Chapter Text
“I’d like to leave in the next ten minutes.”
Lyra looks up from her datapad with furrowed brows, her eyes finding the clock first. This is far earlier than they usually leave, though it is near the end of expected working hours. Still, it’s abnormal, and today, abnormal is suspicious. She looks across the desk at Dedra, narrowing her eyes.
“Why?”
Dedra answers quickly, “Partagaz asked me to meet with him tomorrow before we typically come in, so I’d like to be in bed earlier than usual.”
This only deepens Lyra’s confusion, “What time is the meeting?”
“You’re not expected to be there.”
“It’s no problem-”
“Partagaz explicitly requested that you not join us,” Dedra says, sighing when Lyra flinches, “I asked.”
“Is it…about me?”
“No. I asked that too,” she admits, “I won’t have any more information for you until tomorrow. He was being very cryptic.”
“Alright,” Lyra says dubiously. She doesn’t like being left out of meetings, but she trusts Dedra to tell her everything afterwards, “Do you still want me to come over tonight then?”
“Yes,” Dedra says, “But I’ll need you to go home earlier.”
Lyra nods, “Yes, ma’am.”
It’s been months since Ferrix. Slowly, the nightmares began to fade. In time, the auditory hallucinations and intrusive flashes of memory did too. They aren’t gone, but they occur a lot less frequently. Despite that, the routine of going to Dedra’s condo for a glass of wine or a cup of tea after work has continued, nearly every night. It’s become assumed, unless one of them says otherwise, and that’s only happened a handful of times, when Lyra was too exhausted from her additional trainings or they left work so late that it wouldn’t have made sense.
When Dedra decides she’s ready to leave, she stands and begins packing her briefcase. Wordlessly, Lyra follows suit. Now that it’s summer and the weather has been programmed accordingly, their coats haven’t been needed for the past couple months, but Lyra is more pleased that she hasn’t needed to wear her stupid ISB hat either. As they walk across the terrace from the headquarters to the transport deck, a warm breeze caresses Lyra’s skin, carrying an underlying hint of petrichor. Summer storms are her favorite weather - though she enjoys thunder and lightning throughout the year - and she hopes for one tonight, like a gift from the planet itself.
The transport is fuller than usual since they’re leaving at the same time as everyone else. They don’t always - or even often - have working sessions that stretch hours into the evening, but even just thirty minutes after time finds most of their colleagues long gone. No one really talks to each other, so it’s similarly quiet, but there’s still something unpleasant about the presence of so many additional people. And when Dedra stands to disembark at her stop, Lyra feels more self-conscious about following.
Of course, there’s nothing in the ISB Code of Conduct against spending time with colleagues outside of work, even if they’re your Supervisor - Lyra’s checked. In fact, she’s pretty sure it’s encouraged, as it promotes healthy working relationships and office morale. But her thoughts are frequently colored by her attraction to her boss, which has only strengthened in the months since Ferrix. While there’s nothing inappropriate about their evening hangouts, Lyra has often fantasized about that changing, and Dedra, who has been fully aware of Lyra’s attraction since their first visit to Ferrix, has done nothing to discourage her. Instead, she has only continued to take advantage of every opportunity to toy with her.
The halls and elevator of Dedra’s building are also busier, and Lyra notices more than one sideways glance in their direction. Lyra doesn’t see many of her own neighbors when she goes home. It’s partially because of the hours she works now, but even when she worked under Blevin, she didn’t often run into many people. She wonders how many know that she’s ISB. Would they be wary of her if they did? Would they respect or despise her for it? Alessio would hate her if he knew what she was doing now, and she’s well aware that he’s not the only one. But she knows the numbers from Ferrix; she knows the death toll of innocent civilians that would have gone home safe from the funeral had the rebels not turned it into a riot. They might be hated, but they weren’t the ones who threw a bomb blindly into a crowd.
When they enter Dedra’s condo, everything is bathed in golden light from the sun that’s just begun to dip a little lower in the sky. In the summer, it will be light for the next few hours, and with the longer days, Lyra has gotten to see the sunset nearly every night. Back in the spring, the first time they got here in time to catch it, Lyra was speechless. Her own window faces east, so she frequently gets to see the sunrise, but the vibrant reds and pinks of the sunset have been a treat too. It’s not quite sunset yet, and tonight, there are also large clouds to the north and a hazy sheet below them that suggests rain.
Still looking out at the sun and the clouds, Lyra unclasps her collar and goes to the table. Moments after sitting, a small cake lands on the table in front of her. No, not just a cake, she realizes as she eyes it. This chocolate and fruity confection is by far her favorite sweet on the planet. Slowly, she looks up at Dedra, and for someone who isn’t even smiling, she certainly looks very pleased with herself.
“How?” Lyra asks, fighting back a smile of her own, “No one at work knows.”
“No one at work has compiled an exhaustive dossier on you,” she answers, going to the counter by the window and returning with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and two spoons, “Did you think your birthday hadn’t come up in my research?”
“I forgot you did that,” Lyra scoffs, even as she eagerly accepts the spoon, immediately using it to dig into the cake, “I didn’t realize my favorite dessert was available in the public domain though.”
The first bite is always the best, the rich darkness of the chocolate cut by the tartness of the fruit. This one tastes different than the ones she’s gotten at the store. It’s better by far - the cake spongier, the frosting creamier, the fruit fresher. This must have come from an actual bakery.
“Oh, Lyra. I have more than just open source information on you. But as for your favorite desserts, that’s something you told me directly. On Ferrix.”
Lyra had forgotten about that too, in the wake of everything that followed.
“You were listening?”
