Chapter Text
Nadine had expected to feel something a bit more momentous upon abandoning her family’s legacy— sorrow, or grief. Joy, even. But when she makes her decision (out loud to Chloe, before she can overthink it, really), all that moves through her body is a quiet relief, the unburdening of a weight that was already dragging on the ground.
After celebratory pizza and blissfully adequate hot showers, Chloe and Nadine lay side by side in a stiff, but cozy bed, staring at the ceiling as Sam snores loudly on the couch.
“You’re sure? About giving up Shoreline for good?”
“Positive. If we’re being honest.. I’ve wanted to be out for a while.”
Chloe smiles, gentle and easy, and Nadine reminds herself to breathe, tells her heart to stay in her chest and out of her throat, reassures herself that this decision would have been the right one even if she were leaving mercenary work to spend the rest of her life folding shirts in retail.
“Well, if you want a change of scenery, you should come see me in London. I’ll get you in with the artful dodger antiquity thief crowd, eh?”
“You mean that? Really?”
(Maybe it’s needy, to confirm like this, but Nadine knows people often make offers they don’t expect to be taken. She’s never been the kind to, but then again, her upbringing didn’t focus on the finer details of polite interaction. She wonders, sometimes, if she’d still prefer directness if she’d had any choice in the matter. Who she would’ve been without the weight of her father’s expectations. )
Chloe laughs, mock-offended.
“I thought we’d moved past you calling me a liar at every opportunity, China.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose— I have enough saved to get my own place for a while pretty much anywhere—”
“Well, at least crash with me and look at flats in-person, then. Whenever you’re ready. If we’re working as a team might as well have a common home base, yeah?”
“It’s an efficient choice, although maybe not the best for op-sec… although I would be okay to hunt for treasure without all the guns and goons against us, for a change.”
Chloe yawns and turns on her side, the heat from her body radiating, warming Nadine’s skin.
“You got it, babe.”
Before Nadine can joke back, or reject the pet name, Chloe is asleep. Nadine counts her breaths, slow and steady, letting her own fatigue overtake her.
_
Chloe insists on taking the tusk to the Ministry of Culture herself, and since Nadine knows she’s good for it, she doesn’t object, choosing instead to devote her energy to intimidating Sam out of pleading one last time so sell to a private buyer.
The journey back to Cape Town is long and arduous, but a sense of purpose keeps Nadine from feeling too cross. She’s always enjoyed leaving home more than returning, but knowing this stop is temporary helps.
She turns her phone off of airplane mode and sees a message from Chloe. It’s a selfie of her shaking hands with the culture minister (who looks less than thrilled to be photographed, but likely as charmed by Chloe as everyone else with a heartbeat), with the caption “ mission accomplished! Lmk when u make it back home x”
Nadine replies simply: “ Just landed. A 45 minute taxi ride home, then zzz.”
Chloe’s likely on a plane of her own by now, so she doesn’t worry about a response. She doesn’t have any other missed messages— all the people Nadine talked to consistently were at one point under her command, and she can’t remember the last time she was successful enough dating someone (or not mixing work and romance) to stay in touch after a trip away.
It’s just her.
Her flat is as sparse and practical as ever; she manages to eat a bland and nutritious dinner and stay awake long enough that she can fall asleep at an almost-reasonable time, getting a jump start on packing up the non-mercenary aspects of her wardrobe, thinking about whether she should burn her Shoreline gear here, or at her father’s house.
She decides on the latter, in the morning, hauling black trash bags into the back of her Jeep, before setting out for what she’s always referred to in her head as “the compound.”
It’s her childhood home, cartoonishly large for the two people who occupied it, and fortified with all the protections one would expect from a man who built a company of mercenaries up from the ground, making more than a few enemies on his way.
Now, her father occupies only two rooms: the sunroom during the day, and his bedroom at night, accompanied always by one of a team of private nurses, the best money can buy. The tremors in his hands that made him push Nadine harder, faster, to take over younger than anyone ever thought she would have now overtaken his entire body. His speech is slow, and muddled, and his thoughts often incoherent.
The nurse on duty today is new— Nadine’s never met her— but she greets her cheerily, clearly up to speed on who she is.
(Her father does not get many visitors. She tries to visit at least once a week when she’s home, painfully aware that it’s both not enough and altogether more than he deserves.)
“He’s having a pretty good day,” the nurse informs her. “Nice and lucid. You’re lucky.”
She bends down, whispering in her father’s ear, directing him to acknowledge her presence.
