Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"The poor dear is in her bunk," The matron says with a sad smile. "We've considered moving her to one of our rooms for the time being," She continues, handing him a mug of tea. It's far too strong for his tastes, but he is certain the caretakers here need the added fortitude. He sips at it politely, trying not to grimace at the taste. "Barely comes out for meals, only when someone forces her - and she hides half of what we give her." She frowns. "Every sound she hears makes her jump. Miss Evanliegh found her under her bed after a nightmare, whimpering about Fallen-" She notices he's made a bit of a dent in his tea, pulls the mug from his hand with a surprising amount of force, and tops it off before he can stop her. "Commander, it's probably best if you didn't visit with her."

Zavala nods, trusting her expertise. It's his only free day this cycle. Like his peers, he too had activities - civic duties - he saw to in his downtime. Some, like Cayde, chose a preorganized activity to oversee - he's made it a point to ruin any and all pick-up sports in the city as of late. Meanwhile, Zavala prefers spending his time in the City's many orphanages.

But not just any of them. He focuses on the ones not backed by factions or philanthropists. The ones that children get sent to when they turn up in the Last Safe City unclaimed, when they turn up on the streets without any ties to a community or place. The latter is far more common: the number of refugees has declined in recent years, and the number of orphaned children is very slight. In fact, it's been nearly a century since an orphaned child had made it to the City from beyond the walls. Most of the children here were born on the streets in the slums, found by kind-hearted people ill-equipped to take care of them. 

He nods, only half listening to the matron's babbling. Karena, the head housemother, was clearly moved by this child's misfortune. "....they found was toppled over miles away… that she'd walked so far was quite remarkable."

The mug stops halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Didn't you know?" She turns back to the kettle on the counter, but she rinses it out instead of pouring him more. He says a silent prayer of thanks to the Traveler. "She was the only one of her group to survive. One of your fireteams found the convoy miles back. Looks like they'd been without food for some time, probably fed the girl whatever they could. Never would've stood a chance against the Fallen, rest their souls…" She tsks.

The Commander pushes back his mug and looks to the red and white blanket folded up beside him, patting it once with a firm hand. There is a gravity to his downturned gaze. "It would be for the best if you gave this to her," He admits. "If there is anything I can do…"

"Oh, no, never you mind, Commander." She waves a hand, giving him a gentle smile. "She'll be alright. It just takes a gentle touch."

-/

The children are always happy to see him. Places like these don't often get visitors, especially not the kind that don't require them to market themselves to a prospective adopter. They get to run and holler and simply be, some choosing to follow him around like lost ducklings, others content to wave in a greeting and carry on independently.

Of course, of all the times he's come here, the biggest event of the day is always supper. Even the most standoffish of children fight to sit beside him at the table. Today is no exception.

So, instead of sitting in one place for the duration of the meal, he moves around, making sure to spend time with each of them. Most of the time it involves mild babysitting, making sure no one is stealing anyone else's desert or lobbing unwanted vegetables at their dorm-mates when they think he isn't looking.

If he's to be honest, it's hardly different from Consensus meetings. And the company is far more tolerable, for the most part.

When he's almost to the end of the table, toward the end of the meal, there is a sound, a thump above them like something's fallen to the floor, a muffled scream. Then, more footsteps, like a herd of elephants descending the stairs. One of the caretakers, a man who had been off in the kitchen, sets after them, already yelling.

"We were looking for Hilda," One of the boys responds, defensive without being prompted. "We didn't know she was in there."

The housefather puts both hands on his hips. "You didn't know," He says with a shake of his head. "She's been in the same room since she's got here, and you all visited Hilda in the infirmary this morning." He sighs. "Karena is with her now. She won't like it when I tell her about this."

The three boys pale. The housefather turns them around, ushering them towards the kitchen. "I was going to bring her dinner," He sighs, "But it will have to wait. The three of you will sit with me in the kitchen until the head matron returns. We will be having a discussion about this."

A chorus of downtrodden groans meets him in reply, but the caretaker does not relent. Instances like this were quite common in places like this. Among children in general, really.

The Commander rises from his current seat at the end of the table when the meal recommences, the children quick to discuss the boys' impending punishment and their disdain of the new girl who gets every meal brought up to her. He strides from the dining area to the industrial kitchen, fixing the unruly children with a look he'd too often given a wayward Hunter.

The housefather turns to him immediately, looking a bit surprised to see him there. "Commander, do you need something?"

"You said you were planning on bringing her a meal?"

"I was, but I doubt she'll eat now," He too gives a withering glare toward the children. "It's alright. I'll take her up something a bit later." He rubs the back of his head. "We usually leave it on the dresser. She, uh, doesn't really engage with us."

One of the children sitting at the kitchen counter comments loudly, “Even Miss Karena is fed up with it. I heard her! And she’s been doing this for a million billion years!"

The smooth baritone of the Commander cuts through the exasperated commentary. "I don't mind.”

“Well, she hasn’t eaten all day, that I know of.” The man turns back to the counter, producing a plate with a cover to keep it warm. “If you really don’t-”

“Of course not.”

“Second floor. Third door, on the right,” He hands the Titan the plate on a tray, with a juice-box and cutlery. “Don’t be surprised if you frighten her. It’s not you, she’s just-”

He nods, solemn. “Karena told me.”

“You have my thanks.” With that sorted, the worker regards his charges. “These three will have to wait for their assignment from Miss Karena. Since our new addition is feeling a bit shy, I think we’ll be writing our apologies, wouldn’t you say?”

Their childish grumbling is loud enough for him to hear all the way up the stairs. 

-/

He makes sure to step both lightly but not silently as he approaches the room. With the back of his index and middle fingers, he raps his knuckles gently against the door. After a moment of balancing the tray in a single hand, long enough to hear the sound of rustling on the other side of the door, he edges it open just a small amount.

At this point he realizes that he does not know the child's name. Not that it matters. He steps into the room, leading with the tray. The orphanage has nearly identical rooms for all it's inhabitants. Bunk beds in one corner of the room and twin dressers against the opposite wall. One half of the room is decorated in a child's drawings: some taped to the ceiling and walls by the top bunk. One dresser has a small pile of books and a few plush animals on it.

It doesn't take much to recognize that the more lived-in part of the room belongs to the girl in the infirmary. He sets down the tray atop the empty dresser, casually wondering aloud if she'll be able to reach it.

He goes unanswered. The lower bed she occupies creaks - it's very old - as the child presses herself back against the far corner, all but wedged against the wall in a trembling heap of blankets. He notes with a small sense of pride that the one he'd made - the one he gave to every child upon their arrival - is on top, little fingers threaded between the stitches.

Beach-glass eyes, a kind of green similar to a stormy sea, watch him in wary resignation. When he turns toward her, tray still in his hands, she whimpers and draws the covers around herself further, pressing herself against the corner where the frame meets the wall.

"It's alright," He murmurs, careful not to make eye contact, lest he scare her more. "I just wanted to make sure you could reach your supper."

Against her will, her stomach gurgles loudly. She flushes but doesn't make a move for the tray. 

Zavala does his best not to sigh, instead lifting the lid designed to keep the plate hot, moving it away. At first he's surprised about the small portion she's been given, but remembers what the matron had said, about her party suffering from starvation. Though she has the blankets pulled up to her face, he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the gaunt lines of a child who knows hunger far too intimately. It makes his chest ache with an overwhelming sadness.

He reaches for the small juicebox next, looking away, pretending to be disinterested.

She reaches out, snatching the small dinner roll next to a tiny helping of stew, pulling it into her chest, into the relative safety of her nest of blankets. Wide, fearful eyes meet his when he looks back, blinking in surprise, as if his incredible sense of awareness hadn't allowed him to witness the whole thing.

The child blinks back blankly. Panic, an array of mixed fight-or-flight synapses all firing at once... a paralyzing terror is etched into her very being. Though she trembles with it, she does not cry. He smiles at her, a small thing, mostly with his eyes, taking a knee beside the far edge of the bed.

"It's alright to be afraid," Zavala intones, very gently. "This is all very new. There are so many dangers, outside the walls-" She makes a squeak and the Commander immediately shifts gears, "But you are here now. You will be safe in this City. I promise."

She squeezes her eyes shut at that, shaking her head in a tiny negative.

"No?"

For the first time in a long time, his words bring no comfort. None of his attempts to soothe her work, and her dinner is long since gone cold when he takes his leave (though he can tell by her distrust, she won't touch it). It physically pains him to shut the door behind him, to hear the child finally sob brokenly to herself, muffled by blankets, unable to be consoled for anything.

The matron pats his shoulder when she walks him out. "You have a kind heart, Commander. Don't take it too personally. She'll come around."

-/

He doesn't make it back to the orphanage until the fall. It's been nearly three months since his previous visit, and the children are beside themselves, vying for his attention. Three of them have been adopted, another two have gone off, applying for their own housing now that they've grown old enough to secure jobs.

The entire time, he watches for a hint of the little girl from his previous visit. The child had weighed heavily on his mind, even months later. He'd looked into what happened, read the report from the Fireteam that happened on the little girl miles from the overturned vehicle ransacked by the Fallen. Things like these always hit close to home, for reasons he never quite fathomed.

Much later in the day, following an early supper (and the usual carrying on that came with it), he catches sight of a shadow on the staircase that leads to the dormitories. He's reading a book to several of the youngest children, all of whom fight over who gets to turn the page for him. When he looks back again, it's gone.

He says his goodbyes to the houseparents, thanking them, as always, for their dedication to providing a healthy environment for the children. He almost doesn't recognize her, fidgeting slightly, fingers curled around the trim of the door frame.

The caretakers look surprised, all of them watching her carefully. Karena dutifully crouches down half way, looking at her maternally.

"Yes dear, what is it?"

Those eyes find him instead of answering. In the light, he can see how they're almost as blue as they are green. She looks nervous, but not terrified. "I jus'," The girl steps into the room, carefully, making a complete sweep of it with her eyes to assess for danger before continuing. "Jus’ wanted ta' say thank you," She drawls. Her cheeks turn pink, highlighting a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Fer' the blanket."

Karena keeps the surprise from her face, but her cohorts are not nearly as reserved.

He turns slowly toward her and crouches down so that he's only a little taller than she is. "You are very welcome…" He tilts his head, still, after all this time, not knowing her name. It had never made it into the strike reports.

"Amanda," She whispers bashfully. "Amanda Holliday."

The smile he gives her makes her gasp, his bright irises almost twinkling as he regards her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Zavala."

She toes the edges between floorboards with a worn boot. "They say yer in charge ‘round here. ‘N the City," She finishes, between nervous and maybe awed.

He chuckles. "Is that so?"

Amanda nods, looking down.

Despite flinching, she doesn't shrink back when he puts a hand on her head, ruffling her blonde hair. "Next time I come by, I hope you'll visit with me."

"I c'n do that," She whispers.

His voice is warm, and when he withdraws she looks up, almost conflicted. Upset that he'd withdrawn contact. "Good," He tells her. "I look forward to it."

Chapter Text

The completion of a successful campaign on Mars leaves him with an excess of time. It's less than a month before he returns to the small orphanage on the outskirts of the Rich District. More children have come and gone, but to his dismay it's not this that he's concerned about.

While he certainly takes time to meet each new arrival, bestowing them with their own blanket that he'd made himself, he's keeping an eye out for the little one he'd spoken to last time. Children are fickle, prone to forgetting things, their minds moving a mile a minute. But this one doesn't seem like that type.

He sees the mop of blonde hair, lazy ringlets bouncing as she descends the stairs at a clip. Her face is red, like she's out of breath, which explains her ragged breathing. Upon inspection, he notes that she finger-combs her hair, frowning as she tears apart a few tangles. It sounds unpleasant and she grimaces.

Not for the first time, he's grateful for his lack of hair. Certainly makes things easy.

"Hello, Amanda."

She heaves another few breaths before exhaling long and slow. "'lo, Zavala."

Like a whip-crack from behind them both, a girl shrieks, "It's Commander Zavala, you dummy!"

For a moment, he wonders if the older girl has just ruined the whole thing. Amanda squeezes her fists so tight he can see the fight or flight senses kick in.

"If you're gonna talk, at least talk right," The older girl finishes, primly, flouncing away before Zavala - who would normally have a soft rebuke waiting - can tell Amanda it's alright, that he isn't here to be anyone's Commander.

"'S how you introduced yerself," She murmurs in a quiet defense.

"It is," He agrees. "I would not have done so if I didn't want you to address me as such." He offers her his hand. She looks at it tentatively, then up to meet his glowing eyes. "Shall we find somewhere a bit less trafficked to visit?"

She nods, but she does not take his hand, following along at his elbow. He leads her to a small sitting room, up toward the administrative offices in the front of the compound-like building. He moves toward the couch and is pleasantly surprised when she clambers up beside him.

The silence is comfortable. Still, she squirms after a few moments. "Is this what you meant by visiting?"

He chuckles, patting the top of her head once. She looks up to him curiously. "It can be," He muses. "We could also talk, if you are agreeable."

Her nose crinkles when she thinks. It's terribly endearing. "'bout what?" Her voice rises at the end of her question, confused.

"Anything you'd like."

She ponders some more, seeming to rack her brain on what to think about. "There's a lotta people here," She murmurs.

"At the orphanage?"

"In the City."

"Ah. It's a big adjustment," He affirms. "Do you not like it?"

"It's loud."

He nods. "It certainly is. Especially when you've been taught to keep quiet to prevent detection by your enemies."

Her eyes shock open wide.

"You've seen-" She clamps both hands over her mouth.

Prying them away, he looks at her, with her trembling lip. "It is my job to keep this City safe. That is what the Vanguard is designed to do. It's why people from across the planet try to get to the City. The walls keep our enemies out, Amanda."

"But what if they don't?" She whispers, looking up at him. "There's lotsa baddies out there."

"There are," He agrees. His eyes flash almost purple, so fast she thinks she's seeing things. She knows that the Guardians have powers. They’re special. Maybe he has eye-beams he fires at their enemies. It would explain the fancy glow. "But if anyone ever gets through the walls? Then they go through me."

She tucks her knees under herself and looks up at him, and for the first time in their short acquaintance, he sees hope bleeding into her eyes. "Really?"

"Really."

There's hardly anything to her. He feels the warmth of her when she shifts against him more than anything. "Ya promise it's safe?"

"I do," He confirms.

It seems that's compelling enough to convince her, because she falls silent. More than that, she leans against him, fingers eventually curling into his sweater. She jerks against him a short while later, and his hand moves from the top of the couch to her back without thought, gently rubbing her back. Her fingers tighten on his shirt.

"You are not sleeping at night," He comments mildly.

"Try to," She huffs, yawning. "But-"

"Take a nap," He interrupts. "I'll keep watch for a little while."

"You don't gotta," See insists, though he can feel her leaning incrementally harder. Blinking sleepily, she slurs, "Don'tcha gotta play with the other kids?"

"Later," He overrides her, with a hint of finality. His hand smooths back the hair falling into her face before making another gentle circle on her back. She’s asleep in seconds.

-/

The matron finds them in the front room an hour and a half later. He has a data pad propped between the arm of the couch and his right hand. Amanda is curled against him, her head pillowed on his thigh, knees up to her chest. His left hand rests on her back, thumb gently moving.

"She's a little cuddlebug, isn't she," Karena comments mildly, crossing her arms as she rests against the doorway. "Poor thing. And you, not even taking a break despite it. I envy your work ethic, Commander. How go those logs?"

Zavala regards her, albeit sheepishly. "Actually, it's poetry."

"Ah! Well, if anyone deserves the reprieve, it's you," She answers, with a smile. "Want me to take her up to her room?"

Shaking his head, he answers, “I'm keeping watch." He tilts his head when Karena shakes hers as well, because of course he is. "If I can give her at least a little comfort…"

"She still won't speak to half the houseparents in complete sentences. I'd say you're doing marvelously." Karena sighs. "She's a difficult case."

"The children are not kind."

"Not at all. I told them you had to take a break for some important business. Best not to let them know she's hogging you."

"Thank you."

"Thank you," She parrots, sincerely. "You being here always cheers them up. Glad it works for this one, too."

Zavala doesn't know that he'd call this cheering up. If anything, it's barely consolation. And yet, when she blinks her eyes open a while later and clambers into his lap, he dedicates himself to holding her. He certainly wouldn't use a word like 'cuddlebug,' but even he can admit there is some merit, a clear consolation to being held close. She isn't the first child to cling to him, nor does he imagine she'll be the last.

Really, he never sees it coming.

Chapter Text

“I was hoping you might have a word with Miss Holliday,” Karena says, when talks of budget constraints and board of governors interference subsides. She slips it in so casually with her usual status updates that he finds himself nodding before he thinks anything of it. These maternal types would make excellent politicians, he thinks for what must be the thousandth time.

“What can I do?” He asks. It would not be the first time he’s addressed bad behaviors or given pep talks to a child who needs it. Especially considering most of them look up to him in some capacity (though it was more due to ‘superpowers’ than the fact that he was the Commander of all Guardians).

“Well, they sent home first trimester grades.” Karena slides an envelope to him. “Failing marks in every subject except PE. I don’t know what to make of it. The teachers are beginning to wonder if she can read.”

Zavala opens the envelope, pulling out a report card and letter. It’s exactly as the matron described. “It’s possible she can’t.” Survival didn’t often leave room for more than the most basic of education.

“Amanda can read.” Karena’s tone is firm. “I caught her with her nose in a book the other night at nearly o'three hundred.” She hands him something else. A bound notebook. “She’s bored.”

Amanda Holliday is, in fact, very bored. “This is…” Sketches of ships, vehicles, sparrows. Old ones, clearly from memory, notes in childlike scribbles. Repair information and basic specs for rovers Zavala hasn’t seen in decades. The differences between different ship classes, times they pass overhead. Fuel conversion, basic wiring diagrams, all drawn from scratch. Things that should not be in the mind of an eight year old girl, but are. Surely, a combination of intelligence and necessity.

“I can’t secure educational funding for her if she won’t prove she’s intelligent. Hell, I can barely get help for my stragglers. You know that.”

He does. “You think she’s got all of this all in her head.”

“She told four of my staff how to change rotors, oil, and tires on the vehicle we have out back. Said she’d done it before.”

“Clearly you don’t suspect-”

“I do. She got annoyed when they wouldn’t let her roll the tires, though they’re bigger than she is. I could hear that little drawl of hers all the way over here in the building.” Karena sighs, and he can see the worry lines, etched hard into her face. “She won’t talk to me about it. I’ve tried. I asked her about tasks when she was on the roads. She was despondent for days.”

“I doubt she will fare better if I ask.” His eyes lock onto hers. “But if you would like me to encourage her to participate in classes… that I am able to do.”

“Please.” Karena frowns. “She’s in her room, on restriction. I cannot reward this behavior, even if it does set her back to do so. At some point,” The matron sighs again, “I have to stop treating her like the exception. She’ll never overcome her trauma if I do.”

“How can I-”

“You’ve seen things beyond the walls. She knows it, told me so, that after day you let her sleep in the sitting room.” Her weathered fingers fold on the tabletop between them. “She feels like you understand her. She trusts you.” Karena blinks, her eyes both sad and warm, evaluating him. “Anything you can do to encourage her, I’d appreciate.”

