Ripley: Tactical Retreat

After the temple burned to the ground, Joanne al Ghali walked into the desert to die. Then, at nightfall, she collapsed into the shadow of a dune.

At midnight, when it was cool, she woke again. Her skin was blistered, and salt and grit stung her eyes.

*Get up,* said a voice in the back of her head. *Walk while it’s still cool.*

 “Fuck off,” Joanne muttered.

*Get up,* the voice said again. Then something dragged her up. Joan staggered to her feet. She whipped around, looking around wildly for what had grabbed her, but there was nothing. She backed away, feeling all the color drain from her face.

“Oh my god,” she said. Then caught herself. “Oh. My god! Iomedae? No fucking way.” More looking around. Nothing. Maybe a spellcaster was playing a trick on her.

The wind stirred her clothes, pushing her a direction.

The voice said: *Walk. There is an oasis.*

 The voice was unnatural, like the sound of steel ringing against steel. It filled her with a sense of absolute calm and unshakable confidence. Joanne let out a shaky breath. Maybe her brain was cooking from the heat. She grabbed her sword from the ground, strapped it to her hip, and started walking.

#

*Run*, said the voice in her head when the paladins of Bane came for her. *Across the sea. Build me a temple there.*

 She told the ship captain at the docks her name was Joan. No last name. 'Joanne' had never suited her.

#

She didn’t have a team, for a long time. It was just her.

Then she built one.

#

She explained to Hansel what had happened that night. The reason she’d told him, flatly, that she wouldn’t hand over the blueprints to help save Jonn. It didn’t help.

The conversation was fucking stuck in her head. She must’ve explained it wrong. Apologized wrong. Amari would’ve done better.

*Look. I wouldn't have let your kid die, it's just Mishka is dangerous and there's no way we could hand him a priceless artifact not knowing what he was fuckin’ gonna do with it. It had nothing to do with me getting a damn airship—*

*An airship is a weapon of war. Those blueprints could’ve let Calimport conquer Skyport. Mikhail Haeth is fucking dangerous. I like him, but I mean that objectively: he's fucking dangerous. And hey, I still have no clue what he's doing, because you're literally the only person I thought to ask and you're not fucking giving me anything.*

*People would have died.*

*If there was no other option, we could've gone and knocked on Mishka's door to stick a knife in him, but I guarantee you he would've expected that and we all would've died. I would've done it-- I would've thrown down-- but we would've died.*

And he’d shrugged and said, *You’re right. Doesn’t make things better.*

*Pity you didn’t say it when it mattered*, he’d said.

Fine. If course it didn’t, and of course she hadn’t. Nothing she’d said had ever fucking made anything better, just worse. She ought to just shut up.

She stuck it in a hole and buried it. Fucking over and done with. Other shit to do.

#

She was on edge the entire journey to the Sanctuary.

Amari belonged in this place, she thought as she stepped off the boat. Joan didn't.

Instead of talking to Amari, Joan left and prayed at the shrine, a small, out-of-the-way place. Each small nook and cranny had a small statue for various gods, some with coins in their offering dishes. There was no statue for Iomedae, but Ripley folded her legs, sat in the shrine, and prayed.

In the morning, she went to Amari’s room. Once Goro was gone.

 (*“You're gonna apologize, right? Admit you were wrong?”* Goro had said, unreadable as always.)

"I'm sorry," Ripley said to Amari.

(*“I am, in fact, going to grovel and explain ten million ways I was wrong,”* Joan had said. *“I’d quit now if that’s what she wants, but…*”)

“I can’t quit,” Joan said.

Amari's voice was low. "It's one thing for Goro--"

"I know."

"I need you to be on my side. I can't do this if you won't listen to me."

“I know. I’m sorry.” Goro was Amari’s kid, not Amari's partner. Ripley looked away, hand clenched tight. Amari deserved a partner who fucking worshiped her.

Joan didn’t deserve this.

Amari was right, and had been right the whole time. Of course this was dangerous. "Listen... Amari..." Her voice hurt. "The whole fuckin' thing about-- about, uh, where I kept saying this wasn't dangerous and it was fine and you were worrying about nothing. I was wrong. I was wrong, okay? You were absolutely right to worry. Y'know, I've had assassins come to my office. Honestly I'm amazed at the sheer number of people who want to kill me. I don't even know these folks, most of 'em. I just didn't--"

She just hadn't wanted to worry Amari. She'd wanted to keep Amari, and keep this. And she'd known she wasn't going to stop.

