Chapter Eighty-One – Cleopatra Cortez – Winter's Grasp – Part One

Jimmy, if you're going to go out of your way to confess your feelings to a woman, don't say you think you're in love with her.

- UWO Specialist Cortez -

The first flakes of winter fall softly on the expansive reach of the withered fields. It's hard to not think about the what ifs. Hard not to think about the last things that he said to me… things I wish I would have said to him. It feels like winter's grasp has taken root in more than just the fields, even my heart is growing colder each day without him to warm it, to stoke the fire that he started, the one that can only ever burn for him.

"Cleopatra, you'll get a cold if you stay out here without a jacket," a woman I know well says to me. She throws a jacket at me as she rolls her wheelchair onto the porch beside me.

"Andrea, I've told you to call me Cleo more than a hundred times," I say, turning to give her an eyebrow raise.

She sighs, looking over her shoulder back into the house, "I told you not to say my first name when that… weirdo is around. It's Fisban or ma'am, unless we're a hundred miles out of earshot from him."

"Tran's not a…" I weigh the words before shrugging, "Fair enough, so long as you call me Cleo, or even Cortez."

She sighs, sipping a cup of hot cocoa that has too many marshmallows for someone who takes themselves as seriously as she does. She adjusts the blanket over her legs, staring at them for a moment with a disgruntled tongue in cheek look. She still hasn't been able to walk since they returned from that quest. My mother only agreed to let her stay on duty because they go back many years.

"Jericho is late with his recon report again," she grumbles.

"Lots to report around here," I jest, looking out at pine trees that tightly wrap the mountainside.

"Why are we here again?"

"Fresh air," I say with a half smile, she knows why we're here. She's been trying to nudge me to leave for weeks now. Delicately most of the time. Though in truth, part of me thinks she likes it here too.

A set of footsteps and the creaking of an old screen door draw my attention. An older man, one I've grown to know better since Jimmy went missing.

"Greymore," Fisban says with a nod, sipping on her cocoa.

"Fisban," he says, taking a drink of coffee that smells faintly like he put some liquor in it.

Over a month ago, Greymore and all the others that went with Jimmy into that damned gate came back. Butt ass naked in a wheat field south of Paris. My eyes peer down at the falling flakes, bundling my jacket closer. He didn't come back though, most think he won't. Those that were absorbed by his Witherbrand skill, they said they got to see first hand what happened. They weren't supposed to say what happened, but Fisban convinced my mom to fill me and the others in. Said that no one would believe it anyways.

They told us they watched him kill a god. Then suddenly they were naked in a field in the middle of nowhere. With a single message from the Big Purple system.

[ Attention Hunter: You have died and been returned due to compensation from a proceeding involving… Redacted. The solar system you were previously in is no longer there, thus you have been returned to your home world. Any levels acquired during the incident which resulted in your death have been removed. Goodbye. ]

That was after they'd been gone for months, no word, no notice just gone. Memories of the gate play on my mind. One second we were all doomed, the next the gate just spit us out back on Earth like nothing happened. That… woman, Mira Stormborn, she only answered a few questions before she gave them the silent treatment.

She said we must have been sent back because… because, my eyebrow twitches, because her alleged darling must have either convinced the quest giver to abandon it, or slew them. That was apparently the only way she knew how to stop a quest. Which means that she doesn't know much about Abyss. Which means she couldn't have gotten that close to Jimmy. I remember the way she said it in the interrogation room recording… darling. Such a…

"Your eyebrow is twitching again, Cleo," Fisban says between slurps.

"Just thinking about someone."

"Given the intensity, I'd guess your mother or Ms. Stormborn."

I nod reluctantly.

Greymore gives one of those fake coughs as he squints out across the field, taking a sip, "Intel says she still isn't speaking."

A shuffled pair of feet move quickly to open the door, "Did someone mention Mira?"

"For fuck's sake," Fisban breathes under her breath.

"No, Tran, no one mentioned your new obsession."

"Wow, obsession is a harsh word. It's more of an admiration."

Barlow's heavy bootsteps rattle the floorboards of the old porch, "It's more than admiration. You literally have a drawing of her on your wall bro."

Greymore gives an eyebrow raise, "Pictures of her are classified young man."

"I uh…" Tran shoots Barlow a look, "Dick."

