah fault her for that?

So, in the end, she hadn’t.

Instead, she had let the fire burn out of Tally’s voice, let the anger fade into guilt, then into something softer. She had told her, You only did what I once asked of you . And that was that.

Or so Sarah thought.

Until, one day, Tally had asked—shyly, almost hesitant—if Sarah could pinch her cheeks really hard. “To balance the weight,” she had said, as if that explained anything.

Sarah had stared at her, brow arched. “You want me to—what?”

“Just do it,” Tally muttered, stubborn as ever, a hint of pink creeping up her neck.

It was absurd. Completely ridiculous. And yet, Sarah… well, she was beginning to realize she couldn’t refuse any form of touch when it came to Tally Craven. 

Before Sarah could even think to refuse, her fingers were already on Tally’s soft cheeks, pinching firmly, pulling just enough to make the younger woman squawk in protest.

Tally batted her hands away, rubbing at her face with a deep frown. “Damn, Sarah! I said hard, not cruel.”

Tally uttering her name quickly became her favorite thing to crawl into her ear canal. 

Sarah just smirked, crossing her arms. She had half a mind to soothe the pain with a kiss. She patted her cheeks gently instead, relishing in the warmth and the way Tally’s eyes closed at the simple touch. “You’re the one who asked.”

And then there were the nights.

Sarah hadn’t been able to sleep when she first returned. The mycelial leftovers had been a constant hum beneath her skin, her mind restless, body aching. She would toss and turn, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to just shut down. But nothing worked. Until Tally.

At first, it was just her sitting by Sarah’s bed, talking to her in that soft, easy way of hers. Nothing forced. No pity. Just there, recounting her days and occasionally military rants. And somehow, it helped. Then, at some point, sitting turned into lying beside her. And, without either of them acknowledging it, they started sleeping tangled up together—Tally’s arms a comforting weight around her, Sarah’s face buried in her shoulder. It became the only way Sarah could actually rest.

Tally crawling into her arms then quickly became her favorite thing. 

Of course, it didn’t last. Tally got deployed. Climbed the ranks. She and her unit were out on missions, always moving, always too far away. It had been a long time since Sarah had seen her, longer since she had felt her beside her. It was needless to say that Sarah had missed her dearly. It bordered on painful. 

Part of Sarah had wondered—just for a second—if Tally was behind all of these . Some elaborate joke, just to mess with her. But that was impossible. Tally had barely tolerated her half the time in the past. 

She liked her now that she had “toned down” the Alder-ness a bit, sure, but even that was pushing it. And toned down by how much? Two notches? Three? It was hard to tell. Schrodinger’s Alder.

But, for all intents and purposes, Sarah Alder had hopelessly always been one step away from falling in love with Tally Craven. And, for some ridiculous reason, she was also rather smitten with a faceless Lyra. So, yes, in a way, she was a hopeless, clueless lesbian. 

She took a long sip of her drink and sighed. “I should have stayed in the Mycelium.”

***

The waiting area at the airfield wasn’t much to look at—stiff-backed chairs, the faint smell of jet fuel in the air. Anacostia had long since resigned herself to the fact that she was going to be standing here for an indeterminate amount of time.

Sarah stood beside her, hands clasped behind her back, looking deceptively calm. But Anacostia had known her mother too long not to recognize the subtle signs of restlessness—the way her fingers twitched slightly, the way her gaze kept flicking toward the sky, tracking every incoming aircraft.

“Why did I agree to this again?” Anacostia muttered, arms crossed as she watched the empty runway.

“Because you’re my beloved daughter, and you love me.” Sarah smiled, unbothered, stance kept in what she clearly thought was a display of dignified patience.

Anacostia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Ever since Sarah’s return from death, they had been spending more time together—by choice, even. It started with the usual briefings and discussions, then somehow turned into dinner, then somehow into occasional sleepovers. Sleepovers . At Sarah Alder’s quarters. A fact that would send a teenage Anacostia spiraling if she thought too hard about it.

Not that they ever slept much. Mostly, it was Anacostia drinking whatever expensive bottle Sarah had acquired over the centuries while venting about her failed attempts at wooing Izadora. Which, so far, amounted to an impressive string of disasters.

“I only hear the accountability falling on me,” Anacostia pointed out.

Sarah sighed. “Ana… it wouldn’t reflect kindly on me to just stand around waiting for a plane to land. I need a cover.”

“Your secret lesbian admirer isn’t enough?”

“If only I knew just by whom I am admired.”

Anacostia made a show of looking thoughtful. “I could name one.”

Sarah glanced at her, unimpressed. “Who?”

“Californian. Redhead. Knows a lot, if you catch my drift.”

“I am not catching shit, Anacostia.”

“Maybe we should ask Tally if she’d be interested in forming a polycule with you and Lyra.”

Sarah stared at her for a long, slow moment. “…I feel I have lost all sense of what the English language is becoming these days.”

“Ah, yes. ‘Tis unlike thine own tongue of yore. Perchance thou seeketh clarity in the wretched way we speak in ages past, Mother?” Anacostia replied, a wicked glint in her eye.

Sarah closed her eyes briefly, chewing on her bottom lip, pushing down an uncharacteristic laugh that would ruin her mystique. “I should have stayed dead.”

Before Anacostia could fire off another quip, the low rumble of a descending plane sounded. Both women straightened, watching as the aircraft taxied to a stop. A ramp lowered.

Personnel began to disembark in neat, efficient strides, their uniforms crisp despite the exhaustion that clung to some of them. Officers and soldiers, some familiar, some not, filtering back into the place they called home.

Sarah scanned the faces, looking for someone—anyone—who might answer to the name Lyra.

And then—

“ Son of a bitch,” Anacostia muttered, just as Sarah suddenly went silent beside her.

Because walking out of that plane, battle-worn but standing proud, too composed for someone who had been away for so long, was none other than Tally Craven.

And she looked different.

The softness of her youth had been edged into something sharper, something honed. The way she carried herself now—the deliberate set of her shoulders, the steadiness in her steps—spoke of experience, of time spent becoming something greater than she once was. Her uniform, lined with the insignia of her new rank, sat comfortably on her frame.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the years and the distance and the changes—her eyes still gleamed with that reckless, untamed light. The one that had always made Sarah want to fly too close to the sun, no matter how many times she’d been burned.

Sarah forgot how to school her expression. Her fingers were itching to run along the auburn strands reflecting the sunlight. Her entire body wanted to run, crash against and morph into Tally’s steady form. 

Tally walked over to them and her gaze flicked between them before settling on Sarah. That smile—crooked, knowing, just a little too pleased—was still the same. “General.”

Alder cleared her throat. She felt too much like a war wife, draped in widow’s black, breathing again when her soldier strolled through the door alive. “Craven.”

Anacostia glanced between them with great amusement. “How was deployment?”

Tally shifted her bag on her shoulder. “Eventful.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Abigail chimed in as she stepped up beside her, looking far too smug for Sarah’s liking. “She’s been making quite the name for herself out there.”

Tally shot her a glare, but Abigail was undeterred. “Oh, don’t be modest now. Colonel Craven—”

Tally groaned. “Abigail.”

Alder’s lips parted. “Colonel?”

Tally hesitated, then scratched the back of her neck. “Uh. Yeah.”

Anacostia’s smirk deepened. “Now that is interesting.”

Sarah barely heard them. Her mind was still catching up, cataloging every change—the way Tally stood, the timbre in her voice, the title now attached to her name.

Colonel. Her surprise was not born out of skepticism. She knew just how hardworking, resilient, steadfast and persistent Tally could be, with or without her unit. 

Tally turned to her, something almost sheepish in the way she shifted her stance, smiling. “You okay there, General?” And came the dimples, hitting her like a well-aimed salvo (sorry, she just had to.) Her brain was fried and she was no Lyra in the metaphor department. 

Alder blinked. Then, regaining some measure of composure, she folded her arms. “I don’t recall approving that promotion.”

Tally grinned and Sarah’s lips threatened to twitch upwards. “Good thing you don’t have to anymore.”

Anacostia laughed outright. “Oh, I like this timeline.”

Sarah ignored her, still watching Tally with that same unreadable look. “Well, welcome back.”