She was never going to stop.

"I didn't tell you because I'd figured you'd be upset," Joan said in a low voice. "I lied about it because it was… fuckin’ convenient for me, brushing aside your… little worries, and shit.”

Amari's hands bunched in her dress, and she didn't look up.

"I'm sorry," Joan said. "I'm not going to quit. You don’t fucking get it, Amari. You—” No. That was angry, and not what she wanted. She closed her eyes and composed herself. “Look. If a monster comes to murder everybody in Skyport, that doesn’t get fixed unless somebody fixes it. And I’m the fixer, Amari. It’s me. There are bad fucking people out there, and you can’t just talk them into being good or backing down. Sometimes violence is the answer. I mean, I know your… talking and shit… worked on Goro, but—”

Amari’s face darkened with anger. “How dare you say I don’t get it—”

“You don’t get it,” Joan said. “I love you, and you’re wonderful, but Frederick, the person that murdered my entire fucking temple, is not going to back down and play nice with me, ever, Amari, and I’m not going to fucking keep my head down and run just because it’s convenient for you—”

“—convenient for me? When has anything about this relationship been convenient for me? You—”

“No,” Joan said, flatly, harshly.

Amari shut up, and for a second, they just looked at each other. Amari’s mouth was tight and thin, and she folded her arms and sat on the bed.

Joan lowered her voice. “I fucking love you, and I am not going to stand here and have this fucking argument with you and—and upset you. Amari, you make me so happy. You're beautiful, and kind, and-- I can't figure how a person like you even exists, and I am so... lucky you ever even looked at me, much less reached out your hand to me, and I will love you until the day I die. And I’m a bad fucking partner for you.”

This wasn't about being happy. Joan lost all right to be happy a long time ago.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said. “Stay here. Be a cleric of Eldath. Honestly, I feel like you were already. The people here need and I—” *I need you.* “I don’t.” Other people needed Amari more.

Amari started to say something.

Joan went for the door. Firmly. Because the—the fucking second Amari said anything, Joan was just going to break, and then she’d lose the willpower to leave, and they’d just end up doing this again later, fucking worse next time, and she’d wreck it all and hurt Amari the same way she did everyone else—

Amari caught her, and Joan stopped. “Why don’t you need me?” Amari said. Her voice was strangled.

Joan broke. She gave in, and she wrapped her arms around Amari, and she closed her eyes. And for a moment, she just breathed, feeling Amari’s small, soft body.

The world was quiet.

*I need you so fucking much it kills me.* “Look,” Joan said, throat tight. “I’ll be—I’ll be fucking done one day, okay? With Fred. Maybe a year or two. I’ll be… back then. Will you just—”

God, this was so fucking selfish of her.

She pressed her face against Amari’s neck, felt her heart beating. “Will you just… wait. For me.”

Amari let out a shaky breath. Joan’s heart sank deep into her gut, like a lead weight.

“I’ll wait,” Amari said thickly. “No one else.”

Nine hells. Joan loved her.

Joan remembered the day she met her. Three orcish bandits had attacked Amari on the road. They’d brutalized her, beaten her, tied her hands, and were dragged her off.

Joan came across them by accident. She’d been hunting a cockatrice in the wilds and come across the orc camp. She’d cut them down. She’d cut Amari free, then guided her back to the road and helped her back to Skyport.

Amari spent the entire time scolding her for killing the orcs.

God, Amari. Covered in bruises and cuts. Robbed. And still defending the monsters who’d hurt her. Joan had been wounded in the fight, taken an axe to her shoulder. Amari had insisted on healing her before tending to herself. Amari had been fucking half-dead. Amari always looked after other people before herself.

Joan’s throat closed up.

“You need to stay here and stay safe,” Joan said, pushing the hair out of Amari’s eyes. “Heal people and shit. Right? Nice and peaceful, no violence. Just how you like.”

They clung to each other for a long, long time.

“You don’t… have to actually leave until Goro comes back,” Amari said hoarsely. “We have a few hours, maybe.”

Joan wondered what Goro was out doing, but didn’t ask. “Yeah. True. Okay.”

“Do you… want to…” Her face was red. She pulled Joan towards the bed. “I miss you,” she whispered.

“I miss you, too,” Joan said. And she shut the blind overs the window and pulled Amari to bed.