-/

The girl in question is sitting in her bunk, refusing to look at the pile of homework beside her. The exception is the maths worksheet with multiplicative tables on it. She’s flipped it over - since the houseparents had taken her notebook - to draw on.

When the knock comes, the paper gets flipped back and tucked away under a history textbook.

“Zavala!” She blurts, in a surprised - happy - chirp, but tenses immediately at the sight of him.

And the orange envelope in his hands. 

He doesn’t have an angry look. Not a scary one, like when Ma would threaten to blister her keester if she didn’t help gather kindling for the fire because she was tinkering with scrap again. This one is almost sad, but not quite.

“She told ya,” Amanda grumbles, when he closes the door behind him, pulling the chair tucked in the corner closer to the bed. He sits down directly across from her.

Zavala hands her the report card after he pulls it from the envelope, tilting his head. “Perhaps you could read this to me.”

“Don’t need ta. S’all fails,” She grouses, not quite accepting it from his hand.

One eyebrow goes up, and he inches the report card closer to her. “On the back. What your teacher said.”

She looks down at it, eyes moving over the words, then back up to him. “I don’t-”

“Read it,” He instructs, tone broking no argument. “Please.”

A sigh so big it looks like she’s shuddering erupts from her. “Fine.” She shifts, holding it up in front of her like a shield. “Amanda Holliday is a quiet girl and does not cause trouble.” She looks up at Zavala. He’s watching her. “She does not, how’ver, c’m-complete tasks or parsipit- participate,” She frowns, inspecting the cardstock, “In classwork or activities. It is dishay- dishor-”

“Disheartening,” Zavala clarifies, softly.

“Disheartenin’ to see such a young mind be so ill a’verse to learn.” She swallows hard, looking up to him. He’s still watching her. Her vision blurs. 

Disappointment. This feeling is disappointment, she remembers. He’s disappointed in her. She wonders why she cares so much what he thinks, when she’s only met him five, six times? Maybe? The thought is fleeting, the knowledge of his disappointment in her overwhelming all other thoughts on the subject.

“And the rest,” He says, still in that cool, soft tone. He doesn’t shift gears even when that first tear falls and she’s crying.

“P-please ‘ncourage Miss Holliday to complete ‘er homework and be an active p-participant in class.”

She sniffles, holding it out to him with a trembling hand. He takes it from her and sets it on the windowsill to his right. “Thank you.” Her head shoots up in confusion. Seeing that he has her attention, he continues, “Is there anything preventing you from participating in class?”

‘There’s a pause. “No sir,” She murmurs, like she would whenever Ma or Pa would talk to her about misbehaving.

“Are you unable to read the materials or instructions your teachers give you?”

“No sir.”

Zavala pulls his chair closer when her head sinks down, and she’s only looking up at him through a nest of hair and dark lashes. “Your teachers put a great deal of effort into their lesson plans, to teach you things. By refusing to take part in that, you are not only hurting yourself, but making a poor reflection on everyone in your support system. That includes Matron Karena and the other houseparents.” She flinches, clearly not having thought of that. “And me,” He finishes, as a barely audible afterthought.

His message is well received. Her eyes are glassy and brimming with tears when she looks up at him, shocked and distraught. “M’sorry,” She whimpers, between great, guffawing sobs. “…’m real sorry,” She hangs her head again, afterwards.

A strange thing happens then, on the other side of the conversation. Zavala has to squash down the feeling of sympathetic distress, of hurt that burns in his gut from causing this child’s discomfort, even if it is the truth. His Ghost pings gently in his mind, tugging soothingly on that place deep inside him in that well-worn way she did when he felt anxiety.

“I didn’ know it made ya all look like that,” Amanda babbles. “…’m not anybody’s,” She shrugs, trying not to think about that too hard. “I didn’t mean ta-”

“I know. That is why I am telling you,” He cuts in, before she goes back to pieces. She hangs on his every word. “I do not believe you meant anyone ill-will. However, your teacher contacted the matron. She was under the impression that you might not know how to read, that no one had taught you how.”

“Ma taught me how!” She all but shrieks, thanks to the high-pitch of her youth, defensively. Zavala does not flinch, but she sees his eyes narrow at the sound. She dials it back. “A’course I know how to read.”

Both eyebrows go up to that. “Clearly,” He retorts, with a pointed glance at her report card.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Ya knew.”

“I do not believe you are ‘ill-adverse to learning.’” He considers her a moment. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yessir,” She slurs. “Means ‘m not a fan of it.”

“Are you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like learning?”

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, like a church-mouse.

“Then why this?” He picks up the report card, waving it. Her mouth opens wide with a protest, her entire body heaving as she inhales to make her point and make it loud. “Yelling will not make your argument more compelling. Be honest.”

“‘S boring, Zavala,” She answers, willing herself not to raise her voice. “I’m not stupid like my classmates.”

“Amanda.” The rebuke is obvious.

“I’m not sorry fer it,” She argues. “It’s true.”

“It certainly does not appear that way based on your grades.”

She looks at him. “I don’t need to learn what they’re teachin’. I know it.”

“Even City history?” He presses lightly.

“We’ve been doin’ geography.” Her eyes dull. “I know about geography. I been out there,"  She scoffs, growing more upset with every word. "I c'n read a map, know my cardinal directions.”

Zavala sighs, but his words have an edge that demand her attention. “Amanda, you need to prove it. I do not doubt you know how to determine North from South. However, your instructors cannot possibly know that without you participating.”

There is a stalemate between them. It lasts for hardly a moment. Her unhappy green-blue gaze is no match for him, not in the slightest. She looks away. Sighs. 

“I got a’lotta work to do.”

That wins her a smile. “You don’t strike me as the type to back away from hard work, Amanda.”

“It’s not hard, it’s jus-” She motions to the stack of books and papers, exaggeratedly. 

He chuckles, almost amused. “Perhaps don’t put it all off next time, hmm?”

She pulls out mathematics first, using a textbook like a lap desk. Pulls out a pencil and gets to it. He watches her move through the questions rapidly. Hands it to him. “Here.”

Instead of the homework, he eyes the drawing on the back of an Acadia class ship, eyes sliding back to her in a silent question.

She shrugs. “The other side,” She grouses, when he continues to inspect it silently. “That sides ’s not my homework!” His lips purse, and she erupts into giggles upon the sparkling glint in his eye. He’s messing with her. “This’s serious! I’m provin’ myself!” She parrots, when she gets it together, still shaking with silent giggles.

Children are so impressionable, he thinks, flipping the page. He’s not so sure what he’s expecting, but the mixed equations, basic ones, are all correct. His Ghost nudges him, mentally. 

It had taken her under a minute to do twenty five problems, she informs him. Perhaps easy is correct.

“What is nine times eight, Amanda?”

“Seventy two,” She answers without hesitation, popping up and peeking at the page top-down. “D'I mess it up?”

“No,” He tilts his head, studying her. “Show me something else you know how to do.”

-/

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” The teacher says, still a touch surprised. 

Karena is not. Amanda is outside on the swings. It’s a little after recess should have ended, but on parent-teacher conference days it tended to run over, much to the children’s delight.

“One day she’s disinterested, the next you’d think she’d always been at the top of the class.” The teacher is young, the matron thinks. She resists the urge to pat her hands when they finally rest on the desk between them once more. “Whatever you did, it’s working for her. I-” She shakes her head, mousy brown hair swaying with the gesture. “My peers say she’ll test well above her year in mathematics and science. There are programs, you know. Keeping her enrolled here is a waste.”

The matron frowns. “I know. I have applied for multiple scholarships, but…” She waves her hand, unwilling to debate how such things are swayed by politics. “If we have the money left in our budget, perhaps I could get her in a supplemental program.” She looks out the window at the girl, blonde hair flapping about as she soars higher and higher, back and forth. It will never happen. They won’t break even this year without charitable donations. “But I am responsible for the wellbeing of forty-three other children, and I cannot play favorites.”

Chapter Text

Adoption.

Even just hearing the word makes her feel slimy, icky all over. To stop being Amanda Holliday and to become Amanda Someone Else. That isn't okay. She will never be okay with it.

She thought she might be, that her Ma and Pa would want their li'l girl to be taken care of, so she tried at first. She did! 

"Isn't she cute? Listen to that drawl."

Tried to be well behaved, speak carefully, do what all the other children did when people came around who might want to take them home. Acted like she'd love to leave.

"Oh, she looks like she could be ours. Would you like that, Sweetie?"

"The workers tell me she's gifted in the sciences. She'll get a good job someday, maybe she'll invent something and become famous."

It all felt a whole lot like people were window shopping. She shouldn't have to dance in front of them, screaming 'pick me, pick me.' Let someone else, someone who wanted it to be picked. She's okay with what she has. She's proud to be a Holliday.

And the more she'd think about it, the less ideal it sounded. She didn't want to lose what made her who she was. Didn't want to get soft or forget what it meant to be a survivor.

So, she started sneaking onto the roof when the adopters came. Wasn't worth it to her. She'd rather lay on the almost flat part between two of the side windows, where no one could see her. If any ships flew by, she could see them, maybe make a sketch or scribble some notes if she had time. And if the air traffic was slow, she had a physics book she could read. One of her teachers had given it to her for something to do over the summer holidays, and it was actually pretty interesting.

Of course, she gets so caught up in reading and watching the world go by that she loses track of time. Next she realizes, she's being spoken to by someone who is leaning outside of the window.

"Uh-oh," She says, slipping the scrap of paper she'd been using as a bookmark back in to mark where she'd left off.

"What are you doing?" Zavala's not yelling - he never tells, she thinks - but his voice had that biting edge that meant she'd better listen up. "Get in here."

She scrambles, sliding almost to the gutter.

"Carefully," He hisses, and she can hear the concern.

When she tries to hand him the book in her hands he reaches through the window frame and pulls both her and it into the bedroom she'd crept out from. She makes a little squeak and wraps her arms - book and all - around his neck, hanging on. 

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I do it all the time," She grouses, looking at the floorboards. "What're you doin' here?"

"Don't change the subject." She winces at the softness of his tone, the dangerous edge of anger in his inflection, how it only makes him sound more worried. "You could have hurt yourself very badly. What were you thinking?"

"'S quiet, Zavala." He bends at the waist to set her down, but she clings to him harder, savoring the contact. He feels warm. Safe. She can just be Amanda Holliday and he's Just Zavala and it's nice. "C'n see the sky. Nobody tellin' me how 'dorable I am or how'm gonna be a genius someday 'n wantin' me to be eager t'please 'em.

"The Adoption fair," He muses quietly. She shudders. "That's why you were on the roof?"

"I was on the ruff because they can't see me up there." She stills, rearing back, face no longer pressed against his shoulder. "Wait, why're you here?"  Her eyes are both hopeful and accusing. Her tummy feels like it's full of butterflies, her mind tumbling through traitorous thoughts. "You adoptin' somebody?"

"I was in the neighborhood, and it had been a while since I checked in," He tilts his head to the side while she evaluates him warily. He sighs "Amanda, I cannot adopt a child. Even if I had the free time, things have a tendency to crop up. I have many responsibilities. I wouldn't do a child justice."

"Good," She tells him, resting her head. Her words are muffled against his sweater as she insists, "Didn't wanna be 'dopted, anyway."

"You should," He tells her, after a moment of relative silence, the only sound being the creaking of floorboards as he rocks her. He doesn't think about it, nor on the way he pries the textbook from her fingers with his free hand but doesn't try to set her down as well. "Anyone would be lucky to have you."

It would be dangerous to rationalize why his own words are making his chest feel tight. She's just an orphan, he tries to tell himself. He's sympathizing with her hardship. This isn't special or different from the countless others he's soothed in similar ways. He's always helped children well before there was a Vanguard or a City or commanders to oversee them.

"'m always gonna be Amanda Holliday. Don't want that to change," She murmurs.

"The right fit will come along," He whispers when she quiets. "Being adopted does not change who you are inside," He tells her. "You just need to be open to it."

"I'm ok here," She reasons back. "Got what I need." Barely audible, she mumbles, "'Sides, you come 'n visit me."

"My visiting every so often isn't enough. You deserve more, Amanda."

"Don't care," She answers, tightening her hold on him. "I think it is."

Neither of them notice the head matron lingering just outside the doorway. She's been doing this for years. She knew which prospective parents were well meaning, who would take the plunge, who would crumble when she talked to them of the difficulties, the responsibilities of raising a child. Similarly, she knew when a child would reach out, if a match was appropriate and healthy, which ones would do anything to escape the dormitories. She's seen many situations, and after nearly three decades of devotion to her cause, she liked to think she had good instincts. Prospective parents liked to think it was they who chose the child, but it was the child who chose them.

Amanda Holliday had chosen.

Karena knew, in her heart of hearts - whether he knew it yet or not - that the Commander chose her, too. At least, he wanted to.

If only it were that simple.

Chapter Text

"Sit," Karena says, softly. 

Amanda does. The head matron usually only sits them down like this if they’ve done something real bad. But Amanda can’t recall anything she might have done.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I don' really get a choice, do I?"

The matron sips her tea and sighs. "You do. You always have a choice, my dear." She pours the child a bit from the pot now that it's had time to cool and pushes both a small cup and the sugar bowl toward her. Amanda looks at the sugar before choosing to raise the mug to her mouth without it. "You could sit here, listen, and choose not to reply. Or, you could walk away. This is about you and what you want."

"Oh… okay." She sets the mug down on the saucer, and does not blanch at how strong it is. "Well, go on then," She drawls, in her tiny accent.

"The Commander. Is he important to you?"

"I mean," Amanda's nose crinkles with her confusion. It wasn't the question she'd been expecting. "A'course. He keeps us safe."

Karena sucks her lower lip between her teeth. "He does, doesn't he?" Her smile is sad. "But-"

"Why?" Little fingers weave together around the mug. She sits up straighter. "Why're you asking?"

"Would you answer me first? Honestly, please."

"Zavala is… kind," She looks down into her mug. "He's stern, and he don't take no BS," Karena holds back a hum of amusement at that. "But he cares lots. 'Bout everybody, the City, e'rything."

"I have three different families, all who want to adopt you," Karena whispers. Amanda lurches back, ready to push her chair away. "No no, baby, don't run away. I don't-" She clears her throat.

"Why tell me then?"

"I need to hear it from you."

"Hear what?" Her eyes darken, a stormy sea of green. "That I don't want nobody to adopt me? I don't!"

"If it were him-"

Amanda rolls her eyes. "Don't pull my leg."

"I'm talking hypothetical." Karena looks at her coolly. "Hypothetically, if anyone in the world could adopt you, who would it be?"

She closes her eyes. Almost too quietly to be heard, she grumbles, "No one. I don't want anyone to adopt me." Her dark lashes flutter against her freckled cheeks.

It's a lie and the Matron can tell. "I asked you to be honest, Amanda."

"You want me to tell you I want him to adopt me?"

Karena's eyes widen a touch, her head dipping in an inscrutable nod.

The child babbles, "It can't happen. Guardians don't have kids. The others tol' me-"

"Nevermind them," The matron says patiently. "This is about you."

"An' I'm tellin' you," She drawls, heavier. "He told me he can't. Probably doesn't even wanna."

"... If he did?"

She looks down into her mug for a long time. When she looks up, fixing the matron with a stare, her eyes are open, torn between futility and hope. It's a devastating, heartrending look. She doesn't cry, but her chin quivers.

"I s'pose I would."

-/

She waits. The matron is a patient woman, she has always been. The children insist she has eyes in the back of her head. It's another two visits after the time she overhears the conversation between the Commander and their little survivor before she asks Amanda if she wants the man to adopt her, and another two after that before she confronts the man himself. The conversation is almost a year in the making.

It happens to fall on a rare occasion. A day in which she comes to him, her charges in tow. Outings like this are almost biannual at best, between funding and census in the orphanage itself.

Earlier, she'd watched as Amanda tore through the crowd, the calls of her group-leader falling on deaf ears. Karena herself stood back, almost to the railings, nearly able to see the City sprawled out before them. Amanda had slipped through the last of the bystanders, dipped around and under the Commander's arm, his mark flapping in her wake. 

She expected him to hold his position, looking out almost regally at the masterpiece that was the completed walls, newly repaired and built up to protect the metropolis below. But instead, he looked down at Amanda with a much freer man's smile, the corners of his lips upturned for once.

A thruster kicked in with a loud thrum and he followed her gaze. Amanda wasn't looking down, or across at the Traveler, looming in the cradle of the walls that surrounded The Last City. She was looking up. Karena had never seen her so happy watching the ships soar up into the sky at his side.

No one paid her any mind, caught up in the commotion of being up so high, taking in the sights themselves. The same almost went for the little girl front and center, staring up into the clouds with something akin to awe.

No one noticed when she leaned against his leg, a single hand fisted in his mark, nor when he dropped to one knee, put a palm on her back, and listened to whatever childish secret she had to tell.

No one except the matron, who sighs wistfully as the moment replays in her mind. There is no denying it, not any longer. Thus, here they were.

“The other children are starting to notice,” She begins in a tone far softer than most of their conversations start with.

Part of it is subject matter, but they are both carrying dozing orphans. He has one in each arm, while she carries another on her back. He was always willing to go the extra mile, though she suspected it kept the craven lunatics that led the factions off his back to be on orphan escort duty. It was very clear his attention was very valuable, to everyone. 

And yet, it isn’t that at all. She’s been fielding these questions intermittently. Most of the time it was simply overworking minds and infantile anxiety. But this wasn’t. 

He lays the child in their bed carefully, easing the blankets over them before rising once more and settling the other youth in the upper bunk. Karena deposits the last of the sleeping children in the room next door and meets him at the top of the stairs afterward.

“What do you mean?” His eyes glow bright in the dark, twin halos of electric blue eclipsed by his eyelids as he narrows them in time with his question.

Karena moves past him, a loaded glance in his direction stopping him in his tracks. No matter how many centuries more he’s lived - honestly she couldn’t give a damn - she’s no match for a motherly gaze. He follows her into the kitchenette utilized only by staff, taking his usual seat.

Instead of fixing tea like she always did, she reaches up into the highest cupboard, procuring a bottle and glasses. She pours him two fingers before giving herself about the same.  Another wide-eyed look from him has her shaking her head in disbelief.

“Amanda,” She answers him, finally. “They’ve begun to accuse you of having favorites.”

“I... do not.”

Karena takes a hearty sip. “You do,”  She asserts. “Perfectly natural, considering. She latched onto you. A lot of them do.” Karena hums, “This time was just… different.”

“We have been doing this for-” He takes a drink, “A long time.”

“I’m aware,” The matron dips her head. “Usually I indulge them a bit, as they adjust. Amanda is a sweet child. Polite, when she wants to be. Too intelligent for her own good. I get applicants for her, all the time. It’s been almost a year now. I’ve had a total of seven applicants interested in her. Good families, clean backgrounds. She’s refused every one. Mostly politely. The last one offered to let her keep her family name, since they’d found out it meant so much to her.”

“I’ve told her countless times that she should-” He steeples his fingers, propping his elbows on the table and leaning over his drink, sighing heavily. “Even if I wanted to, I cannot,” He finally says, as close to an admission that the matron is right as he’ll come.