Tally’s expression softened. “It is lovely to be back.” Her eyes firmy locked onto Sarah’s. Gone were the shyness and awkwardness Sarah had come to associate with Tally Craven. So different from the one that used to only look at Alder’s boots when she spoke, so much so that it made Sarah clean hers extra out of self-consciousness .  

Tally spoke again, this time her voice tugging the threads in Sarah’s chest, eyes still searching hers. “To be home.”

Sarah didn’t even register what she was implying, couldn’t reply because in the next second, a high-pitched shrieking of “ Anaaaaa!” came and her daughter’s arms were suddenly full of a blonde soldier, still unruly with a few packs of muscles now.

“Ah, it’s good to have my murder nuggets back.” Anacostia patted Raelle’s head gently, Abigail coming around to give a side-hug. That was new, Sarah thought. Who knew if the Bellweathers could become meteorologists next?

Speaking from her place where she was tucked against her shoulder, Raelle glanced toward Alder. “Want a hug too, General? I know you miss our Mycelium dates.”

From the corner of Sarah’s eye, she saw Tally bristle slightly. A kind of charge definitely did not course through Sarah. Why would Tally harbor any form of jealousy as if Sarah was hers? No, however desperately she wanted to be. Disgusting. Not to mention the clusterfuck with Lyra. What would this make her? A cheater? Great. Another stereotype checked off. 

She must have been too deep in Tally, uh, thoughts of Tally that she didn’t feel the hand now on her arm, hesitantly touching, grasping but still moving with that itch Sarah knew she also wanted to desperately scratch. It was Tally’s. The girl—no, woman— was gently stroking in an up and down motion to coax her back into reality, her orbit. She was standing close, close enough that if Sarah turned her face just at the right angle, their faces would touch, their breaths tying them to each other. Faintly, she heard Collar apologizing and saying “All yours, Tal.”

She faced the three former cadets.

“We’re going out tonight.” Abigail informed, no doubt reading the confusion on her face. Sarah wanted to scoff at the lack of proper address.

Before Sarah could retort a reply, Tally corrected with a shake of her head, “Let me rephrase,” her grip on Sarah tightened just a tad, her thumb brushing briefly against the inside of Sarah’s wrist, smiling, “we are venturing beyond these walls for a much-needed boost and we would like you to be there in both spirit and body, General .” 

Poetic too. It set off something in the back of her mind, a quiet ping of suspicion. She brushed it off as her brain flashed around the word boost . 

“Of course,” Sarah drawled, giving Tally a long, measured look. Her traitor hand absently squeezed Tally’s. “Leave it to you to make a simple outing sound like a quest for the Holy Grail.”

Tally’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened. “Well, if we’re making comparisons, I’d say the company alone is already a treasure worth seeking.”

Sarah exhaled sharply through her nose, unimpressed but unable to fight the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Craven.”

“It gets me to you,” Tally quipped, a quiet challenge in her gaze. Then, wordlessly, she raised Sarah’s hand to her lips and lightly pressed a kiss to it before stepping back from a gaping-mouthed Sarah and walking away. “See you around.”

“Is this like some weird foreplay for them?” Raelle whispered to Anacostia, loud enough for Abigail to commune between them. 

Anacostia sighed, still staring at her mother who was trying to walk in the direction of her office, only to end up following in Tally’s path. Then, realizing what she was doing, took an abrupt turn, flushed. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish they’d bump bits already.” Abigail let out her own sigh. “Maybe one of them would finally, eventually , get clued in.”

Raelle snorted. “Lesbians can’t just say I love you. They gotta go through all seven of hell first.”

***

Despite what Anacostia would like you to believe, Sarah did not dress up more than usual to impress anyone, let alone a certain redhead. She donned a long black coat, hair down and crisp. If anything, she was channeling a grim reaper of sorts. Out to suck the soul out of Tally Craven, perhaps.

Not like that. Out the gutter you go. 

Izadora’s clearing of throat was far too amusing to warrant ignorance.

What?” Sarah asked flatly.

“Nothing.” Izadora’s mouth twitched. “It’s just nice to see your hair down.”

Sarah frowned. This wouldn’t do. She hoped this wouldn’t drive a wedge between her and her daughter. Anacostia was already suffering through the world’s slowest courting ritual when it came to Izadora, and Sarah would hate to be the subject of some ridiculous jealousy—

As if reading her mind, Izadora continued, deadpan as ever, “No, I just assumed you would want your hair pulled in the heat of passion the way it’s styled.”

Anacostia made a strangled, gobsmacked sound—somewhere between a snort and a choked inhale—and turned to stare at Izadora as though she had just declared war on the Geneva Accords. They really needed to get better with how blunt the Necro could be.

Izadora, utterly unfazed, had the audacity to shift her gaze none too subtly down Anacostia’s form, her eyes lingering for a moment too long.

And then, both majors were just… staring at each other.

Sarah watched them. And watched. And continued watching.

“Oh, for Mother’s sake,” she sighed. “Get it over with already and kiss.”

Anacostia visibly flinched, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull. “What—excuse me?”

Izadora, meanwhile, was blushing .

Sarah leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is that a hint of color on your face, Necro?”

Izadora cleared her throat again, this time with less smugness. Her eyes narrowed at the nickname.

Anacostia, still recovering, muttered, “You’re one to talk.”

Sarah turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

Before things could escalate, Izadora lifted a single finger. “And that’s where we stop this conversation before it spirals into mutually assured destruction.”

Sarah grumbled something about who is the General here under her breath but let it slide.

***

It wasn’t crowded tonight at the pub, just a handful of patrons scattered about, nursing drinks and conversation. The scent of something fried mingled with the low hum of music from an old jukebox in the corner.

Sarah took it all in with a glance, stepping inside with the ease of someone who had definitely walked into countless such places before.

And then, right on cue, her stomach growled.

Anacostia turned, eyes full of judgment. “Oh, now you’re hungry?”

Sarah ignored her, gaze sweeping across the room—until it landed on a particular table.

And there she was.

Tally Craven, seated with her unit, deep in conversation with Raelle and Abigail. The low, warm lighting cast a soft glow over her surer features.

Sarah was starving. For food, of course. Then brown eyes found her blue ones and it wasn’t for food anymore. She drank her in. 

Tally’s uniform jacket was nowhere in sight, leaving her in a short blue cardigan, a fitted white shirt inside that no doubt clung to the new, defined lines of her frame. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, revealing toned forearms, the kind shaped by training and use. Her posture carried a quiet confidence—shoulders squared, chin slightly lifted, but relaxed in a way that spoke of certainty rather than stiffness.

The hints of muscle beneath her skin peered at Sarah, the subtle shifts of movement as she turned. When the woman beamed at her, Sarah couldn’t help but return it. Frankly, her mouth just wanted to move. Against Tally’s. What? She meant with Tally’s food . She was hungry.

She blamed the hunger for how absolutely irrational her line of thoughts was turning. It was the only reasonable explanation. 

Anacostia sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just don’t eat her alive in public, Mother.”

Sarah Alder answered to no one.

Raelle waved them over. Anacostia pulled out a chair for Izadora, receiving an enthusiastic whistle from the unit. Only then, Sarah realized, there wasn’t enough chair for her. Only then, she also realized, Tally was sitting on a double bench of sorts. Great, she was now publicly cheating on Lyra.

With a bright smile, dimples sunken, gravitational force that of the sun, a voice siren-like, Tally scooted over and said softly, “Come, Sarah. I don’t bite.” 

A lie.

Sarah had seen those teeth in action—tearing through bread, apple, and anything unfortunate enough to cross Tally Craven’s plate. She had no doubt they could dismantle something—or someone—far more substantial. Like, Sarah. 

This was too dangerous.

And yet, she went.

Sliding onto the seat beside Tally, Sarah barely had a moment to settle before Raelle and Abigail exchanged a look. A very loud look. The kind that screamed commentary without either of them having to open their mouths.

Sarah exhaled sharply, refusing to acknowledge it. She focused instead on Tally, who, in all her new muscle and sun-warmed confidence, was still looking at her with nothing but delight. It did something strange to Sarah’s ribs.

“How’d you get here?” Tally asked, eyes dancing like Sarah was the most interesting thing within her field of view.

“Same as you. I came through the front door.”

It wasn’t meant to be funny. It was just the truth.

