Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

”Okay, we really need to get moving. Like, NOW.”

Your Ghost bonks you in the head, and a hollow kind of thunk sounds on your helmet. The noise jars you to your senses as your head cants slightly to the side. You were standing over the bodies of a handful of slain Eliksni, the barrel of your auto rifle still smoking. A manic sort of laugh bubbled up from the base of your throat. Fueled by fear and disbelief, the laugh soon took on a mind of its own. It wasn’t long before a high pitched cackle was reverberating off of the rusted, metallic walls of the Cosmodrome.

”... Guardian?”

The worried tone of your Ghost’s voice brought you partially back to yourself. The terrible, hysterical noise gurgling up from your throat died down. Sighing, you lowered the Khvostov to your side, bringing one hand up to run over your face in an attempt to center yourself. The helmet you woke up in blocked your hand from ever reaching your face, but the motion served its purpose. A couple deep, calming breaths later, and your mind finally began catching up to everything that was happening.

”I’m alright little buddy, I’m alright. I just-”

Another deep sigh. ’Alright, come on. Get it together.’

”Yeah, you’re right. We have to get moving. We can’t stop here, and I really need to talk to you.”

You took another moment to yourself before you moved, keeping your breathing even and steady. Once you no longer felt the panicky bubble of the manic laughter in your throat, you took off along the metal catwalk.

”I- Okay. Alright, just. Just wait for me Guardian, I’ll light our way.”

If you thought your Ghost sounded concerned before, then he absolutely did now. A directed beam of light flooded the area immediately in front of you, adjusting to a soft glow after a few moments, flooding the area around you in a warm light.

The walls of the Cosmodrome alternated between closed, winding quarters and vaulted empty spaces. You were in one of those vast, echoing chambers now, and you tried your best to keep the sound from your footfalls to a minimum. Still, even just your weight on these ancient, pre-Collapse structures was causing a significant amount of creaking and groaning. You had no doubt that if there were any Eliksni in the area, they knew exactly where you were. That they saw exactly what you did to their friends.

You glanced up at your Ghost bobbing along beside you, having no trouble keeping up with your quick gait. His standard issue Ghost shell was practically luminescent in the pitch darkness of your surroundings, and it struck you in that moment just how small, how vulnerable, he was.

’I really gotta replace that shell. He’s practically asking to be used as target practice as he is.’

The thought made your stomach lurch, but you carried on in silence, not sharing your thoughts about his shell. Poor guy was probably worried enough about you, and you didn’t want to add his own safety to what you were sure was a growing list of anxieties. ‘Still,’ you thought, ‘I’m absolutely going to be putting him in something less reflective when we get out of this.’

You carried on, following occasional direction from your Ghost when the need called for it. Thanks to his scans, you never found yourself stuck in a dead end. The bobbing light of your Ghost lit your way, and you caught him glancing at you every so often, too. It made sense. You nearly had a nervous breakdown not too long ago, and he’d spent so long looking for his Guardian. Hundreds of years, he had said. Your stomach dropped. Poor guy just had to get saddled with you.

Catching the faint sound of scraping metal to your right, you whirled to face it and fired on instinct you didn’t know you had. A thud sounded on the metal flooring, followed by more rapid footsteps, and soon the catwalk was alight with muzzle fire. It was a short firefight, and you both came out unscathed. You gripped the rifle in your hands tightly in an effort to keep them from shaking.

”I knew you had it in you, Guardian.”

Your Ghost’s tone was warm and proud. Relieved.

Right. Keeping yourself safe was keeping him safe, and that thought helped banish the wobbly, anxious feeling that had taken up residence in your gut. It was replaced with determination, a solid feeling you could build something more on.

You were going to keep him safe. You wouldn’t let him suffer just because his Guardian was off kilter. You wouldn’t put him at risk because you remembered your past. You wouldn’t let him die because you knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that you weren’t supposed to be here.

”That should be enough to scare the rest of them off. The Fallen are scavengers, alien pirates that keep to the shadows and leech off humanity’s lost technology. I don’t think they’ll risk coming after you for a while after seeing you in action like that.” He sounded so satisfied. So proud of you.

”Eliksni.” You were still distracted by the recent firefight, so you forgot to hold your tongue. As a result, you responded before you could stop yourself, and you felt your little Ghost’s gaze whip around to face you. Sighing, knowing you ruined the moment, you chose to double down. “They’re called the Eliksni. We call them the Fallen. That isn’t what they call themselves.”

A deafening silence followed.

’If the little bugger had a jaw it would be on the floor about now.’

You nearly chuckled at the thought. Forcing a chipper tone, you said, “Come on then. Better keep moving. You know what they say; ‘The night is dark and full of terrors.’ ”

Continuing on, you walked beyond the soft flood of light emanating from your Ghost, surprised that you could still see relatively well in the darkness. Not that you needed to for long, as the light rapidly caught up to you. Coming to a halt directly in front of your face, brightness mercifully turned down, you stared at the little, unblinking optic of your Ghost.

”How is it possible for you to know that?”

He floated before you, shell twitching and whirring anxiously. Reaching up, you cupped your hand around your Ghost, pulling him to your chest in a kind of embrace. A wave of relief washed over you when he let it happen, when he didn’t dodge out of the way of your touch. Dipping your head down, you nuzzled the front of your helmet into his shell. Your voice came out quiet, pleading, with more than a little fear laced through your words.

”Like I said little buddy, I really gotta talk to you.”

A resigned huff came from the small floating construct as he tried to wriggle out of your grasp. “I’m not that little.”

You let out a laugh, a genuine one, as relief flooded your body. Releasing him, he floated up to eye level, bobbing forward to tap your helmet with his shell playfully. “I’m holding you to that, you know. The talking.”

Moving around him, you carried on down the path of the tutorial of Destiny 2. “Oh, I know. Now let’s get through all this so we can, yeah?”

”Sounds good to me!”

You’d broken out into a trot about an hour ago, and you once again marveled at the seemingly endless stamina of your new body. Not only had you basically not stopped moving since you were first rezzed, you’d also gotten into more than a few shootouts. You weren’t exactly a couch potato before this, but there was no way you’d ever be able to achieve this level of cardio. You weren’t even breathing heavily. ’Well, that’s super soldiers for you, I guess.’ Still, this was dragging on longer than you had hoped it would.

”Hey, are we almost out of here? I’m a little worried that I’ll go blind in the sun if I spend any more time in all this dark.”

Even if you felt like you could run forever, you didn’t really want to. Especially not in the dark, rusted walls of the Cosmodrome. ’I do not remember this portion of the tutorial being this long. Guess there are gonna be variances between “life” and the game.’

The sudden thought startled you a bit. Accepting what was happening, all of this, as ‘life’ so readily threw you for a bit of a loop, but it wasn’t like you had any other choice at the moment. Either this was actually happening to you, or this was a very vivid, very lucid dream. While you’d always been able to remember your dreams in pretty good clarity, you’re one hundred percent certain you’ve never felt pain like the gunshot that clipped your leg in a dream before. At this point it was either accept that this was really happening to you, or die a horrible death and take your Ghost down with you.

’Yeah, better not.’

Your Ghost, who had previously been tucked safely away in your Light at your insistence, popped out and made a few mechanical chirps and beeps as he scanned the area. “Not far now, we’re almost out. Once we are, I’ll be able to do a scan and see if there are any workable ships in the area. We’ll need one to get to the Last City.”

He paused before continuing, as if expecting you to ask, “The Last City?” No such question came, however, so he continued.

”Uh, right. So, up around this corner there should be a giant ventilation fan, and it looks like there should be a break in the wall to the right of it. We can get out through there.”

Following your Ghost’s instructions, and the convenient marker on the view through your helmet, you soon found the massive ventilation fan. Sunlight was filtering through the plant life that had grown up around it, glittering on the water pooled in the mud around its base. The break in the wall was just where you expected it to be, and you were out.

The relief you felt at finally being free of the damned Cosmodrome walls was brief and ended in sudden gunfire and sounds of groaning metal. Your eyes barely had time to adjust to the harsh light of day before Fallen swarmed you. In a flurry of motion that you barely had to think about and would remember even less, you were dashing from the small pile of bodies left in your wake, seeking cover from the fire of a massive Walker.

”Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshit I forgot about the fucking WALKER!”

All sense of decorum or poise long abandoned, you sprinted headlong across a field as fast as your legs would carry you, screeching expletives as you went. Once you found adequate cover against a thick, reinforced concrete wall, you slid down it, trying to steady your breathing. You ran erratically enough through the debris of the Cosmodrome, so it didn’t seem like anyone had followed you, or had a lock on your position. ’It’s the little things, sometimes.’ After a moment, you began loading shells into a shotgun you found after a previous firefight while you were still in the walls.

”So”, you manage to get out between nerve rattled breaths, “I’m gonna have to kill that thing, aren’t I?” You didn’t bother to conceal the very sharp edge of panic in your voice. After all, he was your Ghost. He’s in this shit with you, right?

”Yeah, probably. Actually, no I would say definitely.”

A panic laugh barked out of you as you fumbled with the shotgun ammo. “Don’t suppose you can sense anything with a little more juice laying around this fucking junkheap, can you?” If he was startled by your sudden uptick in vulgar language, your Ghost didn’t let on. Ever the helpful saint of a little fella he was, he simply responded, “Well, you could use your grenades.”

You stopped what you were doing, turned your head to look at him, and responded rather stupidly, “But I don’t have any grenades.”

”Well, no, not PHYSICAL ones, but you have your Light! Reach into your Light and focus on what you want. It should come pretty intuitively.”

A moment of silence, at least between the two of you as there were still ambient explosions and gunfire in the distance, passes and you just go, “Huh. So that’s how that works.” After another beat, “How about something bigger? How does that work?”

You shied away from calling it a ‘Super’, as that was pretty specifically video game terminology, and you didn’t want to seem any weirder than you already did. At least not before you got a chance to talk to your little buddy about this.

His response was immediate. “Just the same, but bigger. MUCH bigger.”

Grinning, you reached inside yourself to the warm glow you’d noticed when you first woke up here, feeling hopeful about your situation for the first time. Your Ghost had spent a good amount of time in that space, so you knew where to look for it. You tugged at its edges, and it responded to you. Without trying, you knew you’d be able to pull what you needed from your Light. Intuitive indeed.

A sudden wave of calm clarity washed over you. ‘Right. I may be the same person in my head, but I am a Guardian. An honest to fuck Guardian, a literal super soldier, and I can do this.’ You continued to load your shotgun, hands now only trembling slightly. “So, got a name, little guy? Feel like I should learn it before we run headlong into our deaths.” You felt a manic kind of grin tug at your lips, and you were glad for the helmet covering your face.

”Okay, one, we’re not going to die, and two, no. No, I don't have one. It’s customary for a Ghost’s Guardian to name them.” There was a hint of sadness in the way he said that. You supposed a couple hundred years was a pretty long time to go without having a name.

”Well then, guess I should do the honors." You paused for a moment, giving some thought to it, when the perfect name came to you. "How about Poe?”

“Poe?” Your Ghost’s body tilted to one side, looking very much like a confused, mechanical little puppy. “Not that I don’t like it, but does it mean anything?”

Finishing up loading the shotgun, you rose to your feet, dusting off the seat of your pants as you did. “There’s this pre-Golden Age author I like. His name was Edgar Allen Poe. Wrote mostly poems, short stories, stuff like that.” Checking yourself over, you made sure the Khvostov was fully loaded and at least semi-functional. “It was all horror. Pretty spooky stuff. So, seeing as you’re a ‘Ghost’, and I’m technically undead, I thought it might fit.” You flashed a smile he couldn’t see but hoped he could sense in the tone of your voice. “Also it’s cute.”

At that, your Ghost mimed shaking his head, which was really just shaking his whole chassis and you struggled to keep the cooing that was threatening to well up from your throat at bay. Amazing what knowing you were packing infinite, Light-fueled ammunition did for one’s nerves. “Well, I don’t know about that last part, but I like it. I wasn’t expecting so much thought to be put into it, honestly.” He paused and looked around at everything but you, as if working up to say something else. “What… what’s your name?”

’Oh. Guess we didn’t cover that either. Oops.’

”Oh! Yeah, uh it’s-” Just as you were about to give your name, your real name, you stopped. Something about it didn’t feel right, for some reason. “It’s uh. It’s Nevret. You can call me Nev, though, if you want.”

”Nevret!” He chirped happily, bobbing up and down with excitement. You weren’t able to stifle a giggle at his antics this time. “I like it! What does yours mean?”

At that, you could only laugh. Couldn’t exactly tell him it was a gaming handle you came up with when you were fourteen and had used ever since. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess?” Poe visibly drooped at that, his shell going a little limp and he dropped an inch or two in the air. Feeling a little guilty, you reached out to him, drawing him close to your helmeted face, nuzzling him gently. “Sorry, little guy. Didn’t mean to disappoint.”

At the use of your nickname for him, he began wriggling out of your grasp, huffing in exasperation that you suspected was a little less than genuine. “I’m not that little!”

Laughing you reached out to him with your hand again. “You are to me. Now, back into the Light with you, we’ve got a Walker to nuke.”

”Well that could have gone better.”

You pulled yourself up from the dirt after your latest rezz, shaking your head slightly and trying to reorient yourself as quickly as possible. You had another few moments this time due to the fact that your body had more or less been vaporized by an energy blast from the Walker. So, Poe was able to flit to an area with slightly more cover to get you up this time. ’It really is the little things.’

Poe darted around your head, giving you a once over to make sure you were set to go. “We’re so close! You almost got it that time. Another few good hits and we’re good to go!”

”Yeah, another few hits on the Walker, and another million on the small army of Eliksni that keep shooting at me from a distance. I thought you said these pricks tended to avoid fights they couldn’t win?” Reloading your shotgun for the umpteenth time, you mentally ran through all the spots you saw groups of the Fallen hanging around before you were vaporized.

”Oh, they absolutely think they can win this fight. In fact, most Guardians would be completely in over their heads right now.”

Whirling to face him, you transmatted your helmet away, a trick you learned over the course of this very long fight, and shot your Ghost your best whatthefuckdidyoujustsay look.

He shrugged his shell at you. “It’s true. But I knew you were different from the moment I rezzed you!” His voice managed to be both proud and defensive at once. “Well, from the first fight you got into I should say. You’re a natural, and I had complete faith in you.” You just kept staring at him in disbelief. “Okay, the small army of Fal- Eliksni coming out of the woodwork was a bit surprising, and I was pretty worried for a bit there, but you’re handling it so well!”

”Poe, I’ve died like. Fifty times.”

Scoffing, he just responded, “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve only died eleven times.”

”You know, it’s standard for a person to only die like, once, so forgive me if I’m still getting used to this.” There was no bite to your words as you snarked back. The banter between the two of you had become easier over the past few hours, natural. It was nice. You’d been worried about your relationship with Poe since he woke you up, but you were glad it was looking like you didn’t need to be.

Reaching into your Light for a final check, you were satisfied with what you found. Your firepower recharged really quickly, and using your Solar abilities was immensely satisfying. Done with your final checks, you signaled for Poe to return to your Light. He bobbed over to you, nuzzling the side of your neck before disappearing. Once he was safe and sound, you leapt out from behind your cover, unloading everything you had into that damn Walker.

You were currently stood on top of the spent and sparking body of the Walker, triumphant and pissed off. You just sunk multiple waves of Solar grenades and knives of all sizes into the felled metal beast, and were currently shooting after the Eliksni retreating into the wall of the Cosmodrome. Grunting in frustration at their retreating figures, you hopped down from the lifeless automaton, landing amidst scraps of metal and empty bullet casings.

“Oh, so what, they all run off scared now that I’ve proven to be a threat? Bullshit.” You transmat your helmet off, keeping the hooded cowl tight around your head, and spit blood onto the ground at your feet. More than one elbow to the face left you bruised and bloody, and the Eliksni had four arms each. “Stay and fight so I can pay you back and loot your fucking bodies, jackasses.”

[Well, I did tell you. They’re cowards. Typically.] He spoke to you from his safe little spot in your Light, his voice sounding directly in your head. Bit of a weird sensation, but you were quickly getting used to it.

’Almost like my internal monologue can answer back. And is becoming increasingly snarky.’

[By the way, you’re acclimating to combat very quickly. I suppose it makes sense, with you being a Hunter and all. You all tend to be a little … enthusiastic when it comes to being on the battlefield.]

”Hey, I’ll take it. Better than being a Titan or a Warlock. I’d get claustrophobic in all that heavy armor, and those robes are not my style.” You popped your helmet back on, pulling it from the convenient storage space Poe taught you how to use after one of your rezzes.

[...Right. So, I’ll uh. I’ll do a scan for a ship now that things have quieted down some.] Poe wasn’t questioning your unusual and impossible, at least from his perspective, knowledge anymore, but you could tell it was really eating at him.

’Well, we’ll be able to talk soon. If what comes next actually happens in the way I remember.’

A series of beeps and pings play across the mental space Poe occupied. [I don’t sense any functional ships in the area. Not even NON-functional ships. There’s … there’s nothing.]

”Hey, now,” you comforted, “how about doing a scan of coms signals? Who knows, we might get lucky.” You kept your tone hopeful and upbeat, encouraging your dejected Ghost into doing another scan. You were pretty certain he would pick up something, but you still found yourself holding your breath until-

*I repeat. This is Shaw Han. My Vanguard operation has been compromised, I’m separated from my strike team.* The transmission came across through Poe, so it sounded directly into your mind.

’Bingo.’

Things were progressing as you expected them to, which was a massive relief. You didn’t play very much, just the tutorial and the beginnings of Beyond Light, but knowing something to help you get your footing was about the only thing keeping you sane right now.

Poe’s response was all frantic excitement. [Vanguard! They’re from the Last City! We might be able to help!] There was a pause as Poe attempted to patch into the com signal Shaw was broadcasting from.