The conversation becomes muffled as I push the jacket tighter, wishing he was here. He'd love it, having everyone here. None of us planned it really, except Fisban and Greymore. The rest of us just wanted to be here, in case he… My eyes lower again. I feel Fisban's hand grasp mine in support. Can't be crying, I'm too old for that. Besides, he's coming back. I can feel it in my bones.

"Where'd Mwangi go?" Barlow asks, looking around, "He was supposed to help me chop wood."

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"They went into town for supplies," Greymore says, pulling a small bottle of whiskey from his jacket and adding it to his coffee.

"You gonna share old man?" Tran asks, crossing his arms.

Greymore growls.

"I could use a shot," I breathe.

Tran gives me a look, "Yo, not cool. Jimmy would not approve."

Everyone goes silent as I tilt my head and give him a glare, "Why not?"

Tran looks at everyone's expressions, swallowing hard, "I uh, because the baby."

I blink at him, "What baby?"

Fisban nearly chokes on her cocoa, giving Tran a look.

"What baby?" I demand again.

"Well, Fisban told Jimmy that you were pregnant."

My glare travels from Tran to her. It's her turn to swallow hard.

"I um, yeah, he just seemed like he needed something…"

"Something?" I ask, eyebrow twitching up a storm.

"Something to mature him, motivate him, you know?"

"And you thought lying about me being pregnant was a good idea?"

She blinks three times before taking another sip.

"He didn't believe her, for the record," Barlow says, rubbing his hands on his arms, probably needs a jacket.

"See, no harm, no foul," Fisban takes another coy sip.

A tinge of sadness washes over me as I clutch my jacket, "When you told him, how did he react?"

Fisban squints in the distance, her lips pursing.

"Let's uh, let's go get that wood chopped boys," Greymore grunts, motioning for them to leave, he pauses before he enters the door, putting the small whiskey bottle in front of me on the porch railing. He nods, awkwardly then departs, cussing in a hushed tone at Tran as he shuffles them out the back door toward the wood shed.

"You gonna share?" she asks, eyeing the half empty bottle.

"Me?" I raise an eyebrow, "You didn't answer my question."

She sighs, holding out her cup without looking at me. I roll my eyes and pour a bit. She shakes it, tsking like a homeless person asking for money and not food. Pouring a little more, she brightens with a smile.

"He took it well, really well."

I can never tell if she's lying.

"He did?"

She takes a few strong gulps, "Yep. Seemed excited."

I squint at her. She raises a hand over her brow, looking out across the field.

"Looks like they're back, and they brought company."

An all black government issued SUV pulls down the long drive behind Mwangi's truck.

"Great," I breathe, taking a generous swig from the bottle. If I had to guess, my mom's in that SUV. Probably here to tell me again to come stay with her for the holidays. I'm right where I want to be though. It's why we're all here. The Novak family property. I hand the bottle to Fisban who shakes her head, trying to straighten herself in the wheelchair. Tying her hair up tightly.

Sighing, I open the door and head inside, past the smoldering fireplace and the mounted horns that line the ceiling. Horns that Jimmy and his dad hunted together. Making my way out back, I almost trip over the fraying rug. Steadying myself, I look for Greymore to give him the whiskey back. I don't need my mom thinking I've become an alcoholic too. She's already bitchy enough as it is.

"Here," I toss it to him as he leans against an old willow tree, the branches twist and turn.

"So, why can't we just chop this up and use it?" Tran asks.

"Dude, it's the willow tree. The one that Jimmy's dad planted with his mom when they first got together. That would be like spitting on their grave."

"Okay, but like, it's so close to the house, and we wouldn't have to carry it far."

Barlow gives him a look shaking his head.

"Alright, my bad. I won't touch it."

"Better not," Barlow warns.

The back porch door creaks open, I turn and see Dorliac.

"Amber," I nod.

"Sorry, she ambushed us in town, she's worried about you."

"Not your fault, she knows the address either way."

"You doing okay?" she asks, putting a delicate hand on my shoulder.

"Just another Thursday," I smile back weakly.

We've grown pretty close since everything happened. She even got her own boyfriend. A Sergeant she met during the gate quest, some guy named Brussels. Dorliac nods, wrapping me in a warm hug before moving into the house. My mom shuffles by her, walking out slowly, sizing me up and down.

"Cleopatra," she says, opening her mouth like she's going to say something, but doesn't.