But Tally laughed, bright and infectious, and the sound wrapped around Sarah like an old, familiar melody she hadn’t heard in far too long, one she wanted to sing sacred lyrics to.

***

Their food arrived and Abigail was already deep into her very serious war story, her drink only halfway to her lips before she had to set it down in favor of dramatic hand gestures. Leave it to Bellweathers to make everything about war.

“So there we were, middle of a field, enemy units closing in—textbook shitstorm—and this one ,” she jabbed a finger at Tally, “decides, hey, you know what would be a great idea? Running straight at the problem.”

Anacostia hummed, already bracing for the absurdity. “And what was the problem?”

“Oh, just an unstable energy field that could have torn us apart on a molecular level.” Abigail recounted in a casual, calm voice, too calm to fight the sudden tightening in Sarah’s chest.

Tally had survived—she was sitting right next to her, alive, warm, whole, beautiful —but the fact of her survival didn’t erase the fact of almost not surviving.

She hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen it, but fuck , she could imagine it now. Tally running straight toward the threat, her face set in that particular way—reckless, sure, but worse than that: certain .

Sarah had seen too many soldiers wear that look, had buried too many of them. She knew, down to the marrow of her bones, that if Tally thought throwing herself into the fire would save the people she loved, she wouldn’t hesitate. She had done it once, for Sarah. 

She didn’t want to think it was because she loved Sarah. 

And that thought—that certainty—made something old and ugly coil inside her.

Tally tilted her head at her, unreadable for a moment before that too-smug grin appeared, the one that shouldn’t make Sarah’s pulse jump the way it did.

“Wouldn’t be much of a war hero if I didn’t.”

Sarah’s jaw locked.

Hero.

She had heard that word before, had worn it herself, but she knew, better than most, that heroes didn’t get happy endings.

She nearly told Tally as much. Nearly grabbed her face, forced her to understand—

But then Tally’s arm looped around her waist, casual, natural, the warmth of her palm pressing firm against the small of her back. With the discretion level of a shrieking mouse, she took Sarah’s hand under the table and laced their fingers together.

Sarah felt the exact moment her body registered it, that strange pull snapping taut like a wire between them. Her breath had no business catching the way it did.

Her first instinct was to pull away.

Her second was to lean in.

She did neither.

Instead, she popped a fry into her mouth, ignoring the weight of Tally’s head settling against her shoulder, ignoring the way the woman’s laughter settled in her ribs, curling there like a brand.

She was General Sarah Alder. She had led armies to war, had walked battlefields steeped in blood, had held the dying in her arms.

She should not be undone by this.

But oh, she was .

The fries were nice. Bit oily, could have done without the salt. Stupid invention. Back in the days? Wheat was the backbone of civilization. A staple of sustenance, of resilience, soft in the right hands, rough in the wrong ones. Run your fingers through it, and it clung—just a little—like it had opinions about being touched. Stubborn thing. Never as fragile as it looked, never as simple as people assumed.

And once it got into something? Forget about it. You’d find it everywhere. Stuck to your clothes, tangled in places it had no business being, impossible to shake.

She was definitely talking about wheat.

Tally shrugged and if the movement made her head turn slightly into Sarah’s neck, Sarah didn’t bother questioning. She was recounting the history of wheat. Excuse you. 

“It was either that or let it take out the whole bridge.” Her breath puffed against Sarah’s neck as she spoke. The pub could do better with the air conditioner.

“Oh right,” Raelle drawled, slouching deeper into her seat. “And clearly, the best solution was to hurl yourself directly into the jaws of death.”

“I had a plan,” Tally insisted.

Raelle deadpanned, “She did not have a plan.”

“She did not have a good plan,” Izadora Blunt’ Amara struck again.

Sarah made peace with the fact that Tally Craven would never make peace with self-preservation. “And yet,” she mused, “you all lived. Again.”

Tally, entirely too pleased with herself, grinned. “Didn’t wanna disappoint you if I die.”

Sarah arched a brow. She decided now and then that Tally Craven and death shouldn’t be in the same room, not if Sarah could help it. “As if I’d let you.”

Traitor ex, traitor hand, now traitor mouth too. 

Tally blinked, then grinned wider, dimples deepening in a way that should be classified as a war crime. “Oh?”

Sarah, realizing she had walked into that one, pointedly turned back to her salty fries. Wait, was it hers?!

“Ohhh?” Tally echoed, chin fully resting on Sarah’s shoulder now, nestling closer, body and soul. Lightly, she nudged the side of Sarah’s face with her nose, the arm around her waist tightening ever so slightly. Then, she was being squeezed.

“Yes, well. As you know, I only see to perfection.” Sarah said softly, glancing down at the sweet face looking up at her. A stray hair sat on her brow and Sarah’s traitor hand moved to gently tuck it behind her ear, caressing, feeling. 

Pink colored Tally’s cheeks. “I must be to your satisfaction, then,” and she partially hid her face against Sarah’s shoulder, snuggling. Some things really never change, like how easily Sarah could put the flushed look on Tally. 

Abigail, sensing an opportunity, smirked. “You two wanna be alone?”

“We are alone,” Sarah said smoothly, as smooth as one could be while swallowing a fry with a beautiful woman content to be conjoined to her, “in the sense that no one else here matters to me.”

Both Tally’s arms were wrapped around her middle now and as Sarah leaned back against the seat, the position was just so demanding of her not to rest her head on Tally’s as the woman snuggled deeper into her embrace. One of her own came around to rest on Tally’s back and her hand traitorously began tracing idle patterns. Tally looked about ready to fall asleep in her arms, beaming smile, twinkling eyes, soft sighs and quiet highs.

PDA be not damned. No one seemed to bat an eye at them.

Raelle let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest. “You wound me, gwélà mík’áì .”

Like the most logical progression, it continued.

”Mother.” Anacostia wiggled her eyebrows.

“Auntie.” Abigail gave her an actual , real wink. It brought Sarah back to years ago when a little version of this smug ass woman needed a diaper change or would secretly yell about a dream of flying dragons while sitting (it was more like, jiggling) in her lap. She wondered if Abigail had used this to her unfair advantage to tease Tally about who was the first to sit on Sarah’s lap. She filed that thought away because that was fucking weird.

What was weirder, though, was the hint of warm, familial feelings spreading through her. Like she was in the company of people who… just knew her?

“Mycelium’s favorite.” Izadora chimed in. 

“Iza,” Sarah sighed. “I had no say in the matter.”

***

The pub was alive with music, the kind that made glasses on the bar shudder and people forget they had dignity. The others and Tally had moved on to the dancefloor. Sarah stayed perched on her stool, nursing a plate of nachos now and thanking the Goddess with every bite for returning her hunger cues. 

There had been futile attempts to drag her for a dance. Abigail had pleaded , Goddess’ sake, calling it a team-building exercise . But the way she was shaking and grinding against that poor fella right now suggested otherwise. Raelle had teased her about rattling bones and one glare from Tally threatening a windstrike and the woman left her alone. So, Sarah Alder had a protector now.

It was also very convenient how Ramshorn only showed up just when she did not have to be flanked by Sarah in that little booth so, needless to say, Raelle was occupied with Scylla on the dancefloor, though they still managed some semblance of manners. 

She did not particularly feel like glancing in the direction of Anacostia and Izadora. 

Could not.

Because the second she caught the red strands catching in the dim lighting, her hunger did not stem from chips loaded with diarrhea-inducing amount of cheese and guacamole. Her attention was glued to the way Tally moved out there, all sinuous confidence and hypnotic rhythm. 

With one last sly glance at Sarah, Tally rolled her shoulders, letting the cardigan slide down her arms in a teasingly slow motion. She did a little shimmy, sending the fabric slipping past her elbows, the movement drawing attention to the way her hips playfully swayed, the pair of jeans hugging her curves. With one last languid shrug, she let it fall, pooling at her feet as she stood there, bare-shouldered and daring.

Before long, Sarah convinced herself to stop watching lest her composure crack completely. She was a General, damn it, not some lovesick hormonal cadet. There was suddenly a Tally sized lump in her throat. Whatever the hell that meant. 

She occupied herself with trying to focus on the swirl of her whiskey, was too focused apparently, to notice Tally weaving her way back from the dancefloor. 

Until hands splayed on her back, then slid over to her thighs.

