50: The Last Goodbye

A/N: Hi everyone. I'm really sorry it's been so long since I updated. I had every intention of working on this story last weekend, and I got my COVID booster shot and it knocked me down, and then a beloved coworker of mine was killed in a car accident. I needed to take some time to take care of myself, and I'm sorry that meant putting this on hold. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

SASHA POV

Five minutes until midnight.

Five minutes until Tempest and Ariadne come to spirit my team and me away from Samson’s Underground.

Everything is packed. Everything is ready. In the next room, a secret one whose entrance is hidden behind a large painting in Samson’s office, Zoe and Rika are waiting for my fae assistants to arrive.

I’m so glad they’re coming with me. Anselm dealt me a lot of shit cards, but I have him to thank for giving me the best teammates and friends anyone could ask for.

I don’t deserve them. They’re in danger because of me. If this plan fails….

Well, if this plan fails, none of us will live to tell the tale. And there’s no use thinking about that now. We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat.

All that remains to handle, in these last five minutes, is the last goodbye.

As if on cue, Drake comes into Samson’s office—the Commander is letting me use his space tonight, for maximum security—without so much as a knock.

I like him. I hate him. I wish I’d never met him.

“You were just going to leave, without saying goodbye?” he accuses.

Check your emotions at the door.

“No. But I wasn’t going to give you enough time to try to talk me out of doing what needs to be done,” I answer. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible since that meeting in this room, a few days ago. Rika told me I’m overreacting, that Drake’s actually been quite helpful in putting this plan together. I believe her, and I’m grateful, but nothing she’s said has made the idea of seeing him again any easier.

“I wasn’t….” Heavy sigh. “I know that ship has sailed. And I don’t love this plan, but…I can’t think of anything better. I just wish someone had.”

“Samson’s very confident in the plan. And I’ve heard you’ve done a lot to make it the best it can be. So thank you.”

“I’ve wanted to see WASP overthrown or reformed for ages. Given the opportunity to help, to be a part of the revolution…. Thank you, for giving me the chance.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me. Samson’s the reason we have this plan.”

Four minutes.

He looks like he wants to argue with me, then thinks the better of it. Uncomfortable silence. I don’t know how to be around him, and he doesn’t look any more at ease.

“My parents…knew your father,” he offers eventually.

Excuse me what?!

“He would’ve been one of the leaders in this revolution, with Samson and my dad,” he continues, “if Anselm hadn’t….”

“If Anselm hadn’t killed him, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I wouldn’t be here,” I point out. I don’t know what to think. Emotions I’ve been successful in keeping at bay are threatening to interfere, to overpower me.

“Right, I know, I just…wanted to tell you. My parents, and Samson, think he’d be proud of you.”

I never should have agreed to see him.

“Thanks.” If I say more, a tear might escape, and then I might as well off myself now and spare everyone the trouble of a mission doomed for failure because I’m too weak to handle it and too much depends on me.

Three minutes.

“That, um…. That video message you recorded. It’s…really powerful,” he tells me once it’s clear that I’m not continuing the conversation.

“You think it’ll work?” I blurt out, before I can stop myself. Fucking dammit.

“Anyone with a heart or a sense of justice will be more inclined to side with us than with the establishment, once they see it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The plan kind of depends on it.

“We’ve done a couple tests with it, on…people not inclined to like you, because of your reputation.” He’s hiding something from me, about which people. “And it changed their minds.”

“Why wasn’t I involved in—”

“Samson doesn’t want you to know everything, because you’re….”

“Going in to meet with the brass?”

“Yeah, that. He doesn’t think you’d tell them anything, even if you knew it all, but—”

“Better safe than sorry. I know how this works.”

I should have expected as much, honestly. Never put all of your eggs in one basket, especially when you’re plotting high treason.

“I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“It’s fine. Samson’s a good leader. It’s the right call.”

“No, I mean…. I wish we could have met…differently. Under different circumstances. Without all this chaos and pressure and—”

“Without WASP being a factor. Without me being what I am.”

“No, that’s not…”

Two minutes.

Drake huffs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair, casting about for the right words.

“I won’t be offended to hear you say you wish Fate hadn’t set you up with a feline assassin,” I tell him. “Or that you wish I’d reacted differently, when—”

“Don’t. Now isn’t the time for—”

“Like it or not, this could be the last time we see each other alive. Now is exactly the time to be honest with each other.”

If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have to go ahead with this mission.

“You’re not going to die in there,” he declares. The expression on his face is too intense to bother arguing with. It would accomplish nothing, and he doesn’t know what I’m up against the way I do.

“Whatever does happen in there, nothing will ever be the same.” Keep it together, Sasha. “It’s not too late to reject me, you know. Spare yourself the pain that might—”

“I wish people would stop suggesting that.”

Other people have? The idea is novel, to say the least. Either he genuinely likes me, for some unfathomable reason, or he’s an incorrigible imbecile.

“If you’re so intent that we shouldn’t be mates, why haven’t you rejected me yourself?” he grumbles.

“I can’t, not formally, not the way lycans do.” I’m surprised he didn’t already know that. “Because it’s different, for my—”

“Yeah, I remember. Cats don’t mate for life.”

“Right. So the bond doesn’t exist for me the way it does for you.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this frustrated.

One minute.

“There’s not enough time, not nearly enough time, to sort everything out now,” he mutters. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“So that I could focus on doing what needs to be done.”

“Figuring things out between us wasn’t on your list of what needs to be done?”

“I told you before, I’ve never wanted a relationship. I was training to be an assassin before I was old enough to consider…romantic love. This line of work doesn’t lend itself to making meaningful connections with others. Even bonding with my team was risky.” Pause, shaky breath. Apparently this needs to be done. Again. “I know what it’s like to lose everyone I care about at once. I don’t want to inflict that on anyone when my time inevitably comes.”

“Sasha….”

“Those who live by the sword, die by it. I’ve killed too many to expect that I will be allowed to go peacefully, in nature’s time.”

“Maybe, if you weren’t willing to make amends. But your role in the revolution, in reforming WASP, will surely convince everyone—”

“I suppose time will tell. But we’re out of time. I have to go.”

I can hear the opening of a fae portal in the next room, and I know he hears it, too.

“If you die and the revolution fails, justice will not be served,” he warns. “Live.”

In the next instant, he’s closed the distance between us. His lips meet mine, gentle and sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have held myself so aloof—

But there’s no time for that, and what’s done is done.

“For the good of all,” I say numbly as he pulls away. It’s the only thing that seems halfway fitting. I’m an idiot. I don’t even know if he knows the saying.

“That all may survive,” he replies, eyes boring into mine, and then he’s gone.

Fuck.

The sound of the portal forming dissipates. I’m out of time.

With a deep breath, I open the painting-door.

“There you are. You look good,” Ariadne greets me. Tempest hovers beside her, irritation incarnate. Their swirling, glowing portal beckons between them and my teammates, whose concerned eyes unsettle me more than the presence of the fae.

“Proof that miracles exist,” Tempest mutters.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting. This isn’t a mission to undertake at less than a hundred percent,” I answer, cool as ice. “Let’s go clean up my mess.”