The transmission continued with Shaw calling out to the other members of his strike team, Poe’s attempt at communication going unheard. [Something’s interfering. I don’t think he heard us, but I’ve got a lock on his location.]

A white marker flickered into existence in the view through your helmet, and you took off after it. Broadcasting through your comms attracted some attention, however, and you soon found yourself neck deep in Eliksni assailants. Your shotgun came in handy with the close quarters, and you cut through the winding, tight hallways until bursting out into an open courtyard.

A lone figure stood over the body of a large Hive creature, sunlight filtering in through the open ceiling of the space very cinematically. The figure whirled around to face you, gun up, at the sound of your footsteps. You were quick to throw your free hand up in the air, shotgun pointed at the ground.

“Oh! Thank the Light.”

‘Annnd cue cutscene.’

Chapter Text

“I didn’t think we had any other Guardians on patrol here.”

You suddenly felt very awkward and unsure of yourself. For obvious reasons, you couldn’t just sit back and watch this ‘cutscene’ play out from your computer chair, and you knew you’d have to say something. At least you were holding something so you knew what to do with your hands. “Uh. About that…”

Poe popped out of your Light at hearing you falter, bless his core processor. “Oh, we aren’t. On patrol, that is.” A moment of silence passed as Shaw actually got a good look at the two of you. He stood up straighter, taking in the Guardian standing in front of him. Ragged, threadbare cape fluttering just past your torso, barely functional weaponry, and mismatched armor that could be more accurately described as heavy duty workout gear.

“Oh… you’re… fresh out of the grave, aren’t you?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with his wording for more than a few reasons. You took issue with the careful tone of his voice as well, the same tone of voice you’d use with a child when telling them they can’t handle something.

“And?”

Awkwardness replaced with irritation, you were unable to keep the edge from your voice. Especially after spending so long fighting your way through the Cosmodrome. ‘Fighting pretty fucking spectacularly, if I do say so myself.’

You didn’t say anything else, choosing to stare Shaw down in silence instead, waiting for an answer to your question. The staredown lasted long enough for it to be clear that Shaw had no intention of humoring you with a response, so once again, Poe chimed in. “We heard your distress call while scanning for ships. We’re here to help!”

‘Right. I absolutely should have said that.’ Mentally kicking yourself for being so prickly, you continued, trying to match Poe’s tone, hoping it didn’t sound too forced. ‘Let’s not start the first conversation you have with another Guardian by biting off his head.’

“You’re separated from your Fireteam, right? We can cover more ground to find them if we work together on this.” You sounded nicer, at least. Maybe a little over-confident, sure, but hey. Hunter. Can’t hurt to act like one. Plus, if you remembered correctly, his fireteam didn’t have much time if you actually intended on helping them. ‘Not like I can say that, though.’

“Brave! I like it.” He gave you another once over, and turned back to look over the dead Hive at his feet. When he addressed you again, his voice took on a more commanding tone. Stern, and irritatingly dismissive. “But no. I need to find my team before there’s nothing left. Sit tight, I’ll get you to the City soon enough. I’m not putting another Guardian at risk today, especially a New Light.”

With that, your hackles were back up. You had a feeling this was coming. This was about how the cutscene went when you first played the tutorial, but it irritated you all the same. You practically spit your words this time.

“Like hell I’m doing that.” Poe jerked to face you, shock somehow clearly telegraphed across his little form. You got Shaw’s attention too, the Hunter had come to an abrupt stop and turned on his heel to face you at hearing your words. Straightening, you continued. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve made it this far. Let me help.”

Shaw’s body was tense, clearly not having expected backtalk from some uppity New Light he just met. “Hey, I get it. Nobody likes to be sidelined.”

Just as you opened your mouth to retort, Poe cut you off.

“Guardians are stronger together. Isn’t that right?”

A moment went by as Poe’s response registered. You felt the building tension evaporate as Shaw’s shoulders relaxed a bit. Chuckling he said, “You sound like Commander Zavala.”

He gave you another once over, and you could feel him looking for a reason to dismiss you again. You stood confident, making what you thought was probably eye contact through the helmets you were both wearing. He sighed.

“Alright then.”

He stepped over the body of the Hive, closing some of the distance between you both. “This is going to get dicey. So, I need you to do what I say, exactly, what I say, and we’ll get through it.”

He put special emphasis on the ‘exactly’, something you tried very hard not to let under your skin. You’d known him all of five minutes and already backtalked, so. Not entirely unwarranted.

Not trusting you to speak, Poe responded. “We won’t let you down!”

Also not trusting you to speak, you only nodded in response.

“Right, let’s roll out.”

“Shaw, you were right about this barrier. The Fallen were keeping the Hive at bay.”

The blue light barrier flickered out of existence, a soft whoosh of air drifted past you as it did. It carried the smell of moldering, rancid fungus. Humid, slightly rotten, and tinged with something else you were unfamiliar with. The word ‘disease’ sprung to mind. You took deep, gulping breaths of the damp air, trying to steady yourself for what was coming. Eliksni in broad daylight were one thing, but you remember being freaked out during this first encounter with the Hive when you were on the other side of a computer screen. Now you were in it.

But you also had a grenade launcher.

“We should get a move on. Now that the barrier is down, the Hive will likely start swarming, and it’ll be better to confront them in a choke point.” Poe tapped the side of your helmeted head with his chassis, a comforting habit he had taken up over the past few hours. It helped, giving you the push you needed to press forward. You always seemed to need just a little bit of a push.

*Your Ghost is right, Maeve is in more trouble than I thought. You have to hurry.*

Shaw’s comm crackled over the connection that he maintained with you through Poe, openly communicating his panic. He’s sounded like that since he was able to pick up his fireteam’s last known locations. You didn’t remember much, ‘I am never rushing a video game tutorial again’, but you were pretty sure things were moving along according to what you played through months ago.

You’d gotten a lot done since you and Shaw parted ways. You killed the interference in his scans, he saw that Cas and Maeve’s signals were miles apart, you blew through Eliksni and their constructs to get the encryption keys, managed to deactivate the barrier to get to Maeve, and now. Now the Hive. Now the thrice damned, fucking Hive.

When the waning sunlight no longer reached the hallways you moved through, Poe popped out of your Light and illuminated your way. The thick, humid air seemed to deaden any ambient noise, and all you could hear was your own footfall and ragged breathing. Then the floodgates opened.

They were horrifying. So, so horrifying. Pale, glowing, spindly, and the way they moved. Every alarm in your stupid little monkey brain was going off, screaming at you to run, run, run, run, RUN, WHY AREN’T YOU RUNNING.

A thought struck you in that moment. This was probably one of the reasons why Guardians are meant to be risen with no memories. A being built for waging war, absent of any need to work against a lifetime of basic human self preservation instincts.

Those human self preservation instincts kept you hiding in the shadows, shoving Poe into the hood of your cowl. Doing so dampened his light and brought the sickly glow of the Hive into sharp relief against the pitch of the shadows. It was the Guardian instincts that kept you from having a full blown panic attack and your trigger finger working.

You cut through the Hive in front of you with efficiency that would alarm you in hindsight. So focused on the task at hand, you barely heard Poe say you’d entered a place where he couldn’t rezz you. Barely registered that you had real death, a proper return to Light, staring you down with glowing green eyes and the smell of black mold and rotting organic matter.

Then you heard it. A scream. A human scream. Not the terrible shrieks ripping endlessly from the Hive all around you.

‘Maeve.’

Breaking out into a full sprint, you brought out your rifle as you rounded a corner into a more open room. There, floating twenty or so feet up, was the largest Hive you’d seen yet, and a Guardian being strangled by the monster’s sickly magic.

You fired before you even fully registered the scene, bullets absorbed ineffectually into Navôta’s energy shields. Maeve’s screams grew louder, and you echoed with one of your own. You’ve never made a sound like it before. Desperate, and louder than you thought possible. You sounded more animal than human.

In some distant, partitioned off part of your brain, you hoped it would distract the wizard somehow. Just long enough for some concentration to waver, for one well aimed bullet to make it through the shielding. Something that might change the outcome you remembered. Something to show that you weren’t on a set track. Something that might save the life of a Guardian that shouldn’t have to die.

Reality doesn’t bend to your will. No matter how loud you scream, no matter how many rounds you empty into the alien wizard’s translucent shield, it isn’t enough. With a hair raising crunch, Maeve’s body goes slack in the air, and then she is quiet. All is quiet.

Navôta vaporizes her.

A fine mist of putrid green Hive magic floating in the air where a Guardian once was. Portaling out of the room, Navôta leaves you in heavy, heavy silence.

It takes a moment of standing in that silence to realize that your finger is still held down on the trigger of your rifle, hollow clicks sounding as the gun tries to fire from an empty clip. Ragged panting shakes your body, and the the deadened quiet that was starting to suffocate you is replaced by the crunch of Maeve, her armor or her body you didn’t know, ringing in your ears. You could feel it. A noise scraping its way along your auditory nerves, dragging itself into you and making a home where your skull connects with your neck. Your whole body is clammy under the armor that suddenly feels very much like not enough, and you can’t stop a shiver from settling deep in your bones.

Poe’s voice drifts over you, just audible over the spectral, wet crunching.

“There… there might still be Light left in her Ghost…”

He floats over to the ruined, crushed shell of Maeve’s Ghost. You felt the prick of tears forming in your eyes at the sight. It was so small, the little pile of crushed metal and mangled wiring. So, so small. Kneeling down, you gathered the pieces in your hands, taking care to scoop every last piece from the dirty floor.

“Shaw… I’m sorry. We were too late.”

Poe spoke for you. Still kneeling, you had no words to offer Shaw. In fact, you had forgotten he was still linked to your comms. All you could do was stare at the dead Ghost cradled in your hands.

*I was too. Cas was … I couldn’t get to him in time either.*

They went back and forth a little while longer like that. Poe offering apologizes for your failure to save his friend, Shaw assuring you both that it wasn’t your fault. That this wasn’t on you. A mention of the Ghost’s remains, and Shaw urging you both to return to camp before Navôta returned.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. You stayed, kneeling on the ground, locked in place, grateful for the helmet shielding your damp eyes.

“...Nev?”

Poe comes around to your face, tapping your helmeted forehead lightly with his chassis. Slowly, your head lifts and you pull your eyes from the dead Ghost in your hands to the very alive, and very concerned, one hovering before you.

“Hey, little buddy.”

Your voice is small, barely audible. Poe’s is, too.

“Hey, big buddy.”

A wet gurgle of a laugh chokes it way out of your ragged throat at hearing your new nickname. Poe’s shell whirs a little at the sound of it, no longer looking quite as deflated.

“Come on. We have to get to a place where I can transmat us back to camp. Let’s get out of here.”

You nod, preparing to rise to your feet. Suddenly, you are so very tired. You feel the weight of what you’ve done, and what you’ve failed to do, trying it’s damnedest to keep your knees pressed into the floor below you.

You get up anyway.

It’s dark when you drop out of transmat into the camp. High up on an abandoned building’s overhang, you blink, taking in the nighttime scenery of the Cosmodrome. Purple Servitor lights bob slowly in the distance, and a gang of roving pikes can be heard revving somewhere far enough away to not be concerned about them.

You put your helmet into transmat storage and lowered your cowled hood for the first time since you were risen this morning.

‘Fuck. That really was just this morning, wasn’t it?’

The air had a chill to it, but you thought absently that it smelled like spring. You looked out over the Cosmodrome, enjoying the feeling of the breeze on your bare face, allowing your eyes to flutter closed for a moment of unexpected peace.

“You made it back.”

The voice came from below, tired, and quieter than what you’ve gotten used to. Opening your eyes, you lower your gaze from the rubble and scrap filled horizon. You notice Shaw has taken off his helmet, and you see his face for the first time. You stand there for a moment, just kind of. Staring. He looked about the same as you expected him to. With the obvious ‘this is an actual person standing within spitting distance of me and not a sculpted mass of pixels on a screen’ differences.

‘He looks kinda fluffy.’

You hop down from the overhang, using the slight jolt from the landing to help shock you out of your foggy, detached state of mind.

“You did too.”

Your voice sounded far away. A little hollow.

The two of you just sort of… stand there. Shaw seemed a little dazed, and your response didn’t exactly hold the makings of great conversation. So, the silence between you stretched out a little longer than would have been comfortable in any normal situation. You were about to say something when Shaw sighed, rubbing his gloved hand over his face, shoulders slumping slightly.

“Even the Light has limits. Sometimes… you don’t come back.”

It struck you that even now he was using this as a teaching moment for the ‘New Light’ he’d somehow been landed with. It was oddly comforting. That at least one of you had it together enough to be thinking ahead, that is. That at least one of you was thinking about the other’s well being instead of having a mind full of static and the sound of bones crunching in armor.

“Yeah.” Awkwardly shifting your weight from foot to foot, you continued. “Poe did say that there was a lot of Darkness in the area. That the Light wouldn’t reach us. That if I died, I wouldn’t be able to be rezzed.”

You picked mindlessly at the seams of your gloves, gaze fixed on your fiddling hands. One of the textured pads on your left palm was lifting up, the thread fraying from use.

“It makes sense that Navôta would choose to confront any Guardians she came across in a place like that.”

You could feel yourself start to ramble. Saying things just to say them, to fill the silence, to drown out the wet, meaty crunching stubbornly replaying in your ears. Distantly, you recognized the feeling of Poe settling in on your shoulder, nudging against the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything.” The words spilling out of your mouth were bile, involuntary and bitter tasting. You could hear your voice hike up in pitch. “Maeve was right there, but Navôta had some sort of shield up, I emptied so many bullets into her, I really, really tried, I screamed to try and distract her but then sh-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. It isn’t your fault.” Shaw stepped towards you, putting a hand on your shoulder as Poe let out a series of mechanical chirps in agreement with what was just said. The warm weight of Shaw’s hand was comforting, you could feel it reigning in the hysterical edge you felt coloring your voice.

“I didn’t expect to run into something as strong as Navôta, I… I rushed the scans, and now it’s too late.” Another deep sigh. “Still. Maeve and Cas knew the risks.”

You felt his hand squeeze lightly, then the weight was lifted from your shoulder as he pulled his hand away. His voice was stronger now, the fragileness it held previously gone. The voice of a soldier. “The best way to honor them is to finish the job.”

He walked past you towards the abandoned building you had transmatted in on top of. There was an opening, either a door or a tear in the metal siding, you couldn’t tell. In the darkness you could see the lights of field communication tech blinking. Turning around, he stood to face you, motioning for you to follow him.

“Not tonight, though. You’ve been through hell, and you look dead on your feet.”

Feeling it, you could only groan in affirmation as you followed him. Poe left your shoulder and floated ahead of you, darting into the space and giving it a once over. Just before you reached the entrance, he turned around and gave his little full chassis nod, as though letting you know it was safe to continue. He seemed to be satisfied that you weren’t walking into anything sketchy. A warm feeling took root in your stomach as he took up residence on your shoulder again, and it took you a moment to recognize it as comfort. The wet crunching got a little quieter.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry for the wording. Maybe uh. Not the best at the moment.”

You saw Shaw wince at his own word choice, one of his hands raising to absently scratch at the side of his face. A nervous tic, you guessed. You felt the tug of a grin at the corner of your mouth at the bashfulness of his demeanor. You were glad that any animosity that had developed between the two of you naturally evaporated over the course of the day. Something about being in constant contact with a person through constant life or death situations will do that, apparently. Also, it turned out that you both got along pretty well.

“No, no, it’s fine. You didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, it’s pretty damn accurate.”

You passed through the opening in the wall into a camp, no doubt left by previous Guardians and strike teams. Very clearly a pitstop, the camp was set up as somewhere to grab a few hours sleep and cram some food into your face before launching yourself back into the Eliksni overrun Cosmodrome. There wasn’t much to it. A pile of crates stacked against a far wall, the comms tech blinking away in one corner, and another corner padded with foam mats, sleeping bags still rolled up nearby.

Taking in your surroundings, you eyed the supply crates, or at least what you guessed were the supply crates by the labeling. You were feeling a little better now that you were in an enclosed space. A space that was designated ‘safe’ by people like you. Honestly, it did wonders for your mood. The sickly, tense rattling that made a home in your nerves quieted to a barely there tremor.

“Is there any food around here? If what Poe says is right, it’s been about...” You trailed off in an exaggerated show of thoughtfulness, a ‘hmmm’ humming in your throat. You bring your hand up to your face, tapping a finger on your lips. “Well, I guess about a couple hundred years since I’ve had anything to eat.”

You flash a smile that you hoped didn’t come across as a grimace.

Your attempt at a joke apparently tracked, as you succeeded in making Shaw laugh. Well, chuckle. Still, you were counting it as a win. Especially considering you were in the middle of a post-apocalyptic warzone and one minor inconvenience away from a full blown breakdown. Gotta take what you can get where you can get it. In this case, it was a fluffy, weirdly bashful super soldier cracking a grin at some dumb shit attempt at a joke you made.

‘What a fuckin’ day I am having.’

Shaw was rummaging through what you accurately clocked as supply crates now, muttering to himself as he did. Poe floated over to where he was hunched, peering over Shaw’s shoulder at what he was doing.

“So, the pickings are kind of slim. Whoever was here last didn’t leave a lot of variety. Or a lot of anything, if I’m being honest.”

Shaw stood up, clutching a few packs of MREs in his hands, looking them over with pinched eyebrows.

“I’ll have to request a resupply from the Tower for this base if anyone plans on being here for more than a week or two.”

Poe bobbed above Shaw’s shoulder, his little optic squinting to read off the meal names on the worn packaging.

“Looks like we’ve got chili with beans, beef stew, and chicken and egg noodles in, uh.” Squinting harder and drawing closer to the third package in Shaw’s hand, Poe continued. “In… sauce.”

Poe drew back, somehow managing to look baffled and a little put off at the same time. “I have to say, I don’t love the sound of that option. It’s a little vague.”