Sarah froze, her grip hardening on her glass as Tally appeared between her knees with a grin so wicked it could’ve summoned storms.

“What are you—” Sarah barely got the words out, already breathless, before Tally sat astride her lap, hips pressing against hers, rolling them in time with the beat.

Sarah’s brain short-circuited. She was pretty sure that she was currently being given a lap dance by a pretty and sure woman.

Tally leaned forward, her hands braced on Sarah’s knees for balance as she worked her hips fluidly, teasingly and entirely too… effective . Sarah’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure of where to go, until Tally reached and grabbed them, guiding them to her waist. She twisted again, still straddling Sarah and facing her. Deliberately, her hands settled on Sarah’s shoulders and in one go, her long black coat was slid off and crumpled to the floor, leaving Sarah only in a thin shirt, much to be desired. 

With a deliciously slow grind, Tally leaned in, a quick, playful flick of her tongue tracing along Sarah's ear as she murmured, “Dance with me, General?”

The words knotted in Sarah’s breath, making it uneven, and she didn’t even try to stop her hands from sliding over Tally’s thighs.

And Sarah was dimly aware of laughter and cheers from the others somewhere in the background. 

In one swift motion, Sarah stood, arms locking around Tally’s middle as she lifted her clean off the stool. Her legs found themselves on Sarah’s waist, arms hooked around Sarah’s neck as she let out a surprised laugh.

Sarah carried her to the dancefloor, setting her down with enough force to make Tally stumble slightly before catching her balance. Sarah didn’t give her a chance to recover.

She pulled Tally close, her body pliant against Sarah’s like a flame finding kindling as they began to move together. Her hair tickled Sarah’s cheek, her scent—sunshine, spiced and sweat—flooding her senses. Sarah inhaled it all with carnal hunger. The music thrummed through the floor, vibrating up into their bones as Tally moved with liquid grace.  

Sarah pressed her face against the soft crook of Tally’s neck soon as she shifted in Sarah’s arms, her back melding seamlessly with Sarah’s front. Tally leaned further into her, head tipping back to rest on Sarah’s shoulder, her movements increasingly sensual as Sarah’s hands found purchase on Tally’s waist, slowly guiding her back and forth to the beat. Her eyes were hooded, lips parting slightly, a deep flush spreading across her collarbone, her cheeks. 

Sarah knew her breathing was growing erratic. She did not care. Her lips trailed along Tally’s shoulder, applying the slightest of pressure with her teeth to satisfy the ravenous craving in them both. The friction was maddening, with each subtle shift of Tally’s body dragging against Sarah’s igniting sparks that made it hard to focus on anything else.

They would headline the Salem news this week and the after.

Fingers tangling in Sarah’s hair, Tally arched her back slightly, her body undulating in a way that made Sarah’s head spin with desire and longing. Gently, she tugged on it and Sarah was helpless to resist the temptation hiding behind Tally’s ear. She nudged aside some red hair out of her way before dragging her nose along Tally’s witchmark, lips leaving bare traces. Tally let out a small whimper, knees going weak but Sarah held her steady, arms climbing up dangerously close to the swell of Tally’s breasts. 

Iza was right. Her hair was being passionately pulled.

“Goddess help me,” Sarah murmured under her breath, her lips brushing against the shell of Tally’s ear.

Tally turned again, her chest slamming into Sarah’s. Her hands found their way to Sarah’s shoulders, curling into the fabric of Sarah’s shirt as she ground her hips against her. The room around them blurred into nothing. Tally’s hands slid up Sarah’s arms, lingering around her muscles before her fingers grazed the bare skin and baby hairs on the nape of her neck, leaving a trail of heat behind. Sarah’s hands slipped lower, mapping the contours of her hips before resting on the curve of Tally’s ass. 

The air between them was charged, their breaths intertwined as Tally’s forehead rose to brace against Sarah’s. They swayed together, less intense now, the space between them nonexistent, bodies flushed like they were made to move this way, together and whole. 

Tally’s lips opened halfway, her breath warm against Sarah’s as she breathlessly whispered one word that vibrated through Sarah’s core. “Baby.”

Sarah’s hold on Tally tightened, her head dipping as her lips ghosted over Tally’s jawline, not quite a kiss but close enough to tease. Tally smiled against her cheek, her steps never faltering as she drew Sarah even closer, their bodies locked in perfect rhythm. Sarah glided her hands over the plane of her body, a mix of suppleness and firmness, curves and crooks, then cupped her face, thumbs stroking her dimples as she returned the smile. She knew she looked delighted but Goddess bless, her body was alight like a burning pyre, the fire consuming her being Tally Craven. 

The sight of her moving without restraint, skin flushed, sweat glistening, every motion in sync with Sarah’s—like Tally wasn’t just in her arms but under her skin, built into the very structure of her—sent something sharp and wanting through her. There was no denying as she took that one hopeless step.

Maybe it was the lust speaking, a decision in the passion but if there was one person that could bring Sarah to a point of vulnerability like this , in public no less, commanded her attention and filled her with overwhelming feelings of being alive , it would be Tally Craven. 

Thank you, sweet Goddess, for bringing this darling back to me.

It slipped out before she could catch it, her lips shaping the word like a secret. “Darling.”

A flicker of surprise graced Tally’s face, cheeks twitching like she was trying to stop the flood of warmth, lips closing and opening like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or sigh. Sarah took pity and brushed their noses together, giving Tally something else to get stimulated by.

The music pounded on, but for Sarah, the only sound that mattered was the hitch in Tally’s breathing, the only feeling that mattered was the press of Tally’s body against hers. Nothing else existed but the heat, the friction, and the unbearable closeness of the woman in her arms.

Sorry, Lyra, Sarah thought. 

You will have to up your metaphor game and tap dancing.

***

Sarah Alder did not frequent libraries. It wasn’t that she disliked them—she appreciated a well-kept archive as much as the next history-haunted immortal—but the quiet demanded a kind of stillness she wasn’t built for.

And yet, here she was, standing between philosophy and linguistics, pretending she had any business being there.

In her defense, she had a reason. A very specific, very metaphorical, very Latin and devoted reason.  

She wanted to catch Lyra in action. She deduced that, since the War College syllabi certainly were not teaching soldiers to recite Latin poetry in the face of upcoming enemies, Lyra must’ve taken some liberties to peruse the poetry books and Latin dictionaries available here to slip away her devotion to Sarah. 

So far, no one was pinging her Lyra alarm. A few cadets had been casting her wary glances, clearly thrown off by the sight of the General standing motionless between the shelves like some kind of ominous entity. One even had the audacity to stare, before realization dawned and they snapped to attention, nearly knocking over an entire row of books in their haste. Sarah sighed. Centuries of leadership, and this was still her effect.

She might’ve continued standing there, silently judging the state of modern literature, had another discovery not added itself to the ever-growing list of things she could not believe, a very darling, very red-haired discovery that came knocking on her shoulder.

“Sare—General? What brings you here?”

Sare . Why was everything with Tally Craven so simple?

Then she looked down at what books the woman had in her hands, and her eyes suspiciously narrowed.

On a Grey Thread

The Dream of a Common Language

And, of course.

Ecce Romani

Great. Was this why her Lyra wasn’t showing up? Her stuff were being stolen by Tally Craven. She supposed it was for the best. She did not feel up to a brawl between the two with her at the center of it all. 

“Very… womanly selection you have there.” 

Tally laughed softly, reaching for Sarah’s hand, the traitorous one that immediately linked their fingers together. The people around them were the only thing stopping Tally from breaking the decorum and kissing her hand chivalrously it seemed. 

“I seek only the best for my lady.”

Sarah stiffened, hand inadvertently tensing in Tally’s. The woman took notice of it right away, a furrow in her brows. Gently, she guided Sarah out of her hiding spot and soon found themselves at a much secluded corner with two huge bean bags.

“Y-your lady?” Goddess, Sarah all but shrieked as she took her seat, plopping down with all the grace of an eager seal. 

“Yes?” Tally peered down at her, head tilting, eyes sharp and far too knowing. “Do you… have a problem with that?” 

Sarah was reeling . Was she—was she —the other woman?

Yes! Sarah wanted to say but cleared her throat instead.“No I was… just surprised.” 