“Hi, Dad.”
He grunts (not altogether different from his acknowledgment of her pre-Parkinson’s, truth be told).
Nadine thinks about all the little speeches she practiced in her head on the drive here, of how Shoreline was always his dream, not hers, how the death of her mother hurt them both but didn’t excuse the expectations he put on her, of how she will be perfectly happy never seeing him again.
But to say these things would be only a means to her own catharsis. It’s a decade too late to make any points, change any minds.
So instead, she says, “I’m going to be gone for a little while, just wanted to see you before I leave, ja? Thought we could listen to some records, have a cup of coffee.”
He nods, and she picks up a well-worn album up from the shelf, engaging in the precise ritual of dropping the needle, pouring the coffee, sitting close enough for companionship but never intimacy.
His nurse holds the cup for him, wipes away the drops that spill.
If Nadine were in her position she’d be berated, torn down with impossible standards and vicious insults, but for this other woman, he’s docile, grateful for the assistance.
It’s better for everyone that she goes, for good this time.
Dad is tired after only side A, and the nurse helps him lie down for an afternoon nap. Nadine lingers, taking in the faded photographs on the wall— herself as a baby, held by her mother. The Shoreline team in its glory days. Her and her father, side by side, in matching fatigues.
“You have your mother’s kindness,” he’d told her , time after time. “It’s your biggest weakness.”
The nurse comes back out into the sunroom to see her off.
“This was a goodbye visit, wasn’t it?”
Nadine nods, hating herself for the pinprick of tears that springs behind her eyes.
The nurse lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“We have your number, we’ll call, you know, when the time comes… if you want to make arrangements beforehand, that might make things easier. I know he was a difficult man.”
“That’s an understatement,” Nadine laughs, grateful to have something to keep her from crying. “I hope you’ve been spared the worst of the drill sergeant tendencies. You definitely don’t deserve it.”
The nurse looks at her with such clear compassion that Nadine swears her mother’s spirit has come down to make itself known.
“You didn’t either.”
_
At the nurse’s suggestion, Nadine takes a final walkabout of the grounds, allowing herself a bit of ceremony. She hauls the bags of old fatigues out of the Jeep, throws them on the firepit, and douses them in lighter fluid, before igniting the pile.
She texts a picture to Chloe. Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?
Chloe responds with a picture of her own, eyes sparkling behind a steaming coffee mug.
I’ll drink to that <3
Nadine sits by the fire for a while, until the clothes are all burned and the flames have died down to embers. The sizzle of steam as she pours water over them feels like a brand new start.
_
It takes a few days to take care of the other business of adulting; ending her lease, forwarding her mail to Chloe’s address, finalizing burial arrangements for her father for whenever the inevitable happens.
Chloe is in constant touch, which is nice, in a weird way. Nadine’s so used to doing everything on her own that the check-ins about what she’s done and how she’s feeling about it are strange, but not entirely unwelcome (from Chloe, at least. If Sam asked her about her relationship with her father she would probably dislocate his shoulder).
She calls Nadine, the second night they’re apart, rolling right into conversation without so much as a hello.
“So, listen, I don’t know how long you planned on spending down there, but there’s this fancy fucking gala next week and I know of at least half a dozen marks I can wine and dine and get to spill all their secrets about our next lead if I wear a low-cut enough dress. You in?”
“Eesh, sounds like more of your scene than mine. Last time I was at one of those things I threw Drake out a window.”
“God, I know , why do you think I asked you? What’s a girl gotta do to see that kind of action?”
“I was actually looking at flights to London earlier, but I think it will be after the weekend before I get over there. Shame I’ll miss seeing you all dolled up.”
“Oh, I’ll dress up for you, anytime, love,” Chloe flirts back, and it’s easy , this rapport they’ve fallen into. Banter and hijinks and big grand plans.
Chloe hears the strain in her voice, though, and abandons making fun of old men and their tuxes to genuinely inquire as to her wellbeing.
“So, you saw your dad yesterday… how was that?”
Nadine sighs, unsure of how much to divulge. She kind of feels like she owes Chloe her backstory, given how much she’d learned about her father. But she’s also fucking tired.
“You don’t have to tell me, China. Just… if you want, I’m all ears.”
“You and Ganesh, eh?”
“Nadine.”
“He’s a very demanding man, my father. And, a very ill man, for the past couple years. It wouldn’t have been worth explaining everything to him, but I said goodbye.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Nadine exhales. “Thank you, for giving me a reason to leave.”