Shaw chuckled again at that.

‘Guess the boys are feeling a little more at ease here, too.’

Addressing Poe directly, Shaw held up one of the packets of ready to eat meals, shaking it slightly for emphasis.

“I get that the names aren’t the best, but this one is actually a lot better than it sounds. Especially compared to the others. Don’t be fooled by the beef stew.” Hunching back over the supply crates, he rummaged a bit more. “And, it looks like whoever was here last shared your opinion, Poe. ‘Chicken and Egg Noodles in Sauce’ makes up most of this crate.”

Poe bobbed over to you, nestling back into what you were suspecting has become his preferred resting place. “Well, you do need to eat something. You might be a Guardian, but you can still suffer from the effects of malnutrition.”

You brought your hand up to rest on the little Ghost, patting his shell lightly. “Oh, I know. Won’t hear any complaints from me there, buddy. Feels like I could eat three of those.”

You walk over to where Shaw is hunched by the supply crates, Poe still tucked into the crook of your neck. You crouch next to him, balancing on the balls of your feet. Staring at the pile of MREs piled within, you grab one of the chicken and egg noodles packs. “...Can I eat three of these?”

You turn your head to face him, a questioning look on your face. If the supplies ran out while you both were still out in the field it would cause a lot of problems, and you had no idea how long the rest of this was going to take.

“Oh, absolutely. You more than deserve to eat whatever you want after the day you’ve had.” He hands you two more of the chicken packs, offering you a smile as he did. “Not every day a New Light comes face to face with a high ranking Hive wizard and lives to talk about it after the fact. Plus we should have enough for just the two of us.”

You snort out a laugh, thinking it was generous of him to count that particular encounter as any sort of accomplishment on your part. “Yeah, I guess.” Standing, you noticed a distinct lack of ache in your legs, knees in particular, as you straightened out to your full height.

‘New joints. Oh fuck, I have new joints that don’t crack every time I move, holy shit.’

Reeling a little from the ‘I have a whole new body’ realization, you wander over to the little sitting area. Looking over the packets, you squint in the dim light to read the instructions that promised the meal would be self heating with no water needed. “There was that Walker, too. Plus a small army of Eliksni, House Devil I think, but they mostly scattered after their big metal spider kicked it.”

Plonking into one of the couple of well worn seats, you drop the other two MRE packets on the small table, fiddling with the third. Ripping open the main package, you find a spork-like utensil and three parcels inside, two of which the outer package promised would be heaters. “I have a feeling things would have gone a lot worse if they didn’t, though. That Khvostov isn’t exactly the most reliable auto rifle in the world, and it isn’t like anything else I’m packing has infinite ammo.”

You were suddenly very anxious about screwing up heating the MRE, so you turned to Shaw to ask for help with it. You were about to ask him for said help when you noticed his gaping mouth and stunned expression.

“...What?”

Blinking a few times, he composed himself. “You took down a Walker? By yourself?”

Resisting the urge to Elle Woods him with a, ‘What? Like it’s hard?’, you instead just say, “Uh. Yes?”

‘That reference would definitely be lost on him anyway.’

Poe, bless him, did his version of nodding furiously. Which looked like his entire chassis canting forwards and back frantically, adding validity to what you were coming to realize was a pretty outlandish statement. “She absolutely did! Took a few tries, but her command over the Light is already quite impressive.”

Poe could not have sounded more smug if he tried.

Running a gloved hand down his face, Shaw looked at you in complete astonishment. “No wonder you were so peeved when I tried to sideline you. You sure you were just risen today?”

Hearing your own thoughts about this whole situation echoed by Shaw, you could only laugh.

“Yeap. It’s been the longest damn day ever, but I’m pretty sure it’s only been the one.” You looked back down at the MRE in front of you as Shaw sat in the seat opposite you, his own food packs joining yours on the table. “So, uh. How do you do this? The instructions on the packet are so worn, and I really don’t wanna fuck this up. I’m insanely hungry.”

Reaching over the table, Shaw wordlessly grabs hold of all three of the parcels and pulls them over to him. Taking one of the heating packets, he peels off one side of the package, exposing adhesive. Affixing the heating pack to the food pack, he repeats the same with the other. Once done, he peels off the other side of the heating packets and slides the completed MRE back over to you.

“There you go. It’s pretty simple, but I’ve found showing works better than telling in most cases. You can do the same with the other two in a bit, they only take a few minutes to fully heat.” Pushing himself up from the table, he grabs a couple water bottles emblazoned with the Vanguard logo. Placing one in front of you, he sits back down and gets to work on his own MREs.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, you know. Even by Hunter standards.” His quirked eyebrow and wore an amused smile that transmitted the good natured ribbing for what it was, so you decided to play along.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were Guardians, not Boy Scouts.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm and you felt a genuine smile spread across your face. “Guess I should have known better though, considering the most aggressive word you’ve whipped out since I’ve known you has been ‘peeved’. ”

He leans forward on the table, putting his weight on one propped up elbow, pointing a finger in your direction. “Hey, it got my point across didn’t it? ‘Peeved’ is a good word.”

A laugh bubbled up happily in your throat. He spoke with a playful defensiveness that made your smile grow a little wider. It was nice to joke around like this with someone. Especially when you weren’t actively being shot at.

“Alright, food should be good to dig into now.”

You both ripped into the MRE packaging, and the warm smell of chicken and curry wafted over you. A growl ripped through your stomach, louder than you thought should be possible. Needing no further encouragement, you dug in with an enthusiasm that the humble field rations did not deserve.

The noodles were a little soggy, and it was a bit blander than you would have liked, but the chicken was shockingly good, and the undefined ‘sauce’ was a mild curry flavor. Your belly grew warm as you ate, and that pleasant warmth soon spread through your whole body. You had to actively keep yourself from moaning into your food.

Shaw didn’t seem to be having the same kind of response to his MRE as you did to yours. You heard him groan in something that was not enjoyment, so you looked up at him, questioning look on your face.

Catching your look, he flipped over the outer packaging of his MRE to show you ‘Beef Stew’ in bold lettering across the package. “I always fall for it. Every time it’s been long enough for me to forget I catch myself thinking, ‘Hmm, it can’t be as bad as I remember. I should give it another try.’ “

He sighs deeply, grimacing at his meal. “I am always wrong. So, so wrong.”

Shaking your head, you try not to laugh at the Hunter’s misfortune and dig back into your meal. You get about halfway through before you prep another packet for heating, correct in your assumption that you would need more than one of these to actually be full. Shaw does the same, only with a chicken and noodles pack this time. You continued to eat in comfortable, tired silence. The warm weight of the food in your stomach was calming your nerves better than anything else had today.

Just as you were wrapping up your second pack of food and about to break into your third, Shaw dropped another pair of water bottles on the table. He had finished eating, apparently not quite as ravenous as you.

“So, Boy Scouts, huh?” He said, breaking the silence. “That’s a pretty old reference. They were some kinda kids club pre-Collapse, right? Founded before the Golden Age. Way before, I think. How’d you hear about them?”

‘Ah, fuck me.’

Earlier that day.

“Hey, Hattie. Does the New Light seem a little… off to you?”

Sitting in the cockpit of his jumpship, Shaw cruised low over the Cosmodrome, keeping an eye on the ground for any movement that might look like his missing fireteam. White knuckling the ship’s controls, he was mostly looking for conversation to pass the time while the New Light worked on getting rid of the Fallen signal jammer. Anything to keep his mind from spiraling to the worst case scenario.

His Ghost, Hattie, popped out of his Light, settling on a flat spot on the ship’s control panel before answering.

“All you Guardians are ‘a little off’. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Snorting in laughter, Shaw rolled his eyes at Hattie’s remark. She might not be able to see it, but they’d been running together long enough now that she could hear it in his voice when he answered. “Yeah, okay smart aleck. What I mean is that she seems… I don’t know. Very much not like a New Light?”

He voiced his thoughts hesitantly, thinking they sounded even more ridiculous out loud. Still, he couldn’t shake that nagging feeling he got when thinking about his interactions with her.

Hattie’s shell whirred a little in confusion. “What are you talking about? It’s pretty obvious that she’s new. Her gear was a mess. No self respecting Guardian would run around in what she has on if they’d been to the Tower. Or if they’d been risen for more than just a couple days.”

That got a chuckle out of her Guardian. The New Light, Nevret she had called herself, did look rough. Not to mention she was toting a pre-Collapse piece of junk auto rifle that he was surprised still functioned.

“Plus, I know that Ghost”, Hattie continued. “He’s been looking for his Guardian for so long. Can’t imagine he’d spend any amount of time puttering about the wilds without dragging his Guardian back to the Tower to show them off. Even if he did get saddled with a Hunter.” Shaw cracked another smile at the good natured jab she made, him being a Hunter himself.

She paused, shell twitching again as she thought.

“Unless… you think they’re lying?”

He dropped his head back against the headrest of the pilot’s seat, groaning. Taking one hand off the controls, he ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “No, no. I- That. That’s not it.”

Sighing, he grabbed the controls with both hands again, altering course to sweep back across the Cosmodrome. No, he didn’t think they were lying. That would be absurd. Not that every single Guardian ever risen was a morally righteous paragon of honesty, far from it. He just… didn’t get that kind of feeling from her. He didn’t know what kind of feeling he got from her.

“She just… She doesn’t act like she’s new to the world, you know? Not entirely.” He thought about her strange, tentatively clumsy mannerisms. How she seemed surprised whenever she did what every other Guardian, Hunters especially, came out of the ground instinctively knowing. There was too much caution in her, learned caution, for her to be entirely new.

At least that’s how it seemed.

Just then, his comms came to life with Nevret informing him of the status of the Fallen comms jammer.

*New Light to Han, Poe is about to have the jammer taken care of, over.*

A second later, a series of explosions crackled over the connection, followed by a very loud, very pissed, “Motherfucker!”. A series of gunshots and many more colorful expletives later, the New Light continued.

*Sorry about that. There was one last big push from the Eliksni, but I think that’s the last of them. For now at least, over.*

Brows furrowed in confusion, Shaw swung his jumpship towards the direction of where Nevret was. He nodded at Hattie, indicating to her that she should be prepped for the scan. “Heard, New Light. Hattie’ll begin the scans when I get the go ahead.” He paused briefly. “By the way, you uh. You don’t have to say ‘over’ when you’re done talking.”

His brows furrowed further, fully processing the strangeness of the New Light’s habit. “No one does that unless they’re playing around with old time-y banter from before the Golden Age. You can just speak normally over the comms.”

He spoke gently, a little cautiously even, having learned his lesson about trying to order her around earlier.

There was a moment of silence before she responded. *Oh. Uh. Yeah, okay, my bad, I don’t uh. I don't know where I got that from.*

She chuckled nervously, clearly trying to play the odd habit off as a joke. There was a forced kind of casual tone to her voice as well. *Thanks for the heads up! Oh, and uh. It looks like Poe’s wrapping up his work on the jammer, you should be good to go on those scans now, ov-. Uh. I mean, lemme know what comes up.*

She disconnects the comms in a hurry, a little blip punctuating the end of her sentence.

“Yeah, definitely something off about this New Light.”

Chapter Text

You were mid-chew when Shaw dropped the question. You froze, suddenly hyper aware of everything you had said to him over the course of this very long day.

‘I have not. Been very smooth in handling this.’

You briefly considered trying to gloss over what you had said, but anything that your mind scrambled to put together as a plausible excuse sounded ridiculous. The only way you would have been able to get out of this was holding your tongue from the get go. You cursed yourself for getting so comfortable with Poe’s agreement to not press you about anything until you had time to talk.

‘Or maybe it was always going to be impossible to fly under the radar with this. Shit, is that even an idiom anymore? Do I just sound deranged? Like someone cosplaying a person who lived hundreds of years ago every time I talk?’

You briefly think of the period movies and shows set in the Victorian Era that you always had a thing for. How their way of speaking was understandable, but more of a quirky novelty. A flowery, decorative way of speaking that was impractical for daily use. If anyone showed up and tried speaking like that in daily life they would be regarded as more than a bit off kilter, at best.

Chewing your bottom lip, you lost yourself in thought. About two hundred years separated the Victorian Era from the time you had come from. And roughly triple that much time separates the year you came from and the year you landed in when you were Risen.

‘Oh god.’

While you were able to communicate with Shaw without too many hiccups, you guessed that not too much had changed in terms of lingo. Still, that thought rocked you to your core.

‘Fucking hell. I was never going to get away with secrecy, was I.’

You have now been silent for far too long, still mid-chew and staring blankly into the middle distance. Hard swallowing your half chewed mouthful of food, it went down poorly. The same way you assumed what you were about to say would. There was a way to go about this that wouldn’t get you into trouble. Maybe.

“Uh. Right. You see the thing is-”

Cutting yourself off abruptly, you turned to face Poe, who was hovering off to the side of you, trying not to look too expectant. He was failing. Sighing deeply, you address just him. “Remember when I said I needed to talk to you, Poe? This is it. This is the talking.” You gestured vaguely to where Shaw was seated, continuing. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be a part of this, but here we are. I’m too tired to pull any kind of believable excuse out of my ass, anyway.”

You paused.

“And honestly? I don’t really want to make excuses.”

‘It isn’t like it’s a bad thing that I remember my life and somehow got sucked into a video game upon my untimely death.’ The remembered last moments of your previous life flashed before your eyes. ‘At least not like. Bad for them.’

Another sigh.

You were still holding onto your MRE, spork buried in the remainder of the meal, waiting to be pulled up to your hungry mouth. Internally grumbling at the timing, you set your food down, and looked to Shaw. Poe had settled next to him, bobbing up and down slightly off to his side. Groaning, you lean back in your chair, head tilted all the way back so that you were staring directly at the rusted metal ceiling.

You speak directly to that ceiling, not trusting yourself to be able to start otherwise.

“So, I think both of you, or rather all three of you if we’re counting your Ghost, Shaw.” At that, another Ghost popped into existence in a brief flash of Light. “Right, yeah, hi. Good. Let's get everyone here, fantastic.” Leaning forward on the table now, you pinched the bridge of your nose between two fingers, sucking in a deep breath through your nose as you did.

“As I was saying. I’m sure you have all noticed that I’m a little… odd.”

Shaw and his Ghost shared a knowing sideways glance, betraying the fact that they have absolutely found you to be odd, and have also found time to talk about the oddness in question. Poe, to his credit, remained silent and motionless. So, you went on.

“I’m sure you’ve had that thought more than once since we’ve met up, Shaw.” Internally cringing at your first conversation with him over the comms, you kept talking. “I’ve got weird mannerisms. I don’t behave like a Guardian.”

Shaw’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Poe made a move like he was going to say something, but you stopped him, holding your hand up. “I know that I don’t. I’m sure it’s normal for New Light to have a certain amount of wobbly legged tendencies, but I am well aware of how often I communicate my preconceived notions of ‘what is possible’. ”

Even Poe reacts to this. He dips his optic a bit, deep in thought. Your mind flashed back to the many instances of his having to hype you up to make a jump you cleared easily, or you swearing up and down that there was no way you could just, “punch through a Servitor’s core, that’s insane”, only to be gripping a bundle of sparking wires in your fist moments later.

“I’ve also let on that I know things about this world that I really shouldn’t. At least not yet. Not without having visited the Tower. Not without having access to the archives.”

At this, Shaw quirked an eyebrow, glancing over to Poe for confirmation of what you just said, that you have strange knowledge of the world that you really shouldn't. Poe raised his little optic to be trained on you, patiently, politely, waiting for more. ‘Yeah, Poe already knows all that. Better get to the good shit.’

“Well, there’s a pretty good reason for that.” Deep breath number seventeen thousand is sucked through your nose. “I remember my life before this. Before I was Risen.”

Dead silence.

“Also I uh. When I was alive in my life before...” You trailed off, really not knowing how to word this one. No matter how you ran it over in your head, which you had done dozens of times over the course of the day, it sounded ridiculous. Stupid. Infinitely idiotic. ‘So I guess I’ll just say it.’

“When I was alive before I was in a different universe, and I’m not talking about a neighboring universe to this one, like astrologically, I’m talking literally an entirely different timeline kind of universe, and I know that because the entirety of this universe, literally all of it, was a work of fiction to me until I woke up in the middle of it.”

The admission came out in a rush of words, all at once, no breaks for breath or to think about exactly what you were saying. In a more even, measured tone, you kept going. Not like anyone had chimed in with anything else to say yet.

“That’s why I know things that you would call ‘impossible’, Poe. Why I know that the proper name for the Fallen is ‘Eliksni’, why I know where to shoot the Servitors to do the most damage, why I know which Hive were the exploding kind before you could warn me about them.” You looked Shaw in the eyes for this next one. “Why I knew exactly where to look for the key codes to bring down the barrier that led to Maeve.”

You lowered your gaze to the table. You and Shaw had been in a nice little bubble of tired, tentative camaraderie. It had carried your conversations and buffered your interactions, making a safe little blanket you didn’t even realize you’d wrapped yourself in until you were now forced to rip it off.

“I’ve done this before. I’ve woken up in the Cosmodrome, I’ve helped you locate your fireteam’s signals, and-” Your voice hitched. “I’ve watched Maeve die. Just… on the other side of a screen. Controlling my Guardian with a mouse and keyboard.”

You paused for a moment. “Playing a game.”

Clenching your fists, you braced yourself and raised your head to look Shaw in the eyes. To try and parse what kind of reaction Poe was having.

You expected to have to convince them. Expected them to laugh it off, make some crack about having hit your head too hard at some point in the day. You even half expected the reality in front of you to rend apart at the mention of remembering all of this as a ‘game’.

You didn’t need to convince them, it turns out.

Shaw stared you down, unblinking, not a trace of disbelief on his face. No, no, everything about him telegraphed suspicion, but not at your words. No, the suspicion, bordering on anger, was directed straight at you. Eyes flickering to Poe, you hoped desperately to find none of what Shaw’s gaze carried in his little blue optic. You didn’t. Instead, Poe was bobbing slowly, cautiously towards you.