The memory of Tally pressed against her, moving together like a prayer and a promise, swam back into her mind. The devotion in her eyes, the way she had called her that . Sarah had felt it, breathed it in. But now? 

Now it seemed she had been standing at the altar of someone else’s goddess, an unknowing intruder in a temple already spoken for.

And hadn’t she too already been claimed? By ink-stained pages, faceless poetry slipped into her path, a secret devotion she had yet to unmask?

Sarah exhaled, pressing two fingers to her temple. Was she in a polycule of sorts? And don’t even think about it. She would not ask Anacostia. Would Lyra consent to this?

She had never been well-versed in friendships. Perhaps modern ones were as incomprehensible and absurd as modern literature. 

“Really, Sarah? After all of it?” Tally shook her head, exasperated but fond, before taking Sarah’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Well. At least she had the decency to conduct her infidelity in private. Well, some of it. The dance—

Sarah was still trying to figure out what the all of it was. Perhaps in her time away, some lucky ass lady fell for Tally, for which Sarah couldn’t fault them. She would fall on her ass for Tally too. 

“Anyway,” Tally continued, voice dipping into something terribly pleased, “welcome to my hideout. My deepest pleasure to have you here, finally.” 

Absolutely stupid hormones. Perhaps this was her teenage self clawing out of some long-forgotten grave, desperately making up for three centuries of repressed impulses. Because why, why , was she feeling giddy at the idea of being Tally Craven’s deepest pleasure?

To be had by her?

Disgraceful.

“I am pleased to have you as well,” Sarah managed, grinning despite herself. “Is this where you ran off to to skip your training?”

Tally gasped, scandalized, mouth opening in incredulity. “I never skipped training!”

“My sources say otherwise, Colonel.” 

Tally bit her lip. “Sources? Who? How’d they—”

Sarah couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, and another that followed as she caught the delighted look on Tally’s face. 

“I marched into that one, didn’t I?”

Sarah hummed amusedly. She loved flustering Tally—down, up, sideways, horizontally.

Not like that.

“So,” Sarah craned her head. “Why here?”

Tally smiled, shifting closer. “As much as you’d like me to admit to my delinquency , I really only snuck up here to learn Latin so… I could get better at Mothertongue? Grafton once mentioned that it is just like the dramatic version of Latin so I got intrigued.”

“And did you? Did you get better?” 

Tally smirked. “ Yéo. ”

“ Padèírkà jè. ” Sarah praised steadily, gripping her seat. Which was just a handful of foam.

“Oh?” Tally leaned towards her, their faces mere inches away, close enough Sarah could make out the outline of hers in those dilated brown eyes. “ Yelá ùmár , Sarah?” 

Oh, you are so very good, darling.

Sarah sucked in a breath. Those syllables should not sound so good rolling off Tally’s tongue like that, drop-kicking her right to the shin.

Tally, wearing a smug look like she knew what she was doing, tilted her head up and placed a kiss on Sarah’s forehead before retreating, still holding one of Sarah’s hands. 

“Why poetry?” Sarah asked once she found her voice and composure again. Her dignity.

“It offers some kind of… escapism for me? From the noise, the crowds, destruction and blood. “A pained look befell Tally’s face. “It quiets down,” she tapped her temple, “here.”

Sarah understood it all too well. There were nights when her reflection was just the ghost of a soldier caked in blood. When silence stretched too long, it wasn’t peace that filled it, but echoes of screams clawing their way back into her ears.

She stood, stepping into Tally’s space before she could think better of it. “Scoot.”

“Here? Sarah—”

“I don’t bite, Tally.” 

The smile blooming across Tally’s face at the use of her name unfurled like a stretch of constellations. 

The bean bag was laughably insufficient for two, which was how Tally ended up in Sarah’s lap (again), partially laying against her, head tucked under her chin. And Sarah, for all her practiced restraint, took shameless liberties. Her fingers disappeared into Tally’s hair, dragging nails against her scalp in slow motions that made Tally sigh into her neck. It was unfair, really, how easy it was to settle into this. How her arms—on their own accord, she swore—found their home around Tally’s waist, in this platonically intimate position, like her muscle memory knew something she didn’t. 

“I understand.” Sarah started after long moments of hoping her touches could offer Tally a bit of comfort. It certainly did for Sarah, to touch and be touched by Tally like this . 

“Hm?” 

“The noises… the screams. They do not stop even after the battlefield is far behind us. I… still see the dead,” her voice faltered slightly, far too noticeable to Tally. 

Tally shifted, drawing Sarah in until she was cradling Sarah’s head to her chest, right where Sarah could hear the thumping of her life, Tally’s life . Sarah was very close to admitting how she had been deadly afraid of Tally not returning, how selfish she had felt to just pull rank, intervene and have Tally stay here, stay with Sarah where she could see and feel her. 

She said none of it. 

“I know.” Tally said softly, resting her chin on Sarah’s head, one hand continuing to stroke her hair while the other cupped her face, caressing. 

“Fitting. I would be surprised if you don’t.” 

Tally laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her hairline

“But it’s over now, Sarah. The worst of it. We have a new purpose. We fought for peace, we must learn how to live in it,” Tally held Sarah’s gaze, continuing softly, “war marked us before, but we are not just its aftershocks. We are more—we are still becoming,” her thumb traced gentle circles against Sarah’s cheek, grounding. “You’re still here, Sarah. Living, not just grasping by the lines dictated at the hands of merciless men. And I will remind you as many times as it takes.”

Sarah blinked the sting away and pulled their foreheads together. Thank you , she chanted to the Goddess. “Thank you,” Sarah said aloud, for putting it in the most beautiful way ever, for staying alive, for choosing to do it all with me “thank you for coming back to me, Tally Craven.” 

Tally palmed her face, eyes intense, breath knocking against Sarah’s lips. “I’ll always come back to you, in one way or another. Like the tide to the shore,” a kiss to her forehead, “inevitable,” another kiss to her temple, “unrelenting.”

Oh. Oh . What was this feeling? Ember reignited after too long being in the cold. Home. Whole. Safe .  A pull, a shift, a quiet catastrophe in the making—something slipping into place where it had always belonged, even if she hadn’t known it was missing.

“One of the ways being annoyingly poetic and metaphorical, hm?” Sarah rubbed their noses together and Tally giggled, pure unrestrained delight lighting her up. It was bright and Sarah found no will in her to look away. She decided, here on out, resisting this woman was a lost cause.  

“Aren’t you here to consume some lesbian literature?” Sarah tucked a hair behind her ear. 

“Says who? Maybe I just wanna spend time with you,” Tally gave her a small wink, settling her head back on Sarah’s shoulder. Grabbing their hands together, she rested them on her chest. Just perfectly across her chest, not anywhere breast. 

Anywhere ELSE*

“And your lady—?” Sarah did not sound jealous, not at all.

“Just so happens to be here,” Tally breathed, gaze soft as she looked up at her. Sarah briefly thanked the trees that died for the invention of book shelves that were concealing them from view, otherwise the base would have exploded seeing her this puddley. “My priorities have changed.” 

Not much priority going into her lady, Sarah thought, considering just who was being held in her arms. 

That was mean, sorry. 

“I miss you,” Tally confessed softly, thumb tracing the lines on Sarah’s calloused hands. With a dimpled smile, she laid Sarah’s palm against her cheek, cushioning it and practically purring into it like it was the softest, plushiest thing. 

Sarah’s head was spinning. Literally. She spun around to see any lady about to hurl a knife at her upon finding her lover in this compromising position. There was none, certainly not that coward Lyra.

It was safe to say it then.

“I… miss you too.” Sarah said softly, burrowing her face in Tally’s hair. She was in a lavender haze. “Deeply so. Too much for my liking, as you know, I do not do feelings so it is rather a big deal.” 

“Knew it,” Tally smiled, dropping a kiss to her fingertips. “You’re just a sap underneath the muscles and collars and glares.”

Well, she was. From the island of Lesbos, if you get it. 

“Now, will you serenade me with some Latin lines?”

“Okay! Let us see, hmm, ” Tally tapped her chin in a thinking gesture. “ Vivamus mea lesbia, atque amemus vi .”

Sorry, Lyra. 

You will have to up your trauma bonding.

***

It started out as a little tingling on her back. Then it grew to be insistent, enough for her discomfort to show and alert the nearest officer. 

