Chapter Text
The sun is shining over Fort Salem, casting its warm rays over the witches that train and reside there. After the capture and imprisonment of Nicte Batan, swiftly followed by a harrowing victory over the Camarilla, it felt as though the dark clouds were being lifted from their lives. The scattered Spree cells and remaining Camarilla would need to be dealt with; but as General Alder led them to triumph over their old and new enemies, so too did they trust her to lead them through this.
As it was the weekend and there were no classes, many were out and about enjoying the temperate weather. One such witch was a newly promoted Lieutenant Anacostia Quartermaine.
Under normal circumstances, Anacostia would be joining her fellow soldiers in their R&R. But these were not normal circumstances; not for a while now.
Leaning against a tree while trying to appear as though she’s taking in the view, Anacostia aimed for an air of nonchalance. In reality, she was using the reflection on her Aviators to view what was going on behind her.
‘They’re at it again, ' Anacostia thinks, watching Sarah and Craven talk. To the average passerby, nothing odd is going on here. But Anacostia knows her foster mother. The way her body is subtly angled toward Craven, hands clasped behind her in an ‘at ease’ position with her chin tilted downward altogether presented a posture of practically slouching for Sarah Alder.
Craven for her part wasn’t exactly being a modicum of military propriety either. Then again, this was Tally Craven she’s talking about. Anyone who knew the cadet wouldn’t bat an eye at the way she smiled widely while gesticulating wildly with her hands and shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if her energy just couldn’t be contained. It was who she was directing those doe-eyed gazes at that bothered her.
Well, not bothered per say. More--gives her a weird feeling ’cause if it were anyone else she’d assume...things about them.
Anacostia and Sarah’s relationship, despite the fairly recent strain it’d been put under, was better than it had been since before she graduated from war college. It was like all the dredged up secrets and hurt had scabbed over and healed, giving them both a chance to start anew.
The two now had lunch together every other week and sometimes she would stay in Sarah’s office after giving reports, talking about how her life is going or what her plans were that weekend. And, in a surprising but not unwelcome turnaround from their dynamic pre-Ramshorn, Sarah shared some details about her own life.
Anacostia’s personal talks with the General were always something to be treasured; what with how sparing the older woman was in sharing her scarce free-time with another. Sarah Alder had a way about her that made you feel as though you were truly being listened to, which encouraged a younger Anacostia to freely share her thoughts and opinions on matters. The older she got, the more her foster mother made guiding statements and encouraged Anacostia to look at things with a deeper lens. It was a lesson Anacostia took to heart, perhaps more so than the General wanted at times. But as angry and frustrated as she might get, Sarah Alder could never truly despise someone for seeking the truth, especially when she had personally encouraged them to. Even when it led them against her.
Yes, Sarah had always welcomed personal conversation with her foster daughter. It was personal matters regarding her own life that she could be stingy with. Sometimes Anacostia felt like she should have DDS after name because it felt like pulling teeth trying to have a balanced conversation.
On an intellectual level Anacostia understood why Sarah would be as reserved as she is. Felt privileged even, that The General Sarah Alder would let down a little of her guard when they spoke. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a bit put out when Sarah would deflect personal queries with the ease of a woman who’s emotional walls rivaled those of Troy.
Little things she’d tell; favorite color (green), least favorite terrain (sandy desert), that her hair was actually quite curly (it was just easier on the day-to-day to brush it out and tie it back).
All these reasons were why her jaw nearly fell to the floor when, during a discussion on some of the new toys the fosterlings had gotten, Sarah had casually interjected, “It’s amazing how much detail is put into children’s toys these days, my sister once made me a straw horse and I thought it was the best gift I’d ever received.”
Both to cover up her shock and remove the melancholy that had entered her foster mother’s eyes, Anacosita responded with, “I get what you mean, I held on to that doll you gave me for my eighth birthday until it fell apart.”
Eyes warming at the memory, Sarah began a conversation leading down memory lane. Enjoying the banter Anacostia nonetheless couldn’t forget how Sarah never mentioned her sister unprompted, much less so casually.
As a fresh faced fosterling, Anacostia would occasionally ask the kind General for stories of what games she used to play when she was her age. The General would usually demure and distract her with a new song or game. But there were moments when the General would soften and tell the young Quartermaine of a game called Blind Man’s Chase, and how she never quite managed to beat her sister at it.