“...How is that possible?”

His voice came out unsure, even a little frightened. You could only shrug, feeling hopeless. “I don’t know.” Poe settled in between your hands you had resting on the table, and you looked down at him. Smiling weakly, you continued. “I have no idea how this happened. I was just living my life, then suddenly-”

“You knew?”

Your head snapped up. Shaw threw the words at you, ringing of accusation. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t expecting some measure of this. That you weren’t expecting some level of accusation if you’d failed in saving her. You knew you did what you could, all that you could. It wasn’t enough, and you didn’t know if you were ever going to make peace with that, but you certainly wouldn’t be blamed for it.

“I did.”

Gone was the nervous uncertainty of your voice. You held Shaw’s accusatory stare with no guilt in yours. If he was expecting you to cower, he expected wrong.

He clenched his hands tightly, forming fists where they rested on the table. His body was the picture of tense aggression, and he spoke through a tight jaw, words hissing through his teeth.

“You knew, and you still let them die.”

The words stung, and you felt yourself becoming indignant. Your thoughts flickered back to what happened hardly two hours ago, the remembered desperation you felt in the moment clenching your lungs, making your breath stutter and catch. The sounds of wet, ripping muscle and the dull, heavy crunch of living bone filled your ears again.

You spoke through clenched teeth. “I didn’t let anything hap-”

Springing to his feet, Shaw jostled the table, nearly flipping it and knocking what remained of your shared meal to the floor.

“YOU LET HER DIE.”

His words echoed off the metal walls, the sudden increase in volume and vitriol snapping the hold you had on your own control. Poe practically jumped out of his shell, zipping off to the side as the table rocked under him.

Matching energy, you push back in your chair and bring yourself to his eye level, raising your voice in kind. “What would you have had me do, Shaw? What would you have FUCKING had me do?”

Leaning into you, he pointed a finger in your face, hand trembling and voice strained.

“You could have said something. You could have told me what was going to happen. You could have made it so we got to them faster. You-”

No longer interested in what he had to say, you cut him off, voice no longer raised, a deadly, knowing calm permeating your voice.

“Look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you wouldn’t have shot me dead where I stood. Put down the ‘corrupted Guardian’ and her Ghost the second I tried to tell you a powerful and unexpected Hive wizard was going to kill your fireteam. If I tried to tell you I knew what was going to happen.”

He wavered for a second, just barely a second, but you caught it. You pressed on, leaning into him the same way he did to you, palms splayed out on the table separating you, still speaking in that calm, confident quiet, eyes narrowed in anger.

“You tell me right now that you wouldn't have suspected the strange Guardian, the Guardian that knew just a little too much, of trying to lure you into some kind of trap, and I’ll apologize.” You held his stare, and you got to watch him buckle. A sickly sense of satisfaction welled up in your stomach as he averted his eyes, as his anger and resolve crumpled. The crunch of Maeve rose from its home in the base of your skull, clawing the walls of your mind.

“I did what I could, Shaw.” You were whispering now, your voice thick, wet, the dangerous calm now gone. “I did what I could, I really did. I couldn’t know how you would react. I didn’t want to take the chance of taking longer if you didn’t believe me. I didn’t want to take the chance of you killing me, killing Poe, if you didn’t believe what I was saying.”

His head was turned to the side, the harsh angle allowing his flexing jaw to catch the dim light from above. You knew you struck something with that. That what you said makes sense. That he was silently agreeing with you. Just as it looked like he was about to say something, Poe came between the two of you, speaking for the first time since the start of this altercation.

“I just sent Hattie a copy of all my logs, dating back the last twenty years. You’ll find them unaltered, and devoid of anything even hinting at collusion with the Hive, or anyone else for that matter.” He came to float next to your head, little optic narrowed dangerously. “I believe her. You should too.”

The tone of his voice left no room for argument. You honestly thought you might cry. Of course a Guardian’s Ghost is meant to be their stalwart partner, the one by their side through thick and thin, an equal, a lifelong companion. But you still feared, dreaded, that your little Ghost, your sweet and chipper Poe, who’d you’d become so attached to over such a short period of time, wouldn’t believe you. Or worse, that he would believe you, and realize he’d made a terrible mistake.

But as it turns out, none of your fears were founded.

Shaw’s Ghost, Hattie, whirred her shell as she beeped and electronically trilled while she scanned through the logs Poe sent over to her. A few tense moments passed, and Shaw turned his head to look at her, avoiding your eyes completely. Poe hadn’t moved, still staring down the Guardian across the table.

“He’s telling the truth.” Hattie’s shell whirred again. “Well, they’re telling the truth. These logs haven’t been tampered with, and she really was only Risen today.”

After another moment of tense silence, Shaw sighed. He sounded completely defeated, and if you weren’t so emotionally strung out, the sound of it might have been enough to summon a smug smirk. Instead you just look at him, waiting for him to say something. ‘Preferably a fucking apology for that outburst.’

Shaw finally turned to look at you. His eyes were tired, and there was none of the suspicion that you saw before in them. Letting his head drop, he sighed again before turning around and righting the chair he had knocked over. Walking back over to the supply crates, he rummaged a bit, and pulled two MRE packs from one of them. He returned to the table, and you watched him like a hawk the entire time, still a little on edge from the sudden shouting.

He sat down, and set to work preparing the MREs. Once done, he reached one out to you, his hand clenched a little too hard around the self heating packet of food, finally looking you in the eyes. He looked… sad. Sad and more than a little ashamed. You took the peace offering from him, fingers brushing against his, and slowly sat back down, a small, weary smile on your face.

Not really knowing what to say, you held onto it, watching Shaw fiddle with his for a moment.

“So… how much do you know?”

The question came nervously, but Shaw at least had the decency to look you in the eyes when he asked it. Poe chimed in as well. “I’ve… been wondering that as well, if I’m being honest.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with the MRE, turning it over in your hands. “Not a lot, honestly. Like I said, this whole thing,” you gestured vaguely around you, “was a game in my universe. A game I didn’t really get around to playing a lot of.”

You furrowed your brow as you thought. “Honestly, I read a lot more lore articles about the game than I did playing it. But I don’t think I dove into anything especially useful.”

You looked up from your hands to find all three of them looking at you, hanging on your every word. ‘Makes sense. Not everyday you meet someone from another universe with potential foreknowledge about yours.’

“I read into the Cosmodrome. The history of it, why it was built, the purpose of the massive fucking unlaunched spaceship in the middle of it.” Straining to remember, you went on. “Did some reading on the weapon foundries, the Eliksni, the Hive. You know, their origins, culture, random stuff like that. The game didn’t really do a lot of explaining, kind of just threw you right into the thick of it, and I was curious.”

“I also read some on the Ahamkara.” You gestured to Shaw’s right arm. “That’s what you’ve got on your arm there, right? The bones of a young Ahamkara, killed during the Great Hunt.”

He flexed the arm you gestured to, and nodded.

“Does it… do the bones speak to you?” Shaw’s eyebrows shot up. “I only ask because a lot of the lore with the Ahamkara gear made it seem like the bones, the Ahamkara, could still communicate with the people wearing them. The phrase ‘oh bearer mine’ popped up a lot.”

His face fell when you said ‘oh bearer mine’, and you could swear he looked a little paler in the dim light. He took a moment, and answered you.

“If… if I wear the armor for too long. Go for longer than a week or two out in the wilds without taking it off, I dream.” His face scrunches, trying to grasp onto distant, ephemeral memories. “I dream about teeth. Big ones, non-human ones. There are always so many, and I wake up with that phrase, the phrase ‘oh bearer mine’, stuck repeating in my head.”

He brings his hand to his face, resting his forehead into it. “I thought I was just going crazy.”

“Nope. Guess the bones can still talk, at least in some limited capacity.” You shrugged again, letting the conversation naturally flow, just thankful for the absence of hostility. “Might wanna be careful about that. From what I understand, the Wish Dragons were no joke.”

Shaw removes his hand from his face so he can look at you. A large part of you is pleased by the tentative awe held in his eyes now. Poe chimes in then.

“That’s Guardian knowledge. And little known Guardian knowledge at that. Are you saying this information was just… readily available to you back where you’re from?”

Setting down the MRE, you cupped your hands on the table, and Poe settled into them, optic looking up at you. He’d been hanging on every word you’ve spoken so far, in spite of not saying much.

“Yep. Everything I read about the game was on a website, a database, that literally anyone could access at any time.” He seemed shocked by this, his shell furrowing in what you guessed as concern. “That’s about all I know, though. I have no idea where we are in the ‘timeline’ of the story, and even if I did, I’m not sure how useful I would be regarding future shit.” You thought about Beyond Light, about how it wasn’t even the most recent expansion that was released for the game when you woke up here.

“Like I said, I really didn’t play a lot.” One more shrug of the shoulders for good measure. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Floating up to your face now, Poe gives you a good solid bonk to the forehead. “You aren’t disappointing.” He settles back into your still cupped hands with a huff. “Not in the slightest. Shocking? Sure. Alarming? Most definitely.”

A smile began creeping across your face. “Poe, those two words mean basically the same thing.”

Huffing again, you feel the movement of his shell hit your fingers as it whirls around in agitation. “Well, it’s been a very shocking and alarming day!”

You can only laugh at your little Ghost. It absolutely has been. Your chuckling dies down, and you squeeze Poe lightly in your hands. “Thanks, little buddy. I needed that.”

Chirping, his only response was settling more comfortably in your hands. You spare a glance up to Shaw, who had been silent for a little while now. He meets your eyes, apparently having processed what you’d said enough to be able to speak.

“I’m sorry, Nevret.”

Holding your face in a neutral position, you waited for him to continue. You wanted to hear exactly what he was sorry about before making any grand decisions about forgiveness.

“I understand why you didn’t say anything. I do.” His hands are folded in front of him, and he sits straight backed, looking deeply uncomfortable. “You’re… right. If you had tried to convince me that you knew what was happening to my fireteam, I doubt I would have reacted well. I’m not sure I would have jumped straight to homicide,” he tested a thin smile as he said that, “but I absolutely would have held us up. If I even let you join at all.”

He unfolded, then refolded his hands anxiously when you didn’t respond. You kept your face locked in a neutral expression, waiting for him to continue.

“And I… I shouldn’t have said that. About letting Mae-” He stopped himself, voice hitching. “About letting them die. I know you didn’t let them, let her, die. I know that.”

He was leaning forward slightly now, leaning closer to you, stretching slightly across the table. Like he was so desperate for his words to reach you he took the chance of physically closing the distance between your bodies. His face was a picture of regret, and it was actually getting kind of painful seeing him like this. Still, you managed to hold out just a little longer.

“And I believe you. Even without the logs, you’ve done nothing today but prove yourself to be a phenomenal Guardian, and a reliable member of a fireteam. I behaved like a jackoff. The fact that I had that outburst, that I needed proof in the form of your Ghost’s logs, that I put the blame on you, is unforgiv-”

Finally stopping him, you hold both your hands up in front of you, stopping him mid-self deprecating ramble. “Okay, okay, I get it, you’re a terrible person who will carry the guilt of this with him for the rest of his functionally immortal life, yes, I understand.”

Truly satisfied with his apology, you place your hands over his, still outstretched on the table’s surface. You squeeze them lightly, smiling as you do, trying your best to be soft. “You’re good, Shaw. We’re good. Thank you.”

Letting out a huge sigh, Shaw let his head fall gently onto your clasped hands. You extricate one of them, lifting it to pat his head a few times. He noticeably relaxed, and you thought you felt him almost nuzzle into the back of your hand. ‘Yep, I was right. Very fluffy.’

After a beat, he muttered, barely audible as you felt his mouth move against the skin of your fingers.

“You’re very nice.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “I’m really not.” Lifting his head, he narrows his eyes at you, opening his mouth to speak.

“Hey, don’t start. I’m irritable, obstinate, and I have a hell of a fucking god complex. Not to mention the foul mouth.” You quirk an eyebrow playfully, bringing both of your hands to grab at your unopened MRE, now fully heated. “What I am, however, is understanding. You’ve had a hell of a day, and I think that gets you one emotional outburst at someone else’s expense.”

Ripping the MRE open, the mild scent of the curry noodles wafts over you. Grabbing your spork, you brandish it threateningly at the Hunter across from you. “Just the one, though.”

Narrowing your eyes in mock threat, you jab the spork in his direction one more time for good measure, and you finally dig into your meal. You really were still hungry. Poe settles into his favourite spot in the crook of your shoulder, and you hear Shaw chuckle.

“Heard, Guardian. Heard.”

You eat in relative silence, only broken by the occasional question from Poe, or Shaw and his Ghost. They were simple questions, nothing really pertaining to the potential future, more just probing to see how much you knew about the world you found yourself in now. Once hunger and curiosity were satisfied, Shaw pushed himself up to stand, scooping the used MRE packets from the table, and took care to pick up the trash scattered around the floor.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to do a perimeter sweep, a proper one, before we turn in for the night.” He carried the refuse to a corner of the base, stuffing it roughly into a bag. “I’ll ping you on the comms if anything comes up, but I’m not expecting much. Should be back soon.”

You were about to tell him to be safe when a massive yawn split your face nearly in two. Tears prick your eyes from the strain, and you blink blearily at Shaw. The room was a mass of swimming lights and shadow through the film of your tears. You hear the bastard laugh at your display, and you can feel your face scrunch up in mild irritation.

“Sorry, sorry, the timing was just too perfect.” When you could finally focus, you could see he had popped his helmet on, head shaking slightly as he made for the exit of the base. You called after him.

“Be safe out there. No more lost Guardians, yeah?” Shaw stopped and turned to face you. You continued, “And please make sure to ping me if anything happens. I’m tired, but I won’t leave you out there. You’re not doing any of this alone.”

You hoped he could see the steel in your eyes. Hoped that he would be able to rely on you well enough to call for help if he needed it. He only nodded, and without another word, he bounded out into the wilds of the Cosmodrome.

Standing, you brought your hand up to pat Poe on the chassis, another yawn ripping out of you. “Alright little buddy. Let’s try to settle in a little bit.”

When Shaw returned about a half hour later, you had basically built a nest in the corner of the base. You had laid out the mats next to each other, with a respectable amount of space between them, the sleeping bags already unrolled and placed on top. You found a small cache of blankets, a little musty but clean, and divvied them up between the two spots. Arms crossed, you were eyeing the space anxiously when he approached you.

“We’re all clear. I laid out some trip mines in addition to proximity sensors for good measure, so if anything gets too close, we’ll be woken up right away.” His helmet was popped into transmat now, and he did the same with his Ahamkara gauntlets, arms clad only in his undersuit. He walked over to the sleeping bags and plopped down on the one farthest from the wall. He pulled out a datapad from his transmat and began fiddling with it, hunched over where it rested on the pile of blankets you placed there.

He glances up at you after a moment, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Are you not tired anymore?”

“Oh, uh, no, no I’m. I’m very tired, I just-” You’re stumbling over words and the anxiety you felt over the sleeping arrangements hits you in full force. “Is this okay? The- the way I set this up, I mean.”

You felt your face heat up, and you were sure that you were bright red. You felt ridiculous. Shaw, on the other hand, just looked confused. His face was scrunched with it, and he was regarding you with concern. “What do you-”

Then it clicked. He looked from his sleeping mat to what would be yours, and his look of confusion evaporated. “Oh! Uh, yeah, I mean, I’m fine with it, if y- if you’re fine with it.”

Before you could respond, he was scrambling to his feet, and he knocked into his datapad, sending it skidding across the floor. “Ah, shoot-”

From there, he tripped over his own feet, nearly falling face down on the floor. “Shoot, shoot, sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Apologizing to no one, he manages to get his feet underneath him. Shaw grabs his datapad off the ground, snapping into a standing position, clutching it with both hands. You watched this entire display of astounding awkwardness, not moving from where you stood the whole time, just following Shaw’s fumbling form with your eyes.

‘...I really never need to feel awkward around this man, do I?’

Chuckling, you shake your head and plop down on the sleeping mat closest to the wall. “Nope, I’m good if you are.” You smile up at him, sitting cross legged on top of your sleeping bag.

Shaw stared blankly at you for a moment, and re-plopped himself down on his sleeping mat next to you. “You sure? It’s pretty normal for Fireteams to cluster up, but I know you’ve got a lifetime of, well. Not. Doing that.” He had turned bodily to face you, and there was something seriously endearing about the level of cautious anxiety he was still displaying.

For good measure, you popped your bulky arm pads into transmat and flopped onto your back. “Yes, Shaw. We’re good. I promise. Now chill the hell out and go to sleep, boy scout.” You flash another smile, and kept the tone of your light.

Shaw groaned, running his hand through his hair, mussing it more than it already was. “That’s gonna stick with me for a while isn’t it.”

He was leaning against the back wall now, datapad resting on a bunched up blanket in his lap. He took turns glancing between you and whatever he was doing on it, trying, and failing, to keep a smile off of his face. Hattie had popped out of his Light as well, and was resting in a little blanket pile he set up for her, snuggled into the woven fabric.

‘I need to make Poe a blanket nest immediately.’

Leaning up, you began to do just that. “Yeap. When you finally decide to put on your big boy pants and say a goddamn curse word, maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Floating over to you, Poe supervised the construction of his bedding. Once satisfied, you glanced up at him, and he settled in immediately, contented chirps indicating you’d done a good enough job. Shaw chucked and muttered under his breath, “You are such a smart aleck.”

That apparently being the last straw, you flopped onto your back and threw your hands up into the air. “Oh my god, say ass! Just say ass!”

You both devolved into laughter, and by the time it died down, your belly hurt and tears were nearly running down your face. It felt like you were at a sleepover at a friend’s for a lovely moment, not camped in the middle of a hostile warzone. When the moment passed, you found you could barely keep your eyes open.