"Mother."

"That's an ugly tree," she says, eyeing it.

"You would say that."

She gives a puzzled glance before shaking her head, "Ten years of this constant attitude against me, ten years we barely talk since your father…"

"Since you ordered him to his death…"

She winces. Eyes falling low, her composure returns after a few moments.

"Let's not rehash the past."

"Fine by me, mother."

She pretends not to be upset at the cold moniker of mother. I haven't called her mom since that day.

"I want you to come to the estate for the holidays," she looks out at the others with a calculated look, "You can invite some of them to come if you wish."

"Some?"

She tilts her head at Tran, "Some."

Fisban's mission briefing essentially labeled Tran as the most expendable and highest risk to operational secrets being leaked. Ever since then, any time she sees him, my mother has looked at him like a weed that needs to be pulled. If she wasn't worried about upsetting me, I think he would have already disappeared, for a 'training exercise' in the Antarctic.

"Have you at least reconsidered my offer?"

"Your offer to become a career politician and sell my soul to the highest bidder?"

She looks at me, more a glare if anything.

"Pass."

"So you're content being a grunt."

"I'm content following in my father's footsteps," I give her a mean glare back, "And more than content not taking handouts from you, Senator Veronica Alvaria."

She cringes at the way I said it. Her posture straightens, as she examines the gnarled willow tree with more distain.

"He's dead you know," she breathes, her tone sharp, "Wallowing like a little girl won't change that."

Bitch.

My teeth clench, not from the cold, but because I'm afraid of what I'll say, afraid that she'll see she got under my skin… see that I'm doubting he's… my eyes fall for a few moments, I muster the strength to smile at her.

"He's not dead."

She scoffs, rubbing her leather gloves together for a moment in the cold, pulling her red winter suit jacket tighter.

"A week of denial is understandable, months and it becomes pathetic," she turns to look at me sharply, "Are you pathetic Cleopatra?"

"If I was, it's because I learned it from you, not my father."

With that I brush past her, moving inside, giving a nod to her poor security guards.

"Good to see you," they say, giving me a polite nod back. I don't envy having to guard such a fucking monster.

When I get into the kitchen, Dorliac and Mwangi are making dinner with Gilroy's help, if you can call it that. He looks about as deep into the bottle as Greymore. Mwangi said he'd straighten him out after the holidays, but leave him be for now. He's taken Jimmy's disappearance hard.

Fisban's trying to wheel herself toward my mother, cursing at all the fur rugs that slide across the floor as her wheels bunch them up. She won't let us push her. Didn't even let us carry her up the porch when we first came here. It doesn't have handicap access. Nor does the trail from the parking lot down the way. She crawled by herself. Hands bleeding. At least she let Dorliac heal that after some grumbling from all of us.

She's a proud woman. This can't be easy for her. My eyes trace over to Greymore whose stumbling toward my mother, trying to chew gum to hide the smell of liquor on his breath. He hasn't been the same since he came back, and my mother is growing impatient with it. I can hear her giving him a proper dress down.

Mwangi said it's probably survivors guilt. Gilroy and Greymore have both been different since Jimmy… keep it in. Not while she's here.

My hand shakes, tears want to fall, but I pull them back long enough to walk upstairs and close Jimmy's old bedroom door behind me, sliding down it slowly. I hear a small whine from across the room, it's little Niva. She moves from under the bed, blinking at me slowly as tears roll down my face. She turns and scurries under the bed for a few moments, coming back out with one of Jimmy's old winter scarves delicately in her mouth. She approaches slowly and nuzzles it into my hands.

The tears stream faster and she crawls into my lap with it. I hold it up, breathing deep, it still smells like him. Fuck I miss him. I pull Niva tightly into my chest, she's so warm. I can tell she misses him too. She doesn't sleep unless she can wrap up in something that he wore. My eyes trace over to my interface, pulling it up. I pull up the messages with Jimmy. They're the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes. The only thing that reminds me he cares about me, that he was real, that we were real. I push it away after reading a few of our old messages together. Standing, I move to take Niva downstairs with me, after I wipe my eyes, when I get a system ping.

That bitch really sent me a message instead of coming up here? She never changes. I pull up the interface, ready to curse my mother out… but my eyes widen instead… my heart daring to beat for the first time in months.

[ SPC Novak: I'm back. ]

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