As she grew, Anacostia understood more why it could hurt to talk about someone you loved, even if from so long ago. ‘So where did this newfound openness come from?’ she had wondered.
Her answer came unexpectedly one night a few months ago. She was just coming back from breaking up an alcohol induced sing-off in one of the war college dorms when she heard a peal of familiar laughter. Rolling her eyes and wondering how the hell the Bellweather unit found the energy to stay up partying so late with all the shit they get up to, she headed off to reprimand her (not that she’d admit it) favorite unit.
Rounding the corner, she spotted Craven laughing with-- was that a Biddy?!
It was, in fact, a smiling Biddy--no Biddies , there were a few of them. Two were grinning like they themselves were just barely holding back from laughter, one was actually giggling(??) slightly with a hand on Craven’s shoulder. Two more were a bit behind them in various states of amusement.
‘Hold on’ Anacostia paused, ‘If the Biddies are here then where is--there!’ Standing between two also smiling Biddies, was General Sarah Alder.
Now, this situation in and of itself, while not something she’d ever imagined walking past, wasn’t that noteworthy. Tally Craven had been a Biddy, even if it lasted less than a week. Anacostia imagines that sort of connection doesn’t just fade overnight. Plus, Craven was a known bleeding heart, so of course she’d form a tight enough bond in so short a time for her former sisters-in-arms to miss her as well.
As for the General herself, well, Anacostia had seen first hand how personable--how close she could be with her Biddies. If there was any pain or stress caused by the separation that could be eased by allowing a little meetup with Craven now and again then it wouldn’t be outside the realm of propriety or possibility for the General to allow it.
What Anacostia couldn’t logic away was the look on her foster mother’s face. Sarah Alder had a myriad of expressions; neutral when walking the grounds, pleasant and calming when speaking with the fosterlings, stony when negotiating with certain members of government, relaxed and gentle when she and Anacostia got into one of their deeper talks, and many more. Anacostia thought she had seen at least some version of all of them. But this? If Anacostia didn’t know any better, she’d say a Spree imposter had taken over the General’s face.
But Anacostia did know better, and no Spree impersonator would ever choose such a gentle look for Sarah Alder. Face and body relaxed, softening the usually proud set of her shoulders, Anacostia could see from her angle the hands the General had clasped behind her seemed restless with one thumb idly rubbing against the other. She had the smallest of smiles that twitched at the corners, as though trying to keep from curling into a full on grin. Brow slightly raised in ( amusement? disbelief ? Anacostia wasn’t sure), her blue eyes softened as she heaved-- ’a sigh?! Since when does the great General Alder sigh at her Biddies like some sort of--
‘It’s not the Biddies’ Anacostia realized as her eyes darted back to Craven, who was now looking at her foster mother with a soft look of her own.
Suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something, Anacostia quietly stepped away. Walking back to her quarters and replaying what she just witnessed, Anacostia couldn’t get one persistent thought out of her mind: If it were literally anyone else, she would know exactly what to call the look on her foster mother’s face.
It was one of wonder.
With daylight the next day came new questions, namely; ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Questions still unanswered’ Anacostia thought as she watched that same smile grace Sarah’s face in the reflection of her Aviators.
She still can’t say (or admit to) with 100% certainty what, if anything, was going on with Sarah and Craven. Maybe she’s just making mountains out of molehills. Just because she’d never personally seen Sarah display any sort of affection to anyone not a fosterling or a Biddy doesn’t mean it's never happened, or that it was anything to make a big deal out of.
‘Or maybe,’ Anacostia thinks as she watches the two part, with Sarah subtly bringing her right hand forward to just barely brush against Craven’s in goodbye, the redhead lightly flushing in response before quickly hurrying away with a little grin on her face, ‘maybe I could test my theory. Just once, so I can put it out of my mind.’
‘Yes,’ Anacostia affirms, tilting her sunglasses slightly so as not to miss the way her foster mother flexes the offending hand before clenching it tightly and placing it behind her back, the picture of military perfection once more as she walks off with her Biddies. ‘a small one, for consistency's sake.’