“You can settle in, if you want. We don’t really need to keep watch with how I set up the perimeter, and with our Ghosts watching out for us.” He gestured to Hattie and Poe. “They look like they’re tuned out, but they’re got sensors running still.”

He tapped on the datapad some more before continuing. “I just want to get some preliminary stuff down for the Vanguard report I’m going to have to turn in when I return to the Tower. It’s… a lot. A lot happened today.”

Turning your head to the side, you looked up at him. Face illuminated by the glow of the datapad, you could make out the tense set of his jaw, the thin line of his mouth. You spoke quietly. “Would it be stupid to ask how you’re doing right now?”

Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his face loosened a bit, just enough for the corner of his mouth to quirk up into a barely there smile. He kept tapping on the datapad. “No, it wouldn’t be. But would it be alright if I don’t answer?”

“Of course.” A beat passes, the tapping of the screen and the distant sounds of the Cosmodrome filling the silence. “Can you do that one handed?”

He fully turns his head to you now, a deeply confused look on his face. You hold out your hand, scooching a little toward the edge of the sleeping mat to close the distance some. Your hand rests on the floor between you, open, and palm up. “I talk a big game, but I could uh. I could use a hand to hold, if I’m being honest.”

‘I think you could, too.’

You left the second part unspoken, but it hung in the air all the same.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” Shaw adjusted slightly, scooching towards you as well. He reached out and took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. It was warm. It was what you needed. You smiled wearily up at him, and he smiled back, returning to the datapad after a moment. You felt a rustling on the other side of your head, and you turned to face it, confused. Poe was maneuvering his blanket nest to be smack next to your head. Or rather, he was trying to. Chuckling, you reached out and made short work of it, ending his struggle.

He huffed. “You know, I could do that too if I had arms.”

“Of course, of course.”

He snuggled in, right next to your head now, and you felt Shaw squeeze your hand gently. You returned the gesture, and between the warmth of his hand and Poe nestled next to you, you found that you were drifting off to sleep with an ease you couldn’t ever remember experiencing.

You didn’t even notice that the ripping crunch in your ears had gone silent.

Chapter Text

For a moment after waking up, you were at home. Still in your own bed, waking naturally, begrudgingly, from a sleep that was neither long nor restful enough. You were at home, in bed, until all of a sudden you weren’t.

You felt that your body wasn’t facing the right way, that the surface you were sleeping on wasn’t against the correct wall, that the morning light was filtering into the room from the wrong direction. Eyes still closed, you mentally tried to right yourself, half awake mind trying to reconcile what you expected with what you were experiencing. As a result, you were thrust into a dizzying kind of vertigo, with the two realities clashing. The unfamiliar of the two was winning out.

Everything spun, and you were free falling through space.

Then you felt your arm outstretched, fingers entangled, holding onto something. It was warm. Rough and calloused, and so, so warm. It was there you felt things center. It was there the vertigo broke. The starting point of where you were able to map out the rest of the reality around you without that floating empty dizziness threatening to swallow you whole.

You opened your eyes. Just a crack, testing the waters, but when you began to focus on what was in front of you, everything snapped harshly into place. Feeling the slippery material of the sleeping bag under you, the thin rubber mat below it, you hazily remembered laying them out. You remembered a little blanket nest, disgruntled rustling and little trilling beeps. You remembered shouting, grief, and sincere apologies. The smell of rust filled your nose, and the sounds of distant gunshots filtered in through the haze of sleep still muffling your ears. Your eyes were wide open now.

It was so bright. Everything was so much brighter, so much sharper than it ought to be, ‘I’m not even wearing my glasses, I left my glasses at home’, and then the rest of the memories came. They crashed into you. It wasn’t a trickle, it wasn’t a flood, but a massive wave slamming into your mind. Your hand clenched the one you were holding, a sharp intake of breath filling your lungs.

Now Shaw was awake. He didn’t need the calibration you did, and he was immediately upright, eyes darting around the room. “What? What’s happening? Is there someone here?”

His voice held no trace of sleep, no weariness, and it seemed like he was ready to leap into a fight at a second’s notice. He probably was.

You, on the other hand, struggled to get your breathing under control. Rapid, staccato breaths mirrored your hammering heartbeat. Your eyes were darting around now, but you remained stock still, paralyzed on top of your sleeping bag. Your hand was like a vice intertwined with Shaw’s, and when he looked to you after clearing the room, he saw the panic in your eyes. It was then that Poe appeared in front of you, an anxious trill punctuating his words.

“Are you alright, Nev? What’s going on?”

A moment passed, and you willed your breathing to slow. You took big gulps of air, one after another, after another, as your heart pounded out of your chest. Slowly, so slowly, your breathing steadied. Your heart calmed. Reaching your free hand out, you pulled Poe to your face, pressing him to your forehead. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, steadily, as Poe whirred softly, pressed into your skin.

You released your hold on Poe, and sat up slowly, and when you did, it registered that you were still holding Shaw’s hand. He had made no move to pull away, but suddenly any kind of physical contact was too much for you. Sitting up, you released his hand, bringing yours to your face, clammy and trembling slightly.

“I’m... I’m fine. Just.” Another steading breath. “Reacclimating. I- For a second when I was just waking up, I was still home. I was still…” You trailed off, feeling a wet thickness creep into your throat as you tried to talk. You swallowed, hard, willing the oppressive feeling back to where it came from. “It took a second to remember everything, that’s all.”

Head hanging, your voice came out in a whisper, barely there, sleep still thick on the sound of it. You forced yourself to relax, to release the tensed muscles holding you still as a statue. Poe was bobbing around your head, beeping and trilling. You realized he was scanning you, likely checking your vitals. The thought brought a thin smile to your face.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Shaw was looking anxiously at you, sitting cross legged, hands folded in his lap. Raising your head, you take him in. He might sound ready for an unexpected firefight, but his impressive bedhead told a different story. Also, the side of his face he slept on still had the wrinkled imprint of his pillow. ‘Guess it wouldn’t matter with the helmet.’

You sigh, letting out as much jitteriness as you could in that one breath. Bringing both hands up, you pushed the loose hair from your face and held your hands there, gripping the back of your head. ’Huh. I don’t have bangs. How am I just now noticing.’

“Yeah. I’m good. Or at least I will be.” Poe had stopped with his scans, apparently satisfied that you weren’t in imminent danger, he settled into the crook of your neck. You moved your hand to pat him, thinking not for the first time how quickly you’d grown dependent on the little inorganic life form. “I guess this is one downside to remembering your life before you were Risen.”

You smile, feeling a little more grounded now that the shock had worn off and the memories had settled in your mind. “You know. The remembering itself being the disadvantage.”

Legs suddenly feeling very restless, you pushed to your feet and ambled over to the supply crates. Rummaging through the one that was still sitting open from last night, you grab a couple meal packs. “Breakfast?”

Shaw was looking at you warily, skepticism written all over his face. It was clear he didn’t think you were alright, or that you ‘would be’ as you’d promised. Which was fair, but it wasn’t like you had any other choice but to be functional at this moment. What were you going to do? Have a full blown breakdown in some dirty hideout? ‘Yeah, no.’

So, you roll your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, staring down the well meaning man with no shortage of the irritation he’d come to know very well in your voice. “Shaw, I said I’m fine. I’ll grieve my loss later, preferably when it’s more convenient.”

Voice and eyes softening, you added, “The same as you, right?”

And that was it. He sighed in resignation, a wordless agreement, and stood as well, popping his missing gauntlets back on as he did. You followed suit when you sat down at the little table, ready to eat and go over what the plan for today was.

“So, I don’t think I ever told you why my fireteam was sent here in the first place…”

“That’s a really big fucking Servitor.”

You had already fought your way through a small army of Eliksni and their automata, hoping to find schematics of the Cosmodrome in one of their many auxiliary lairs. Now peering around the side of a shipping container, you looked into a large, open area where said RBFS, Really Big Fucking Servitor, was bobbing around. Menacingly.

There were also a handful of other, smaller servitors hovering around near it, and a dozen or so shanks accompanied by Eliksni of all designations.

[Look, there! That looks like the information cache we’re after.]

Sure enough, when you tore your eyes away from the RBFS and looked towards the indicator displayed on your HUD, you saw your mark. Ducking back behind the ample cover of many storage containers, you kept your voice low, and spoke over the comms link to Shaw after unmuting your feed.

“Shaw, we think we found what we’re after. How’re things on your end?”

The response was immediate, having agreed to keep the lines of communication open at all times while you were separated.

*Good. I was right about there being a lair deep in the walls down this way. It looks like this place has a decently sized mechanic bay. I’m hoping to find at least partial schematics there.*

‘Ah, so that’s what this place is.’ You glanced around the space again, taking it in with new eyes. It was then you noticed the empty husks of at least three Walkers suspended from the vaulted ceiling. ‘Oh wow. I hate that so much.’

“Right. I think I’m at a mechanic bay, too. There’s dropship and Walker parts all over, and this place is basically being held up by shipping containers.” You paused, wondering if you should go into detail about the kind of firepower you’d have to deal with to actually get the schematics. You didn’t want to worry him, but you both had agreed to be open with communication. ‘Well, hopefully he doesn’t make a big deal about it.’

“There’s uh. There’s a really fuck off big servitor here, though. Anything like that on your end?”

*Ah, shoot, you got one of those? Nah, I’ve got servitors, but nothing outside of the usual ones they always have floating around. Probably.* There was a pause. *How big are we talking?*

“I don’t think now’s the time for a dick measuring contest, Shaw. It’s big. Big enough to get me excited, at the very least, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” It didn’t seem like he was all that concerned about the RBFS, so you took this chance to poke a little fun at him. You sense Poe ‘shaking his head’ wearily at your suggestive comment.

*I- Wh- That’s not-* Shaw lets out a deep sigh, and you can practically see the way he’s likely screwing his eyes shut in exasperation. You found it was really easy to rile him up, so you’d been making a bit of a game of it over the course of the day. You couldn’t keep back a smile at hearing his stuttering. *Would you just tell me what it looks like? Does it have any extra armor or freaky modifications on it?*

Peering out of your hiding spot again, you took in the RBFS, actually paying attention to the way it looked this time. You also spared a few glances around the bay, trying to get a lay of the land you’d soon be blowing to high heaven. ‘Decent cover, and I can definitely use those shipping containers to my advantage. I’m just glad no alarms have been triggered yet.’

You’d been as stealthy as you could be moving through this Fallen base, with Poe doing the heavy lifting of jamming any of their comms along the way. It looked like it worked, and you were thankful for the time it bought you. So, you answered Shaw’s question, resisting the urge to continue teasing him.

“Nnnope. Just big.”

Another sigh from your rather put upon teammate, but this time in relief. *Good. It isn’t a Prime then. You’d be in serious trouble if it were. We’d have to call in reinforcements to take one of those out.*

Before you even got the chance to get cocky, Shaw cut you off. *And I’m NOT saying that as a challenge, Prime Servitors are on a whole other level. Even a full and coordinated fireteam has trouble with those, so cool it.*

You huffed, letting your indignation be known before responding. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boy scout.”

You were smiling as you responded though, knowing damn well it was probably not the best thing that you were getting so self confident. “So, that means I can take this guy out solo? Or do you want me to wait for you so you can hold my hand while we commit small scale genocide?”

*You’re a piece of work, you know that?* You could hear the smile in his voice, and you tried to keep the volume of your chuckling down. You ‘Mhm-ed’ him, through your quiet laughter. *Yeah, I have no doubt you can handle yourself there. So go get ‘em tiger, but keep your head about you, okay?*

“Can do.” You were reloading your various weapons now, taking extra care to make sure your favored shotgun was fully loaded. “I’ll tell you all about my brilliant victory when I’m done.”

*I’m sure you will.*

Chuckling, you muted your audio feed again, leaving the channel open. You pulled an auto rifle you picked up along the way here out of transmat, finally, blessedly, being able to stow the Khvostov for good.

[Do you really have to tease him like that?]

Rolling your eyes, you look over your new auto rifle. It was extremely old and beat to shit, but Poe had assured you when you picked it up that it would serve you better than the Golden Age relic you’d been using. Plus it was firing Solar rounds. Something about that made your heart feel a little lighter. Actually having a weapon that matched the flavor of your Light was nice.

“No, but it’s fun, so I’m gonna keep it up.”

You heard Poe sigh deeply from where he was situated in your Light, and you dove headfirst into the fray.

Both you and Shaw stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at a map of the Cosmodrome projected onto the wall of the base. Well, one of the maps. The schematics data you both grabbed from the Eliksni covered many different areas of the old Russian spaceport, and in many different layers. It was also somewhat fragmented, and had to be cobbled together in a joint effort from both Hattie and Poe. Still, it looked like you found something workable.

Shaw pointed at part of the map, understanding something about the web of intersecting lines and blocks of Cyrillic lettering that you weren’t. “See there? That massive comms array should be pulling a ton of juice off the power grid, but it’s offline.”

He took a step forward, arms now crossed in front of him. “I bet if we spin that up, we should be able to drain enough power from the grid to stop the overload. Enough to let us get to the Super Conductor.”

You nodded, confident that Shaw was confident in what he was talking about. You could barely change a fuse in your previous life, so all this talk of power grids and Super Conductors was way over your head. You understood that it was important, getting to the Super Conductor, and you vaguely remembered the word from the tutorial. Your mind wandered, and something about using it for a weapon stuck out in your mind.

‘Risk… jumper? Sprinter? Something.’

Shrugging internally, you refocused on what Shaw was saying, realizing with a start that he had kept talking while you were zoned out.

“-but if you see here, and here-”, he flicked his wrist, and the display of the projected map changed to something else equally indiscernible to your eyes. “-it looks like we need to be in two places at once to do the reboot and get it running.”

He turned to face you, and you hoped that whatever expression you were wearing conveyed understanding. Because you do understand, at least in part. Mostly.

“So,” standing next to you now, he gestures to the projected map, “I’ll take the power station, and you take the array. We’ll stay linked on the comms so we can coordinate, just like we’ve been doing. I’ll let you and Poe know what needs doing when you get there.”

Nodding, you take in the map before you, still trying to make any sense of it and hoping desperately that Poe at least knows what’s going on.

[I do, don’t worry.]

A sharp laugh snorts out your nose. Of course he could sense your panicked confusion over your bond. ‘Well thank fuck for that.’

“Anything else I need to be aware of?” You glance his way, and notice his pinched brows. He seemed to look more and more stressed every time you met back up with him. You expected it, at least on some level, but it was a little worrying all the same. He tore his gaze away from the schematics on the wall, and turned fully to face you.

‘Oh boy. Direct and intense eye contact.’

“Yeah. Navôta is still out there. You have to watch yourself.” Something flickered over his face, and his eyelids fluttered slightly. It was so fast you barely caught it. “I’m not losing any more Guardians over this.”

The last bit came out in barely a whisper, but there was force behind it. He was determined, that much was clear. That determination was burning in his eyes, but there was something else, lurking behind the fire. A kind of… resignation. You didn’t like it. Nodding again, you respond, words absent of any of your usual snark.

“I will.” Then, you stepped towards him, leaning in and bringing your face inches from his. Then, you jab your finger directly in the center of his chest for emphasis, intending for what you’re about to say to come off as a threat. “You’d better be counting yourself when you say that.”

You hold his gaze, staring down that deadened resignation hidden so carefully in his eyes, daring it to influence any of Shaw’s decisions. He blinked a few times in surprise at the sudden seriousness, and he lifted both hands up, palms facing out, in an attempt to pacify you.

“I am, I am.” Placing his hands on your shoulders, he gently pushes you back until you’re no longer leaning up into his breathing space. When your eyebrows remain furrowed, and he sighs, a wearily amused look on his face.

“I’m going to be careful, okay? And listen,” now Shaw leans in towards you, having to bend down a bit at the waist to reach your eye level. “I really don’t want to be hearing about concern for safety from you of all people, alright?”

He punctuated the end of his sentence with a light tap of his finger to your chestplate, a much gentler version of your insistent jab. You huff, rolling your eyes, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You knew full well the sharp uptick in reckless behavior you’ve displayed since settling into your new functionally immortal super soldier body warranted that comment.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard, boy scout, heard.”

Flinging yourself through the open shutters of a bay door, you crash into a pile of scrap machine parts and bundles of loose wiring. Dragging yourself out of the pile, you spare a glance out of the bay door towards the battlefield you just fled from. Hordes of Hive and Eliksni clashed, and a massive Ogre had pulled itself out of the ground you were standing on moments before.

*Get out of there before you’re overrun!*

Shaking rust and dirt from yourself, you push to your feet, trying not to think about the itchy sting of torn skin and fractured bone stitching itself back together as you do. Groaning, you lean to one side, feeling at least a couple of your ribs pop back into place while you stretch.

“Way ahead of you, Shaw.” Once the tingling itch of mending skin stopped and you were mostly certain all your bones were in the right places, you started in a trot through the winding, rusted corridors of the building you flung yourself into. Following Poe’s markers, you began making your way to the comms array control panel. “That was a hell of a scene out there. Do you think the Hive and Eliksni will wipe each other out eventually?”

Shaw snorted a grim laugh over the comms. *No way we’re that lucky.*

Rounding a corner, you encounter a group of Eliksni that soon had the displeasure of getting to know the wrong end of your auto rifle. The blast riddled remains of the Fallen disintegrated in a plume of Solar energy, leaving nothing behind. ‘Yeah, this gun is wayyy more efficient than the Khvostov.'

You carried on, strangely not encountering any more pockets of Eliksni, or seeing any signs of Hive activity. You reached an open air courtyard, the space littered with shipping containers and sealed metal barrels. A flash of remembered gameplay crosses your mind, and you immediately duck back behind the doorway leading into the open area. Readying your weapon, you brace for combat.

You hear quiet beeping from Poe in your Light. [There isn’t anything here. You’re good to carry on, Nev.]