“She knows that.”

“You’re sure? Perhaps I’m not getting through to her. I can bring it up again if need be-”

“She’s verbalized it,” Karena swallows. “ Multiple times. She knows.”

Zavala’s shoulders sag for a moment, the nearly lost look in his eyes reminding her of a man far younger than he is. “What would you have me do?” He asks, voice rough. Like it’s hurting him to know.

She reaches across the table, takes one of his far larger palms in both of her own. “Honestly, I wish you could take her. You’d be an excellent father.” He shakes his head, uncomfortable with her praise. “You would. You work wonders with these children. And your soldiers. I hear all about how they talk about you.” 

And then, she sighs.

“But if you cannot, I need you to step back. She’ll never realize her full potential here. She’s well above her year in school, she’s a good girl. I want her to have a family who can give her what she deserves. That’s what I want for all of these kids.”

“I do, too.” He scrubs a hand over his face after a few moments of sipping their liquor in silence. “It would never work,” He says, finally. “Even if-” He trails off.

“If I can find the right family, I need you to convince her to give it a shot,” Karena presses, business-like. “I’ll push for a foster-to-adopt situation. Make her feel like it isn’t permanent until she wants it to be. But she needs to get out of here.”

The Commander’s nod is resolute. “Whatever I can do,” He answers, sad but sure.

It burns as the liquor courses down her throat, but it washes away the retort lingering on her tongue. It isn’t that he doesn’t want her. That’s not it at all. She has no doubt in her mind that if he weren’t the Vanguard Commander that he’d take her. But his job - his duty is not conducive to raising a child.

When he rises, she sees the metaphorical weight of it cast upon him. This hurts him, as much as she had expected it to. No amount of armor can hide it, no stoicism can completely outshine it in his gaze.

“For what it’s worth,” She says, when he takes his leave, “I’m sorry.”

His Ghost flickers into the space over his shoulder when he exits. She can hear their muffled voices as they exit the front gates. It seems the matron wasn’t the only one hoping he might at least consider an alternative arrangement.

Chapter Text

They're nice people, Amanda supposes, the first time she meets them. They want to see her do good things, to send her to a nice school for 'gifted' children like her. Wouldn’t make her change her name unless she decided she wants to.

Zavala said she needed to give them a chance. Said he liked them. Said he'd vetted them himself. Whatever that meant.

But she could tell something was wrong, the entire time. He didn't sound like it, didn't look like it, and if somebody asked, she couldn't really give them proof. She just knew. She'd been around enough people trying to convince others of things they didn't wanna believe themselves. Trying to inspire hope in others so they wouldn’t feel so hopeless themselves.

He had asked her to agree to it for herself. To give herself the best chance. It won't be permanent right away, he'd said. Not until you're ready.

Amanda knew she would never be ready, but she knew she had to give him - and Matron Karena and the houseparents who kept telling her this was what was best option she had - proof. That would be the only way to show them she was better off not adopted at all. So, reluctantly - but far easier than Zavala had been expecting, she could tell - she agreed.

-/

Mr and Mrs Baumsol - her foster parents - were kind enough. The mom was far less stern than Ma ever was, and the dad was a City worker who had long hours and was mostly tired and subdued when he was home. Their son, Benji, was their pride and joy. The two of them had lots of structured play time, but also had their fair share of chores.

Really, Amanda didn't mind doing the work. Kept her busy and out of the way. Mrs Baumsol kept asking questions about her Ma and Pa when she was in the same room, so she'd trade Benji for garbage duty, tending the garden and sweeping the walkways. He seemed to enjoy cleaning things better than being outside anyway.

He was a quiet boy, not mean like the boys at the orphanage, but not particularly nice, either. He didn't seem to mind her, so long as she didn't hog too much attention. Which was fine. It didn't feel right when they - her foster parents - showed their affection for her. It didn't feel warm or safe.

Didn’t feel like… well, no use thinking about that. That wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t. He’d been sure to remind her of that, the last time they’d seen each other. Sometimes, late at night, she curls up in a ball and thinks about what safe feels like to try and fall asleep. Tries to think of Ma and Pa, but it’s not the same. It’s not real. She can’t have that. But, when she lets herself think about kind blue eyes and a gentle voice, and pillows the blanket he’d given her under her head like it’s his sweater… 

It was difficult trying to sleep at night. With her bedroom near the front garden, she could hear everything that happened at night. Vehicles, people walking home or exercising their pets. She's always been a light sleeper. That was sometimes the difference between life and death.

Some nights, she heard things. The sound of old shows playing too loud in their neighbor’s living room: they’d fallen asleep on the couch again. Sometimes it was quieter, almost cricket-like chirping that reminded her of the wilds, of…

… Fallen, in the distance.

She started staying up, listening. Sure, she was tired, but there was no way she’d sleep easy without knowing. Kept an eye out during the day, listened, when she and Benji walked back from their primary school together. About a week into it, she’d heard a sound she couldn’t unhear: arc pulses.

Benji yells at her, flapping his arms when she drops to a crouch next to the storm grate, eyes narrowed on the pavement and both hands cupped around her ears. This was just outside the Baumsol’s house. No wonder she could hear it at night. She wasn’t wrong, she thought, the touch of pride at being right overshadowed by sudden fear that came with it.

Rising quickly, she clings onto his arm, dragging him away. “Is your mom home,” She asks him, when they’re a few meters away from the grate.

“She went shopping, she sent me a message on my tablet.” Amanda didn’t have one of those. Benji was three years older than her, and he’d saved up for his communications device all on his own. Amanda might be able to have one when she got older, they said.

Honestly, Amanda had been done with these people since the first time she met them. She knew they were nice and good, but they weren’t her people. “Look, there’s Fallen down there, in the sewer.”

“That’s insane.”

“There is!” She tells him, defensively.

Benji laughs. “Momma says you’re not sleeping at night. I think you’re losing your marbles.” He drops to his knees in front of the vent. “Helloooo, Fallen? Anyone in there?”

Amanda squeals and yanks him up, hard. “Don’t do that! They understan’ common-speak!”

His sandy brown hair sways as he laughs. “Oh, please. There aren’t any Fallen in the sewers.”

 “I can hear them at night, too!” She continues dragging him along, face pinched in frustration. “They’re definitely down there. I know that sound.”

“Is that why you’re not sleeping?” Benji looks a bit sad, almost. “If you’ll sleep better, you can have my room.”

“No, I - You don’t get it!”

“No,” Benji answers, exasperatedly, “You don’t get it. I’ve lived in this City my entire life. Momma and Dad, too. We’re safe here. I heard them say that you’ve never been safe before. But this is how it is. We’ve always been safe. We’ll always be safe.”

That doesn’t stop her from telling both of her foster parents, the very moment they return home. She explains the sounds in the night, tells them to come with her, quietly, they’ll be able to hear the movement in the drains. But both of them have the same kind of mindset. She can hear her Pa’s voice, soft but honest, his lessons loud and clear in her mind.

That kinda thinkin’s what gets people killed.

Those aren’t rats in the gutters, or the sounds of fruit bats that must be nesting in the rafters of some house nearby. She’s not just some ‘cutie’ with an ‘overactive imagination,’ like they say at first, or, weeks later, when she still won’t let it drop, ‘a poor, tortured soul,’ and ‘a troubled girl.’  

She is Amanda Holliday and she did not survive this long by ignoring clear warning signs.

Chapter Text

When he arrives back to Command - after having just arrived home - the entirety of control is bustling. Chaotic. There are alarms going off in the background - not the big alarms, but the ones that signal an attack within the City.  He strides in with purpose, his Ghost transmatting another tablet into his hands already loaded up with what he needs to know, linking him into the comms.

He does not need a briefing, his Ghost has informed him of everything they know so far. Fallen insurgents in a residential district, playing merry hell with the civilians. It made him furious, but he restrains himself. Evenly, he asks, “Do we have a fireteam on the ground?”

“Yes,” Ikora answers, from the other side of the table. “They’re on the scene. It’s a firestorm. An entire neighborhood is up in flames.”

From behind her, a tech reports, “Second team is en route, and medical crews are on standby.”

“Casualties?”

“None reported, but they won’t know until after we put out the fires.” The tech looks sheepish. “The… my visuals would suggest we’ll have several. I’ll keep you updated.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Cayde-6 is saying to Ikora. “They got into the residential districts how?” He taps his metal chin a few times, brow-plates furrowing, then jumps back, excited. “The sewers!” He exclaims.

"What?"

"That's how they got in!" He motions with a hand to gather his team to his end of the table. They lean in. "The runoff pipes were on your last budget-thingy," He looks at Zavala, "But we nixed it because FWC and New Monarchy wanted more money for that weapons agreement and Dead Orbit doesn't care because they figure the City is doomed anyway."

Ikora and Zavala trade glances.

"That is…" Zavala begins.

Ikora shakes her head.

"What?" Cayde gestures flamboyantly. "What?!"

"We never thought we'd see the day that you actually retained what happened in a Consensus meeting," Ikora quips. She turns her attention to a tech who hands her a report.

"Good work, Cayde," Zavala rumbles, almost impressed. Cayde would say he is very impressed, just too busy to show it. He'll ask for the praise again, later. The Commander has already started talking to the fireteam on the ground. 

It ends up being an all night affair. Takes six hours to put the fires out - literally - and then there’s all the red tape and trying to account for survivors, dead, and wounded. There’s only a handful of casualties, despite everything, and most of the wounded have smoke inhalation injuries. The critical injuries were thankfully minimal and all parties were taken for treatment. All in all, with the Fallen on the surface contained and Cayde organizing routes for strike teams to destroy any lingering threats below, it’s a night well spent.

This will not happen again. Zavala doesn’t give a damn about what the factions want. City infrastructure will not remain compromised on his watch. He certainly doesn’t feel good about it, these catastrophes happened, it was part of the job. But, they highlighted weak spots in their defenses, in their priorities and allowed them to rectify them before it becomes a large scale assault. 

He’s already thinking about what kind of defenses could be placed in the sewers when he leaves. Teams down there would be too costly, but cameras would likely be alright with some sort of passive weapon system. Maybe turrets would be wise.

“Zavala.”

The sound of the Speaker’s voice at the top of the stairs gives him pause. His familiar mask is impassive, a welcome sight. The Commander jogs up to meet the wise Warlock. He’s almost about to ask what the other man needs when he sees why the Speaker sought him out in the first place.

A familiar face is beside him, eyes red from crying. His stomach drops.

“She would like you to go with her,” The Speaker intones carefully. He dips his head, removing his arm from around the woman’s shoulder. “Assuming you have everything in order?”

“Yes, everything is in hand.” He looks to the matron. “What happened? Is everything alright?” 

The woman attempts to compose herself, but the Speaker puts an arm around her shoulders and hands her a handkerchief. “The situation last night,” He answers, instead. The woman sags against him, accepting the brief comfort. “One of her charges was injured. I believe you know her?”

The Commanders eyes flutter. “What?” He asks, almost in disbelief. His voice sounds hoarse to his own ears.

“She’d been telling them for months,” The woman murmurs, muffled by the Speaker’s robe. “They told her she was imagining things.” 

The Speaker sighs. “The damage is done,” He says, as kindly as he can. “All we can do is try to prevent it from happening again.” Still, he looks at Zavala, and though the Commander can’t see his eyes, he can feel the scrutiny.

It doesn’t matter, in that moment. Zavala asks, “Where is she? Is she alright?”

Karena shakes her head. “I don’t - they took her into surgery right away, but…” She wrings her hands. “They said they wouldn’t know right away. I have to go talk to the foster family. They’ve been treated and released. I-”

“Go with her,” The Speaker instructs. Whether he’s gleaned the specifics of the situation from whatever else Karena has said to him earlier remains to be seen, but Zavala doesn’t question it now. “I’ll check in with you later.”

Zavala can only nod.

-/

For a woman who had been sobbing moments earlier, Karena composes herself quickly. By the time they enter the Tower’s medical facility, it doesn’t even look like she’s shed a tear. Her dark eyes are firm, unyielding. A bit intimidating, even. She straightens her back and her shoulders level. Not for the first time, Zavala finds himself impressed with her.

They find the family in one of the large waiting rooms, two FOTC guards standing nearby. They’re not detailing the trio, who is clothed in sooty pajamas, but the three of them sit quietly in the full waiting room as though they’re being tried for a crime. The mother is curled in on herself, her husband’s are around her, holding her close. Nearby, a children’s program plays on the screen, but the child does not pay any attention to it, his gaze trained on the sterilized floor.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” Karena says quietly, drawing their attention.

As expected, they don’t look to the matron. Their eyes are trained on the Commander. He looks to Karena. “Don’t mind me,” He says, softly.

“Momma,” The boy says softly, “Are we in trouble?”

Karena shakes her head. “No, sweetheart,” She says softly. “You’re all free to go. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.”

The parents nod. Quietly, Mrs Baumsol says, “I didn’t think - she said she knew how to hide, and we never would have been able to-”

Her husband puts a hand over hers, clasped together in her lap. “We take full responsibility. We should have taken her concerns seriously. We just - we knew there would be difficulties adjusting. We just figured she wanted attention. We’ve never had something like this happen before.”

“You won’t get her back,” Karena tells them. “I realize it was an honest mistake, but, after this, she’ll never feel safe with you. To be transparent,” She sighs. “I don’t believe I would recommend you to foster another child.”

Mr Baumsol dips his head in a solemn nod. “We understand. We just pray she pulls through.” At that, his wife begins sobbing with renewed vigor.

Zavala’s eyes meet Karena’s, bright and alarmed. “What-” He closes his eyes. “What happened?”

The husband and wife have a wordless conversation, the wife tipping her head, indicating for her husband and son to leave her with the other two. The boy looks fearfully at his mother, but she gives him a brave smile and nods.

“We were trying to find a place to hide. My husband had gone to get our gun from the safe in our bedroom,” She wipes her eyes and nose, coughing a bit from obvious smoke inhalation. “There wasn’t-” She sighs. “There wasn’t enough room in the crawlspace for the three of us, and Benji - my son - wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t be quiet, he was terrified and they found us...” She blinks through more tears and looks up at the both of them, seeming terribly small in her seat. “Amanda - I don’t even know where she got it - she threw something at them. An improvised incendiary, whatever it was, it blew up in the thing's face. It was a big one, I think the Guardians called it a Captain?” Zavala nods. “It grabbed her. I ran. There was no way if that thing got to either of us that we’d be able to escape.” Her brows knit together as her lip trembles. “I-I know that’s selfish, but I never would have been able to beat them and I wanted our son to live.” 

Zavala looks down and away, his irises reduced to a dull glow. “I’m sorry,” He says with great sincerity, his personal feelings brushed aside. “What you went through must have been horrifying. We have teams working to secure the district, and I promise you we will do everything possible to prevent it from happening again and to help you and your family rebuild.” 

The woman nods. “I just feel so guilty,” She clenches her fists. “We should have listened-”

“It cannot be undone,” Karena interjects, coolly, the Speaker’s earlier words reiterated with a sharp edge. “Amanda is a very special child. I told you that when you took her in. Her experiences are unique.”

“We know.”

Zavala asks in his most soothing voice, “Do you know which Guardians brought her in?”

“I don’t,” Mrs Baumsol bites her lip, endlessly shaking her head. “They med-evacced her right away, we never even saw her. All the doctors have told me is that they were trying to save her leg, but since you’re here now,” She looks to Karena, “They won’t talk to us at all.”

It clearly takes a lot of Karena’s willpower not to yell at the woman, but she remains composed, though her hands remain clasped behind her back to prevent anyone from seeing them shake. The moment the Baumsol family leaves, she’s pacing in front of the wide, blue-tinted windows that look out over part of the Tower and the City below.

“I never should have recommended them. I should have known.”

“You had no way of knowing this situation would come up.”

“It’s not this situation, Commander.” Karena turns back from the window. “I should have known they wouldn’t have listened to her. Everything was white-picket fences and happy-go-lucky. I should have known they would have crumbled under pressure.”

“These are extenuating circumstances,” Zavala urges her. “And I… did agree with your selection as well. Allow me to at least shoulder some of the blame.”

Karena sighs. “I don’t think blaming you would make me feel any better, Commander.” She pats him on the shoulder, mindful of his armor. “I’m going to get some tea. It’s going to be a long day. Would you like anything?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll wait here in case one of the doctors come out with an update.” Once she departs, his Ghost flickers into view, hovering in close. He’s taken a seat on one of the benches, his head in his hands. He’s exhausted, but not in a way that suggests he’d be able to sleep if he tried.

“It’ll be alright, Zavala,” The little bot tells him in a soft whisper. “She’s a tough one.”

“I don’t,” He closes his eyes, not knowing how to proceed and the Ghost makes a chirring sound, a synthetic tone of both endearment and comfort. Without words, he asks her: What am I supposed to do?

The Ghost looks around, doing a quick scan for anyone who might see them, then brushes her fins against the worry-lines marring his forehead in a rare moment of physical affection. Now isn’t the time for what she thinks on the subject. Calmly, apologetically, she tells him aloud, “For now, all we can do is wait.”

Chapter Text

Everything seemed to fade in and out. One minute she’d feel like her entire body was on fire, heat and pain and everything hurting. The next, she’d feel like she was sinking in an ocean of gentle waves that pulled her down, down, until there was nothing.

When she finally starts feeling awake, that happens in bits and pieces, too. A few heavy blinks into the eyes of a young woman who speaks to her but she can’t hear the words, as though her ears aren’t awake but her eyes are. The feeling of a hand covering hers, someone moving her. Bright lights overhead. Her entire body feels so heavy and sore, like she’s been running forever, from Fallen on the roads-

Wait, she thinks, eyes shocking open in panic. Not the roads. The City. Fallen. There were-

Matron Karena is leaning over her faster than she can blink, shushing her gently, lacing their fingers. “You’re alright, baby,” She tells her in the softest hum, and Amanda wants to curl up, to push herself closer to the matron she hasn’t seen in three months, but she doesn’t think she can do much more than flex her fingers. Her mouth feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton balls, and her eyelids feel weighed down, like her body doesn’t belong to her; It isn’t listening. “You’ve done so well.”

She must make some sound, some croaky noise from the back of her throat because the matron sits herself on the edge of the bed and continues stroking her hair. “Nuh,” She groans. “B-Benhj-”

“They’re alright,” Karena answers, knowing what she’s trying to say. “They made it out safe.” The blonde relaxes into the pillows once more. The room has a lot of sounds: weird mechanical dings and ambient blips from all sorts of sensors. “Rest a while longer,” She encourages, smoothing the wrinkles that appear on the girl’s forehead when she frowns, trying to concentrate. It’s clearly a losing battle, her eyelids close and stay that way. Whatever else the matron says is lost to her as she drifts back to sleep.

The room isn’t as bright when she wakes next. The white light that was above her before is off, she knows, because it doesn’t sear through her eyelids. She shifts, trying to get comfortable. The longer she stays awake, the more she feels an acute ache, coiling up from her toes. All of her feels stiff, like she hasn’t moved in a really long time.

“Zavala,” Calls a voice, elegant and female. It’s accompanied by a mechanical click and whir, her tone influenced by a gentle thrum of static.