Which just so happened to be Petra Bellweather. 

They were on friendly terms now. But in the lightest sense of the word because that would be like having the bear that was previously trying to consume you engulf you in a hug.

Sarah was not the bear. 

“Are you doing fine, General?” Petra looked concerned and Sarah briefly wondered about this new evolution in the range of Bellweather emotions.

The words mostly registered on deaf ears as Sarah was too caught up in the tugging in her chest, the consistent knocking against the walls of her mind, the rush of something down her spine. 

The last time she had felt this was when Tally Craven had sacrificed her youth to be tethered to her, sharing her breath, her heartbeat, her past. When wounds Sarah bore became a whisper against Tally’s skin, and memories unspooled in her mind, a reel she had no choice but to watch. A connection so deep it had blurred the lines between them—where one ended and the other began.

Something must be happening to Tally. 

And they were somehow still connected if she could still feel her like this. 

“This meeting is adjourned,” Alder announced, rising to her feet with the kind of finality that left no room for debate. “We’ll reconvene at eighteen hundred.”

There was a brief moment where Petra looked ready to argue—because, of course, she did—but Sarah was already glancing toward Anacostia, whose silent nod was all the permission she needed to go figure out what the hell was happening.

She stepped out, moving with a rare absence of purpose, something in her pulling toward a gathering crowd. Her heart sank with more overlapping voices, murmurs of concern in urgent, hushed tones.

Sarah caught snippets of conversation as she pushed forward—

“She was right here—”

“Did anyone see where she went?”

“Goddess forbid, she wouldn’t just vanish—”

Her stomach backflipped at the possibility of Tally— then her eyes wandered to the far end of the field and caught some of the foster parents, wearing panicked looks and gesturing wildly to an officer. She made her way over, all eyes snapping to her.

“Report,” Alder commanded, eyes flicking between the officer and the increasingly distressed couple.

The officer stood to attention, though there was a slight hesitation before she spoke—perhaps from the sheer intensity of her presence, or perhaps because the foster parents were already halfway through a frantic explanation of their own.

“We received a complai—” the officer started, but she was immediately cut off.

“Our daughter is missing, General,” one of the parents interrupted, voice tight with worry. “She was right by our side, and then she wasn’t. We’ve looked everywhere. We reported it to Colonel Craven, and she’s already looking, but—”

“She wouldn’t have just run off,” another parent added, wringing their hands. “She’s never done anything like this before.”

Alder exhaled, the initial weight of Tally being in danger pressing against her chest easing slightly. She pushed down the relief as quickly as it came and straightened. “No child would have made it off-base without raising alarms,” she assured them kindly with a smile. “We’ll find her.”

The foster parents didn’t seem entirely convinced, but Alder was already shifting into action. She turned to the officer. “Double patrols at every exit. Have all personnel on duty keep their sightlines open, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Beneath all the commotion, beneath the sharp edges of alarm in the air, she could still feel that insistent pull. She might just have a lead.

***

As Sarah approached the greenhouse, she caught the unmistakable sounds of a standoff—Tally versus a very tiny, very determined opponent.

“I don wan!”

“Sweetheart, your mother—”

“She not my mom!”

A sharp little voice, defiance coating her words.

Sarah took that as her cue, clearing her throat just loud enough to announce her presence. The red-haired firecracker in front of Tally whipped around, her eyes going comically wide before she stomped over, planting both feet right on Sarah’s boots and gripping her legs with all the urgency of a high-stakes betrayal.

“Genewal Aldew!” She looked up at her as one would with a tree. Sarah melted only a little. “Colonew Cwaven is k’napping me!”

Sarah crouched down to meet her, arching an eyebrow at Tally, who stood there looking half-exasperated, half-defeated. “Is she now?”

The little girl nodded emphatically, her lower lip jutting out. “Uh-huh! She say I hafta go back but I don wan! I wan my da and ma!”

Sarah hummed, heart breaking as she took in the fierce little thing in front of her, all fire and sniffles. She glanced at Tally, who sighed, hands on her hips, looking thoroughly outmatched by a five-year-old.

“She wandered off just as I was visiting the fosterlings,” Tally explained, “and when I found her, she refused to go back. I tried to explain, but—”

“I don wan!” the girl repeated stubbornly, turning her face away from Tally with a dramatic little huff.

Sarah exhaled, shifting to sit more comfortably before gathering the girl into her arms. The child immediately latched onto her, tiny fingers clutching her collar like a lifeline.

And then came the crying.

Not just a sniffle. No, this was full-bodied, shuddering sobs, her small frame shaking against Sarah’s chest. Her little nose buried into Sarah’s neck, and, oh— oh , there was the snot. Warm and wet soaking right into her uniform.

Sarah closed her eyes briefly, accepting her fate.

Across from her, Tally winced sympathetically before pulling a napkin from her pocket. She stepped forward, dabbing gently at Sarah’s skin before running her fingers over her cheek in a silent, affectionate thanks.

Sarah barely had time to appreciate it before Tally turned to wipe the little girl’s face—only for the child to tilt her head away with another stubborn hmph!

Tally’s lips twitched. “Aren’t you grumpy?”

A muffled sniffle. “No, I’m Fwankie.”

Sarah let out a quiet breath, smoothing a hand over the girl’s back. “Well, Frankie,” she called softly, “I take it you’re having a really rough day?”

The child hiccupped against her neck, her tiny fingers twisting even tighter into Sarah’s collar. “Miss my ma,” she mumbled, barely audible through the sniffling. “My da.”

Something in Sarah’s chest gave a beat of acknowledgment, a dull, familiar pang of loss she hadn’t felt in a long time. She tightened her hold, rocking the girl ever so slightly, like it could keep the sorrow at bay. Tally offered an encouraging smile.

“I know, little one,” she murmured, continuing to rub soothing patterns on her back. “And I know they miss you too.”

The girl whimpered, her small body curling into Sarah’s as though trying to disappear entirely. “But they gone,” she whispered.

She had caused this, a little voice in the back of her mind reminded. But as soon as it came, the tugging returned and Tally was shooting her a look, akin to stop it , like she knew what was happening in her head. The voice went away and warmth seeped through. 

Sarah swallowed. “They are,” she admitted, because there was no sense in lying. “But do you know what happens when people love you?”

Frankie sniffled again but tilted her head, just a little. 

Sarah touched a gentle hand to her messy curls, easing them down. “They never really leave. Not all the way.”

Frankie was quiet, save for the occasional shaky breath. Sarah didn’t rush her, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. She simply held her until a small voice asked, “How you know?”

She simply gave a small smile. “Because my ma and da are gone, too.”

Frankie’s lips parted, as if only now realizing that grown-ups could lose things just like she had. Then tiny hands were on Sarah’s cheeks and Sarah pulled her in a little closer.

She wasn’t the only one.

The moment Sarah admitted it, Tally was there, sinking down beside her, a kiss to her temple and fingers grasping her forearm gently. Not pulling, not pressing—just there, solid, warm, a quiet tether. Sarah let herself lean into her, physically and something else. There was no stopping going down the slope. 

And don’t even think about making a going down on Tally joke with a child in the audience. 

“Do you miss dem?”

Sarah pressed her lips to the child’s hair. “I do. But,” she pressed her palm flat against the child’s chest, right over the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. “They are still here. They live in our heart, in all the love they gave us. That is never gone.”

Frankie’s tiny fingers moved to cover her own, her small brow furrowing as she looked down at their hands. Sarah gave the tiniest smile and squeezed gently.

“And also here,” she continued, tapping Frankie’s forehead next, just between her brows. “In your memories. Every time you think of them, every time you remember something they taught you, something they said, that is them still looking after you.”

Frankie’s breath hitched. “Weally?”

“Always,” Sarah promised. Then, a little softer, “And in other ways too. When you feel a warm breeze on your face,” she blew a little puff of air and the girl giggled, squeaking. 

“Genewal, silly!”

“Yes, she is.” Tally agreed with a smile, her head a much welcome weight on Sarah’s shoulder. 

Sarah released a little laugh of her own. “Or when you hear a song they used to sing, when something good happens and you want to tell them—they know, sweet one.”