Blinking, you lower your weapon in confusion, still eyeing the open space with suspicion. You could have sworn that there was something meant to happen in this area.

[I’ll keep scanning, though! I’ve got your back.]

Smiling behind your helmet, you press on. ‘Must have been misremembering.’

Still, you couldn’t shake that feeling, and the hairs on the back of your neck remained standing at attention. The deeper you went into the building where the control panel supposedly was, the stronger the feeling got. Like you were a cornered mouse, just waiting for a cat to pounce.

[There’s the control panel! Accessing systems.]

Poe unmuted the comms feed and popped out of your Light, alerting Shaw that you had arrived at your destination. His voice came through, a little hurried, but sounding more relieved than anything.

*Okay, you’ll need to negotiate between crypto-systems, and verify the security lattice-*

Poe beeped and trilled, his shell whirring around him as he worked on the control panel before you. Very quickly, he finished his work and popped back into your Light.

[Done. Bridge layer restored. Master array launch queued.]

There was a beat of silence before Shaw responded.

*Oh, uh. Alright then. Nice work. Rerouting power your way.*

You felt Poe preen smugly in your Light, and you couldn’t stop a chuckle. ‘Guess my little guy has a knack for hacking.’

The control panel comes to life before you, ancient pre-Collapse machinery lighting up under years of accumulated dust. Then, a near deafening sound of groaning metal drowned out everything else. Dashing out into the open courtyard, you see a massive dome in the distance open, plumes of rust coming off of it, with the largest antenna you’d ever seen slowly rising up out of the opening. You stood dumbstruck by the scale of it as the comms array rose into the air.

[The array! It’s operational!]

Grinning, you felt as triumphant as Poe sounded, until the chilling feeling you’ve had in the back of your mind since you got to the courtyard grew. Face falling, your heart was hammered out of your chest as you scanned the horizon, squinting at a group of strange shadowy splotches hazily forming around the array. It was then Shaw’s voice crackled across your connection.

*-no! There-- --ive swar-- --ncoming!*

Keeping your eyes glued to the darkening spots of shadow, you call out to him. “Shaw! We can’t hear you! Please repeat-”

Cutting you off, Poe shouted, his panicked voice sounding loudly from your Light.

[Large Hive swarm incoming!]

The shadowy spots took on a stronger, more defined form now. Two ships emerged from them, drifting lazily towards where you stood. Then, a third. Your stomach dropped as Shaw’s voice crackled across the connection again, sounding more frantic than you’d ever heard it.

*-- too many for y-- -- andle alone! No-- !*

Your comms disconnected with a blip.

[The array signal is too powerful.] Sounding about as frightened as you felt, Poe still managed to keep a thread of determined strength weaving through his words. [It’s drowning out our comms. We’re on our own.]

Then, to make things worse, you felt that familiar wash of Darkness creeping up on you with the advance of the Hive ships. “Not gonna be able to rezz me if I go down either, are you bud?”

His response was hesitant, unwilling to speak the truth you both felt deep in your Light.

[...No.]

Pulling your shotgun off your back, you reload hastily. By the time you were finished, the first wave of Hive had dropped from their ships, screeching towards you. ‘I thought so before, but they really aren’t all that scary in the Light of day.’

You cock the shotgun and bound forward.

“Better not die, then.”

The fighting drug on. It had been going on for what felt like hours, but the time displayed on your HUD told a different story. ‘Seriously? Only forty fucking minutes? I thought time was supposed to move faster in these kind of situations.’

Your ammo was out, and you weren’t able to find any, even with Poe’s scans. Fuck knows the Hive bastards weren’t dropping any. You were down to the infinite ammo of your Solar auto rifle and your Light. Still, even with the amount of time that had passed, you haven’t tired, and you haven't been taken out. There was a close call with a pair of Shriekers, but blessedly, they didn’t seem to be able to shoot through the storage containers you were viewing with rapidly increasing fondness.

A fresh crop of Hive dropped down from one of their damned tomb ships, and, frustrated by the sheer volume of them, you let the roiling anger that had been building in you since the start of this encounter take you over completely. You cut through wave after wave of thralls, disintegrating them with your Solar weapon, leaving only the stench of burning, rancid flesh behind.

With each explosion of Solar energy, each wave of that burning stench, your mind flashed to Navôta. It flashed to Maeve, hanging limply in the echo of that sickening crunch.

Shot fired.

Crunch.

Acolyte down.

Crunch.

Knife finds its mark.

Crunch.

At some point, you become vaguely aware that you closed the distance with a grouping of larger Hive, body moving purely on Guardian instinct now, your conscious mind taking a backseat. Multiple Acolytes flanked a group of hulking Knights. They loomed over you. It didn’t matter. Your auto rifle worked just as well at close range as it did from a distance. The smell of burning mold and rancid flesh filled your nose, blanking your mind. Your face distorted into a visage of pure rage, and there was nothing left to you but hatred.

You cut through them with a ferocity that you had never displayed before. They fell before your righteous, burning Light, the ashes of them drifting up into the air around you. Under your helmet, your eyes were wild, the visor of it reflecting the burning embers of the fallen Hive.

Finally, you emptied the clip of your rifle into the chest of the last remaining Knight. Growling in frustration, you didn’t bother reloading. Instead, you gripped the neck of the Knight with one hand, latching onto its arm with another, your fingers crunching through the chitinous armor of its body. With a soul shaking bellow, you pulled on strength you didn’t know you had, and ripped.

The Knight was rent in two, neck to groin.

The two halves of the Knight fell to the ground, hitting the concrete with a dull, wet thud. The side that kept its head was still twitching, one gnarled arm groping around on the ground for its weapon, a garbled wailing coming from its throat, leg kicking limply. It oozed sickly green ichor on the ground at your feet.

Snarling, you slam your foot down on the side of the monster’s head. When it doesn't give, you push the full weight of yourself down on it. With a faint cracking sound, you feel the bone of the skull flex under the pressure. You felt it flailing, trying and failing to push itself up off the ground with one mangled arm. More ichor spews from the Knight, and its jerky, desperate movements cause it to splatter the ground at your feet. Grunting, you slam the last dregs of your strength into it, and the Hive's skull finally gives under the pressure of your boot. The Knight lets out a final unearthly scream until a second wet crunching joins the first ringing in your ears. The Knight stills.

Panting, you reload your auto rifle, pounding heart hammering in your chest, filling your ears with the whooshing sound of rushing blood. Readying yourself, you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Nothing more comes.

Pulling your foot from the wet, fleshy puddle of the felled Knight’s skull, you shake it off, a look of disgust on your face. Coming back to yourself, your breathing steadies and you look up to the skies around the now fully extended comms array.

“You picking up anything else on the way, Poe?”

A few beeps and trills later, Poe answers you. [No, no I’m not picking up anything. I think that’s the last of them.]

He pauses for a beat, and you get the feeling he has something else he wants to say. You give him the space to find the way to say it, waiting patiently in the after battle calm.

[... Are you alright? That was… kind of intense.]

You grunt noncommittally, still trying to shake the brain matter from your boot.

“What? Is it not normal for a Guardian to curb stomp Hive Knights to death?”

Sensing a spike of mild irritation over your connection to him, Poe huffs. [It isn’t normal to do so with quite so much hatred and anger, no.]

The irritation fades, replaced by something else, something watery and sad, and he continues. [I’m just… you know. A little worried. It isn’t good for everything to be that… personal. Guardians with that kind of rage in them don’t tend to make it very long.]

Your heart broke a little at the sound of your little Ghost’s voice. Mentally kicking yourself, you stepped away from the body of the Knight, suddenly wanting to put some distance between you and it.

“I’m sorry I worried you, bud. I-” You sighed, really feeling the weight of your outburst, your release of control, settle on you. “It's not- It won't all be that personal. I promise. I’m not… I’m not normally that angry.”

It was true. You had a temper for sure, but what you felt just then… That was something else entirely. You remembered the feeling of it, all consuming, blocking out everything else about yourself and you shuddered.

“If it helps, I also hated it.” You wrinkled your nose trying to shake the last remains of that horrid anger from you. Replacing it was the heavy weight of shame. Of embarrassment. Still, you felt a kernel of that burning energy remain, lying dormant somewhere deep inside you. “I can’t promise that won’t happen again, but I can promise I won’t be jumping to make a habit of it.”

[...Alright. That’s good. I’d hate to lose you so soon after I found you. Or at all, honestly.]

Conjuring as much warmth as you could, you directed it to the little spot in your Light that Poe was occupying. “Me too, little buddy. Me too.”

Suddenly, your comms crackled to life.

*-do you read? Are you still with me?*

Shaw’s voice was clear across the connection, colored heavily with panic. You responded immediately.

“Shaw! We’re here! It’s alright, we’re alive!”

A kind of choked noise came from him, followed by a shaky exhale of breath.

*Oh thank- * He paused. Your eyebrows shot up, almost convinced that you were about to hear the boy scout finally curse. He continued, and you were mildly disappointed. *I- I shouldn’t have put you in that position. When you dropped off the comms I thought…*

He trailed off, letting the unfinished thought hang in the empty air.

“Shaw, you didn’t put me in any kind of position. The position just happened. There was no way we could have known about that level of response from the Hive, and even if we did, one of us was going to have to be on the ground by ourselves no matter what.”

You shrugged, more of a reflex, knowing he couldn’t see you. “Besides, I got some valuable practice at handling a massive ambush, so. All’s well that ends well. Don’t sweat it.”

Poe chimed in now, reinforcing your assurance. [We’re alright, Shaw. The Hive retreated, and Nev handled herself perfectly well.]

You felt a little pang of leftover worry from Poe, and you scrunched your face in mild embarrassment, instinctively looking down at your feet.

[Now, more importantly. Did it work?]

Jolting back to reality, you remembered the whole reason you were here in the first place.

*I’m checking… Looks like it!* Shaw whooped, sounding much more triumphant than you felt, still feeling a little put off from your violent outburst. In spite of that, the excitement in Shaw's voice had your mouth curling into a smile. You listened as he went on. *Power levels are dropping across the grid. Just need to get to the chamber and unlock it now, then we can finish this.*

There was a level of relief in his voice that you felt deep in your bones. In spite of this whole ordeal barely lasting a few days, you felt the weight of emotional exhaustion threatening to settle on you. You can’t imagine how Shaw must feel.

“Hell yeah, Shaw. What’s the next move?”

You were fully grinning now, eager to get to the next phase of this, eager to actually accomplish something.

However, when he spoke next, you heard something a little odd in Shaw’s voice that set you on edge.

*I uh- Yeah. We’ll discuss when you get back to camp. Now get a move on before Navôta makes an appearance.*

Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, you respond. “Sure, sounds good. I’ll see you there soon?”

A pause, barely there and barely noticeable. If you hadn’t just spent the last six or so hours literally in non-stop communication with him, that is.

*..Yeah. Yeah I’ll see you soon. Be safe getting back.*

Then you heard the blip that indicated an end to comms connection.

Now you were very confused.

“Okay, what the fuck is up with that. You think everything’s okay with him?”

Poe responded from your Light, having been forbidden from emerging from it since booting up the array control board.

[I have no idea, but he did sound a little off. Let’s get back to camp right away. I’ll mark the nearest spot where I can transmat you from on your HUD.]

Nodding, you started off in a trot towards the marker, but after a few steps, you broke out into a full run. Something was definitely up, you just couldn’t put your finger on, or remember, what. “Thanks, little buddy. I’m kinda worried.”

[No problem, big buddy. And yeah, me too.]

You drop out of transmat in the same place as before, high up on the roof of the base. Instead of taking time to admire the view of the Cosmodrome, however, your eyes snapped down to the ground below you. A sealed crate was where you expected Shaw to be, datapad resting on top of it.

Eyebrows furrowing, you hop down from the roof, landing with a thud in front of the crate. Dragging your eyes away from it, you turn back to the enclosed part of the base, calling out. You popped your head inside, still not seeing him anywhere.

“Shaw? Hey Shaw, you here?”

No response.

Poe had popped out of your Light when you were still outside, and he had been inspecting the crate and data pad while you looked for Shaw. You were about to call out again when you heard Shaw’s voice coming from outside, crackling slightly, being played back from a low quality recording.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m heading to the Super Conductor, and I’m running this part solo.”

Stalking over to the crate, your jaw clenched. ‘Annnd now I remember. Bastard takes off by himself, noble, self-sacrificing hero style. Fuck.’

The recording continued, and you cracked open the crate to find a glowing engram inside. Poe hovered over it, trilled briefly, and a sparrow materialized in the space to the left of the crate. You heard some bullshit about him having the only key to the chamber containing the Super Conductor, convinced that would be enough to deter you from ‘doing anything reckless’ and following after him.

‘Fat chance, jackass.’

Poe was scanning the datapad now, shell whirring furiously around him.

“-if I make it out of this, I look forward to working with you again. I'm not sure I would have made it through these last few days if it weren't for you. If I don't, I left you a sparrow. Take it, and get yourself to the Last City.”

Your throat clenched, and a feeling of helpless betrayal washed over you.

“Shaw Han, over and out.”

His sign off had you think back to your first over the comms communication with him, and in spite of yourself, you snorted out a laugh. ‘Had to get the last word in, didn’t you. Fucker.’

Shaking yourself out, you hop on the sparrow, fully allowing the instincts you inherited with your Guardian body to take over when piloting it. A marker appeared on your HUD, and you took off towards it, Poe already settled into your Light.

[Shaw might have been wrong about that being the only access key. I scraped his location info from the data pad, and it looks like he was spending a lot of time around the Forgotten Shore recently.]

You banked a hard turn, narrowly avoiding throwing yourself off a cliff into the ravine below.

[I’d be willing to bet my core processor that we can find another access key in that area. We just need to be fast.]

Twisting the grips of the sparrow, you leaned forward into the machine as you sped forward in a dizzying burst of speed.

“If he’s not dead by the time we get there, I’ll kill him myself.”

Chapter Text

“Lotta Hive here.”

Muttering more to yourself than anyone else, you moved through the rusting hallways of yet another derelict Cosmodrome building. Maintaining a low crouch, your movement was more akin to a stalking predator than anything resembling a human. A dull green glow pulsated in the distance, and you were stopped by a Hive snare trap blocking your way. You shoot the mechanism, tripping it, and round another corner to find another pocket of Acolytes and thralls lurking in the murky darkness. Irritated scowl tugging at your mouth, you picked them off from a distance, felling the entire group before they got close. By this point, the only thing you felt when seeing them was annoyance, any actual fear long since evaporated.

[I know. There really are a lot.] Speaking from your Light, Poe’s voice was more than a little tinged with worry. [And to make matters worse, my readings are being blocked out by their magic. So eyes up, I think we need to expect the worst.]

Clenching your jaw, you nod and press forward, gripping your rifle tighter.

[Also… I’ve been trying Shaw’s comms periodically over the past few hours. I haven’t been able to get through.]

Stomach lurching uncomfortably, you try to keep your pace through the winding corridors. You barely remembered what happened in this section of the quest, but you knew that Shaw had to be fine by the end of it.

‘Someone’s gotta stay posted in the Cosmodrome guiding the New Light.’

Still, knowing what the writers at Bungie decided to make canon did fuck all for the roiling anxiety churning in your gut. Rounding a corner, you squint into the darkness, barely making out the closed metal shutter of a door, similar to the ones you’ve encountered all across the Cosmodrome.

[There it is! The entrance to the chamber!]

Sprinting forward, you pull Poe out of your Light for the briefest of moments. He quickly grants you access to the Super Conductor chamber, his counterfeit authorization key working immediately. The bay door lurched up, caught, and then slowly opened the rest of the way. Hive magic rushed through the opening, flooding the area where you stood, drowning out everything else.

[Nev-]

“I know.”

Every hair on your body stood at attention, and something in the air made you remember the chamber where Maeve was killed. Like getting a whiff of a specific smell that transported you years back to a distant memory. Navôta was here, and there would be no do overs for you if you fell. Entering the chamber slowly, the unnerving feeling of being cut off from the Light settled over you.

You’d barely crossed the threshold into the chamber when an unearthly screech cut through the air, followed by a telltale burst of sickly green magic. The pulsing waves of it crashed over you, magnifying the chill that had settled into your bones. Navôta burst from a portal inscribed on the floor, and all around the chamber, Acolytes and thralls spawned forth from portals of their own.

Your movements were mechanical. There was none of the frenzied, raging anger in you now, nothing driving you into a berserker like state. No, if anything, you’d say you were calm. Well, you would if it weren’t for the hammering heartbeat in your ears. If it weren’t for the small, panicked part of you buried deep in the back of your mind. Still, you were lucid enough. The near constant combat that you’d been experiencing all day had made it that much easier to rely on your Guardian instincts, on the muscle memory you seem to have been Risen with.

Ignoring the mobs of lesser Hive completely, you unloaded everything you had into Navôta. The muzzle fire of your auto rifle lit your masked face in sharp bursts of Solar energy as you darted around the room, doing your best to avoid direct hits from her magic. With each shot landed, a plume of green ichor burst from the impact zone. Navôta’s shields were down.

‘My shots are actually landing this time. Guess Shaw must have gotten at least a few hits in before I got here.’

It wasn’t long before the Hive wizard was looking worse for wear. She was having trouble maintaining speed, and you noticed her drooping closer to the floor than she usually did, having trouble with her flight. A steady stream of ichor fell from her, pooling on the floor beneath dingy robes. Reaching into your Light, you decided it was finally time to try out your Super.

Touching upon the bright pool of energy burning inside of you, you plunged your psyche into the pool of Light and pulled. All at once a blinding rush of energy flowed out of that internal space, cocooning you in brilliant golden Light. A pistol appeared in your hands, fashioned out of the same Light that was still illuminating your form. Breathing out, you steadied yourself and aimed the Golden Gun squarely at Navôta.

Bang.