Dedra is in the middle of pouring two glasses of wine, but at the question, she pauses and looks up, her brow creased in offense. She doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“When is your birthday?” Lyra asks before taking another bite.
The corner of Dedra’s lips twitches, “No.”
She finishes pouring the wine and slides a glass across the table to Lyra before sitting down.
“Is this why you wanted to leave early?”
Dedra picks up her own spoon and slides it down the edge of the dessert, collecting a sliver of cake and frosting while careful not to disturb the toppings, “Everything I told you is true, but it did give me an excuse to make sure you were still coming over without asking directly.”
“Of course I was still coming over,” Lyra hates the melancholy she hears seep into her laugh, “I might not want everyone to know, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to spend my birthday by myself. I’m just at the age where I don’t like making a big deal out of it.”
“I didn’t know if you had other plans. With other people.”
Dedra’s eye contact is unwavering. In the past, Lyra has had friends and partners that have said similar out of insecurity, looking to be told that Lyra wouldn’t have wanted to spend time with anyone but them. When she was much younger, she’s sure she did the same. But that’s not what this is. This is clearly an invitation to share more of her personal life than she has before. If she chooses to ignore it, she knows Dedra won’t press, but despite all the information she supposedly has on her already, Lyra finds she wants to give her more.
“No,” she says, taking a sip of wine. It’s a dark but sweet red that compliments the cake, “My friends have fallen away over the years, for one reason or another. I had a bunch that were actually Alessio’s that I haven’t spoken to since the break-up, and then some just got busy with work or relationships or children, though I guess I’ve also gotten busy with work.”
Dedra nods, taking another sliver of cake, “What about your family?”
Lyra shrugs, “I got a message from my dad this morning, but he lives so far away that I don’t see him very often. Once or twice a year, if I can manage it. My mother…”
She trails off. Before they went to Ferrix for Maarva Andor’s funeral, she remembers talking about their own mothers’ hypothetical funerals. Neither of them - nor Heert - had indicated any desire to attend. No one had pried, but she’s sure they all wondered. She certainly did.
“I’ve had some issues with my mother,” she finishes, taking another bite of cake.
Dedra still doesn’t ask directly, but as she lifts her wine to her lips, she raises an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I don’t really want to subject you to my childhood trauma,” Lyra says.
“It’s your birthday. You can subject me to whatever you like.”
Lyra feels heat rush to her face, and the harder she tries to hold back her blush, the hotter she seems to get. She busies herself with scooping another bite of cake onto her spoon, this time fishing for one of the berries and a piece of the wafer topping. When she dares look back up at Dedra, the other woman still has her glass raised to her lips, but dark amusement gleams in her eyes.
“Well, my mother remarried quickly after leaving my father, when I was four or so,” Lyra answers, if only to distract herself, “And my stepfather didn’t treat me very well, so I cut ties with him in my early twenties. My relationship with my mother became pretty strained after that. It’s harder for her to find time to see me when I visit home, and she doesn’t call anymore because she doesn’t want him to hear her talking to me. Most of the time, I don’t really care, but...I didn’t get a birthday message from her today, and that never feels great,” Lyra shakes her head, and before she lifts her spoon to her mouth, she mutters, “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Lyra nods, but before there are any follow-up questions, she asks, “What about your family? Where are they?”
“In a prison somewhere.”
Lyra nearly chokes on the frosting, “What?”
“Or I suppose they could be dead by now,” she muses, lifting another small bite of cake to her mouth, “They’d be in their sixties or seventies, and on average, life expectancy shortens by two years for each year spent in prison.”
“It was a life sentence? What did they do?”
“I don’t know. I was young when they were arrested.”
“You’ve never looked into it? I’m sure there’s a file on them in the ISB’s database.”
“This happened before the Empire was formed.”
“Oh, that’s right!” she says. Sometimes she forgets that it hasn’t always been like this. She must have been thirteen then, and at that age, it was all just political background noise. “Have you ever thought about looking into where they are?”
“No. Even if they weren’t criminals, they’re strangers. There’s no point to tracking them down.”
“Do you remember anything about them?”
Dedra glances up from the cake. Her expression is dark and guarded until she meets Lyra’s eyes, and whatever she sees in them - perhaps genuine curiosity over sympathy, or perhaps the same lack of regret over being estranged from her parents - softens her gaze. She returns her attention to collecting her next bite.
“Images, almost certainly inaccurate and more about the places than the people. I can picture the sitting room. My bedroom. I think there might have been a park nearby.”
“Where did you go after they were arrested?”
“I was raised by the state.”
“The Republic, you mean?”
This time, Dedra’s expression stays darkened as she looks up at Lyra, “How did this conversation become about me?”
Lyra smiles, “You said I could subject you to whatever I wanted. I decided on an interrogation.”
Her returning grin is short and tight, “I trust I’ve satisfied your curiosity for now then.”
Lyra doesn’t bother trying to wipe her amusement from her face, but she doesn’t press for anymore answers as she takes another bite of what remains of the cake, which isn’t much. Dedra takes another small bite, and Lyra suspects that she’s intentionally leaving most of it for her.
“I really appreciate the cake, by the way,” Lyra says, “It’s delicious.”
“Thank you.”
Lyra pauses, her wine glass half-lifted to her mouth, “Wait, did you make it?”
“I did.”
Lyra glances down at the plate of smeared chocolate, berry juice, and scattered crumbs of cake. She has no idea when Dedra would have found the time to make it, though it could have only been last night after she left. It’s easily the best version she’s ever had of her favorite dessert, and after not celebrating her last two birthdays in any capacity, she’s not prepared for how touched she is. It was enough to think Dedra had gone out of her way to purchase a cake for her, but knowing she made it…
“Now, I really need to figure out when your birthday is.”