A creaking chair and a rustle alert her to movement to her left, the sound of two heavy footsteps in her direction. Her eyes open in twin slivers of blue-green. “Amanda,” He says fondly, sounding terribly relieved.

It takes her a moment to focus on his face, the bright shimmer of his eyes, the intricate patterns that pulse and pull apart across his skin. The effort takes a lot, but she tries to lift a hand to reach for him. In the end, she ends up knocking her palm against his face, but he covers her hand with one of his own, holding it against his cheek.

"Okay?" She mumbles, blinking at him. He doesn't answer right away, so she wills herself to press on. "W's wrong?"

The glow in his eyes is sad, and he doesn't smile, though when he'd said her name a minute ago, it made her feel important, special. "Everything is fine," He answers, eventually. His voice sounds pinched, like he's still real concerned. "I am glad you're awake."

Her head flops to the left so she can get a better look at him. Some part of her decides then to shift, growing more uncomfortable. A starburst of pain makes her shriek, throwing her head back, her spine arching. She pants hard against the pillows. She can't think of why, her entire body is curling in on itself, reduced to the rapidly increasing pressure and agony that is her legs.

When she reaches down blindly, he grabs both her hands in his. She squeezes hard, her fingernails biting into his skin as her body tenses further. "It hurts," She whines morosely. "Make it stop."

He nods, and his Ghost zips overhead to seek out a nurse. "Breathe," He tells her, when her breaths become anxious gasps, the monitors around her getting louder. "Look at me."

She tries, but it doesn't help.

The nurse comes in with a tired looking Karena on her heels. "Okay sweetheart," The medical staff says, unscrewing a cap from a needleless syringe to push into her IV, "This will make you sleepy, but you won't hurt anymore."

Wide eyes look to Zavala first. He nods. "But-" She squeezes his hands, trying to keep him close, panic overwhelming her, "I jus' woke up-"

The medication hits her system quick, her grip slackening, eyes drooping immediately. Whatever else she was trying to say comes out in a slurry. "Dunn leaf," it sounds like.

"What was-?" His Ghost looks between the rest of them before drifting high enough to recheck the monitors.

"Don't leave," Karena informs him. In the silence that follows, she says, “Children cling when they’re hurting. It’s not about the pain so much as it is about feeling safe.”

Zavala looks to her, infinitely conflicted. "I-"

"I know," She interrupts, motheringly. Her smile is warm. "Don't feel guilty. You have a job to do. I'll sit with her when you have to go." 

The nurse dips her head in a curt nod, her dark hair pulled up and out of her face. "We'll contact your Ghost if anything changes, Sir. She's already asked us to."

That doesn't make him feel better, though he appreciates the gesture. It still takes his Ghost's gentle, non-verbal insisting to convince him to leave the child, even though the curl of her hand is based on reflex rather than conscious thought. In the end it takes him far longer than it should to say his goodbyes, warring silently with himself on whether or not to give in to impulse and press a kiss to her forehead on his way out.

(He does. The matron pretends not to notice.)

-/

Ikora is nowhere in sight. He was supposed to report to her - she was on night rota this cycle due to some experiment she was working on - and though her Ghost answered his partner's requests dismissively. Though, Zavala is certain that is more to do with Ikora and Ophiuchus' communication issues than with the woman's Ghost being purposely irritating.

He really should speak to her, even if there isn't much to report. But after the second hour of fruitless communication with Ophiuchus, Zavala sends him an abbreviated missive and leaves for the Tower’s medical facility. It isn't protocol, however both Ikora and Cayde have done similar when important endeavors come up.

When he arrives, the medical staff greets him amiably enough, the same dark-haired woman that’s been tending to Amanda for the last few days waving politely before continuing her conversation with a colleague about another patient. He breathes an unnoticeable sigh of relief. If something had gone wrong, she would have stopped to speak with him, Zavala’s sure.

"I was beginning to wonder if I'd be sitting here all night," Comes a cool voice from Amanda's bedside when he steps through the threshold.

Ikora’s brows rise in a silent question. She tilts her head, banishes the tablet in her hands without another sound.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, unable to look away from her piercing gaze. Nothing escapes her notice; He should have known.

“What are you doing, Zavala?” She gestures to the sleeping girl in the bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and cords. “This has to stop.”

A glance in Amanda’s direction gives him pause. “Why are the monitors off?”

“My Ghost is monitoring them. They are-”

“Ikora.” He isn’t yelling, but there is an edge of fury in his voice.

She tsks. “I hardly think Ophiuchus would hesitate to notify the staff if something were wrong. Besides, I spoke to the physician. It’s a precaution.” His glare is severe. Ikora crosses her arms, unimpressed. “The monitors are projected in both the nursing station and in the hallway. No one’s being denied any information about her well-being.”

He steps between the chair Ikora’s draped herself in and the hospital bed, leaning down to look into the child’s face. Her freckled cheeks are red and fevered, but her chest rises and falls in deep, even breaths. He sighs.

“You can’t blame yourself for every child harmed by our enemies," Ikora says when he straightens. "You'll drive yourself to madness."

Scrubbing the left side of his face with his hand, he replies, "I am not. This is different."

Ikora leans back against the uncomfortable chair, making herself appear almost regal despite it. Her golden eyes widen and narrow in an intimidating evaluation. She does not ask a question. She does not have to. They've certainly been working together long enough.

"You're obviously aware of how she sustained her injuries," He begins, looking down at the girl's face. "She is a child from the home I volunteer at."

"Yes, I know." His brows furrow. She admits, "I dismissed the woman that was here when I arrived." Ikora unwinds her arms. "You've been here every day since the attack. She's barely conscious for more than a few minutes at a time, Zavala. I know you feel guilty, but-"

Zavala's eyes close. "I don't know," He confesses.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what I am doing here," He elaborates. "But better I be here than to sit at home and lament not being here. She calls for me every time she wakes."

"So? Children want their idols to dote on them."

"It's not like that," The Commander insists. Ikora harrumphs in response, her expression souring.

"Zavala, she's not your child."

"I know that."

"Right. That's why your knitting is sitting in the corner of the room, and you've got an extra tablet stashed in the drawer. This attachment isn't healthy."

"It's not-"

"Lie to me all you want, but don't lie to yourself," She scoffs. "I don’t know what you’re thinking. You couldn't possibly take care of a regular youth much less a handicapped one-"

"That's enough."

Both Vanguard freeze, their heads swiveling meet an impassive mask and deep black robes. The Speaker tips his head to Ikora. “Leave us.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you-”

The elder Warlock blocks her path back to the hallway, intimidating despite his even tone. “I would ask that you not return here unless Zavala asks you to do so.” He steps aside, and towards the girl's bedside. “This child has seen far more hardship than you or I could fathom in her life,” He holds out a hand and his Ghost appears, undoing Ophiuchus' work on the monitors. A quick nod to Zavala later, he regards Ikora. “Do not forget that our humanity is what made us the Traveler’s Chosen, Ikora. Our bonds to the mortals of this world will only strengthen our resolve.”

The Warlock Vanguard leaves without a word, the rebuke clearly embarrassing her.

“She will not let this rest,” The Speaker tells Zavala, with a humorless chuckle. “Do not be surprised if she brings it up again next you are alone. She worries, in her own way.”

Zavala nods, already expecting the future altercation. Ikora is tenacious, hard pressed to let anything go - especially if she felt it was ill-advised.

“But I am not here for that,” He says, motioning to the chair Ikora has vacated. For Zavala to sit. “I am here to speak with you.”

Chapter Text

The Speaker chooses his words carefully, thus they sit in a momentary silence before he begins. The ambient noise of the room - puffs of air from the nasal cannula that helps her get enough oxygen, monitors that check blood pressure, gentle beeps of the monitors, the idle drip of medication into IV lines all blend together in a strange symphony. Zavala does not find it anything but anxiety inducing, though he keeps still and does not act in a way that would readily flag him as such.

Not that it matters, the Speaker knows him well. “I would presume,” He says, slow and quiet, mindful of the child sleeping in the bed an arm’s length away, “That you have spoken to your Ghost about this?”

“Shiori has made her opinions known,” Zavala admits, after a moment’s thought. Likely, also that he’s spoken to said partner, through the link that Guardians share with their Ghosts.

He hums in reply, leaning back in a gesture that isn’t quite relaxed, but appears more casual than official. “And your opinions do not line up?”

Amanda stirs beside them, a frown cutting through her features, but shifts and resettles without waking. Zavala sighs in relief, having been immediately distracted by it. “Wants and needs are two different things," He offers, instead of answering the question.

"Yes," The other man agrees. "Unless your want and her need aligns."

"It does not. My lifestyle is not conducive to raising a child, regardless of whether I would consider it or not," Zavala replies.

"And yet you're here," The Speaker answers. Though his expression is covered by a mask, the inflection of his voice gives away his feelings on the matter. He tips his head to the left, evaluating.

"She calls for me when she wakes," He tells the Speaker, just as he had Ikora, but it feels inadequate as a defense. Flimsy.

"Could the matron not fulfill her needs?" He asks gently, yet there's something blunt in his tone. "She could sit with the girl."

"Yes," Zavala agrees morosely, "I just-"

"But the matron cannot console the girl when she's in the throws of panic, certainly not when she's altered by medication and plagued by fever dreams. The trust is not intrinsic, subconscious." The Speaker crosses his arms. "Nor can she give the girl favor, even if she wanted to. She has other duties, other children she is responsible for." 

The child whines in her sleep from discomfort, and as if to prove his point, Zavala is at her side, gently adjusting the sheets tangled around her lower half, mindful of her injuries.

"I want to help her," The Commander admits, wistfully, looking down at the girl’s face.

Circling back, the Speaker reminds him, "And being at her bedside when she wakes, then withdrawing will help her how? The child trusts you. It would crush her."

"Then what do I do? I could not possibly forsake my duties."

"You could do both." Zavala stares, slack-jawed at the other man's masked face. "She will need therapies and treatments… A hospital stay like this requires rehabilitation, according to the matron. It will be months at least."

"It's impossible. There is no way I could take care of a child."

The Speaker ignores him. "Plenty of time to get your affairs in order, and this would not be easy, certainly not. This one hasn't hit her teenage years, and from what I've been told by others, it is rather taxing."

"I can't do this on my own," Zavala hedges. "There is no way. The Vanguard, my Titans, I-"

"Think, Zavala." The Speaker's voice cuts through his argument, firm and blunt, yet not unkind. "I never said you should raise her on your own." He rises. "I’m merely suggesting you consider that it may not be as impossible as you think." As he passes the Titan Vanguard, he squeezes his shoulder in a show of support, speaking softer. "A reminder of why we do what we do would not be remiss around here."

The Speaker leaves. Once alone, Zavala brings the chair he'd been sitting in to rest almost against the bed. Silently, he evaluates her: the wrinkle of her brow and nose while she sleeps, the way her fingers curls over the blankets before she pulls them against her chest. 

"He's right, you know."

"He always is," Zavala answers, watching his Ghost shimmer into being on the other side of the room.

She sighs. "You really want this, though."

"Yes," He admits, after a time.

"So we ask for help. Like he said, they don't plan on releasing her any time soon."

"Shiori-" 

His Ghost continues, speaking over him in that soothing mezzo-soprano of hers. "She hasn't been awake for more than twenty minutes and even that was debatable." Her white shell orbits her core slowly. "I don't think it's wrong to be happy, Zavala. And I don't think you're going to blow off your responsibilities to everyone and everything else because of her."

"But is it fair to her?"

That gives her pause. "Well, I would suspect she'd agree."

"That is not the question. She's a child. I have doubt that she knows what is best for herself."

"Well-"

He frowns. "She's been harmed because our efforts to keep the City safe failed her. I cannot tell if I feel guilty of if it's just that I somehow feel a connection-"

"You're doing it again, always overthinking," She tuts. "Listen to me, Zavala. You wanted to take Amanda home with us the first time we met her. You were beside yourself that you upset her." She drifts closer. "And when she came around, you spent an entire visit holding onto her. I teased you about it for a week. You remember what Karena called her?"

Zavala closes his eyes. Shiori takes it as a yes.

"You were furious with me when I told you we should at least consider taking her. You gave me every reason I'm sure you're thinking of now. But you forget: I know you, Guardian. I know you're going to make the right choice. You always do."

Scrubbing a hand down the side of his face, he regards his partner warily. "That transparent, am I?"

Shiori bumps his hand away from his face. "No. You just don't do things in half measures," She says fondly, her single eye meeting both of his. "You never have." 

“I just want to be sure,” He says in reply. “I need some time.”

-/

Amanda wakes when midnight and morning bleed into each other. Unlike other times, the muzzy fading feeling seems to burn off, leaving her licking her chapped lips and squirming. She feels uncomfortable. Something isn't right.

The only sound in the room is a not unpleasant timed click, an easy shuffle, and the muted sound of a monitor. She exhales long and loud, taking stock. Only three extremities respond to her. The fourth tingles in an angry buzz of pain and numbness. Trying to move it makes her whimper, the conscious thought put into moving her knee ends in a furious confusion of synapses that don't have anywhere to go.

With her muffled cry, the cadence of clack-shuffling stops. She takes a few more breaths, forcing them to stay even, her eyelashes beating against her cheeks as she tries to make sense of the strange new feelings she’s confronted with.

Instead of speaking, he watches as her stormy eyes open and clear, adjusting to the fluorescent lighting. She looks down and bites her lip, but does not make any more noise. Her eyes water but she doesn’t make any more sound, other than the tiny groan of adjusting herself. She’s already propped up between pillows and the angle of the hospital bed.

She almost topples over reaching for her bad leg, but her left arm manages to keep her upright while she regards the lumpy bed linens. It hurts, but she flips back one end of the covers to see what her leg looks like and immediately flinches back.

It’s a large bandage that starts almost where her leg meets her trunk, but it goes down to just short of where her knee should be - and stops. She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut and then braves another look. On the second inspection, she notes that there’s blood leaking through the dressings, faded and iron-brown. No knee. No foot. Gone.

The hand that touches her head makes her freeze, and only then does she realize Zavala’s watching her evaluate herself. She looks to him with something like panic twisted by despair.

"'m not dreaming, am I?" She asks softly.

The edge of the bed dips as he sits, perched on the edge facing toward her. "No," He answers.

She closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows. "E'ryone else's okay?"

"They are," He answers. "Do-" His voice catches on the prospect that perhaps she'd rather be consoled by her foster family, though they'd withdrawn rather easily - too easily, Karen's said, though she'd never been planning to allow Amanda to return to them. His stomach lurches at the thought that her calls for him were simply hallucinations, that maybe he has this completely wrong. "Do you want to see them?"

There is no hesitation in her reply. She shakes her head in the negative. "It had me by this leg," She points to the wrapped stump. "Did you get it?"

"The Guardian who found you killed it. It won't hurt you or anyone else."

"But you said they go through you." She doesn't look at him, still eyeing the bulge of gauze.

"I am the Commander. The Guardians answer to me." He sighs, trying to explain it in a way she’ll understand. "I was in command all night, making sure everyone that was in trouble was seen to." Selfish as it may be, he’s grateful he didn’t know. It would have ate away at him all night while he was trying to organize relief efforts, the way it had while he had sat with the matron what felt like the longest day he’d had in years.

"I thought it was you," She admits. "They - It was like lightnin' but… Th'same blue as yer eyes," She drawls. 

They sit quietly for a few moments.

Her resolve crumbles with a mumble of, "I really wanted t’see you." She reaches for him and he obliges, letting her press her face into his chest, feeling her lip curl and her shoulders shake through his sweater as she cries. It’s muffled against his sweater, but he hears her confessions. The fear of what she’d surely though was her death. That she should have tried harder to make them believe her, that she knew and it was all her fault.

That she didn’t want to die without seeing him again.

It felt like he’d never be able to walk out of the room. Part of that might have been the tiny fingers that threaded through his own with a surprising strength, but… There was more to it than that. It was like his bond with Ghost but not quite, a natural connection so wholly different from any he’d forged before and it was plain and obvious, terrifying and yet comforting all at once.

The morning comes too soon, and with it, the realization that he would have to leave. She seemed to know it too, her tiny grip growing exponentially.

“I’ll be okay,” She tells him, her voice faint against his side. Her fingers twitch and pull away from him. He doesn’t miss the way they wrap around herself as he rises. “It’s fine.”

He’s never been more certain that it is anything but. “Karena will come sit with you, or one of the houseparents,” He says. “Someone you know.”

“Would-” She squeezes her eyes shut, as if looking at him - seeing the truth on his face - would upset her. “Would you come back sometime?” She asks meekly.

It’s only after he rises, patting her head, that she sees the folded blanket in progress - a shade of red far brighter than the one she’d left behind at the Baumsol’s. He removes it carefully from the chair at her bedside and opens one of the drawers in the small half-dresser beside her bed, tucking it and the rest of his knitting supplies inside.

He smiles at her, she knows it not because of his lips - those are set in a firm line. His eyes spark, almost. Bright and good and true. “I’ll come back as soon as I am able,” He tells her. “You have my word.”

Chapter Text

There are obstacles, road blocks… challenges, to any objective.

He is not a man who allows himself to stray from the task at hand, except when necessary. This isn’t technically necessary - not to him - but he knows that the consequences of not following through will outweigh the repercussions of missing three minutes of faction banter.

Really, no matter how long the three heads argue, the outcome will still be the same. Lakshimi has the funding for her project and will proceed with her objective, paying Hideo to produce the weapons she requires, leaving Arach Jalal licking his wounds because if he wants new ships, he’ll only have the meager support of the Vanguard’s budget - and only if he plays nicely. 

For a man who consistently says whatever thought crosses his mind without any situational awareness, it’s a rather unpleasant deal. To Zavala, he’d rather they skip that part, and forego the carrying on leading up to it.

He’d made a promise this morning. Foolishly. He presumed nothing large would come up, Ikora was on duty tonight, she could handle anything short of a large-scale attack on the City, and this meeting was supposed to adjourn at least three hours earlier. He knew better than to assume.

What were you going to do? Shiori asks silently between them while Jalal throws his tantrum in the direction of Lakshimi-2. She knows you come when you’re able. 

Maintaining his look of inscrutable stoicism, he answers in kind. She was looking forward to this. I never speak so specifically on purpose, and now…

It was going to happen eventually, She replies through their link. And honestly, you’re going to have to get used to it, if this is ever going to work. There’s a pause. And I think that’s the part you’re more worried about, if you ask me.

Shiori. Though it’s not particularly audible, the Ghost understands his tone immediately. It’s the tired one he uses with Cayde-6, most of the time.

So, if you’re not going to make it, you’re going to have to think of an alternative. Someone else who might not be in this meeting and would be free. Someone who’s good with kids, easy to get along with, won’t pepper Amanda with questions…

Shiori.

What?

Zavala’s only physical reaction is a small part of his lips, a practiced glance at the ceiling. Around him, the room carries on, oblivious to their conversation. See if Eva is free. Please.

-/

The nurses try to get her to eat. They bring her both dinner choices from the hospital’s cafeteria, make offers of ice cream and sweet treats. She doesn’t want any of it. Zavala promised he’d bring them both dinner. He never makes promises, but he always follows through. Maybe something happened.