Rapid bursts of blinding Light fired from the barrel of the gun, kicking backwards, and you struggled to keep the recoil under control. Still, you hit your mark once, twice, three times when a horrific shriek tore through the room. Dropping to the floor, Navôta skittered out of your line of fire, and vanished suddenly in a burst of Hive magic. More of those bursts echoed around you, and a scan of the room reveals the rank and file have done the same, leaving you alone.

[Navôta’s gone. Whenever she went, I can’t detect her anymore.]

The golden Light enveloping you faded, and you looked down at your hands just in time to see the pistol, the Golden Gun, fade from existence. That amount of power coursing through your body had left you feeling a little dazed, almost light headed. It was reminiscent of recovering from a sudden jolt of adrenaline, everything brought into sharp clarity and fuzzed around the edges at the same time. ‘Well. At least I know what that’s like now.’

[I’ve got a lock on Shaw’s Ghost!]

Snapping out of your stupor, head jerking up, frantic eyes scanned around for the marker Poe had placed on your HUD. You didn’t have to go far. Reaching Hattie, you find her floating in a pool of Light just on the other side of the chamber, illuminated by the blue glow of the Super Conductor.

Popping out of your Light, Poe darted over to her.

“I’ll help them!”

After barely a second, the orbiting pieces of Hattie’s shell converged on her core, and Shaw dropped out of nothing in a staticy burst of Light. Stumbling, he struggled a bit to get his footing, but otherwise looked fine. Poe darted around him, circling at a dizzying speed before stopping and bobbing back to your side before speaking.

“Shaw, are you alright?”

Shaw looked up at you and Poe, shaking off the last effects of his rezz. “...What? What are you doing here?”

‘The fuck do you mean what am I doing here?’

You glowered behind the visor of your helmet. Any relief felt at finding him alive and well was fizzling out, replaced by the anger and frustration that filled you upon finding an empty camp and a bullshit voice message. Gloved hands clenched into fists. You remained silent, barely hearing the conversation the two of them were having, too busy stewing in your own anger to listen, unable to quiet the wave of it raging through you. You only tuned back in when Navôta came up.

“You… fought her off?” Shaw’s helmet was off now, and your eyes snapped up to his face, taking in his shocked expression. He looked… awed. Proud. “Nevret, that’s ama-”

Feeling your own face twist in anger, you were stomping over to Shaw before you could stop yourself. You sent your helmet to transmat, allowing him to see your face. Shaw’s awed expression was replaced by confusion at seeing yours, and snapped into shock when you punched a hard, two handed shove to his chest.

“You idiot!”

Nearly losing his footing, Shaw was barely stable before you shoved him again, stumbling backwards a few steps.

“What the fuck were you thinking!”

Anger ripped out of your throat, ricocheting off the metal walls, finding its mark as it hit the man in front of you. Gripping the sides of his chestplate, you dug your fingers in under the armor, establishing your grip. Yanking him down to your level with a harsh tug, you forced him to look you in the eyes.

“What happened to ‘Guardians are stronger together’, huh? Was that all bullshit?” Your words came out in a snarl, lip curling and eyes narrowed. “You drone on and on about the importance of a fireteam that you can trust, that you can rely on, and then you go and leave me behind, abandon me, at the exact moment we should have been a team?” Tugging him closer with another harsh jerk, you hiss out, “Are you fucking with me?”

Shaw had the decency to look ashamed, at least. He averted his eyes, looking off to the side, down at the floor, anywhere but the burning green of yours.

Huffing, the sharp edge of your anger dulled slightly in the wake of your outburst. Releasing Shaw with a rough, dismissive shove, you turn your back to him, hands clenched at your sides, shoulders tense and hunched.

“How do you think that felt?”

Quieter now, your head hung as you spoke. It was funny. In the moment, you knew you were fearful for Shaw’s safety, that it fucking hurt being tossed aside, but it wasn’t until just now that it finally caught up to you. It wasn’t until now, when things were calm and the frantic action that was driving you had stopped, that you felt the full weight of it.

‘I am not going to fucking cry.’

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you straighten your back, unclench your fists, and turn to face Shaw. You kept your expression steely, frozen into a mask of anger. He meets your eyes, pulling his focus up from a very telling blood splatter that painted the floor next to where you stood. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with emotion.

“I’m sorry I left you behind. After Cas and Maeve… I was just afraid to lose anyone else.”

Remembering the look on his face from the night before, pouring over his datapad, filling out what was sure to be an emotionless form detailing the deaths of his friends, your resolve to remain angry crumbled. The last of it was snuffed out, leaving you calmer, if a little hollow feeling. Exhaling, you allow your body to relax, allow the mask to fall. Letting your body release the tension you’d been holding onto, you wobbled slightly on your feet, not realizing how much the rigidity of your muscles was responsible for keeping you upright. Still, you weren’t about to let him get off completely scott free. So, you shot him a look you hoped conveyed the level of ‘done’ you were with self sacrificing men.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Shaw remained somber, or at least tried to. The one corner of his mouth twitched upwards before he could reign it in.

“I know.”

You both stood there for a moment, just looking at each other in the pulsing blue glow of Arc energy. Furrowing your brows, you broke the silence after it carried on for longer than you were comfortable with. On one hand, you were irritated by the silence, on the other, a part of you was pleased that he knew well enough not to run his mouth.

“I’m not apologizing for what I said.” Your arms were crossed in front of you, fully defensive in posture and voice. It isn’t like your reaction was out of line. Maybe out of character, certainly out of character, but you were rapidly becoming aware of a very different side of yourself being brought out by your current circumstances. “Or for shoving you.”

Hands up, fully surrendering, a placating grin tugged at the corners of Shaw’s mouth. The grin reached his eyes, scrunching them slightly at the corners in a way you don’t think you’d seen before now. “Oh, I know. I’m not expecting you to.”

His grin spread wider, and he ran one of his hands through his hair before continuing. “Besides, you’ve had one heck of a day. I think that earns you one emotional outburst.”

Striding towards you, he taps your chestplate with a rap of his knuckles. “Just the one, though.”

His grin was positively mischievous now, and you were struggling to keep your own face impassive. Struggling and failing. You knew that your expression had twisted into the kind that clearly broadcast ‘I am desperately trying not to smile right now’. Hearing your own words from the previous day gently tossed back to you in a kind of strange olive branch slash bonding attempt amused you more than it should have. You were a little pissed that you were no longer pissed, so you responded in the only way you could think to in that moment.

“Jackass.”

Not even trying to hide his mirth now, Shaw stepped back from you, chuckling. “Fair.”

“Now,” he continued, “grab that Super Conductor and we’ll head back to camp.”

Uncrossing your arms, you huff, and walk over to the futuristic glowing mass of LEDs and halogen tubes. ‘Well, antiquated now, I’m sure.’

Studying the wall, you try to spot some sort of release for it, or at least a place to get a grip on the thing in order to wiggle it out of the wall. You were also debating whether you should just yank it out and trust that Golden Age tech was sturdy. ‘Maybe not.’

Eyes running over the contraption, well, eyes and optic as Poe came to your rescue, you call over your shoulder. “I didn’t say ‘heck’ you know. So you lose points for an inaccurate callback.”

Chuckling, Shaw sidles up beside you, watching Poe work. “Hey, it still landed, didn’t it? Got you to stop hating me, at least.”

Snorting out a laugh, you wriggled your gloved fingers into the gap that Poe had highlighted for you, pleased when you felt the soft ‘pop’ of the Super Conductor releasing from the contraption. Pulling it from the wall, the glow of the Arc Light illuminated your face from below, giving you an otherworldly look for a moment before you popped it into your transmat storage.

Flexing your hands, the feeling of the Arc Light pulsing under your fingers tingled. It made you jittery, and you resisted the urge to shake your arms out. “I never hated you. Don’t be so dramatic.”

Turning, you continue. “So can we get the hell out of here, or do we have anything else to do?”

Popping his helmet back on, Shaw shook his head and gestured to the door of the chamber. “Nope, not a thing. Lead the way, hero.”

You scoff, following suit in making sure your helmet was secure on your head. It occurred to you in a flash of thought that the constant presence of the helmet, and the hood, didn’t make you feel claustrophobic in the least. You could barely wear hats before waking up here, so it startled you a little. ‘Oh, so the fact that a head covering doesn’t bother me is what sends me reeling? Not the sudden zeal and proficiency for extreme violence? Right.’

You vaguely wondered if therapists were a thing in the City, and if they took Guardian clients. There was probably a lot to dig into regarding that particular revelation. Shaking that thought from your head, you punch Shaw playfully on the shoulder as you pass him. “Smart ass.”

Returning fire, you could hear the smile in his voice. “What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me.”

“So, you’re not coming back to the City?”

Shaking his head, Shaw slumped a little further into the rickety little chair he had practically collapsed into upon returning to the base. “Doesn’t look like it. I’ve got new orders to stay here, keep an eye on the Hive activity.” Shrugging, he tries not to look too dejected about it. “Who knows? Maybe some more New Light will pop up around here. It’d be good to have someone around to show them the ropes.”

‘Guess that canon is actually turning out to be canon. Wild.’

“Oh, yeah? You sure you aren’t just gonna give them raging abandonment issues instead?” Calling over your shoulder at you sorted through your now rather large arsenal of weapons, a mischievous smile curled the corners of your mouth. “Because you sure as shit aggravated mine, so who knows what damage you’d be able to inflict on someone who’s actually only a few days old.”

Groaning, Shaw threw his hands up in the air, exasperated after the multiple jabs you’d taken at him over the past hour or so since you’d both returned to the base. “I said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?”

Humming thoughtfully, you turn to face him, tapping a finger to your chin in a theatrical show of being ‘deep in thought’. Once you were finished, you snapped your fingers and said what else you want from him. ‘Since he was kind enough to ask.’

“How about you owe me a meal whenever you get back to the Tower.” Shaw side eyed you, not trusting that to be the only thing you wanted out of him. “What? I’m serious, that’s it. All sins and misgivings will be washed away, baptized clean with a good tonkatsu broth.”

Turning back to your small pile of guns, you found yourself satisfied with how they were sorted. Popping the ones you wanted to keep into transmat storage, you let Poe work his deconstruction magic on the rest. “I’m highly food motivated.”

That got a weary laugh out of the Hunter, and you heard a defeated, “Deal,” from his direction. Then, “Wait, how did you know about the ramen joint at the Tower?”

Shrugging, you just say, “It was featured in the game for some reason? I don’t remember what it’s called, but it was basically the only ‘shop’ kind of place in the Tower, aside from Banshee’s.”

“Huh.” Shaw regarded you with a kind of curiosity usually reserved for strange little animals, or benign natural oddities kept behind protective glass. You tried not to let it bother you. “I almost forgot that you’re not, uh. From here.”

‘Yeah, that’s putting it fucking lightly.’

Humming in affirmation, you continued with your busy work. You absolutely weren’t delaying because the idea of a change of scenery was terrifying, no way, what are you talking about. Once you could reasonably do no more without it being obvious that you were stalling, Shaw pushed to his feet and ambled outside. “Alright. Let’s get you on your way then. Can’t imagine you want to spend another night here.”

Swallowing, you tried to ignore the part of your mind that was rambling, ‘Actually I almost very much do, because you see, the idea of change is deeply terrifying to me, in spite of actually adapting to it very well, and I honestly would almost rather stick with the hell I know than the possibility of launching myself into a new, worse hell, even if the new situation would be leagues better than where I am currently, and now that I think on it, that is very specifically the thing that has caused a lot of problems in my life, and while we’re on that topic-’

You shake your head violently, silencing the rambling, neurotic little prey animal of your psyche, and follow Shaw outside. Hattie popped out of his Light, he gave her a little nod, and after a moment of standing there in silence, you heard the rumble of an engine drawing closer. Before you could ask what it was, a craft you recognized as the starter jumpship, the Arcadia Class Jumpship, touched down a few yards in front of the base.

“You should take Maeve’s ship.” Turning to you, Shaw’s face was unreadable, locked into the good little soldier mask you now recognized after spending so much time with him. “She’d want it to get used. The thing was her pride and joy, a refurbished Golden Age model that she kept in functional condition.”

A hit of a smile.

“Well, mostly functional. Don’t expect the thing to keep up with the newer models, but it’s spaceworthy and reliable.” Now a full smile, if a little stiff. “Besides! It’ll be good for you. The classic tech will make you feel right at home, I bet.”

You looked at Shaw like he had seven heads. “Yeah, no.”

Confused, Shaw cocked his head to the side, looking as much like a confused puppy as a six foot something super soldier could.

“Where I’m from, when I’m from, we’ve barely made it to space.” Your eyes find the jumpship again, knowing that this is likely the equivalent of a 1930s Cadillac from your time, all boxy and antique, drawing the eyes of people who would marvel that the thing is still running. “No Traveler. No terraforming. No miraculous technological advancements spurred on by glowing and wondrous space magic.”

Poe was listening in now, too. Hanging on your every word, by the looks of it. “The first moon landing was decades before I was even an idea in my parents’ minds, and we hadn’t been back up there since. Got a couple astronauts in a space station orbiting Earth, but no one else out farther than that.” Turning back to face Shaw, you went on. “Got a couple rovers out to Mars and the inners, a couple a little further, and a handful of probes hurtling through space around the outer planets. No casual space travel, and certainly no confirmed contact with extraterrestrial life.”

His jaw was dropped now. You’d only really talked about your previous life in the context of knowing what was going on in this universe, not really touching on what your daily life was like. They hadn’t asked. Why would they?

Poe found his voice first. “I… don’t want to be rude. Really, I don’t but. How have you not lost your mind in the face of all this?”

He was hovering very close to you now, his little optic blown wide in shock. You just smiled and shrugged.

“I’m really into scifi.”

Shaw broke down in laughter at that. He was doubled over, a belly deep laugh shaking his body as he struggled to gulp down breaths of air in between fits of hysterics. You could only join him, if a little less enthusiastically. Once he regained control of himself, he strode over to you, having wandered a lot closer to the jumpship than you’d realized. Shaking his head, he stood next to you, looking up at his dead friend’s jumpship. “You know, Cayde would have really liked you.”

Furrowing your brows for a bit, you mentally sorted through the remembered names from your time playing Destiny. After a moment, it clicked. “Oh. The Hunter Vanguard, right?”

Looking at you now, there was a kind of soft sadness in Shaw’s eyes, something bordering on melancholic nostalgia, maybe even a little pity. “Former Vanguard. He was killed a while back. We’re all still feeling it.”

You look back to the ship, not really knowing how to respond. You couldn’t share in his grief, but you could empathize. Which made it harder to come up with anything to say that wouldn’t ring hollow, especially considering Cayde-6 was dead by the time you started playing the game, anyway. You remembered feeling pretty bummed about missing out on the Nathan Fillion voice acting.

So after a moment of silence, gazing up at the jumpship, Shaw started chuckling again. “Commander Zavala has no idea what he’s in for with you.”

Grinning, you chose to take that as a compliment. Now feeling a lot less nervous about leaving, you barely hesitated when the ramp leading up into the ship dropped down, opening up the way to the next step of your journey. Reassured that Poe would be able to operate the ship, and that it was very intuitive so you’d be able to catch on quickly, you took your first step towards the ramp. Well, half a step.

Before he backed away too far, you pulled Shaw into a bone crushing hug. One he returned, after a moment of stiff shock. You curled into each other, drawing each other as close as the armor you wore would allow. A passing thought about that being some sort of metaphor or whatever about the nature of Guardians flitted across your mind, and once again, you chose to ignore delving deeper and waxing poetic about anything right now. Instead, you spoke, muffled into a tattered blue cloak. “You’ll be safe? No more of that self sacrificing bullshit, right?”

Squeezing you just a little tighter, Shaw responded, his chin resting on the top of your head. “No more. Promise.”

Pulling back, you smiled up at the Hunter, trying not to get too sentimental. “Good. No skipping out on that bowl of ramen you owe me.”

You tap his chest plate once as you step back from him, doing your best not to look as scared as you felt leaving the side of the only other person, outside of Poe, that you knew in this world.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Poe popped out of your Light with a flash, nodding at Shaw as you both stepped back from each other. He nodded back to your little Ghost, a little silent exchange between the two of them. Poe bobbed towards the ship, and you followed suit before you could lose your nerve again. Reaching the on ramp, you stopped short. Gazing down at the metal, eyes getting a little lost in the many perforations making up the textured tread, it really hit you that you were about to get into a spaceship. A literal fucking spaceship.

Whirling around, you locked eyes with Shaw, standing the few yards back where you left him. You called out your question to his curious look. “Does this ship have a name?”

Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted over the beginning rumble of the jumpship’s engines.

“Yeah! She named it Baby!”

You scrunch your face upon hearing the name of Maeve’s, now your, ship. You have to really shout now for your voice to be heard over the engines, backing up the ramp at Poe’s determined insistence.

“No offense, but that’s fucking terrible!”

Shaw’s laughter was lost to the sound of the engines, and he must have realized he couldn’t be heard any longer, as you heard the familiar blip of comms connecting.

*Yeah, I know. She was really bad with names.*

You were at the top of the on ramp now, and it was slowly closing up behind you. Still making eye contact with Shaw, you responded through your comms, no longer shouting. “Well, guess I’m stuck with it. I’ll take care of her.”

*I know you will. Wouldn’t have handed her over if I thought you wouldn’t.* You smile, a little sadly, starting to fully realize what this gift really meant. You were taking a part of his fireteam, a connection to someone impossibly important to him, as your own. *Take care, Nev. I’ll see you around.*

“You too. See you around, Shaw.”

The hatch closed shut with a hiss as the airtight seal locked into place, and you disconnected your comms. You were sure that the range was more than enough that you could reasonably keep them connected for a good while, but you needed to rip the bandaid off. Plus, keeping them open and unoccupied in general was probably a good idea, for the both of you.