“You never need a reason,” Chloe reassures her. “When it stops being fun, get out, that’s what I always say.”
“If fighting Asav was your kind of fun, I think maybe you need to get out more, Chloe.”
“You know what I mean, love. It’s okay to cut and run when the reward stops being worthwhile. Sounds like your dad was lucky you didn’t sever ties sooner.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be an orphan soon enough, I reckon.”
Chloe doesn’t ask about her mum, or offer her condolences.
“You know, I’ve never met a treasure hunter who came from a happy family. We’re just a ragtag bunch of thieves with childhood baggage.”
“If you welcome me into your flat with ‘Consider Yourself’ I will book the next flight back to Capetown and you will never see me again.”
“Oh, please, I don’t sing for free, love. Gotta buy me many rounds before that happens.”
“Right. Um. Well, I’ll see you on the 21st, then?”
“With bells on.”
Chloe sidetracks into some mundane story about lying to her seatmate on the flight back to London, hamming it up for her audience of one, and Nadine feels the tension of the day leaving her body, as she settles in and listens. It’s past midnight when a yawn escapes her, and Chloe insists that she sleeps.
“Since when are you the responsible one?”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Chloe laughs, “I’ll be keeping you out at the pub til gone three in the morning just to prove I still can, you keep questioning my party girl bona fides.”
“Eesh, fine. Good night, Chloe.”
“Sweet dreams, love.”
_
While Nadine’s brain has renounced her paramilitary life, her body still thinks she’s a soldier. She wakes early, feeling the pull to move, exert some of the restless energy that made her sleep fitful the night before. After a long run and an hour with the punching bag, she feels a bit more like herself and a bit less like a ball of anxiety. The closer she gets to her departure date, the more the nerves feel like excitement, instead of dread.
She’s had a lot of time to think, with this empty flat and the death of all her prior ambitions. There’s so much she’s missed out on, despite the adventure and sometimes prestige of her career— carrying a gun as soon as it was legal, lieutenant at 20 and top dog at 25. Nadine’s never just… hung out with people, made friends for the heck of it. She’s rarely had an interaction with another human being that wasn’t predicated on an exchange of power. It feels strange, to admit to herself that she’s starved for human contact, but it’s true.
(Not that she’s not entirely self-sufficient, thanks very much. She can be alone, just fine. But she’s no longer sure that she wants to.)
Nadine culls her wardrobe of the last few things that scream “highly-trained killing machine,” save for her favorite well-worn pair of combat boots. A small reminder of who she was destined to be.
Chloe, true to her word, sends a photo of herself in a red dress, ample cleavage aided by an obvious push-up bra. (Nadine is annoyed with herself for finding it so bloody attractive– if there’s one thing she always prided herself on compared to her men, it was sophistication of taste. Not that Chloe isn’t sophisticated, but she’s certainly using mens’ one-track minds to her advantage.)
She… should probably respond to the text.
They’ll probably let you walk on out with every artifact in the place, no questions asked
Aw, you’re sweet ;)
Remind me what it is exactly you’re after tonight? Other than the hearts and wallets of London’s geriatric high society?
Just confirming a few whispers about some coded maps the Vikings used to hide treasure, yadda yadda yadda. Solid payday AND an excuse to see the Northern Lights, if we time it right.
You don’t have to sell me so hard on the partnership, Chloe. I’m in already!
Nadine, love, the first thing you ought to know about me is that I never do anything I don’t want to do.
Ever.
Nadine believes that one. Chloe is… strong-willed, to say the least. (When she really sits and thinks about it, she’s kind of shocked they get along as well as they do, considering both their mutual stubbornness and its entirely different manifestations. Best not to look the gift horse in the mouth, though.)
Fine. Looking forward to hearing all about it in a few days.
Still wish you were here :( could use a lil’ muscle to give them the evil eye if they get too handsy lol
Ha! Pretty sure you can handle yourself just fine.
More fun to watch you do it :(
Eh, let me give Sam the asskicking he deserves and you’ll have a front row seat
You drive a hard bargain, Ross. Ugh. Gotta go so I can hit that sweet spot when the geezers are drunk enough to be loose lipped but not entirely incoherent. Wish me luck!
Nadine smiles into her phone as she texts back her well-wishes, fully aware of how goofy she must look but unable to keep the grin off of her face.
So, yeah, maybe she’s got a bit of a thing about Chloe.
(She’s pretty sure most people do. So she’s also pretty sure Chloe doesn’t notice.)