She asks the nurses, but they simply sigh and tell her that he’d likely gotten busy. He was very important, didn’t she know?

Of course she did. Anytime she asked him for something it was always in that way that suggested maybe he could, that he didn’t have to. She knew eventually it would all run out, everything did. She’d have to go back to the orphanage and it would be back to one day every few months. If she was lucky, she might see him for an hour or two. 

But she could enjoy it while it lasted, she thought. He was the one who asked her this time, not the other way around. She knew he would come through. He always did.

So, when the door to her room slides open very tentatively, she freezes. That isn't Zavala, she knows it instantly. Her eyes darken, narrowing in distrust on the newcomer and the bag in her arms.

"Hello, dear," The woman says in a heavily accented voice. She lingers in the doorway, holding up the bag. A look of momentary confusion twists her lips into something concerned, but it's there and gone. "Zavala sent me. He was worried you might be getting hungry. He's been stuck in a meeting all evening and isn't sure when it will end." She looks at Amanda's face, not her stump. And she seems pretty nice, Amanda supposes, but she still doesn't trust her.

The woman steps into the room, her brown hair glinting with a hint of gray under the fluorescent lighting. "May I?"

She nods. "Will he come after?" And then, nose scrunching, she asks, "And, uh, who are you, anyway?"

A laugh comes in reply. The woman sets aside the tray of untouched hospital good, pulling out rice and beans in a clear container and a few opaque containers that look like meats. The girl stares in rapt surprise.

"My name is Eva. Eva Levante." She sets to arranging the contents of the containers onto a plate - a real one, not the plastic ones the hospital uses. "I know he promised you something from one of his favorite restaurants, but between you and me, I think he likes my cooking better."

Amanda swallows hard. "Smells real good," She concedes in a whisper. "Do," She looks to Eva, "Do ya think he'll come after his meetin'?"

That makes Eva pause. "Oh, don't you worry, my dear. He'll come see you as soon as he's done. He seemed very upset that he hadn't been able to make it on time." She hands the child a fork. "I brought him some dinner as well," She smiles, winking, "He works too hard. Someone has to keep an eye on him." 

When Zavala arrives hours later, Eva is reading. It's nearly eleven, and it's apparent that he is bone tired, but he slips in quietly and offers her a grateful nod.

"She just drifted off about half an hour ago. Tried to hold out as long as she could, but the pain started to get to her. She didn't want them to knock her out before you got here."

"She's stubborn," He answers gently. "Thank you. Truly, I-"

"Yer here," Amanda calls, woozy, blinking her eyes to fight off the effects of the narcotics. Her hands reach toward him and he smiles, taking the few steps to her bedside, leaning down, and letting her hug him. Returning it, even, with a very gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry I'm late," He whispers, but she's shaking her head into his chest.

"'S ok," She drawls. "Jus' wanted ta see you."

He hears Eva rise sharply behind him and it strikes him immediately. This is - he detangles himself from Amanda, who blinks in hazy confusion - how this must be a difficult thing for her to walk into blindly.

"M's Eva?"

The well-dressed woman pauses, halfway to letting herself out. Zavala looks at her back, sees her fists clenched and his heart feels like it's breaking. Of course. He should have thought this through. He knew what she'd been through, this was asking so much of her.

"Thanks fer sittin' with me," Amanda slurs sleepily. "An' dinner, too. Wus' nice."

Eva nods, tilting her head so that only the side of her face is visible, shadowed in the yellow lights. "I'll come visit again, my dear," She says. "Get some rest."

"Eva."

"Don't worry about me, Zavala. It's alright." She turns all the way back, giving him a watery smile. Her voice is thick with emotion, and it guilts him terribly. "You call me any time she needs."

"Thank you," He answers, hoarsely.

"She lost people, too," Amanda murmurs a little later, her breaths so slow and even it's as though she's already asleep. He hums in agreement, knowing she'll be out like a light soon enough. She probably won’t even remember it. "She's still nice though."

"She is," Zavala agrees. “Would you mind if she came back?”

“Nah,” She hums, breathing heavier. Zavala pulls up the blankets she’s mussed in her attempt to sit up and greet him, tucking her in before taking up his usual spot beside her bed for the night. “Like yer friend.”

-/

Eva is waiting for him in the Plaza the following afternoon.

“You didn’t have to send me flowers,” She chides, hands on her hips. “It was was not a big deal.”

“You helped me, yet it upset you,” He answers. They fall into step rather easily, their destination determined by time of day. “That was not my intent.”

“There is not a mean bone in your body, Zavala. It was just surprising.” She gives him a knowing smile. “I would not have taken you to be so… indulgent.”

The Commander coughs politely, almost bashful. “Neither would I,” He admits.

“She’s a special girl.” Eva presses, and Zavala nods in agreement, almost too subtle to notice. 

Eva chances another glance his way, a wistful smile on her face. “Something tells me this isn’t just a random act of kindness. You look conflicted. Tell Eva what you are thinking.”

“It’s all right,” Zavala answers. “I don’t-”

“Amanda told me you’ve been sitting with her every evening since she was injured. And those bags under your eyes confirm it. You are not sleeping, Commander. You’re going to drive your Ghost crazy not taking care of yourself.” She wags a finger at him. Eva might be the only person in the City who has the gall.

“I’m fine.”

His Ghost flickers into the cradle made by their shoulders as they walk side by side. Eva might be shorter than Zavala, but Shiori finds a happy medium between the two of them. “I told him he needs to get used to this. It’s an adjustment phase.”

The Tower vendor stops moving. “Really,” She sounds rather elated, the opposite of what Zavala is expecting. He’d been preparing for bittersweet. He turns and evaluates her to make sure the conversation isn’t upsetting her, as the situation had last night. “You wish to take the child in? She did not seem to think-”

“I’m considering it,” Zavala admits, quietly. “I have not made any definitive plans as of yet.”

Eva hums, continuing on, passing him by. She catches his elbow, squeezing the unarmored part above it. “I think that would be wonderful,” She gushes.

Zavala blows out a controlled breath, sighing, “I have no idea where to begin.”

“No one ever does, Zavala.” Eva smiles at him proudly. Her endorsement is nearly tangible. “You learn from them as much as they learn from you.”

Chapter Text

Amanda wakes to the sound of thunder, the slap of rain against the glass windows. Her gasp is muffled by the rolling boom, the flash of lightning making her bolt upright in surprise. She’s not terribly afraid of thunderstorms, but the added stimulation is only nightmare fuel for the terrors that beckoned in her dreams tonight. Her exhale is a frantic one, though it does not make much sound.

She hears a zooming flourish to her left, and looks over to see the white-blue shimmer of Zavala’s Ghost in front of him. It evaluates him with a shift of its segments and tuts something almost mothering.

“You’re a mess,” The Ghost drones gently, affectionate. Her voice is regal sounding. Another whoosh and a delicate spin later, the crochet hooks that had slumped against his chest as he’d fallen - and stayed, for once - asleep disappear along with the blanket he’d been working on with a shimmer of Light. She drifts down and nudges the lever on the reclining chair with her whole body. “Thank the Traveler someone thought to replace that awful plastic chair,” She muses as the lever slowly activates. Once he’s reclined, she transmats a blanket over him, quicker than the flash of lightning that paints the sky outside.

Baby blue eyes peer over the rail of the bed, watching him sleep in long, slow breaths. He looks peaceful, Amanda thinks, curling in on herself.

“Hello, sweetheart,” The Ghost says, when she shifts and grimaces a few minutes later. “I was hoping you’d go back to sleep. No luck?”

Amanda sighs. “Bad dreams,” She admits softly. “You Zavala’s Ghost?” The girl already knew that she was, but it seemed like it was only right to ask.

The white of her shell spins quick. “I am. Want to talk about it?”

She pulls the pillow from behind her back and wraps her arms around it. “I’m ok,” She tells the little bot.

“Want me to wake up the big guy?”

“No, y’just got ‘em comfy,” She tells the Ghost, confused. “That’d be mean.”

“He’d be more upset if he finds out I didn’t wake him,” Shiori floats up to eye-level with the bed-bound child. “He’s a worry-wart, you know.”

“I know,” Amanda answers, soft. “I’ll be okay.” A flicker of lightning makes her tense up, squeezing the pillow hard as the thunder crackles, close and loud.

The Ghost doesn’t give up. “Why don't you get comfortable,” She instructs, changing tactics. “How about I tell you a story?”

“But…” The child looks bewildered. “We ain’t got any books.”

“I can download any book you want, but I know plenty of stories.”

“What’s Zavala read?” She asks, repositioning herself with a tiny grunt. It's clear she's uncomfortable, but it's hard to be anything else with her injury.

Shiori sets to casually drawing the shades, by catching their pulls in the joints of her shell, basking the room in darkness. Her fins push out with a pale glow that doesn’t bother the child or wake her partner. “He likes poetry. Shakespeare. History,” She informs Amanda.

“Sounds like school,” Amanda says.

Shiori laughs, and it sounds like a bell. “Close to it, sweet girl.” She looks at the child. “Cozy?”

Amanda nods, flapping one of the blankets to cover her better. Though she never flailed around a lot in her sleep, they always got so tangled. “What kinda story?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

The girl yawns. “Somethin’ happy,” She suggests. “Animal stories end happy.”

“I think I can work with that,” The Ghost says, making an array of muted rippling sounds while she searches her databanks and consults the City archives.

With the thunder yielding, Amanda falls back to sleep to the elegant drone of Shiori's voice and the pitter-patter of rain against the windows. Zavala wakes, hours later, to a dark room and the small light that is his Ghost, clutched in both of the girl's hands, making soft sounds when the girl fusses and frowns in her sleep.

"Not a word," Shiori whispers.

Zavala blinks, their blue gazes meeting. "I'm not saying anything," He replies.

"You're thinking plenty." 

"Aren't I always?"

"Fair,” She supposes, with a brief chuckle. “This is a rather compromising position for me. You know I don't like being touched."

"I do."

Shiori phases through Amanda's hands in motes of light. The girl groans and clenches her fingers, clearly noticing the loss. "Scooch over, sweetheart," She tells the girl. Her eyes blink open once and stay closed, asleep, but impressionable. She listens, flopping over. "It's okay."

The Ghost flits to Zavala, who looks bewildered. "Oh, for Light's sake, Zavala, hold her."

"But-"

"Zavala. If I can let her cuddle me, you can certainly comfort her, too. You are far less averse to human contact and dare I say it: more cuddly."

"I suppose," He says, mind spiraling away to thoughts of perception, and how it's hardly appropriate, considering his position.

"Calm down," The Ghost chirps. "She's sick. You're comforting her. There's nothing embarrassing about this. It's a kindness this little one sorely needs." She pauses. "It's something to get used to. Kids are…" She shudders, "Tactile."

"You keep saying that like it's a done deal," Zavala murmurs, barely audible in the silent room. Even so, he's lowering the side rail of the bed to slide in beside her. The second he's committed, both feet leaving solid ground, she's curling up into his side like a kitten, making some baby-soft sound.

He looks uncomfortable for the first moment, still overthinking. But then he's reminded of the way she'd clambered over him, that first time they'd really met, half asleep and longing for that feeling of safety that he very obviously provided. Was that terribly different?

No, he realizes, plucking her up gently, mindful of the few cords still attached to her, and the wrap around her stump. She settles against his chest with a sigh, humming something he can't understand before unconsciously settling her ear against his heart, reassured by its steady beat. One impossibly small hand covers the single arm he's wrapped around her.

It dawns on him: This is no different. There is an immediate difference in the room with her in his arms. The heart monitor dulls to a quiet blip that's softer than the tiny snores that come from the girl. She's warm and soft, soothing. It feels… right, Zavala thinks. He wants to console her, to chase away that which threatens to upset or harm her. 

"She's already ours," Shiori whispers, looking down at the pair, sometime later. Zavala doesn't hear her, that's how single-minded his focus is, stroking Amanda's cheek and looking down at her in undeniable adoration. "Whether you realize it yet or not."

The Commander might not be paying attention to his Ghost’s late-night musings, but he’s thinking about the possibilities. About what the Speaker said about wants and needs, and how they align. He knows that despite how awkward he feels when the nurse comes in, audibly expressing her elation with a comment of how cute they are, or how Ikora might feel about him taking in a child, when he gets down to it, none of it really matters. It might bother him in anticipation or hindsight, but in that moment, the awkwardness or self-consciousness, his position, none of it really matters. He wants to put her first. Even if he knows it will be difficult, there will be conflict, and even if he ultimately feels like he has no idea what he’s doing, he still wants to try.

Zavala does not sleep for the rest of the night. He deliberates, going through the doubts in his mind. When the matron arrives in the morning, he asks her, “How do I begin the process?” 

Karena smiles.

Chapter Text

The day is spent in a flurry of treatments: they make her do these really dumb - but hard - exercises, and they send a doctor to talk to her who asks weird questions. None of that ruins her good mood though. She's achy but not unhappy. She even gets to take a real bath, for the first time in the two plus weeks since she's been in the hospital, and when the nurse helps her back to bed, she gets to sit in the chair Zavala usually uses when he visits. It's a nice change.

Karena is exceptionally happy when she comes by in the afternoon, talking to Amanda about how well she's been doing and how proud she is of the girl's determination. Not that the matron isn't normally supportive, but it's nice to be told those sorts of things. She leaves after supper when Zavala arrives, meeting him in the doorway. Whatever they say to each other misses Amanda's ears. 

Not that it matters, Zavala picks her up and balances her on his lap, Shiori transmatting the blanket he's been working on at night over their legs. A skein of yarn appears next, with two silver knitting needles.

"Only a few more rows, and I'll be done with your blanket," He tells her, depositing the remote on the bedside table into her hands.

She looks up at him, both bashful and thrilled. "Fer me?" 

He smiles at her and she beams when he nods. "Find us something to watch while I finish it, hmm?"

She picks something educational - she feels like he'd like that, and she doesn't want to seem like a baby who only watches cartoons. In the end, the documentary about songbirds of the EDZ is not nearly as interesting as the methodical way Zavala knits, his eyes on the screen but his hands moving on their own. He pauses when her hands cover his. She looks pointedly at the screen, as if she has no idea how her hands got where they are. He moves them, pressing one hook into each of her palms before replacing his hands over top of them.

Each move is slower with their combined hands, Zavala watching now to make sure they do not make any uneven stitches. “Each row has to be counted so that the number of stitches are even,” He says to her softly, a rumble of sound she feels in her back more so than from the volume of his voice. “Seventeen more and we’ll begin the next.”

He counts each aloud, taking care to make sure the yarn does not get tangled. When he reaches zero, he has her hold the skein. She looks at him dubiously.

"Ya don't need me to help, do ya?"

He raises an eyebrow, she looks up and over her shoulder to see it. "Is it boring?"

She shakes her head, suspecting he's the type of person who can make anything interesting enough. "Jus' seems like you can do it yerself. I'm just slowin' you down."

Shifting the skein of yarn from her hands to his left hip, he hands her the thick needles and covers her hands once more. Casually, he muses, "I don't mind if it takes longer... and a little help would certainly not be remiss. You aren't tired yet, are you?"

"Nah," She hums, fully aware that she'd deny it even if she was, just to be held onto a while longer. "This's relaxin'."

Zavala chuckles. "It is," He agrees. "Our new row has one hundred forty-six stitches. Ready?"

Amanda's errant curls bounce when she nods. He smooths one back from her face as she chirps, "Ready!"

-/

Karena meets him outside the ward as he heads for the Tower in the morning. She hands him a large envelope, tutting gently as he stretches. "You do realize that having a child means you'll have to sleep at some point, right?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I slept for four hours," He informs the motherly woman. 

"That chair is hardly comfortable," Karena quips. She would know, spending most of her days in it, herself.

"I assure you I've had worse." His tone errs on indulgent for a moment before switching gears, indicating the file inside the envelope. "What do I need to do?"

"Fill it out completely. They ask that you have a space - a bedroom - for the child, which will be inspected before she's brought into it. Considering her injury you may have to make modifications before she can come home, and with your work, I would suggest some folks you'd trust to watch her, should the board have any questions." Karena regards him with a sharp eye. "Amanda seemed rather fond of 'Miss Eva.'"

He nods, already planning to speak with his friend on the subject.

"But for right now, you'll fill that out and get it to me, I'll get it sent to the board of governors, and the rest should honestly be a formality, once they see your name. You have my blessing, and usually these go without a hitch once you have the principal matron's approval regardless of the adopter’s status."

"Good." He taps the paperwork. "I will have my Ghost send you the digital copy this afternoon, unless you need the physical version? I can make the time."

"Digital is fine." Karena smiles. He may not act like it, but she can tell he’s eager to get the details set in stone. "Did you tell her?"

He shakes his head. "Not until everything is approved. I don't wish to worry her more. I fear she'll obsess about any delays, and she's finally starting to be in better spirits. I would hate for the bureaucracy to bring her down if it takes some time to finalize. Besides, she won’t be able to truly come home with me for some time. I feel like it should be handled delicately.”

Karena can’t keep the grin from her face, even as she shakes her head. She wasn’t wrong in her assessment that he would be an excellent parent. He’s calm, rational, and his willingness to think things through is a huge asset to handling the very unique situation little Amanda is in. 

“I’m just thrilled,” She gushes. “I’d been hoping you would come around. I just know in my heart this is what’s best for her. For you both.”

-/

The late morning was always a busy time for new intakes. In fact, considering it was the beginning of the week, the poor secretary would likely be making charts and combing through paperwork for her designated physicians until well after her shift was to end. Usually, though, the children brought in were quiet, surrounded by a large number of caretakers or sedated.

It must have been a full moon because the doors opened to a girl positively screaming, face nearly purple from crying and yelling all at once. “Take me back,” She’s yelling, dissolving into hiccoughing wails. “I don’t wanna be here!”

The woman behind the nurse pushing the stretcher scoffs. “Honey,” She says, in an almost patronizing voice, it’s so sugar-sweet, “There is no reason for a child to be treated at a military hospital. We have our own facilities, and they are far nicer.”

“Please,” The girl begs, looking for anyone who will listen, “I want Matron Karena.” Her voice rises to a fever pitch, shrill enough to make people wince. “Take. Me. Back!”

That seems to do it for the woman behind her. “That’s enough,” She snaps. “You are a ward of this City. Due to your injuries, Karena and your previous home are not equipped to take care of you long-term. Therefore, you are here. You should be grateful. It’s far nicer here than in that wretched home or some stagnant medical bay.”

Turning to the secretary, the woman says, “This is Amanda Holliday. Make her a chart and call for a psychiatrist. The one who contacted me in the first place was wretched, even if he made the right call.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ow! Hey, don’t do that!” One of the nurses jumps back, holding the side of her face. “You shouldn’t hit.”

“Don’t touch me,” Amanda snarls. “Jus’ take me back.”

The woman motions to one of the white-coat wearing staff. “Doctor, get her something for the pain. She looks like she’s hurting.”

“Yer the one who’s gonna be hurtin’ if ya don’t take me back,” She retorts, but the woman grabs her arm with an iron grip, clearly used to dealing with rebellious children.