Frankie blinked, eyes glassy but just a little steadier, a little less lost. Then, slowly, she curled her tiny fingers into the fabric of Sarah’s uniform again. She hiccupped one last time, grip finally loosening as the weight of exhaustion took over. Sarah let her head rest against her shoulder, humming something old and familiar under her breath. A song she hadn’t sung in a long, long time, not since a tiny Anacostia was having problems sleeping.

Tally watched with something tender in her gaze. She reached out again, brushing stray curls from Frankie’s damp cheeks. The girl didn’t pull away this time.

And in this small moment, something in Sarah was rather eager to get lost in fantasies of having two redheads anchored to her like this, both hers, an adult and a mini one, a magical creation with said adult, to come home to. 

They hadn’t even worn matching flannels and she had speedrun into thinking about knocking Tally up and what to wear on their child’s first day of school. Even U-Haul couldn’t be this fast, jesus. Goddess, she meant goddess. 

“See?” Sarah murmured, giving Frankie the smallest squeeze. “You are not alone.”

The girl sniffed and nodded.

“Good,” Sarah said, giving her another warm pat on the back. “Now, I think you have something to say to Colonel Craven, don’t you?”

And so, after a reluctant pause, Frankie peeked at Tally and grumbled, “I’m sowwy, Colonew Cwaven. Wil’ do it again.” Then, upon realizing what was just said, she gasped and slapped a wee hand over her mouth. “Wil’ not do! Twust!”

Sarah let out a soft laugh while Tally shook her head in fond amusement. “That’s the best I could get,” she pressed a gentle kiss to the little redhead’s crown before shifting to Sarah, her lips landing lightly on her forehead. “For your troubles, General.”

Sarah turned to regard her, but Tally hadn’t moved much from her original position, causing their noses to bump together in the small space. The events leading up to this raced back to her and Sarah just had to do it, if not to just reassure herself that Tally was safe and here, if not for how hopelessly desperate Sarah was to feel and touch Tally with every opportunity given.

In all of their physical interactions so far, Tally was always the one to initiate. Sarah took the risk this time, big girl and all. She planted a small kiss to her nose, watching it crinkle slightly. Then her favorite color to tint her favorite pair of cheeks surfaced and Sarah was powerless. 

“Frankie?”

“Yes, Genewal?”

“Can you close your eyes?”

“Otay.”

”Sarah what are you—” Tally paused, confused but a look of delight came immediately as Sarah cupped a hand over her cheek and gave a small peck there. Tally chewed on her lip, reaching for her face but Frankie suddenly jumping out of her arms broke them apart. 

“Colonew? Genewal?”

Tally’s voice was a bit shaky when she spoke. Sarah knew she looked smug. “You can call us Tally and Sarah, sweetheart.” 

“Otay. Tawwy and Sawah? Can we look at the twees?” Frankie gestured around the greenhouse. “Pwease?”

Great. Another pair of big brown eyes she would get in trouble for.

Sarah nodded to a still flushed Tally. “We can but you must hold our hands and no wandering. Understood?” 

“Yes, mam!” 

If it sounded a little like ‘mom’, well, whatever. She was a daddy, or whatever Devon had told her about the hordes of people crushing after her would call her. 

Tally pinched her side slightly. 

Sorry, Lyra.

You will have to up your daddy and mommy issues. 

***

Trust was a fragile thing.

Sarah had tried. Truly, she had.

But Frankie was an escape artist of the highest caliber, wriggling out of Tally’s grip with a delighted shriek before bolting toward the next point of interest. Every time she spotted something new, she would squeal—ear-piercing, unfiltered joy that echoed through the greenhouse.

After the third escape attempt (and the second time nearly flattening an unfortunate flower), Sarah sighed, scooped her up, and hoisted her into her arms. Tally stayed rooted beside them, watching the display with every hint of amusement. 

Frankie, thrilled by this development, giggled and clapped her hands. 

“Yeah, yeah. I only train for this particular moment,” Sarah replied dryly, adjusting her hold as the girl kicked her feet in excitement. 

Tally wiggled an eyebrow, muttering oh yeah? Yeah, of course. What else would she train for? To balance Tally on her back? Front? What?

If you thought they looked like a little family enjoying a peaceful stroll through their charming garden, you’d be dead wrong. There was nothing wholesome about this place—not when half the plants could kill you and the other half were actively considering it. The insectivorous ones? Downright sinister. Or lovely, if you asked Izadora. 

With Frankie secured, Sarah resigned herself to being a personal tour guide. The girl had an endless well of curiosity, pointing wildly at every new plant they passed.

“That is witch’s ladder,” Sarah explained as Frankie stretched a tiny hand toward a tangle of deep green, rope-like vines. “It twists like that to hold intention—used for protection.”

Frankie gasped like she had just been let in on the world’s best-kept secret. “It twaps magic?”

“In a way.”

Frankie considered this, then nodded sagely, as if she already knew it in her soul. “Ma said some pwants eat bugs. She had one. Call it Mista Chomps.”

A delighted chuckle left Tally, pulling one out of Sarah too. Traitor mouth. “Mister Chomps?”

Frankie nodded enthusiastically. “He chewed lots! He had teef and evewything!”

A necro, then. Sarah tucked the information away, shifting Frankie slightly. “Your ma knew her plants.”

Frankie all but glowed at the praise, feet kicking in the air. “She did! She know evewything ‘bout dirt and bones and growin’ stuff!”

Tally’s expression softened, something quiet settling in her gaze.

Sarah booped Frankie’s nose. “You remember what she taught you. Good girl.”

Sarah swore she felt something of a ripple go through Tally beside her. She glanced over to find the younger woman staring at her, gaze torn somewhere between fondness and something else.

She wasn’t sure whether to address what else was. 

Frankie, blissfully unaware, pointed again. “Sawah, wat is det?”

Sarah followed her finger, spotting a cluster of pale, glowing mushrooms tucked beneath the shade. “Ghost cap,” she supplied. “It feeds off decay, returns nutrients to the soil.”

Frankie scrunched her nose. “So it eat dead stuff?”

Sarah could feel Tally practically vibrating beside her, waiting for how she’d explain this one.

“Yes. But it also helps new things grow.”

Frankie narrowed her eyes at the mushrooms like they had personally offended her. After a long moment of deep contemplation, she nodded once. “Otay. Das eww stuff.”

Sarah chuckled, shifting Frankie higher. “Life is messy like that.”

Frankie hummed, nestling her head against Sarah’s shoulder. “You know so much.”

Yes, she supposed. Except when it came to a Colonel Lyra. That one she did not know. 

Also, what was it with redheads and her shoulder?

“She has ages of experience, you see,” Tally said casually, though the corner of her lip twitched. 

Sarah eyed her in disbelief. “My, aren’t you bold?” She reached out to pinch Tally’s cheek but the woman just caught her fingers between her lips, nipping at them lightly, a playful glint in her eyes. Sarah didn’t feel any charge, only a bloom of affection, especially with Frankie belly-laughing at the display.

Sarah engaged the girl with a small piggy ride. Tally had had to hold Frankie upright, much like restraining an excitable koala who clung to Sarah’s shoulders and used her hair as a control joystick to guide her directions. 

Sarah was sure her neck would be detached by the end of it. 

Then, she hummed a Seed, holding Frankie horizontally in a plane-like position and making her float. They woke the beasts of the underbelly with every Frankie’s shrieking of I’M FWWWWYYINGGG . 

But it was all worth it, playing jungle gym for a pint-sized tornado and a dimpled sun, if it meant laughter and joy spilling out as if the sky just cracked open, if it meant tiny fingers gripping her sleeve, wild giggles ringing in her ears, and Tally looking at her like she’d just stitched the whole damn world back together.

Frankie was then introduced to the birds (besides the parakeets.) The girl took it as a courtesy to introduce herself back. 

“Heyyo! My name is Fwankie and this is my Sawah and my Tawwy. I like cocome…”

Sarah watched the interactions with fondness she could only describe as pure. 

Movement came up behind her, a brush of lips then a chin on her shoulder. Arms entwined across her middle, Sarah inclined into the touch. 

“This has been eventful.” 

Sarah hummed in agreement. 

“Very much so for your back,” Tally was speaking close to her ear that she practically breathed into it. 

Hands started to knead, pressing into her lower back, thumbs digging in with just the right amount of pressure, working slow circles that sent warmth unraveling down Sarah’s spine even through her uniform.