Chloe isn’t the reason she’s giving up on Shoreline, though, she’s just the permission. So even if this all ends up in financial ruin and heartbreak, she’ll still be free.
That night, Nadine dreams of Chloe in her red dress, moving in closer and closer as she reminds her, “you always have a choice.”
_
Nadine realizes, as she gets dressed for the airport, finishes packing away her meager possessions in her suitcase, that she and Chloe have never seen each other in the flesh in a “normal” environment, where they weren’t covered in mud and sweat and cuts and bruises, dressed in barebones tactical gear. She opts for the closest ensemble she can find to casual: a warm, baggy navy sweater that mostly hides her upper body’s definition, black skinny jeans, and her favorite boots (more scuffed than shined in an act of psychological rebellion). She wears her hair down, hoping the combined effect makes her look more like a normal traveller than a mercenary without a mission.
It’s a long, but uneventful redeye flight, landing at Heathrow in the early evening (although late fall means it’s pitch black outside).
Chloe had insisted on picking her up (“I’m not going to have you riding the tube after a 12-hour flight that’s bloody nonsense”), and this time at least she’s not late. She hops out of the driver seat of her car (a deceptively practical Volkswagen, although Nadine’s sure she’s got much flashier vehicles at her disposal) to envelop her in a warm hug, despite the cold drizzle that’s begun falling.
“Nadine Ross as I live and breathe! A sight for sore eyes.”
“Do you drive a Jetta as recklessly as you do a Jeep?”
“Only one way to find out,” Chloe winks, throwing Nadine’s suitcase in the boot and ushering her into the passenger seat.
Chloe weaves through the heavy traffic like it’s nothing, calm and collected even as Nadine grips the door handle.
“You hardly look like you can kill a man with your bare hands in that kit, Ross. Scarier, in a way.”
“We can’t all ride around in leather jackets and heavy eyeliner, eh?”
Chloe laughs, and it’s so much different to feel the sound, instead of just hearing it over the phone.
“God, I’ve missed having you around to keep my ego in check.”
“Ja, you’re lucky I’m here, could’ve been a truly dangerous situation otherwise.”
“Well, listen, me and my big head have some solid leads on valuable Nordic artifacts, so, maybe show us some respect.”
Nadine hums, taking the chance to observe Chloe as she drives them through the wet streets, headlight glancing across the sharp planes of her face as they pass other cars.
It’s a bit like seeing an old military colleague out of uniform, recognizable but unfamiliar. Chloe looks beautiful like this (she always looks beautiful; even as short a time as they’ve been acquainted Nadine knows this to be true), hardened and tough, trading in her Blundstones for engineer boots and wearing makeup like warpaint. She looks different from the Chloe that Nadine knows, and she gets this sinking feeling in her stomach, as if outside the magical bubble of Halibidu, whatever bond the two of them shared will be instantly broken.
“You must be tired, huh? I ordered takeaway, we can have an early night. Won’t make you party too hard until tomorrow at least.”
Nadine shakes herself out of her reverie enough to express polite gratitude. It’s still a bit of a surprise when Chloe’s considerate; for all the long talks and emotional support over the past week she’d still half-expected to be tossed a sleeping bag and told “you know how to cook, right?” upon arrival to her home.
Chloe’s flat is fitting for a hip treasure hunter- it’s a repurposed old industrial building, all exposed brick and hardwood floors and the heating bill is probably massive but Chloe seems like she makes most of her life choices more based on vibes than practicality. It suits her, the enmeshment of history and modernity, effortlessly cool but not gaudily so.
Historical texts litter her bookshelves, and various maps and prints line the walls; half art display, half reference library. The extent of the kitchen appears to be a kettle and an oven that probably doubles as storage space, and the dining room table is clearly used more for research and planning than meals, judging by the piles of notes and pens sprawled across the surface.
“Home, sweet home,” Chloe sing-songs, giving her an abbreviated tour before ushering Nadine and her suitcase into a small guestroom, with a daybed by the window and a tiny closet.
“I know it’s not much but, well, still better than barracks, right?”
“It’s lovely, thank you,” Nadine says, and she finds that she means it— something about the sound of traffic below, the feeling of disappearing in this nondescript building in this giant city feels safe.
Nadine has been a soldier all her life, and now, now she’s just a person. This is as good a place to figure out what the hell that means as any.
“I’m glad you’re here, China,” Chloe trails her fingers from Nadine’s shoulder down to her hand, squeezing gently in reassurance.
“Ja, me, too.”