One of the doctors steps forward, easily ducking the flailing leg she kicks out at him. After all, she only has the one, the other is short and sore and weeping through her bandage - she must have been flailing around more than she thought.

“Keep her still, Matron Gracie.”

She screams when they give her the pain medication, even though it’s pushed through an existing IV line and she never gets poked. The dose is excessive and effective, hitting her bloodstream quickly. Her eyes roll back almost immediately, her arms falling back to her sides atop the gurney.

“Always something exciting around here,” Matron Gracie says, with a toothy smirk. It’s just another day on the job for her, clearly. “Get the kid in her room. Maybe she’ll be a bit more cooperative when she wakes up.”

Chapter Text

Zavala is pacing. In the years that she has known him, Karena has never seen him anxious. It doesn’t have the humbling behind-the-scenes kind of appeal, or make him seem less of the immovable person that he’s always been, to see him this way now. Perhaps that’s because Zavala has always had this approachable, human aspect to him despite his stoic exterior. Now, in this light, she realizes that he holds himself together well. That he places his concerns for others before his own well-being.

Right now, she is the one who has to fight for him. He’d insisted they do this the right way, no matter how desperately he wanted to throw his weight around. It would only create serious drama, for them - Karena, the orphanage, and Zavala - as well as for Amanda, the innocent bystander caught in the middle of it all.

“I’m telling you,” She says, clipped into her comm, “Grace. Listen to me. I have an adopter. I have someone who will take the girl. I never even knew you’d been assigned to her. This is hardly fair to anyone, most of all her.”

The Commander turns back from the front window of the orphanage, his eyes narrowing on her features as the response comes. “Look. It’s almost always a twenty-one day window. You had more time than that, and the psychiatrist called me. That’s what they’re bound to do by civil law. As of yesterday at ten hundred hours, I became her guardian. She’s handicapped, therefore she comes to me. Honestly, you should have seen that coming, Karena. You’ve been doing this longer than me.”

The kindly matron scoffs. “I was with her prospective adopter, he was filling out the paperwork. I had planned to have this sorted, Grace. You should have waited for handoff. I can’t imagine it went over well with Amanda.”

“Yes, well, teary goodbyes would have gone over about as well as her little tantrum.” Grace’s voice is stern, not at all sweet like her nickname of Gracie. It’s for the best, as Karena never used it. “She thought the Tower’s hospital was the best this City had to offer. It’s sad, what these impoverished ones think.”

Karena looks over at Zavala, standing ramrod straight, watching the glow of the comms device underlight the woman’s face. He hides it well, but she sees the tic of his jaw in fury. “Her prospective adopter is military. The girl is likely terrified she won’t see him.”

“That’s strange, the only thing she’d say to the psychiatrist is that she refuses to be adopted. So I’m not sure who your mystery adopter is, but clearly-”

“She’s just saying that. We hadn’t told her yet. You know the amount of red tape there is.”

“I do. But you know our rules. I don’t make them. You’d have to talk to the governor of the orphanage. It’s not to me to bend them for you.”

“Oh bullshit,” Karena curses. “You and I both know that’s just a money-grab. Her prospective parent cannot tithe to New Monarchy. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“Well then they cannot be considered.”

“Just look over the application I sent you, Grace. I’m certain you’d change your mind.”

“You know I can’t.” She almost sounds remorseful, but it fades quickly. “This is the way it works. You know how it is. They’d strip me of my job in an instant. You need to remember how things work around here. It’s why you never made it out of that crummy little home.”

“I assure you,” Karena states firmly, looking over at Zavala and then back to the woman on the comms device, “That the location in which we do our work does not matter when the quality of care we provide comes not from physical resources but from the effort we put into raising our children. I have never thought it ethical to force prospective parents to pay for the opportunity. I’d rather they put their money into raising the child.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. If your prospective adopter changes their mind about New Monarchy, have them apply for the program. There’s only a four month wait for consideration to enter our foster-to-adopt program. I’m certain they’d match him with the right child.”

“Oh, you-”

The comms click and fall silent, the light on the screen fading.

“That bitch,” Karena swears, pushing the machine aside. “That wretched bitch.”

“I can talk to the Speaker,” Zavala finally says, after a few moments of even pacing through the small room. “Just as a temporary-”

“Absolutely not,” Shiori interjects, shimmering into the room, cones pointed in a serious pose. “You know you cannot sign up for New Monarchy. He would tell you the same. The Vanguard has a history of remaining neutral and supporting each faction equally. It would be a disaster.”

“Then what do I do, Shiori?” 

Karena clasps her hands over her heart. The tone of his voice is heartbreaking, it’s clear he truly does not know how to proceed.

“You can’t jump on the New Monarchy bandwagon.” She shifts around, making sure to stay in his line of sight. “Zavala, it’s literally the thing Hideo has been waiting for. He’d capitalize on this.”

“I don’t think he’s that heartless.”

“Do you want to find out?” Shiori asks.

“I don’t care.”

Shiori waits him out, sees the clench of his fists, the heavier breaths. “Yes, you do. You know this could very well cause a faction war, if you’re not careful.” 

“What about Amanda? I can’t imagine she’s faring well. They won’t even let non-backers volunteer.”

“Then we’ll get someone to back them,” The Ghost relents. “Just, sit, okay? You’re going to pace a hole in the floor.”

He drops into the chair across from the matron’s desk with a sigh. “Who do we ask?”

“Chin up, Guardian. We’ll figure it out.” Shiori turns to Karena. “You, too. I have an idea.”

-/

In all her years, Eva has done plenty of outlandish things. Taken certain risks - in influencing fashion and in life in general. Most of them had paid off, been worth it. She'd been asked by plenty for help, and always given what she could give - maybe even more than, if she's honest.

But, this, she thinks, looking at Zavala, his glittering gaze dead serious and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes far more pronounced in his exhaustion, is not something she should have to agree to.

Not because she does not want to. He is not a man who asks for things for himself - this might be the most selfish thing he's ever asked for. He should not have to ask her for this.

And he knows it.

He tells her as much. But he is not above rules, he cannot act around them. He will not, even if he holds himself personally accountable for the very negative impact it has on the child.

His child, he very softly admits to her.

He will do it right, and he'll pay her. She simply has to help him get her back via the correct channels, he'll compensate her for her troubles, and for whatever funds New Monarchy demands of her.

She isn't interested in that and tells him call as much. She has never shied away from telling him the truth. "This is quite literally the most ridiculous series of hoops the factions have ever had you jump through."

"It can't be like this," He agrees. "I'm working on a proposal to change things." And, softer, "It's madness."

"It is, my friend." Zavala sighs at that. Eva does not like seeing him so hopeless. "But I'll do it."

For a moment, Eva thinks he's going to hug her, he looks so relieved. When he doesn't, she hugs him, anyway. He hugs her back and she wonders for a brief moment if perhaps there isn't something she could do to expedite the process.

She returns to the Tower North, slowing as she hears the Executor's voice, mellow and smooth. She has heard plenty of praise for him, and certainly a fair bit of criticism, but he has always been cordial to her. She wonders how much of this he knows about. The policies, the reasons… she's certain he's involved. But she's also certain there's a hidden eighth in his Seven Tenants, and that's to keep Commander Zavala on his good side.

It's certainly an outlandish move - Zavala will probably not be thrilled. Eva will take that risk and face the consequences, whatever they are. Waiting on a waitlist for months isn't going to help the issues happening right now. Amanda's well-being is at stake. Eva knows, just from their brief meeting, how fragile she is. It's how these few remaining refugees are, the things they've suffered and seen. Especially the children. They're terribly impressionable.

The Speaker, in his infinite wisdom, steps down from his observatory and bids her good afternoon, as if seeing her decide that action must be taken and trying to find the right method of delivery. He tilts his head to the side. "Is there something on your mind?" He queries.

Eva sighs, looking up into his mask. Her surprised smile melts into a frown. "Well, you see," She admits, just a touch louder than normal, "I've just heard the most terrible thing."

Chapter Text

It doesn't take much to get the faction rep's attention. A few key words, some very pointed, hushed phrases.

"I know it is not a common occurrence," She tells the Speaker, who though she cannot see his face, she is sure he looks on with something akin to compassion and maybe amusement. He is a very intelligent man. Frighteningly so to most, but incredibly benevolent all the same. "But I cannot believe the orphanage would deny him without at least looking at his application. He might not be a member of the faction but I would think he does enough for them - and this City," She tuts. "I just feel so awful for him."

All of it is true, and yet she packages up that truth and tries to sell it like Tess does. The younger woman would be proud.

Hideo himself comes over. "Excuse me," He says politely enough, pressing his palms together like a prayer, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. The Commander is trying to bring home a child?"

"I could not believe it either, dear," Eva gushes in her best impression of borderline senile. She isn't that old, she thinks with an internalized sigh, but it does the trick. "He told me he'd just gotten the application filled out and was going to tell her the good news, but they transferred her out of nowhere. The new facility won't listen to the old one, and you know how Zavala is. Wants to do everything the right way, even if it tears him up inside."

"That's horrible," Hideo agrees. "You said they denied him, though."

"Oh! I did," Eva agrees. The Speaker casually moves back to his observatory, his work done. "Did you know they require you to be a faction backer to adopt a handicapped child?"

"Well, I'm sure it's to make sure they have the financial well-being…"

"It's just so sad, Executor. This is Zavala we're talking about. The Commander always plays fair, and yet he's beating himself up inside because his position does not allow him to play favorites, even if he wanted to." She sighs, wistfully, watching as the man's hand came up to stroke his chin in consideration. "And the poor girl must be inconsolable. The bond between them is just… Those refugee children are so tough, and then this one…" See shakes her head.

"Let…" Hideo looks up to her, his dark eyes soft yet calculating. "Let me see what I can do. You said this child was handicapped? We support the most vulnerable members of our population. If this child is at one of New Monarchy's facilities, perhaps I can intervene."

Eva smiles a teary smile. "Oh, that would just be the most wonderful thing, dear." He calls over one of his men, who takes the information from her. After, she pats his hand, thanking him profusely for his kindness. 

"I'll see to this myself," He promises.

He returns to his nook, already issuing instructions. Eva hides her grin behind her hand, returning to her stall. For now, all she can do is wait. She can't imagine it will take very long for the Executor to set things to rights for his 'dear friend.'

-/

It takes the better part of a week. She knows because there are Consensus meetings that call away the majority of the Tower's top players, and when she checks in on Zavala, he still has that sad glimmer in his eye, but clearly others have started to notice.

Ikora is standing across from his desk, looking down at him with something Eva takes a moment to realize is concern. She retracts her hand from the doorframe, intending to return later, by nothing escapes Ikora's notice.

"Come in," The Warlock Vanguard says, not unkind and yet brisk om her delivery.

Eva knows better than to say no, and Zavala waves to an unoccupied chair in a non-verbal invitation of his own.

"Zavala informed me of the situation," Ikora tells her. "And that you've offered to assist."

"I have." She looks to Zavala. He looks older like this. "You need to take care of yourself. What if things happen quickly?"

"They won't."

"They might. This one put on quite a scene the other day." Ikora looks so sarcastic. Eva thinks it's a shame. She's such a beautiful woman, and so powerful too. Then, her eyes soften a touch. "My Hidden reported a rather interesting conversation, with the Speaker, no less."

Zavala looks to Ikora, but her gaze is trained on Eva's face. The youngest of them shrugs.

"Whatever was said," Ikora finally turns to Zavala, amusement lighting her golden eyes, "It certainly motivated the Executor. He was watching you throughout our meetings, and was clearly working on something besides that plasteel contract, considering he didn't even try to block the infrastructure proposal."

"Eva." His intense stare is intimidating, but Eva will have none of it.

"You underestimate my concern for you, my friend." She smiles warmly at Zavala's look of tired exasperation. "What was I supposed to do, let you mope for the next few months? The poor girl wouldn't hold out that long. Besides, all I did was give him some information. I didn't force him to do anything. For all I know, he hasn't." 

"That's very shrewd of you," Ikora says levelly. "That explains why Tess is afraid to buy you out."

Eva shrugs. From the Warlock, she suspects that's a compliment. "Thank you."

Turning back to Zavala, Ikora tilts her head to the side. "I can't imagine this not going in your favor. Even if I don't think it's the best of ideas."

"I think you might be surprised, Ikora," Eva chimes.

"The Speaker certainly isn't against it," She supposes aloud. "And you are miserable, so there's no doubt you're attached." She gives him a smirk that seems like more of a sad smile, the longer it stays on her face. "And above all, you are my teammate. My friend," She revises. The emotion seems to make her uncomfortable, Eva thinks. "I'll talk to Hideo myself, if need be."

"I can't imagine that ending well," Zavala deadpans. Ikora's lips curl into a predatory smile. The severity of Zavala's gaze lessens. "But I do appreciate the sentiment."

-/

A man comes to see her. He is wearing a color red just a little bit darker than her blanket, she can see it out of the corner of her eye. He didn't look like a doctor, but Amanda doen't trust anyone these days. The last time she answered questions for a doctor he'd told these people to come get her.

"You're Amanda, yes?" He pauses. "Amanda Holliday?"

She blinks to him listlessly and then turns her head back to the window.

The man sighs. She hears the sound of footsteps, the annoyed huff of the new matron, her sworn enemy. "She's been like this since we brought her in. The only thing we've gotten out of her is that she wants to go back to her old orphanage."

He tilts his head toward the matron, asking quietly, "The one just outside the Rich District, right?"

"Yes," The matron answers, not that Amanda would have spoke to him anyway.

Silently, she pulls her blanket up and around her like armor, still refusing to make eye contact.

The man steps a little closer. He can see the bulge of her stump, the small, swollen limb wrapped beneath the blanket.  "Did he make that for you?"

Her fingers curl through the stitches, wary, but she tips her head, listening.

"For the Dawning last year, he gave me a scarf that’s nearly the same color. It's warm and cozy, much like that blanket."

She looks at him, then. Her eyes are dull, it's clear she thinks this is some game, because she all but looks right through him before looking back toward the window.

"I've known Commander Zavala for a long time," He continues. "We work together on many things. I heard from another friend of ours that he is very worried about you."

That certainly draws a reaction. She gasps as though she's come up for air, her seaglass eyes glossy with unshed tears, but focused. "H-" She clears her throat. "He is?"

"What? Executor-"

The child's stare narrows angrily on the matron for her intrusion. He can feel the force of her tiny wrath.

"Leave us," He says to the matron, who sputters but complies.

The man pulls up a chair to her bedside. She scooches back, clearly unsure of the newcomer, regardless of who he claims to know, pulling her blanket up to her chin. "Can he come visit me? I-if he'd wanna?" She looks at him in concern, balling her fists to keep them from shaking.

"Did he come visit you often, before?" The man's eyes are not unkind. It's clear, if nothing else, he feels sympathy for her.

"He sat with me at night,' She murmurs, sniffling.

"I see." The man crosses his right leg over his left, slouching comfortably. "I don't think he knew you were moved," He tells her. It's a safer line of explanation than the truth, considering what the matron had told him when he arrived about her meltdown. "I'm going to see him shortly, and I'll make sure he knows he can come to see you any time he wishes."

She doesn't answer him, hugging the blanket to her tightly. Her closed off posture and behavior are not going to wavier, he can tell. Thus, he does not linger, rising without another word.

When he gets to the doorway, she drawls after him, "Ya promise?" 

Hideo turns back. "Absolutely."

Chapter Text

There have been few times in Hideo's life that he has genuinely been afraid of Commander Zavala. He isn't a man who instills fear. He is direct and honest, leads by example and rewards those who do right by him with the most impressive loyalty. 

So when he makes this meeting request, he expects it to be a joyous, thankful affair. It certainly begins lightly, Hideo bring his usual wine, Zavala politely sipping at half a glass. 

"I had heard through the grapevine," He begins, swirling the wine in his glass to better release the bouquet, "That you were interested in adopting a child."

Zavala straightens, immediately. Tense. "And?" He asks, tersely.

"She was moved to one of New Monarchy's facilities, last week."

The intensity of the Commander's gaze is something to behold. Were it not directed at him, he might have noticed how crystalline it was, his irises a perfect marriage of aquamarine and sapphire. However, it was directed at him, and thusly, it was terrifying.

"She…" He knows the Commander will see through a fib, so instead he offers quietly, "It's clear she is struggling."

"Who told you as much?"

"I went to see her this morning."

Zavala sets down his glass with the finesse of a dainty woman, the majority of his wine completely forgotten. "Why."

That the Commander is not asking is not lost on him. "I simply wanted to confirm this was a legitimate issue," Hideo answers. "Certainly you're an important figure, and there are often nefarious plots to extort those figures."

"Is this one of them?" It's asked in an icy monotone, the curl of each word making his spine tingle. The Commander sits perfectly still, not a shred of emotion crossing his face, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows neutral and yet giving a very frightening contrast to his eyes. His skin flicks lazily with the aura beneath it, but it only reminds the Executor of a predator, poised to strike. 

Every atom of his being screams one thing: I will not allow harm to befall those I care about.

Hideo holds up both hands to beg a truce. "Not at all, not at all." He laughs nervously. "I had followed up with the board of governors, and the administrator of the facility. I will see to your application's approval myself. Considering all you do for the City and her people, this should never have been an issue."

"Tell that to the child."

"I was not sure how to approach it with her. I didn't want to complicate the situation further."

Zavala folds his hands together on the table, nodding. "Will I be denied visitation again?"

"They did what?" Hideo's eyes bug out, comically wide. "Commander, I - I had no idea."

The Titan evaluates him carefully before reaching for the wine glass he discarded moments before. "I didn't imagine you would. I do not expect preferential treatment."

"It should still be afforded to you."

"I will accept it, this time, because it is not for my sake."

Hideo nods. "I - this isn't for New Monarchy. You have always protected the City's denizens and their interests. I simply wished to offer you the same courtesy."

In his mind, Zavala hears a sarcastic laugh courtesy of his Ghost, but he does not not react. "I appreciate that," He says. "You have my gratitude."

"Just… keep doing what you do, Commander. This City needs a strong leader like you."

Zavala senses the propaganda at the tip of the Executor's tongue, but the other man simply finishes his wine and rises.

"I will have a word with the Matron at the facility. If she gives you any trouble at all, I'll have her removed from the City."

"Executor."

Hideo laughs, smiling wide. "I'm kidding. She will be sorely reprimanded, though, for her lack of respect."

-/

"I want her moved back to the Tower," Karena says to the physician. "Today. Right now."

The child is clinging to her. She'd been called the moment Hideo had finished speaking with Zavala, and had come immediately. Zavala himself wouldn't be able to come down until he'd finished for the evening. It would be late. Eva had offered, but Karena was determined to evaluate the damages for herself.

Amanda had yet to say more than a few words, not that she was a chattery child, but the last week seemed to cull her spunky side. It was clear she hadn't been eating, as well. Even now, she looked at the tray they'd given her with distrust. When Karena looked into it, she saw why. The evidence of crushed pills in the jelly-like applesauce was enough to turn her stomach too. 

The physician sighs. "Ma'am, New Monarchy has the most state of the art-"

"She's a child, not a wild animal. Pills in her food? She deserves to know what she's being given and why."

