Bread & Brotherhood

[Quillon Hawke]

Quillon inclined his head at her name.

“Raikov.” He said it softly, testing the sound and wondering if he knew any Raikov's. His voice was more level now, not quite formal, but precise. “Thank you, Anita.”

He stood fully upright, adjusting the weight of his purple coat around his shoulders. The soreness in his ribs flared again, a reminder of the pavement’s welcome. Still, he made no sign of discomfort beyond a slow breath drawn through his nose.

“It’s a good thing you were here,” he added, glancing toward her med kit. Then, with a trace of dry restraint: “I suppose the Ascendancy works through whomever is willing.”

It wasn’t flippant. In fact, there was a note of sincerity there, wrapped inside the stoicism.

He watched her for a moment longer, not speaking, just observing. Her calm. Her clarity. She reminded him of one of the nurses from his youth. The one who read to him after lights-out, when his body had failed and the machines spoke louder than the people.

He hadn’t thought of that woman in years. He didn’t remember her name, but he remembered the kindness.

The cold wind slipped through the camp again. Tents rustled. Distant voices carried over the broken pavement.

“I should return soon,” Quillon said. His eyes moved to the last of the emptied food crates. “The Brotherhood doesn't leave things behind.”

Then, after a pause, he said something unexpected.

“You don’t speak like someone unfamiliar with hardship.” He tilted his head slightly. “Have you been working in places like this long?”

[Anita]

Anita found herself liking Quillion. He seemed very pragmatic and there was a sincerity in his beliefs that she had seen so often in religious types. Her experience with clergy (if that was an accurate term for a Veilwarden, she still wasn’t really sure what that meant), hadn’t been a great one. Most of them seemed in it for themselves and not for others even if their teachings stated otherwise. Regardless his faith was important to him.

Quillion also hadn’t preached at her. That was a surprise too. Most of his conversation about faith had been initiated by her, and the rest hadn’t been preachy or judgmental. Just statements like “the Ascendancy used the willing” and “the Brotherhood doesn’t leave things behind.”

Anita saw the look at the crates and moved towards them. Offering to help as she answered his question. It had caught her by surprise. ”It was just my parents, me, and my twin brother growing up. We weren’t wealthy, and not really poor either. We made do with what we had, however. That was enough. I was interested in medicine for a long time. Decided to work for my medic certs as a teenager, encouraged by one do the medic/firefighters at MFD. Now I work for the fire department.”

She took a breath ”I wouldn’t say my life was one of hardship, but being a public servant, I’ve seen all types - from the wealthy to the very poor. Those who see what others may consider small that they see as the end of their world, and even those who are holding on by a thread - physically and mentally. I wouldn’t say I’ve lived hardship, but I’ve seen a lot of it, and to be honest. It can take its toll. It’s not a job for the faint of heart. he voice held no bravado - just the simple truth.

Anita remembered various calls; car accidents where people had been brutally killed. Gang violence. Things not attached to bodies that should be. ”Days like this - don’t happen often. Days where I’m in the same place helping a group of underprivileged people. But since I signed up five years ago, I’ve seen a lot of pain and hardship.”

[Quillon Hawke]

Quillon lifted one of the empty food crates and set it inside the Brotherhood’s carrier bag. He moved methodically, careful not to strain his ribs or his wrapped palm. As Anita spoke, he listened in full, not with nods or interruptions, but with stillness, the kind that came from the soul.

He placed another crate into the bag. His voice, when it came, was steady but soft. “You’ve seen more than most,” he said. Not praise, not sympathy.  A silence followed. He didn’t fill it immediately. But something in the way she had spoken without drama or self-importance allowed him to give something back.

“When I was younger, I was in a hospital bed. I figured I wouldn’t live to 20.”

He glanced at her, briefly, then turned back to secure the final crate. “My body was shutting down. A blood disase with no cure. The doctors stopped saying things out loud when I was in the room.”

He stood straight and closed the zipper on the carrier bag. His fingers lingered on the tab. “Then He came.” He didn’t elaborate any more than to say: “The man in white.” He finally looked at her again. His expression hadn’t changed much. But his eyes had. “He touched my chest. Just once. I remember the heat of it. Not painful. Just… final. Like something permanent had been written onto me.”

A breath. Not shaky, but heavy. “The next morning, every test came back clean. My blood was normal.” He let that hang in the air for a moment. Not to awe her. Just because it was sacred.

“Then I joined the Brotherhood. When your body betrays you… and then is restored, you spend the rest of your life asking how to be worthy of that restoration.” He turned back toward the remaining supplies, breaking the gaze, as if the story had now returned to being his alone.

[Anita]

Anita was a woman of science. Medicine was science. She lived and breathed it every day. And people of science tended to be skeptical of miracles. Mostly because they wanted a rational explanation for things. That was becoming harder with the knowledge of magic users showing up in the world. The fact that she was visions of the future added to that. Anita was sure there was an explanation for it, but she didn’t know.

Quillion’s story captivated her though. It wasn’t the miracle itself, but the way he told the story. He spoke with such sincerity that she couldn’t help but believe him. This man in white had delivered a miracle to him. The reason was unknown, and it didn’t matter. The life had been saved. And death had a way of making you appreciate life more. She’d seen death - and some quite gruesome. She had felt that herself. Quillion wanted to give that back.

Anita found herself admiring Quillion - more than she’d admired someone in a long time. ”Wow…that’s incredible!” she said without any trace of condescension.

Quillion was finishing up and it was sort of a disappointment that it was getting close to his time to leave. At least it felt that way. ”Id like to talk more. Maybe somewhere warmer l. Could I buy you a cup of coffee or something? Or if you’re busy - maybe some other time?” The words were a surprise to her. She hadn’t expected to meet someone who just made her think like this.