“If you’re trying to have me fall asleep here and now, it is working.” Sarah muttered, eyes slipping half-closed despite herself.

“I doubt that. Someone is already ahead of you.” 

Both of them turned, gaze landing on Frankie, now tucked into herself amidst a cluster of leaves, her tiny form cushioned by broad, gently curling fronds. Sarah was instantly alarmed and made to move.

“They’re not hurting her,” Tally reassured, smoothing the hairs behind Sarah’s neck with her nose. “Those are lemon balm and chamomile. Good for nerves in herbal tea, especially yours,” she pressed on a tight knot and Sarah almost moaned. “And the valerian is probably what made her knock out so fast. That exotic one’s good for sleep. The fronds are just responding to body heat—they’ll open back up soon.”

Sarah didn’t look particularly convinced. She still had half a mind to pull the child out of their leafy embrace, but then Frankie let out the tiniest sigh, nuzzling into the greenery. 

“Deployment includes lessons on plants and massage therapy now, Colonel?” 

Tally laughed softly. “Please. This is hardly a massage. If you would be amenable, I could come later tonight to give you a real one.” 

Her skin was already tingling in anticipation. Someone should not look this alluring offering to remedy your muscle knots. Sarah craned her neck, stretching it a little more than necessary for strain so she could have a valid reason to say yes, for Tally to come. 

Like the verb , not the coitus nature, you freak. 

“Who am I to deny your requests, Miss Craven?” Sarah aimed for casual, humor but her words unintentionally implied the history between them and Tally tensed a little bit. Stupid traitor mouth. She turned and pulled the woman into her arms, murmuring, “I don’t mean it that way, Tally,” she tilted her chin up, locking their gazes, “past is past, darling.” 

“Okay, thank you for saying that,” Tally smiled, pretending to play with a loose thread on Sarah’s sleeves. Sarah knew the redhead wasn’t fully reassured. 

“Plus, I can recall us already balancing the weight .”

Success. Tally chuckled softly, looking into her eyes. “You remember that?”

Sarah ran a finger along her cheek, smiling. “Of course, for how absurd it is.”

A cheeky smile formed on Tally’s face. “Maybe I just like my cheeks pinched by you.” 

SOS. She meant the facial ones.

Then without warning, Tally grabbed Sarah’s cheeks and squeezed. The sheer audacity of it forced a noise out of Sarah—something caught between a startled hiccup and the betrayed honk of an indignant goose.

A pathetic ass and Alder-disapproved squeak. 

“Do you seek pleasure in wreaking havoc on my self-composure?” Sarah croaked. 

Tally beamed. “Nope, just in you.”

“Tally,” Sarah deadpanned.

“Fineee… Saarahh ?”

“What now?” Sarah sighed but it was underlied with amusement, especially with the mischief in Tally’s eyes. 

Tally adjusted their positions, her back to Sarah’s front. Then she pulled both Sarah’s arms to wrap securely around her chest area, her own coming to rest on them. Leaning back more snugly, mouth parallel to Sarah’s jaw, she said in a mock serious tone, “You make me feel like a leaf,” a little shaky now, biting back a laugh. “‘Cause you blow me away.”

The gobsmacked chortle bubbling up Sarah’s throat left before she even caught on it, intensifying as it mixed with Tally’s. Sarah looked to the sky and thanked the Goddess once again for this blessing of a witch in between peals of laughter. 

Yeah, yeah. Go ahead with the blowing Tally joke. 

With a devilish grin, she began peppering open-mouthed kisses along the column of Tally’s neck, husking “ you insufferable darling,” nuzzling and sucking in for ticklish effect until the woman was a breathless bundle of laughter in her arms. 

She could not recall ever being this affectionate with anyone. No history books would include tactile and soft in their descriptions of what she was like. Ana could probably count on one hand the amount of hugs Sarah initiated (maybe more if it was vice versa, don’t let the woman fool you, Ana was a hugger through and through.)

But Tally Craven could argue otherwise. Sarah felt close to no reservations in freely offering the woman her touches. It could also be that no one bothered long enough to appreciate her touches the way Tally did (well, she had another one but they couldn't even bother showing their face so her point stood.)

Or just appreciate her. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll stop, baby! I’m sorry!” Tally was still giggling delightedly as she pressed a kiss to Sarah’s chin.

Baby. How could one word lit a fire of devotion in her like this? Incomparable to anonymous prose and florid gifts?

“Goddess forgive me,” Sarah took a deep breath, inhaling Tally. “But I am in disbeleaf , Colonel.” 

Tally sucked in her cheeks and with one shared look, laughter burst between them once more. The bittersweet reminder that this moment would pass began weighing in Sarah’s chest but she shook it away with a smile. It happened, she lived through it and she could always come back to it. 

A light snoring interrupted their very friendly moment. 

Sarah cradled Frankie in her arms as they walked through the corridors, each step solemn than the last, Tally walking close enough that their arms brushed consistently. 

By the time they reached the foster parents, Sarah was almost overwhelmed with selfishness to keep the kid to herself and Tally. But duty called, and so did exhausted caretakers. Just as she was about to pass Frankie over, the girl stirred, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows before sleepy eyes barely cracked open.

One small hand found Sarah’s face, fingers pressing to her cheek as if confirming she was real. Then another hand flailed blindly, no real aim to it, just a vague invitation. Tally stepped closer anyway, drawn in as naturally as breathing.

“Tanks you,” Frankie murmured, her words laced with sleep, clumsy but sincere.

Sarah pressed a kiss to the top of her curls, inhaling the lingering scent of crushed mint leaves from their earlier adventure. Tally ran a gentle hand over the girl’s back, lulling her deeper into slumber. Frankie squirmed only once before melting back into Sarah’s hold, mumbling my Sawah, my Tawwy .

Sarah blinked. The words lodged somewhere deeper than they should. Across from her, Tally’s eyes held a sheen of affection. 

With great reluctance, Sarah finally handed Frankie over. She watched the little bundle disappear into waiting arms, her own feeling strangely… empty.

“I can have someone look into her speech difficulties,” she said, filling the quiet.

The foster parent smiled, rocking Frankie gently. “I don’t believe that would be necessary, General. It’s a part of her charm.”

Alder gave a small smile. “Indeed.”

She dismissed them politely, watching as they walked away, but it wasn’t long before another hand found hers. They began walking together, with no destination in mind. 

Tally tugged on her gently. “I forgot to ask you.”

“Hm?”

“How did you find me—us, there?”

“I felt you,” Sarah tried for a plain voice. “The warding too, I mean. But mostly you, honestly. The warding only notified me as to where you would be and I could feel some distress through our connection which I believed was fully severed until today and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Tally chuckled softly as she stopped in their tracks, her free hand touching Sarah’s cheek, ceasing Sarah’s rambling. “You ramble now. It’s adorable,” her thumb moved to rest on Sarah’s lips, shushing the protest. “I didn’t say I minded. I thank the Goddess that you came just as I was about to give it all up.”

“Oh?” It was impossible for Sarah to speak and not kiss the pad of the thumb. 

“Yup. I picked her up, she went boneless. I put her down, she ran. I caught her, she bit me. When that didn’t work, she grabbed onto a vine and swung away like some kind of feral little gremlin. Took me ten minutes to get her down.”

Sarah shook her head fondly, already missing that cranky little redhead. “Relentless and stubborn,” she let her arms fall to Tally’s waist, not before dropping a small kiss to the red mark forming on Tally’s inner wrist, military decorum be disparaged. “Just like someone I know.”

Tally mimicked her position, caressing her sides. “Yet, you fancy me anyway.”

“I suppose,” Sarah said airily. “A little.” 

Tally tsked. “Ah, well then. I must level up my charm. Words only go so far, after all.” Her fingers slipped beneath the stiff fabric of Sarah’s collar, adjusting it. She smoothed it down, then gave a playful tug, knuckles skimming the warm skin at Sarah’s throat. Sarah clenched her teeth, the lined muscles on her neck flexing concurrently, luring Tally’s darkened eyes in no time.

Tally’s throat bobbled, a little smirk taking shape. “I like you like this but…” she inched their faces closer, “see you out of this uniform soon, hot stuff .”

Sarah had no words for Lyra.