"She was refusing," He presses.

"Now she's refusing to eat. See the issue?"

"I don't see how a new facility would change things," He tells her, gruffly. "And to be honest I didn't think the public health system had that kind of pull."

Karena runs a hand over Amanda's wild hair, smoothing through her tangled curls. The empathy in this place was certainly lacking. "It doesn't," She agrees. "But by the end of business today, it won't be the public health system calling the shots."

The facility's matron lingers in the doorway, approaching after the doctor leaves. "You didn't tell me who," She accuses, bluntly. "I would have gotten the Executor on the horn myself."

"Of course you would have,” Karena scoffs. Amanda flinches at the sound of the newcomer, pushing her head into Karena's knee. "He was in the room when I called you."

"They fired whomever refused him visitation. They'd remove me, but since you want her moved, I should be able to keep my job."

"Lucky you," Karena answers. "I wouldn't be around when he comes."

"He won’t be here," Gracie informs the other matron instead. "I was actually coming to tell you I called report to the Tower’s facility. I knew you'd want her moved, and the powers that be are more concerned with salvaging the situation than the money involved." Matron Gracie toes at the floor. "They'll pick her up in an hour. You can ride with her."

"There is some kindness left in your heart, after all," The senior matron marvels.

"It was nothing personal. This is my job, Kar', you know that."

"Oh, don't give me that, Grace. You were never like this before New Monarchy doubled your paycheck. You used to give everything to your children. It's why I recommended you." Karena shakes her head, unwilling to turn it into an argument with the child shaking beside her. "Thank you for expediting the process," She says. "It will make things easier."

She steps into the room. Amanda clutches at Karena almost painfully hard. "For what it's worth-"

"You should leave."

Grace hesitates, sighs, and does as her old colleague is asking. 

Karena returns to stroking the child's hair. "Things will get better soon," She tells her. "You'll see."

It doesn't, though. They have to sedate her for the move. It's non-negotiable, mostly since the moment they get her into the shuttle she begins panicking, flailing about at the sound of the engine, babbling about convoys and rovers. It's not a stretch, the matron thinks. A combination of exhaustion and lack of nutrition leave her clammy and fevered, her stress levels clearly beyond whatever coping skills she'd learned already in her short life.

It's for the best that she’s knocked out, as the medical team taking over runs a myriad of tests on girl to see if there are any masked issues from her time in the other facility.

"She's already lost close to five pounds. They'll want to put a tube in to feed her," The new nurse says. "We should do it now before she wakes, she'll-"

"The Commander is coming by later. Let him work with her first. I'm certain she'll eat for him." Karena sighs. "I don't think we should be doing anything traumatic without telling her. She's had enough of that."

"If you're certain."

"I am," Karena tuts. "You'll be running things by him from here on, anyway."

-/

It's the strangest thing. He's not entirely sure what he was expecting and honestly, he still had to squash the thought that he could not believe what he was doing. One minute he'd made up his mind, thinking he'd be able to ease into it with bureaucracy, and the next he's scrawling his name across legal documents with a shaking hand and it's done.

Permanent.

Surreal, he thinks. It's all rather surreal. And terrifying. He hadn't exactly asked her what she wanted, just assumed that perhaps she'd looked to him in a familial way because they'd encountered each other early on, and-

Oh, Traveler's crack, Shiori swears. Amanda loves you, stop being so paranoid.

None of her encouragement lessens his elevated heart rate. He's been keyed up all afternoon and into the evening. Even Cayde had found his behavior peculiar, watching him with a calculating stare befitting of a Hunter.

The Tower's medical facility was almost more familiar than his flat. Which reminds him that he needs to figure out a living situation. Even if New Monarchy did pull strings and the deed was done, she was in his care, he knew he'd have to make her a bedroom. As his thoughts spiral away into uncertainties and alleys of thought, Shiori chimes in again, serious, her elegant, almost biting tone a balm for the anxiety racking his mind.

Karena slips out into the hallway when she hears him approach, sliding the door shut behind her.

The lights in the room are dim, and the glare of fluorescent light on the glass door makes it hard to see anything but his own reflection. Still, that doesn't stop the Commander from trying to look over her shoulder.

"It was a bad day," She informs him softly. "A very bad week."

"We expected as much," He agrees.

"She was almost entirely non-verbal when I arrived. They had to sedate her on our way back. It reminded her of a rover. There are some psychological things you’ll have to face with her."

Zavala nods.

"She's still a bit out of it." Karena sighs. "Her response to some of the stress was to stop eating."

"Why?" His lips turn in a frown.

"They snuck pills in her food. I saw it today.” She pauses, wetting her lips. “She's a smart girl. They wanted her calm, but this just terrified her. She clung to my leg like they were going to drag her away kicking and screaming."

His eyes darken dangerously. "You don't think-"

"Oh, not at all. Some of it is irrational fear on her part. Their demeanor with her was standoffish, but nothing short of professional. She hasn't been harmed. She was simply trying to exercise some control over whatever she could."

He nods. It isn't rational, but he understands that the child doesn't know that.

"I won't be able to come by as often," She tells him. "But I'll try to, when I can."

"You've more than enough," He says warmly, accepting her gentle - but brief - embrace. "I cannot thank you enough.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.” He promises.

Karena leaves right after. Then, it’s just the two of them. He takes a deep breath, his Ghost reminding him to breathe.

What if she doesn’t want this? He wonders again.

Shiori’s answer is immediate. She does, Zavala. Trust me.

He straightens his shoulders. “Alright,” He says to himself; As though he’s stepping into a warzone, boots on the ground, ready to go to war.

You’re such a dork, His Ghost tells him, but there’s affection woven into the static. Get in there, soldier.

Zavala opens the door.

Chapter Text

Her eyes focus on the clock above the door first. 02:18, it says, projected in pale blue. She feels heavy, limp, and sore. Hollow, like there’s no point in moving. There’s no sound, the screen that’s mounted up in the corner turned off. It takes a moment to remember, her mind fuzzy and dark like the edges of her vision, not fully awake. She lets her eyes flutter closed.

Karena. Matron Karen was there. She said they were going… back. They were going back.

Still in a haze, her head lolls to the right when she tries to look in that direction, her half-lidded eyes meeting the gaze of the dark haired nurse from before, the one that almost always checked in on her at night. The woman smiles gently down at her, fixing one of the many tubes that are attached to her arm. She doesn’t say anything, which is a little strange. Her eyes seem to light up though. Happy.

That’s when she feels it.

There’s a warmth, a weight around her fingers. A hand cradling hers. A thumb running over her knuckles, steady and sure. 

Amanda carefully tilts her head the other way. Slowly, she coaches herself, feeling very much like a rag doll. She knows it’s him immediately. His eyes are so gentle, like one of his blankets. Like she could curl up and go back to sleep and know he’d keep her safe.

“Hello,” He whispers, the left corner of his lips curling up in a half smile as her eyes clear. 

“‘Lo,” She whispers back, her voice small. Her throat is scratchy. Not enough to make her want water though. She yawns, feeling floaty and heavy, all at once.

His hand traces over her knuckles some more, and her clenched fist relaxes. “It’s late,” He says, when she tries to keep her eyes open. He hasn’t looked away from her face, even though it’s dark. “You can go back to sleep.”

She sighs, letting her eyes fall closed. It feels like hours pass, but she just cannot fall back asleep. She peeks open an eye at him. Only one. His eyes are still trained on her face. “Yer lookin’ at me funny,” She drawls. “D’I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” He answers, sounding amused. 

“Wanted to,” She tells him. He should be able to figure things out. “Was real bad there.”

“You won’t go back.”

“Good,” She says, both eyes focusing on him now. “No fosters, either.”

“No,” He agrees. “No fosters.”

She squirms, getting more comfortable. She’s propped up by all manner of pillows. “Miss Karena will take me back, right? When I'm better?"

"She will not. She has the other children to attend to."

"I won't cause any trouble," She grouses. "I tried, like y'all wanted. Should be enough proof."

One eyebrow rises in a question. "Proof of what?"

Amanda sighs, tapping his palm. "I don't need to be adopted. I don't want another ma or dad. I can stay in the orphanage and grow up jus' fine."

"They moved you because of your injury, I was told."

"Yeah, and I'll get better."

"It will be an adjustment, getting used to your new situation."

"But I'll get better, Zavala," She argues. “I seen people - old people,” She stresses, like it makes a difference, “With bionic legs ‘n arms. They got on well enough, should be the same for me.”

“You will,” He agrees. “But you need more attention than a matron can provide. Someone who is looking out for you first, without other children-”

“I won’t go back to another family.” Both eyes open, their blue-green gaze holding his without backing down.

“I know. You’d need to be placed with someone who understood you. Who you wanted to be with.”

“You said no fosters.”

“Something permanent,” He elaborates.

“No.” She sits up, ignoring the twinge of pain in her hip and the way her leg desperately thinks there’s still a knee and foot attached. It’s been doing that lately. “I don’t wanna go with anyone. No more people.”

Zavala watches her adjust herself, turning to face him, good leg dangling off the bed, her stump making it almost to the edge in its wrap, the pant leg of her pajamas ripped and rolled up to mind the swelling. There’s something terribly brave about her, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her eyes bright with determination, the will to fight.

She opens her mouth, and he expects it to come out in a yell. “Please don’t make me,” She says instead, levelly. It’s not a whisper, nor a flashbang of sound. Tears glimmer in her eyes.

“A man came to see you yesterday,” He begins instead, and she tilts her head at the sudden conversation change. “Someone I work with.”

“Yeah,” She agrees, confused.

“He came to tell me how you were doing, after. And to help me make sure you would not stay in the home you’d been sent to, the one attached to the other hospital.”

“But, why-”

“No one told me where you were being taken. Even Karena did not know until afterwards.” He leans forward as he speaks, invested. “We called the hospital. I tried to come see you. They would not allow it. I was beside myself.” His eyes shine in that honest way, the one that tells her he doesn’t know how to do anything but tell her the truth.

He takes both of her hands in his. “I missed you too,” She admits softly.

Shiori shimmers into place beside them, casting a delicate beam of light on the small tray-table that Amanda usually uses for meals. The child’s eyes are drawn to it, watching as a small pile of paperwork appears beside them both.

“What’s that?”

“A lot of it is legal jargon,” He tells her. “City laws and ordinances designed to protect the rights of a child. But,” He lifts the page Shiori placed on top, “I think this might be the page that would interest you most.”

She handles it delicately, little fingers curling around the edges of the paper. “This is-” She inhales sharply, her eyes scanning it quick, seeing the flourish of the ‘Z', a signature that’s almost artistic in heavy black ink. She rakes her gaze back up the paper.

Her name is on it, in perfect type. The seal on the bottom corner is signed and raised. She runs her finger over his signature, feels the indent from the pressure he’d put on the paper.

“I wanted to ask you first,” He admits, softly. Maybe for the first time, she hears something quiver in his voice, the truth tumbling from his lips nervously. It’s not unlike the shakiness of her hands, the way her eyes dart across the paper, not believing… 

In conjunction with City Ordinance 052.8.26.3, the below signed designates themselves as the legal guardian of the above mentioned youth, who has been recognized as a ward of the City. Until such time as they reach the age of majority, the below signed does so swear to provide for the youth’s needs and to uphold all responsibilities befitting a parent of any child of the City. Sworn this day-

“You-”

“I was meeting with Karena when they moved you to the other hospital," He murmurs, perfectly enunciating each word despite the way his speech speeds up. "I was going to come back and tell you that night, to make sure you would not turn me away, that my intention-”

“Turn ya away?” She thrusts the paper back onto the table, crying but not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. “Don’t you know that’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted since I got here?”

“But you’ve said-”

“You ain’t tryin’ replace my Ma or Pa,” She tells him, serious, her eyes never leaving his. “You’re Zavala,” She continues, like that explains everything. “Just Zavala.” Her expression crumples, voice cracking like a wave cresting against tall cliffs, sharp and broken. “Ya just… care, an’ ya wanna see me be happy, an-”

The nurse enters the room with a sense of urgency, hearing the alarm go off from the nurses’ station down the hall. One of the child’s IV lines has been pulled from her arm, the fluid slowly dripping into the bed. She has a mild rebuke on her tongue, ready to ask what’s happened, but stops before she makes a sound.

“It’s alright to cry,” The Commander says, in what might be the most soothing register the nurse has ever heard. “I know it is a lot.”

The woman keeps her head down, not wanting to draw attention to herself as she pulls back the ruined line, coiling it up before throwing it away and shutting off the alarms. She removes the saturated pad beneath the sheets from the IV solution and replaces it.

“You’re gonna take care of me?” The girl whimpers into his chest. “Y’promise? No take backs?”

“Absolutely none,” He agrees.

Instead of leaving, the nurse rounds the bed, reaching between them carefully. Amanda looks up at her, half of her tear-streaked face pushed into the familiar red sweater the Commander wears beneath his armor. She makes a sound of concern when the nurse carefully moves her arm, not wanting to be pulled away.

“Shh,” The nurse consoles, looking first to Zavala with an easy smile before turning her attention to Amanda with a warm blink. “I’m just disconnecting the rest of your lines, sweetheart.” She works quickly, detangling the mess of medication cables until the child is unbound, swiping at the remnants of the one she’d pulled out with a cotton pad. “There we go,” She coos. “Hug away.”

Zavala pulls the child into his arms with ease, not speaking to the nurse, but giving her a thankful glance. The nurse nods, stepping away. “I’ll come back in the morning. Let me know if you need anything.”

“‘M good,” The little one whispers, well after her nurse has gone. “I have everything.”

Zavala can’t help but hold her tighter.

Chapter Text

He swears he only dozes off for a second, but when he wakes, the light of the sunrise is bright in his eyes, and Amanda’s laying the wrong way in the bed, her head near the footboard. “How much longer?” She whines to Shiori, hovering above her.

“Twelve minutes. How’re you holding up?”

She flops face down with an exasperated groan. It’s enough of a reply.

“What are you doing?” Zavala asks, watching her.

“Stretchin’.” She puts a hand on her right hip, but winces when she pushes down.

“By laying on your stomach?”

“I gotta,” She tells him, turning her head to the side, mostly murmuring into her blankets. “Twice a day I gotta lay on my tummy or my hip gets all twisted ‘n angry.”

“Apparently,” Shiori floats over to her Guardian, “If she does this before therapy, it makes things easier.”

“Y’think the same lady will come in to make me do my leg circle-thingies? She was nice.”

“What?” Zavala looks to Shiori, who gives a Ghost’s impression of a shrug.

Amanda lifts herself up with her arms, shaking slightly. “Ain’t nobody told you anything, have they?” At the Commander’s deer-in-headlights look - which was really funny, she thought - she sighs. “They make me do all sorts a’stuff all day. I take medicine, then I do my exercises, then sometimes the doctor comes to see me. Then,” She stresses, overwhelmed with the thought of all these tasks, “They give me more medicine an’ I nap,” She flushes. “The medicine makes me sleepy.” She sighs. “You really don’t miss nothin’.”

He hums, rising from the rather uncomfortable chair to stretch himself, reaching first to the sky, then down to the floor before using the little en-suite to freshen up.

“When ya leavin’?” She asks after him, around the time when Shiori tells her she’s in the home stretch; Only four more minutes and she can roll back over.

He stands in front of the window on the other side of the room, not returning to the chair. “I am not. Not today. Not unless there is an emergency.”

Amanda absolutely beams at him.

-/

The doctor pulls him out into the hall when he stops to see Amanda towards the end of her physical therapy session. If he’s intimidated by the rank of the man he’s talking to, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he hands Zavala a copy of every medical record they have on the girl, which Shiori immediately transmats it away, scanning and uploading every word to her internal memory and a tablet for Zavala.

“I’m estimating about two, maybe three weeks,” The man says. “The majority of her injuries were minor, leg excluded. Right now, so long as we can keep her eating and she puts on weight, all of her lab values should balance out, and she should be free to go. By then she should be completely mobile on crutches, and in a few months, if not sooner, she’ll be able to start using a prosthesis.”

“I did not expect it to be so soon,” Zavala admits, tucking one fist into the other hand behind his back.

“It’s a traumatic injury,” The doctor muses, “But an amputation is usually pretty clean. Her scarring is not as neat as I had hoped, however, and she will grow. Therapy will be the most important thing. She will compensate with her back and hips for the lack of a knee. Pain will likely be an issue. We’ll get her started on a regimen, but it will be imperative to keep up with it, in order to facilitate a complete recovery. The psychological aspects will be far more intensive. We’ll set you up with someone she can talk with.”

The doctor does not carry on for long before moving on to his next patient. When he goes, Shiori hovers in Zavala’s peripheral. “We have work to do,” She tells him. “A lot of work to do.”

Zavala would agree aloud if she pushed him to, but Shori can already sense he’s overwhelmed, so she opts for a gentler approach. She’s used to reading errant thoughts across their link, well aware that her very stoic, very in-control Commander is actually an anxiety-riddled maelstrom of emotion. He’s very good about not letting it show.

“We knew it would be all hands on deck,” She reminds him mildly. “We’ll take it a day at a time.”

His agreement is silent, between them alone. She shivers out of being in motes of light, her soundless fusion with him like a gentle reassurance, a reminder to breathe.

-/

Two days later, Zavala comes to check in on Amanda mid-morning only to find Eva perched on the edge of the bed. Amanda is standing, holding both of the woman's hands for balance, sweating with the effort. A chair is behind her, to catch her if she falls.

Zavala waits in the doorway, not wanting to spook the girl and ruin her already precarious balance. She forces herself to sit without flopping, putting one hand on the arm of the chair, then the other, then controlling her movement.

"My arms feel like jelly," She grouses.

"New exercise?"

"Zavala!" She tilts her head in the direction of his voice, the cheer his arrival brings visible. Eva smiles.

"Hello, Amanda. I see you have a visitor."

"Eva and I had breakfast," She tells him, looking to Eva. "It was really good."

"I am glad you liked it," Eva tells her, patting the top of her hand. "I'm going to make those pastilleos I told you about. I'll have to bring you some."

She looks to Zavala while Amanda hums an excited mhmm! Zavala's blue gaze meets hers for a beat, giving insight to his gratefulness. When he'd spoken to Eva the day before, she committed herself to helping with keeping the girl's weight up without his prompting, but he was not expecting her to come through so quickly. Really, he should have known better.

"Well, I'm not just here for that," Eva says kindly, retrieving a bag she'd placed on the windowsill. She pulls out a tablet, handing it to the girl. “We have some decorating to do.”

“We do?”

Eva laughs. “My dear, we have to talk about your bedroom! You won’t be in the hospital forever, and when you get home you’ll need a place for-”She breaks off when Amanda’s face crumples. “Oh, don’t cry dear, it’s alright!”

She wipes the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, giving a nervous laugh as the other trembles, propping up the tablet. “I don’ mind whatever,” She says quietly, with a nervous laugh. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, come now, there has to be something you’d like-”

Zavala shakes his head, hardly a gesture at all, really. Amanda doesn’t notice, but it’s enough to silence Eva. He takes the tablet from Amanda without preamble, setting it aside and then leaning down. “Think you can stand again?”

