Recursion

That day, Homura tried again.

By that time, she was unsure whether the scent of antiseptic and freshly-starched hospital sheets were a warm reassurance that she had another attempt, or an agonizingly bleak reminder that she had just failed.

Either way, she needed to leave, needed to get to work. After all, she had all the time in the world, but not a moment to spare.

Weapons. It wasn't as though their current owners would have made better use of them than her, and in the case of the Yakuza, it was quite the opposite.

In theory, she told herself, each piece of ordinance should have increased her chances, even imperceptibly, against Walpurgisnacht. Yet, somehow she wasn't left confident. In theory, having infinite attempts should also have increased her chances against Walpurgisnacht, but she had certainly yet to reap those benefits.

A weight settled onto her shoulders as she slipped out of the Yakuza hideout, and it didn't belong to the weaponry.

She had come to hate lying as a symbol of her trial; the web of lies began on the very first day. "Yes, I feel great," she told the doctors and nurses, to ensure her release as quickly as possible. It only grew on the first day of class. The new transfer student stalked the halls with the grace of someone who had spent her whole life doing so (and perhaps she had). Homeroom was down the hall, and the practiced words were already on the tip of her tongue as Mrs. Saotome ushered her in. She hadn't yet figured out how to convince the class to allow her to skip introductions.

"My name is Homura Akemi," she wrote it on the whiteboard to match.

"Is there anything you'd like to share with the class about yourself?" Mrs. Saotome asked.

"Nothing I'm comfortable with," she answered quietly, violet eyes boring into Madoka's.

Unlike many, she hadn't actually found classes boring prior to her contract. Her frequent hospitalizations had ensured an inordinate amount of study and catch-up time. Stressful certainly wasn't boring, but it was hardly preferable. The fact that she was finally afforded the luxury of being bored by lessons was a cold comfort at best, and infuriatingly mocking at worst.

She couldn't quite decide which was the greater irony: the fact that time was presently limping along despite her urging, or the fact that time flew when she actually needed it.

Notes were a thing of the past when one had already taken the lesson countless times, leaving her to scheme and calculate until the end of the period, at which point she was flooded with superfluous questions from nosy classmates.

Until Madoka would inevitably rescue her.

Perhaps this time she would finally be able to repay the pink angel in kind.

The amethyst eyed girl was tired. Oh-so tired. So this time, for once, she actually forgot, utterly failed to give Madoka her day-one warning, "Do you value your current life? Do you value your friends and family?"

There was always next time, at least.

Wait.

When had Homura started assuming failure from the start of the month? She had learned to deprive herself in both body and mind, and to force herself into a great many acts, but optimism was one thing that only came effortlessly. Working at it only made it seem farther away.

Once Madoka was dismissed, leaving her alone in the nurses office with her realization, she spent the rest of the break quietly hating herself.

School wasn't a complete waste. It provided her with a means and a convenient excuse to be close to Madoka; she had long since learned that approaching the other girl impetuously on the street and revealing her powers, or saving her from a witch were poor ways of discouraging her contract. So while Mrs. Saotome continued to drone on about their upcoming project, a presentation on a Greek myth, she planned what she would say to the other girl once she had her cornered after class.

After class. Ah yes, she had also hoped to meet Mami early this time.

So long as she befriended her before any of the others could that timeline, Homura could actually find Mami quite agreeable. She was, for lack of a better word, desperate for someone. Though she tried to act with the caution her experience demanded, her more base desires tended to overwhelm it.

It was even easier to win her over if the raven haired girl could manage to look ever so slightly sad. She could do that. In fact, she had nearly broken down, sobbing and apologizing for the unfortunate end she brought upon other girl during her previous attempt.

The shockwave, as it turned out, was the deadliest part of an explosion. One miscalculated distance had left the C-4 close enough to the gunner to crack her soul gem with its shockwave. Homura didn't anticipate it. The crack ensured a death which neither particular fast nor slow, but agonizing. She felt as terribly as if she had premeditated it. Then she briefly wondered whether befriending them was even worth it, and not for their potential to cause harm either; she didn't know if she could withstand the emotional toll much more.

"Mami Tomoe," she said, leading the blonde by voice to a more secluded area, "I know what you are, and I have an inquiry." She let the other girl glimpse her ring, "Tell me, are you familiar with the term, 'dreadnought witch'?"

She never quite found a way to apologize. Not to Mami, not to any of them.

Kyouko followed soon after. Cornered after hunting during a midnight stop at a twenty four hour ramen stand; lured in by the promise of one day making amends with her former partner. Homura saw the way they looked at each other: guarded remorse and guarded hurt, respectively.

They would have to do; friendships could mean one of two things for Mami: motivation or distraction and subsequently, death. But were they to resolve their old guilt together, she wouldn't have had the heart to stop them. Love of all types between magi was in short supply.

Their hunts were more like three individuals rather than one group; Homura needed grief seeds, enough for a lifetime by any other magi's standards, to have any chance against Walpurgis.

It was after one of these hunts, halfway through the month that Kyuubey approached her again. She didn't know how, and she didn't know when, but they had figured her out. It calmed explained that they knew where she was from and what she was doing.

"So then," it finally inquired, "how will you proceed, Sisyphus?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did you not think we kept accurate records of all contractees? We have been building your file since you arrived, and code-named you 'Sisyphus', with respect to your circumstances."

Numbers she might have expected, but she didn't know what to make of the unfamiliar name.

"You code-named me?"

"It would hardly be acceptable to categorize you under your given names when your human tendency to reuse them is considered."

The raven haired magi, still taken aback, neglected to put another word in edgewise.

