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For all her Grimm-slaying prowess, Winter spent a frustrating amount of time handling administrative matters, even when the General wasn't away in Vale for the Vytal Festival. He trusted her to keep things to his exacting standards in his absence and maintain organizational efficiency, but the dossier in her hands stopped her cold.
Pressing matters of national security were banished by a name in a routine report- information on a team of independent Huntresses among the monthly mission files. The first name, the unit's leader, she recognized from previous reports- Robyn Hill. Two personally familiar names followed- Joanna Greenleaf, Fiona Thyme. Last was a name she'd never seen before, a name that should have been unfamiliar, a name she knew immediately-
May Marigold.
She only knew one Marigold remotely qualified for this kind of work, and certainly only knew one who had turned down a prestigious military position and gotten disowned to join up with Hill's team down in Mantle. His name wasn't 'May'.
But there she was, staring back from Winter's terminal screen where she'd searched the licensure database for the name. Her face was softer, her eyes bright and alert, but Winter easily recognized her old partner's new face. The name and photo had been changed, but the license number banished any doubt.
Winter floated through the last hours of her duty shift in a haze, mechanically signing forms, calculating requisitions, issuing boilerplate mission assignments.
Marigold was a woman. Her Marigold. The awkward, temperamental boy she'd grown up with, who had fled their shared gilded cage together, who had kept running all the way to Mantle without her. The only man she'd ever loved... was a woman. May .
Muscle memory carried Winter through a long, silent elevator ride and down a few briskly-trod corridors before the beep of her apartment door unlocking snapped her attention back to her immediate surroundings. The constant echoing bustle of the military's well-oiled human machinery and stark utility of every room and corridor, normally a small comfort, were distant and cold.
Winter stepped inside before that thought could further take hold.
She slipped off her boots and mechanically unbuckled Erfrierung, hanging the saber on the rack by the door. A shape caught her eye as she made to hang her jacket- a sword hilt, tucked into the back corner of the closet behind a bucket of cleaning supplies. Matilda , May had called her- and always insisted the convertible bastard sword-crossbow was a 'she'. She had remained there, undisturbed and largely forgotten since Winter had first moved in after graduation. Since May had left them both for a new life in Mantle.
Dammit .
She finished hanging her jacket, then crouched to retrieve the compacted weapon. At the press of a button Matilda unfolded from herself into the full length of her sword form, the extending blued steel scraping against itself from years of quiet neglect.
Winter winced in disappointment and guilt.
Just something else I failed to pay attention to.
Rising, she moved to the sofa and placed Matilda gingerly atop the bland, functional coffee table at her knees. A long moment passed in silence, her hands clasped tight in her lap, eyes locked firmly on the sword in front of her.
"What am I doing..." Winter murmured, the wordless roiling of her insides finally bubbling over and given voice, "This shouldn't matter, I shouldn't be so... stuck on this. It's been almost two years, that part of our lives is over. I shouldn't care that you're a woman..." She sighed and bowed her head, her clenched hands meeting her halfway. "And yet here I am, reminiscing over a keepsake, talking to a sword as if you were here."
A few slow, steady breaths followed. If she was already making a fool of herself, better to get it out of her system and be done with it. She sat straight and returned her attention to Matilda; there was a conversation to be had with May that would never happen, better to feel momentarily ridiculous than have it continue to distract her and impede her work.
"Congratulations,” she began, formal as she could for the circumstances, but sincere nonetheless, “You were always defying what you were expected to be.” A small smile creased her mouth. “You must be so much happier now, I'm glad."
Winter's smile quickly faded as realization and anxiety set in and composure washed away. Avoiding her old name, her breakdown at the Vytal dance, what she'd said when she ended their relationship- when did May....
"Did you already know? When we were together?" The words slipped out. Winter's gaze darted to the safety of her knees, too ashamed to look at even a silent reminder the woman the question was aimed at. "Was this why we separated?"
She sat wordlessly, unmoving in the soft evening glow filtering through the blinds.
"No," Winter answered herself at last. The why of their end had always been clear; they'd chosen their separate paths and- even if May's realization of herself had hastened the inevitable- had already doomed their relationship in doing so.
Hugging her elbows, she looked back up to Matilda. Another why still hung in the room, unasked, unanswered.
Why am I doing this?
The answer weighed heavy and nameless on her heart, in plain view but unacknowledged. An old feeling, realized too late, now grown back in frightening clarity.
"I... tried to move on,” Winter nearly pleaded. “I told myself I had moved on, that those feelings didn't matter anymore. But now...." she hesitated. Fearless in the face of the most horrifying Grimm Solitas had to offer, and she hesitated to say it aloud to a lifeless stand-in in an empty room.
"Now, I..." Audience or no, saying it made it real, let it out into the world. Words released couldn't be stuffed back into the dark corner where she'd hidden them away, forgotten like Matilda.
Matilda, gleaming silent and still in blue and gold in front of her, no longer ignored.
Winter buried her face in her hands and loosed a sigh thick with the exhaustion of pretending.
"I miss you, May."