She nods, and he offers her both hands, letting her use them for leverage to pull herself to a single shaking leg. He feels it buckle before she realizes what’s happening and dips, catching her before she’d ever come close to the ground.

“Sorry,” She murmurs, and he shakes his head.

“You aren’t hurt?”

“This happened earlier,” She admits softly. “I’m real weak, they said.”

“You haven’t been feeling well,” He muses, “And your body isn’t used to this. We’ll work on it.” She hums, snuggling into his embrace while he moves aside one blanket and sits in the chair with her in his lap. He reaches for the tablet. “But for now, I think Eva said there were some patterns with ships on them, and we should at least look at them.” He looks down at her, unsurprised by her unwavering gaze. “Did you tell Eva that you want to be a pilot when you’re older?”

“Oh, that’s lovely, dear!” Eva gushes.

“But-” The hurt in her voice cuts the conversation like a knife. They fall silent. She doesn’t have to speak it aloud for the two adults to understand what she’s thinking.

Then, “You have a habit of making the impossible happen,” Zavala tells her softly, whispering the truth against her hair as he searches through Eva’s round up of decorative options. “You made it to the City, fought the Fallen and lived to tell about it. Convinced me-” Her fingers curl over his arm in a pseudo-hug. He kisses her forehead when he cannot continue, waylaid by his emotional transparency. “You’ll fly, Amanda. Believe me.”

She twists to hug him for real, but it doesn’t last for more than a couple seconds. When she settles, she looks over to Eva. “Are there ones with li’l ships?” Her head rests against Zavala’s jaw as she helps him scroll through the images. “I really do wanna fly someday,” She admits quietly.

“There should be,” Eva answers. “And if there’s not one you like, we’ll figure out something different. You leave it to Eva, dear.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, someone needs to tell me what’s going on.”

Ikora looks across the table to Cayde. “If you paid attention,” She reminds him, before looking back at the text she’d been studying, “You would know everything that’s happening.”

“No. You know what’s going on, and it has to do with him-” He jerks a thumb at Zavala who ignores him entirely. “So what is it? Someone spill the beans.”

“There is nothing going on,” Ikora answers him, sounding fed up. She purposely does not look towards Zavala, lest she evoke some additional paranoia from their third. “Zavala has meetings to attend to, and I’m handling the reports of Vex activity near Ishtar.”

Cayde looks between them suspiciously, his faceplates forming a gaze chock full of intense scrutiny. “This has been going on for more than a week. You’ve made me cover for you twice to work on some research on nights you’re not even supposed to have the late shift, and, more than that, he took an entire day off and we’re just not gonna talk about it?!”

Zavala clears his throat. “What, exactly, do you think is going on, Cayde?”

“Ikora gave you a parenting book.”

“What?” Ikora looks positively scandalized. She certainly sounds that way as well. It’s done on purpose. The more outlandish reaction draws Cayde away from Zavala and his absolutely abysmal poker face.

The Hunter Vanguard gives Ikora his most friendly of smiles… then turns back to Zavala. “Soooo, either someone’s going to start talking, or I’m going to start asking questions.”

Zavala’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Let’s assume Ikora did, in fact, give me a book about parenting,” He begins, in a voice that’s almost disinterested. He purses his lips and shakes his head slightly. “There are plenty of lessons that could pertain to a new Titan-” Cayde holds up a finger to interject that the newest Guardians have been Hunters but Zavala continues on, “Or any Guardian, really, regardless of class.”

“So it has nothing to do with an actual child? It’s just another side project, like that knitting class?”

“Yes, Cayde.”

Cayde hums, before bursting out into a wide smiley tone. “Well, that’s some weight off my chest. Couldn’t imagine you with some rugrat. You’re too…”

“Too what, exactly?”

The Gunslinger blinks at him, more specifically the edge of anger in his voice. “Busy. Intolerant of horseplay and shenanigans. As much as you love your Titans, they’re at least big beefy children when they’re kinderguardians.”

Ikora coughs, interrupting the Titan-Hunter staring contest that ensues. “Zavala, didn’t you say you had to stop at the Bazaar before your meeting?” She murmurs casually. “You don’t want to be late.”

“Ah. Yes,” He agrees. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Zavala doesn’t spare Cayde a glance as he leaves the hall, his Ghost flitting to one of the techs and humming some instructions before disappearing from sight.

“What was that?” Ikora asks.

“What was what?” Cayde presses back, gesticulating wildly. “Something is clearly going on with him, ‘Kora. You know it as much as I do.”

“I do.” She swings her gaze in the direction of Zavala’s post then back to Cayde, imploring, “Don’t push him. He’s under a lot of stress right now.”

“I’m really tired of the two of you keeping secrets.” The Hunter looks down at his map before sighing. “I’m a part of this team too. I don’t want to do any more digging and piss him off, but I deserve to know what’s going on. I care, y’know.”

Ikora sighs. “I know you do, Cayde.”

“Then give me something here.”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“I’m not asking for all the details. I just want to know what the hell he’s actually doing. He’s not having a meeting. I’ve checked all his meeting spots.”

“Technically, he is meeting someone.”

Cayde freezes mid-gesture, tipping his hands to indicate Ikora could stand to give him something more than that.

“Cayde, don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything.”

She crosses her arms, growling, “You’re guilting me.”

“Ah, ah,” He wags a finger at her. “It’s only guilting if it’s working.”

Her gaze could melt the average person’s resolve to challenge her in seconds. Cayde is either immune or oblivious and therefore weathers her glower. “How’d you find out about the book?”

“It’s bookmarked and on the desk in his office, so I know he’s reading it.” Ikora goes to refute that, but Cayde beats her to the punch. “The bookmark is the one I gave him for the Dawning. The one he uses for special books. He’s told me he cherishes it. Zavala’s not the kind of guy to lie about that sort of thing.”

“So how do you know I gave it to him?”

“Because you’ve just told me.”

“Not in as many words,” She points out.

“No, but it’s not a difficult conclusion to come to, don’t ya think?” He studies her carefully.

She sighs. “If I tell you-” Cayde perks, “If,” Ikora stresses, “You cannot, under any circumstances tell anyone. It’s non-negotiable.”

Cayde nods, “Okay, okay, jeez. The way you’re acting, you’d think-”

Ikora looks away.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He shakes his head, planting both hands on his map and leaning forward. “You’re pulling my leg.”

Her lips thin. “She’s sick.”

“How long has this-”

“A while.”

“Well, what are we gonna do to help?!” 

“Excuse me?”

Cayde rounds the table, sitting on it, facing Ikora. He can get away with it now that their leader is gone. “I mean, if this is really a thing that’s happening and not a joke, he needs help, right? So how do we handle it?”

Ikora sets down the book she’s holding open against her hip, unwinding her crossed arms. “What do you mean? He just needs space and time.”

“Yeah, and like a million other things," Cayde deadpans, pondering, "Kid’s sick. So that explains why he’s been going to the medbay and not home every night.”

“You know about that?”

“I know lots of stuff,” Cayde stresses. “You might have your Hidden, but I have scouts, too. And they report weird things to me all the time.”

“So you know.”

“Yeah. I mean, it was obvious there was some sort of tire-fire going on two weeks ago, but…”

“There was. It’s… better.”

“Okay. Well, that’s good, but like, he’s gonna need our help whether he wants it or not. And not just parenting books. Like actual favors.”

“Cayde-”

“Not ones I’m going to expect anything in return for. I owe him like a million favors.”

“I believe he stopped counting at two-hundred seventy-six,” Ikora reminds him.

“Yeah, and that was what, a decade ago?”

“Almost two now.” She fixes him with a cruel half-smile.

“I hate you.”

She laughs outright. The sound still scares the techs, but Cayde joins in without hesitation.

“No, really,” He assures her, though it couldn’t be further from the truth “You’re the worst.”

-/

Ikora is the one who seeks out Eva, but Cayde is the one who orchestrates the whole thing. Shaxx covers for them, Zavala is occupied with a ‘conference’ this time, and thus, Ikora and Cayde meet Eva in the market district, carrying an absurd amount of boxes and baggage to the Commander’s flat.

“How much stuff does a kid need?”

“I’ve brought most of it already. It’s just sitting in his office. We’re going to have to do some reorganizing,” Eva instructs them.

By that, she means they need to literally rearrange his entire living space. Ikora insists on moving his desk and files herself, mostly to prevent any issues with Cayde snooping - but most importantly to keep him from messing up the Commander’s disorganized self-organization.

Cayde is tasked with building the much smaller desk and chair, taking to it without argument and following the instructions to the letter. Eva builds a small set of shelving while Ikora moves two oversized bookshelves of poetry like they’re a tenth of their weight. The table and chairs in small dining room are replaced by the items that made up his study, transforming an open, breezy space into a cozy, but invigorating one. It wasn’t like Zavala often used the room, anyway, for how little time he spent at home.

“Someone likes space,” Ikora comments mildly from the doorway to the room being made over.

“She wants to be a pilot,” Eva says fondly, spreading a set of star-patterned sheets over a twin-sized bed frame.

“But she’s sick, you said.” Cayde looks to Ikora, confused.

“That doesn’t mean she won’t be able to do something,” Eva hums, flapping a bedspread over the top of the sheets with a snappish flick of her wrists.

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“I’m sure she will,” Ikora says, silencing Cayde with a shake of her head. “How’s her therapy going?”

“Decent. She’s still not putting on enough weight.”

“Zavala mentioned that,” Ikora replies evenly. Cayde makes himself appear busy, but Ikora can tell he’s listening, even as he works to finish the little chair that matches the desk. “Her wounds are mostly healed though.”

“Almost. Her stump is still giving her trouble. They’re hoping next weekend she’ll be home.”

“Stump?” Cayde’s head tips over her shoulder. “Kid lose an arm or somethin’?”

“A leg.” Eva sighs. “She’s been so good about all of it, too”

“H-how’d he even-”

The front door opens and the two Vanguard flinch. Eva continues fluffing the pillows that go atop the bed, letting them have their moment as she sets about arranging an assortment of children’s clothes in the small dresser. Cayde finishes the final screw of the chair and heads toward the front of the flat at Ikora’s heels. 

Zavala looks confused, standing in his entryway. “What is the meaning of-”

Cayde nudges Ikora’s shoulder, standing beside her as she crosses her arms. “We’re just helping out,” The Hunter tells him, lighthearted in tone, but his optics are serious. “You’ve got enough on your plate right now.”

“This is…” He squints, almost in disbelief.

“We tried to disturb as little as we could,” Ikora tells him with a tiny smile. “I set Cayde loose on some furniture in Amanda's new room. He’s good at building things.” She rolls her eyes, adding for Zavala’s comfort, “... And Eva kept an eye on him.”

Offended, Cayde cries, “Hey! I wouldn’t take the easy way out. It’s not for me.”

“I-” He shakes his head, eyelids fluttering. Definitely disbelief. “Thank you,” He says, hoarsely.

Cayde pats the Titan’s deltoid. “Don’t get emotional on us now. You haven’t seen how good the kid’s room looks yet. She - she’s gonna love it. Save your tears for my craftsmanship.”

Zavala rolls his eyes, and Ikora smiles at him as Cayde turns and heads back to the study-turned-bedroom. “I hope you’re not mad that I told him.”

“No,” The Commander replies. “It was only a matter of time.”

“He was worried about you.”

“You’re more than I deserve. Both of you. Eva, too.”

“Enough of that.” She reaches for him in a rare show of affection. She’d never go for something as intimate as a hug, but as she squeezes his shoulders, the sentiment is the same. “You deserve all the help you need, so don’t be afraid to ask.” She releases him. “Though, I don’t know if I’d ask Cayde to babysit.” She gives him a face that suggests she’s actually babysitting him, right now.

“Oh, come on.” The Hunter Vanguard pokes his head out of the bedroom, but as he’s sitting on the floor working on furniture, he’s mostly laying on the carpet. “I’d be the coolest babysitter, and you both know it!”

The Warlock and Titan’s eyes meet. “Definitely not,” They agree, heading the bedroom to save Eva from the Exo’s antics and show Zavala their progress.

Chapter Text

They are an inconspicuous combination, the Commander in slacks and a tunic, scarf over his head in accordance with city fashion, and the child in a t-shirt with matching sweatpants - something comfortable enough to move in, picked by Eva. Instead of his usual gait, Zavala walks far slower, knowing it would take three steps with her crutches to match his usual pace.

"The terrain changes ahead," He informs her in his calmest of tones. "The brick will be uneven. Let me know if you need a break."

She hums her acknowledgement, focused on getting herself to make as far as she can on foot, and Zavala, though noticing her discomfort, knows this is a lesson she’ll learn the hard way. When he sees the crutches quake he pauses, watching her wince as she continues, stubborn.

"We still have a bit to go," He tells her.

Ignoring that, he watches her take another handful of steps, stumble, and moves to save her from the pavement. If it were grass, and she were a bit more recovered, he’d have let her fall, but he does not want to take the chance with her so close to being cleared to come home. Shiori makes the child-sized crutches disappear before they hit the ground. The therapists had warned him before clearing her to go on this afternoon trip - a trial run, they called it - that she did not know her limitations, or if she did, she was purposefully ignoring them in lieu of pushing herself.

She sighs into his shirt, angry.

"You'll likely have blisters on your arms."

"Yeah," She grumbles.

"Part of recovering is learning your limits and respecting them," He advises, far more incognito with a child on his hip than walking beside her. It's clear she's frustrated with herself, though she eventually releases her tight grip on his clothes and rests her head against his shoulder. "You will learn when to push, and when to ease back. It will take time."

"'m not real patient," She admits in another exasperated huff.

He chuckles, smooth and low against her hair. "No, you're not," He agrees.

Zavala almost expects that she's fallen asleep after a few minutes of carrying her; he can feel her slight weight incrementally increase. Instead, she's simply relaxed, looking out at the Traveler looming in the distance where the sky meets the walls and the City. He turns, noticing when she starts craning her neck.

She drawls, "Can we watch the ships a while?"

Indulgently, he hums into her hair, "You are not in pain right now?"

"A li'l," She supposes. "But I'm usually sore."

 "We'll go the long way back," He decides, a compromise for them both.

"Y'don' mind?" She asks, bashful, resting her head on his shoulder once more.

"I don't get outside much," He admits. "I think we could both stand to see the sky."

It is strange to be in the Tower without being in full armor, or in charge of one small child instead of the entirety of its affairs. He feels almost like a voyeur, watching Guardians run about around the small influx of civilians who sell their wares or have a food-stand nearby.

It feels even stranger when a shadow looms over them from behind, eclipsing Zavala completely. Amanda curls into him, fight or flight senses triggered into something more like a freeze when her new guardian stops walking. He puts a hand on her crown, silently willing her to believe her that all is well before turning back toward his fellow Titan, careful to lead with the hip opposite the one he is carrying her on.

"Step back, Shaxx."

The shadow recedes. "You know word travels," He informs Zavala loudly. "Though half these miscreants wouldn't give you a second glance without the regalia."

Zavala releases Amanda's head, though he lowers his hand to her back. He can feel her heart thundering through the back of her ribcage. "That's the point," He tells the armor-wearing Crucible handler. "Is there something you need?"

"Not at all," He says. "Is this the girl?"

Said girl is clearly shy, wrapping her arms around Zavala's neck, breathing harshly against his collar. "Amanda, this is Shaxx."

She murmurs to Zavala, wary, "He's big," And Shaxx laughs, hearty and boisterous.

"He will not hurt you. He's a Guardian, too. And an old friend."

That spurs Amanda to act. The mop of blonde hair moves, the child leaning up and away from Zavala, brave but not about to let go. "Hi," She greets, looking up into an impassive helm.

Shaxx tilts his head. "Hello, Amanda," He returns, hands on his hips, loud enough that it forces a tremor through the girl. 

"Can he not hear very good? People yell when they have trouble hearing," She asks Zavala, not quite whispering herself.

Zavala laughs, carefully readjusting his hold on her. "No, Amanda, his hearing is perfectly fine. His listening skills are another thing entirely," He deadpans, quirking an eyebrow with a little dip of his eyes to the top of the child’s head. A reminder not to say anything inappropriate for little ears.

Amanda giggles at that, girlish and unbidden. It sounds like something the Matrons would say.

The one-horned Titan tilts his head to the side. "Oh, this is trouble," He says, but there's no malice in his tone, only glee. "You understand his sense of humor."

"Do people not?" Amanda's nose scrunches up in her confusion. "He's funny."

Shaxx chuckles. "Most, sadly, do not. But you are not most." He eyes the duo carefully - more enthusiastic than anything - before stepping back and waving toward the hall of Guardians. Of course, Zavala thinks. The Crucible could not go more than a match without him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, little lion,” Shaxx says to the child. “Make sure he brings you around.”

“Why a lion?” Amanda asks.

Shiori flits into the space in front of them. “That sentimental beast,” She chirps sharply, but it sounds more affectionate than anything. “A lion is-”

Zavala shakes his head. “She’ll figure it out on her own.”

-/

Just shy of two months to the day of the incident, Amanda is discharged from the hospital. She has a wealth of plans and treatments - almost as many as Zavala himself has meetings and engagements of his own. Recovery will be hard work. Supporting her in it, just as much. No matter. Zavala is committed to this. He will not shy away from his duty, both to the City and to his ward.

She refuses the wheelchair outright, intent on making it out of the hospital on crutches. Zavala appreciates her spirit and especially praises her for asking for help, a block later, when the walking becomes just a bit too much. She’s a quick learner, though he will have to watch. He does not want his every word to be law, well meaning though he is. She should learn and make her own decisions, to some extent.

"Home sweet home," Shiori calls as Zavala closes the door and lets it lock behind them. She transmats the tiny crutches back into being, propping them against the couch in a flicker of Light. 

"Yeah," The child says thickly in reply, allowing Zavala to set her down and hand them to her one at a time.

"Let's have a look around, hm?"

She nods. Zavala shows her the kitchen stocked with food - her tummy rumbles at the sight and she flushes, the little nook that was a dining area but has now become an office, the living room that houses a comfortable couch, modest screen and his knitting supplies in the corner. The washroom is next, down the hall, followed by a room he skips in lieu of showing her his own: full of deep, dark, soothing blues and yet spartan, save for a bookshelf.

Lastly, he lets her into her own room, lingering in the doorway when she carefully hobbles in.

Eva has outdone herself, it's clear by the awed expression Amanda wears, the tightness of her shoulders as she comes into the room. The once bare walls have pictures of different class ships with stylized shaders, the bed a subtle compliment with its themed sheets and comforter. Across the bottom half of the bed is her freshly laundered red blanket, ready and waiting for use.

"Do you like it?" He can't help but ask.

The girl takes a deep breath, hinging on a sob. "It's real nice," She says, overwhelmed. "Thank you."

"I would not thank me," He tells her, placing a palm between her shoulder blades to steady her. "My sense of style is a bit more minimalistic, as I'm sure you can tell. Eva had a field day designing this."

"Will she come 'n visit?” She asks, voice thick and eyes watery. “I gotta thank her, too, then."

"Don't worry. You will see her plenty. Why don't you investigate your desk and dresser? Eva guessed at much of it, but anything you need, we'll figure out together."

Together. Amanda likes the sound of that.