"Take for instance," Kyuubey continued, "the name 'Kiku'. There are many girls holding that name, and even if we were to include family names, there is more than one 'Kiku Hanezawa' with magical potential aside from the one currently living in Mitakihara. But I digress; I implore you to cease this illogical crusade on the behalf of Madoka Kaname. Do you not understand that she-"

But Homura was already gone, vanished into the breeze to redouble her protection of Madoka.

Her behavior was something disgusting, she thought. Eyeing up a sleeping girl as though planning some depravity, but in reality the violet eyed magi had just become sentimental while ensuring Kyuubey didn't wake Madoka with a new offer.

Along the way she had come to know, to fight with, and empathize with all the other girls (even foolish Sayaka), but Madoka was still precious.

Homura was staring through the open window, aware of how deplorable she would have seemed to any potential onlookers, yet utterly absorbed.

The object of her attention was splayed out in the moonlight atop her bed. Slender, delicate fingers. Fragrant rose tinged locks of hair. Kind eyes and full cheeks, which had been impossibly soft and warm when Madoka had held her hand against one and said, "Don't worry Homura, I'll fight Walpurgisnacht, it's my turn to protect everyone."

Once again, Homura felt crushed under the responsibility of protecting that beauty of both body and soul.

The trio entered yet another barrier together. Its dark, wide streets were filled with acrid air and lit by archaic street lights.

All of them were experienced enough to remain unsurprised when the lights turned out to be familiars. Kyouko stood at the head of their formation, spear bared, and for a moment it seemed as though they were a disciplined team.

But all hell quickly broke loose as the arachnoid streetlight creatures engaged them; Mami remained unguarded, and was forced to retreat to make effective use of her rifles, leaving Kyouko with an unprotected back. Homura alone was unable to right them, and resigned herself to destroying swaths of familiars through frozen time.

It was inelegant (at least from her point of view), but effective.

The battle went smoothly, with the exception of the red magi suffering a blow to the back.

After a short while, Mami guided them to the witch; it had turned out to be waiting above the ceiling, which they had initially assumed to be the sky. Homura was hardly paying attention, and she hardly remembered the hunt afterwords. The witch barely lasted a minute under her onslaught of explosives; she had left Madoka alone for too long already and refused to waste even one second more.

She valued Kyouko's suggestions, she really did, but they would have to wait. Still, given the other girl's history, breakdowns of communication must have been agonizing for her. Homura wished there was a way to win without hurting any of them.

As the lancer approached her post-battle, she muttered, "I'm going to check on Madoka," and vanished.

Their mythology presentations were troublesome because they didn't revolve entirely around knowledge like tests did, they demanded some sort of physical component.

PowerPoint presentations were quite Homura's style; she knew which ones she could use without being caught for plagiarizing at this point. There were more important things to do than spend time making pretty displays. Her classmates' projects were wastes of time in their own rights'; even for Madoka the cold magi heard, but neglected to listen. At least until the end.

Madoka had a laboriously hand-prepared poster board at her side, colourful and plastered with pictures and bullets of information which (mostly) helped her avoid stuttering.

"And s-so the gods punished Sisyphus for his deceitfulness and defiance of fate. He was cursed, for all eternity, to push a boulder up a mountain, only for it to roll to the bottom again each time he was nearly finished."

After a moment of silence, Homura realized the whole class was staring at her. Even Madoka's speech had slowly trailed off, "H-Homura? Are you alright?"

She tried to dismiss the question, but found herself instead producing a low whine.

"You don't look so good," another voice piped up.

"Do you need to visit the nurse?" a third inquired.

After what felt like an eternity, she managed to stand, blinking the tears from her eyes, then mumble something about feeling ill and leave.

Kyouko, Mami and Homura stood on an overpass looking east; Walpurgis would be arriving soon.

She had tripled-checked all her supplies, drilled and briefed her partners and made sure Madoka was safely in the hurricane shelter.

What more could she do? Nothing.

Why then, did she still feel that same despair creeping up her spine?

Despair, such a wonderfully, horribly appropriate term for what she felt; it implied not only sadness, but also an absence of hope.

Walpurgis began its arrival, and next to her, Kyouko and Mami launched into some sort of emotional reconciliation.

"I never meant for it to end like this! It wasn't worth it, Mami! It wasn't goddamn worth it!"

Then they were crying and embracing, and it somehow all left Homura feeling even more isolated.

The three of them failed, and Madoka had to save them.

"Madoka Kaname,"

"Homura, I know you said not-"

"You've made a terrible mistake."

Then she twisted her buckler and passed the world by, leaving only a shred of purple fabric and brief, lingering ticking sound.

That day, Homura tried again.

By that time, she was unsure whether the scent of antiseptic and freshly-starched hospital sheets were a warm reassurance that she had another attempt, or an agonizingly bleak reminder that she had just failed.

Either way, she needed to leave, needed to get to work. After all, she had all the time in the world, but not a moment to spare.

For a brief window, she allowed the tears to come. Then she began rolling the boulder back up that familiar mountain.

Author's Notes

This drabble is a rather loose tie-in with my upcoming story, which I began writing on the side when I realized how long the latter was taking. In light of the exposition we received regarding her feelings in Rebellion, I wanted to write about the sheer futility Homura must have been feeling during the original series.

The aforementioned other story should be here within a few months, it's a rather lengthy multichapter, but I'm drafting (at least to some extent) almost all of it beforehand, to ensure relatively quick and regular updates. It's focus will be on Kyouko (mostly) and Mami instead.

Please review and offer criticism, seeing that this story was enjoyed is the most rewarding and motivating thing about the fanfiction community.