Turning away from the now closed hatch, you took in the space around you. Or more accurately, the lack of space around you. To say the chamber of the ship was cramped would be an understatement. You were looking at what amounted to a relatively cramped hallway, just barely room to spread your arms out in, with various compartments and panels built into the walls.

“The cot and a lavatory pop out from the side panels.” Poe appeared next to you, answering one of the questions written very plainly on your face. “Not at the same time, though. And no shower, but there seem to be plenty of sanitary wipes and such stored on board.” He bopped around, trilling and beeping a bit as he scanned around the space. “Also looks like there are enough emergency meals and hydration packs here to last nearly a month!”

Settling into the crook of your neck under your raised hood, the thing really was comfortable to keep up, he hummed. “That’s Titans for you. They really are good at hunkering down.”

Making a noise in affirmation, you walk up towards where you assume the cockpit is. This area was much less cramped, taking up the lion’s share of the internal space of the ship. Scanning the control panel, you were floored by the amount of dials and screens and buttons and read outs and-

Just as the panic was setting in, Poe sprung into action. Settling on the dashboard, he got to work and the ship’s controls came to life. The low rumble of the engine grew in volume, and you could feel the vibrations of it through the soft leather of the pilot’s seat. There was an identical one to your right, and you assumed that the other member of Shaw’s fireteam, Cas, rode shotgun with Maeve on the way to the Cosmodrome.

Your eyes continued to wander over the cockpit, taking everything in. The closer you looked, the more you gleaned about Maeve. She seemed like a very ‘do it yourself’ kind of person, evident in the varying colors of the many knobs and switches on the control panel. A few places had makeshift labels, ripped tape with neat writing in thick marker scrawled across it, taking the place of actual labels and designations. There was a notebook wedged in between the seats, ragged and beat to shit, and you found an extensive log of maintenance and upgrades done to the ship, ‘Baby’, in its pages.

They were dated, using a system you were blessedly familiar with. The most recent entry detailed an important engine part being replaced just before a mission out to the Cosmodrome. The language was plain, mechanical, and kept details pertaining to anything but the parts and work done to a minimum.

‘To the point. Very pragmatic.’

Replacing the maintenance log, you were sure that you’d need it in the future, your eyes trailed up. While there were little hints of the late Titan’s personality scattered across the cockpit, that’s all they were. Hints. She didn’t strike you as the type to sink her personality into things that were meant to be functional, meant to serve a purpose. So, it surprised you when you saw the picture.

Held to the ceiling of the cockpit with a few corners of the same tape that she used as temporary labels on the control panel, was a photo of her, Shaw, and who you had to assume was Cas. The ship lifted into the air as you were staring at the printed photo, so absorbed in what you were seeing that you didn’t even notice take off. Staring down at you from the little rectangle piece of paper was a smiling and happy fireteam. You felt like you were punched in the gut.

Maeve was… well. Radiant. Her smile was wide, unstaged and genuine. It curled up perfectly at the edges, something you always wished yours did. Her deep umber skin seemed to glow from within, and her eyes caught the light the three of them were bathed in in a way that turned them into glowing pearls of dark amber. What really held your attention though, was her hair. Wild, coiling, and the most intense shade of copper you’d ever seen on another human, it was pushed back from her face by a thick black band. It spilled over her shoulders, framing her in a halo of fire that you almost couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

You took in Cas, pulled into the photo by one of Maeve’s arms looped through his. The Exo’s face was frozen in laughter, optics shut by his face plates, mouth open and glowing orange. If you remembered correctly, that meant he was making some kind of noise as the photo was taken, likely laughing at his fireteam’s antics. The same light that illuminated Maeve’s hair bounced off of his charcoal paint job, creating a little bit of a lens flare in the picture.

Then there was Shaw. The same one you left behind in the Cosmodrome, just a lot happier, lighter. He was pulled into the photo by Maeve as well, her arm slung over his shoulders, pulling him close. He looked up from where she had him pinned at her side, one of his hands braced on the arm wrapped around him. His mouth was curved up a little shyly, and the look in his eyes was so soft as he gazed up at her-

‘Oh my god. Oh fuck.’ You blinked at the photo a few times, lifting yourself up off the seat a bit to get a closer look, to make sure that you were actually seeing what you thought you were seeing. Squinting, you realized you absolutely were. ‘Jesus fuck, he’s in love with her. Shaw’s fucking in love with her. And I took her god damned jumpship.’

You collapsed into the pilot’s seat, slumped a bit, a look of disbelief on your face. Poe finished up what he was doing and turned to you. “...Are you okay? You look like you’ve just been told something incredibly dumb.”

A little dazed by your revelation, ‘His freak out makes so much more sense now. Oh my god, how did I ask him to hold my fucking hand after the woman he loved JUST DIED’, you turn your head to face your little Ghost. “Hey, Poe. Why are men so stupid?”

Huffing, he settled into the crook of your neck, apparently satisfied that the ship wasn’t going to drop out of the sky. “Couldn’t tell you. Why?”

Pulling Poe from his little resting spot, chirping on a little in objection, you took him in your hands, holding him in front of your face. He settled fully into your cupped palms, looking expectantly at you. “Shaw’s in love with Maeve. And I took her fucking jumpship.”

His shell twitched slightly, and he blinked his little optic a few times. “Well, yeah. I could have told you that. Shaw having a thing for Maeve, I mean.”

Now you blinked in shock. “You knew? Why didn’t he say anything if they were together?”

“Oh, they weren’t. It was kind of a whole thing, you know?” Lowering your cupped hands down to your lap, Poe adjusted himself so he’d be looking up at you. “The Guardian community is pretty small, and nothing really stays very private for long. More or less everyone was aware they were crazy about each other, but they never got together.”

Shrugging his shell, his tone of voice took on a more somber note. “It’s pretty typical, actually. Members of fireteams getting close like that, but never going through with anything. A lot of those fireteams end up like Shaw’s, too.” He deflated slightly. “It’s not an easy life I’ve dragged you into. Guardians and Ghosts die. A lot. Their story is painfully common.”

Bringing Poe up to your face, you nuzzle your nose against the little protruding horn of the top of his shell. “Well, that’s a damn shame.” Your little Ghost huffed a little sadly, and your heart nearly broke in two. “I don’t blame you, though. For this. For me being here, I mean. I’m not upset about it either.”

The hum of the ship’s engines droned in the background, a numbing kind of white noise that put you at ease. Let you actually talk about what you could feel bubbling up inside of you. What had been lurking below the surface since you woke up here. “I died. Back in my other life, I think. I’m pretty sure I died.”

Furrowing your brows, you try to remember. It comes in pieces, flashes, nothing concrete or linear. All you can put together is the feeling of sun on your face, warm excitement, a deafening noise, brief pain, a flash of … something. Something blinding. Then Poe, and the Cosmodrome, and the rest of everything you’d experienced over the past few days.

He was quiet, cradled in your hands. When you didn’t continue speaking, he floated up to eye level, his turn to nuzzle your face with his shell. “I’m sorry that happened to you. No matter how glad I am to have met you, I’m sorry that happened.”

Smiling weakly, you just shrug. “Well, hey. This is one hell of a bonus round, so. Not like I can really complain. Better than whatever else I would have been in for, I’m sure.” Deeply exhaling, you visualize the tight, choked feeling stuck in your throat leaving with your expelled breath. “And I’m glad I met you too, bud. Really, really fucking glad.”

Smiling wider now, you went on. “And I’m not just saying that because we’re literally stuck together for the rest of our functionally immortal lives. I very much mean it.”

Silence fell over the cockpit. Comfortable, tired. Leaning to the side, you look out over the landscape rushing by below. There were no ‘windows’, not exactly. The whole interior of the cockpit was lined with view panels, you’d called them ‘screens’, something Poe corrected gently, that gave you visibility to your surroundings. Amazed that there was no discernable difference between these view panels and a regular window, you spent a fair amount of time just looking out them, watching the ruined world below you whiz by.

The next few hours passed like this. Looking through the view panels, occasional conversation about nothing serious. Just distracting yourself from the growing nerves building in your gut. Poe could tell, you think, because after a while he took to chattering lightly about little spots in the Tower and the City he wanted to show you. Restaurants, open air markets, parks and landmarks he thought you’d enjoy. He directed your focus to what your life might look like when you weren’t out in the wilds, out in active war zones, touching on what he thought you might be familiar with considering your entire life as a normal human up until now.

Then a voice crackled over Baby’s comms. Stern, militaristic, snapping you out of your imagined outing to a farmer’s market on a sunny day in the City.

*This is Vanguard Air Control Tower 3, please state your aircraft designation, purpose for arrival, and hold for hangar direction.*

“Uhhh…”

You trail off, panicking and kicking yourself for not being more prepared until Poe chimed in.

“This is ACJS1, returning to the Tower from the Cosmodrone with a New Light and debriefing for Commander Zavala regarding a Vanguard operation.”

A moment passed while your ship slowed to a hover. The voice crackled over the comms again.

*Your aircraft has been cleared for docking. Head to hangar port G7 West. The Tower and City welcome you, Guardian.*

The static fizzled out and Poe floated over to the control panel again, interfacing with it through a series of beeps and trills. The ship began moving again, this time, piloted directly by Poe. “The City will be coming into view soon! We just need to break through this cloud layer…”

Dropping from the high altitude you’d been maintaining, you were surrounded by the thick fog of the cloud cover blanketing the night sky. Leg bouncing anxiously, you waited for the ship to break free of the clouds. When it did, the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding rushed out of your lungs in a gasp of air.

A sea of lights stretched out below you. Cradled by high walls, stretching farther than you could see, even from this height, was the Last City. Nearly every living human in the Sol System was there, just below you, living their lives in the shadow of the Tower, and of the Traveler.

The Traveler. It dominated your view, larger than any singular thing you had ever seen. It took a moment to really register what you were seeing, your mind struggling to process what was in front of you. The huge, white orb hovered low over the metropolis, lights from below illuminating its form. The massive crack in its surface stood out in sharp contrast to the white of its chassis, especially when illuminated by the light below. Your mouth hung open as you took it in, a strange warmth spreading through your body and mind as you did. You felt… at peace. Like something was calling to you from the massive extraterrestrial thing before you. Calling you home.

The ship dove a little sharply, breaking your view of the Traveler, and snapping you out of the reverie that had taken hold of your mind.

‘I wonder if all Guardians feel like that when they first see the Traveler.’

Continuing to dive lower, Poe flew you towards the high walls, and you noticed ships of all kinds coming and going from a gap high off the ground. Shell whirring a little, Poe left his post hovering above the control panel and settled back into the crook of your neck.

“Alright, the landing system should handle everything now. We’ll be docked soon.” He wriggled a little, happy and jittery and deeply relieved. “We’re here, Nevret. We’re home.”

Chapter Text

The on ramp lowered, ‘Is it lowering more slowly now? It feels like it’s lowering more slowly now, I should get that looked at’, as you nervously bounced on the balls of your feet. Poe had docked Baby in the appropriate slip, and all that was left for you to do was take your first steps into the Tower. The mechanical whir of whatever powered this part of the ship blanked your mind as you watched the hatch continue to open. When it was fully lowered, you looked out into the hangar before you.

While you’d accepted that this was all happening to you on that first day, deep in the walls of the Cosmodrome, you’ve been hit with little bursts of realization since then. One such burst occurred now, looking out into the Tower’s hangar. This was happening. This wasn’t some deranged fever dream, it wasn’t a hallucination, it was something real. Poe bobbed up beside you, coming to a stop at eye level next to your head.

“Ready?”

He sounded chipper, expectant. Turning to face him, you see his little optic eye squinched in happy excitement. You could tell he was trying to reign it in for your sake, but the rapid twitching of his shell was completely giving him away. One steadying breath later, you nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

Feeling very much out of place, like walking into a nice restaurant only to find you deeply misunderstood the dress code, you decided to tune into your surroundings. Luckily, there was plenty to focus on that didn’t involve your rapidly ballooning anxiety. The metal of the on ramp rung as your feet fell, hollow thunk after hollow thunk, partially drowned out by the sounds of the hangar around you. Sharp and bright, the harsh sound of metal being cut was accompanied by plumes of flying sparks, lighting up pockets of the hangar in erratic fireworks. The hum of engines blanketed the space in an undulating drone, endless ships warming up and cooling down feeding the impression that the hangar was more leviathan than utilitarian workspace. Finally, loud conversations added to the cacophony. Excited shouting across echoing rooms, more than one startled yelp following a loud crash, and belly deep laughter tying it all together.

Through all of those voices, one in particular stood out to you. You couldn’t make out any words, but you got the impression of a distinctly American southern twang, and a flash of amused disbelief shot through you. Still, you didn’t linger on it any more than your attentions could linger on any one of the many things going on in your vicinity.

Personal anxiety nearly forgotten, you found that just looking around the hangar, trying to take everything in without becoming overwhelmed, was a feat in and of itself. It was then your eyes fell on a young blonde woman waving in your direction. The southern twang coming from her mouth matched the one you idly registered through the din. Suddenly you recognized her as an NPC you’d interacted with in the beginnings of playing Destiny 2, Amanda Holliday. You also realize that she was, in fact, calling out to you.

‘Oh, shit. People.’

Managing a small smile and waving back, you hoped that your face composed itself enough to look friendly and not off putting. Poe bobbed close to your ear, muttering to you excitedly, “That’s Amanda! She’s the Tower’s head shipwright. You’ll have to register your jumpship with her before we go.”

Nodding, the smile remained fixed on your face as she approached. Looking you up and down, she looks pats you to get a better look at your ship, looking into Baby’s cabin expectantly.

“Now there’s a face I wasn’t expectin’.” She pulled her gaze up to your face, bright and intelligent, almost masking the slight furrow between her brows and suspicious glimmer in her eyes. “Meaning, you’ve got a new one. Haven’t seen you ‘round here before, have I?”

Coming to the end of the on ramp, you take your first step into the Tower as you respond. “Nope.” Voice catching slightly, you clear your throat before continuing. “I’m New Light. Very new.”

Unsure of how much information to divulge, you had a habit of word vomiting when anxious. After a few long moment of silence, you realized with a start that you hadn’t actually introduced yourself. Abruptly shoving your hand towards the shipwright you say simply, “I’m Nevret.”

Cocking an eyebrow at you, one side of Amanda’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as she grabbed your hand and shook it firmly. “Name’s Amanda.” Pulling back, she crosses her arms in front of her, a look of measured curiosity on her face. “Now, I don’t suppose you’ve got someone named Maeve aboard that ship, do you?”

You pale, suddenly realizing that a ship as unique as Maeve’s was bound to be associated with her. ‘I guess I should have expected questions.’

“See, I’d recognize her ship anywhere, so I can’t help but wonder why someone that’s not her is flyin’ it.” She eyed you curiously, an edge creeping into her voice as she went on. Her suspicion was clear now, and you were panicking under her scrutiny.

“We need to report to Commander Zavala about that, actually.” Poe chimed in, taking on the burden of delivering the bad news himself. You watch on silently, grateful to your little Ghost. “The Vanguard Op she and her fireteam were on in the Cosmodrome went badly.” His shell drooped as he went on, voice becoming quiet, somber. “We showed up about halfway through. We did what we could, but, only Shaw managed to make it out.”

Amanda’s eyes darted between you and Poe, then to the ship docked behind you.

“Well, Maeve did have a nasty habit of saying that the only way she’d let anyone else fly Baby would be over her dead body.” Her face fell at that, as did the rest of her. “Told her she shouldn’t go round sayin’ stuff like that. Self fulfilling prophesies an’ all.”

Allowing herself just a moment of mourning, apparently a common trait among the people here, she straighted abruptly with a harsh noise halfway between a sigh and grunt. “Well. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that Baby is yours now?”

You can only nod silently, throat too tight to speak. The anxiety that you’d partially forgotten about just moments earlier was back in full force under the attention of the shipwright. Your nod gets a deep sigh in response. Then, all at once, and surely with with no small amount of effort, Amanda stretches her face into a bright smile, clapping you on the back. “Alright then. We’d better get you sorted so you can be on your way to bed. I’m bettin’ you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your little Ghost here pulled you outta the afterlife.”

Startled by the sudden, rather harsh physical contact, you cut through the shipwright’s chuckling without thinking, “He doesn’t like being called little.”

Said quickly, and with no thought to the tone used, Amanda’s light laughter cut off abruptly with a look of slight shock on her face. Before you could even register what you’d said, or how you’d said it, she uttered her apologies, light with laughter, fully conceding to your abrupt assertion. Walking ahead of you now, she waved over another person in a dull hangar mechanic’s uniform, stained with oil and grime. Quickly, she told the person to help get your paperwork filled out and you on your way.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m not doing this all myself. Got a few things here and there I gotta wrap up before heading off to sleep myself.” Amanda’s voice was light and friendly, but you couldn’t shake the agitated anxious feeling that was lighting up your nerves. You were ride. At least you think you might have been rude. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you unconsciously shake out your arms in an attempt to dispel some of the frantic energy coursing through you.

“No, of course. It’s fine. I’m sure we’ll manage.” Attempting another smile, ‘God I hope I’m not grimacing’, you wave after Amanda as she walks off to another part of the hangar. She gives a nod back, and you and Poe get to work on filling out the forms required for jumpship registration.

Swinging the door inwards, you squint into the darkness of the unlit apartment unit you’ve been assigned. Poe had done the whole process of getting you set up with lodging while you were getting Baby registered under your name, keen on saving you time, and the drudgery of paperwork.

“I’ll get the lights!” Poe’s little voice chirped excitedly as he whirred briefly before the overhead light flickered on. Emphasis on the ‘flickered’. “Oh. Uh, we should. Probably put in a work order and get that fixed.”

You grinned. ‘Shitty first apartment in a new city. Now that’s nostalgic. Only thing missing is the four shitty roommates.’ Looking around the room, you were a little surprised with how small the space was. The door swung open directly into the living area, couch and low coffee table to your left. After you closed the door behind you, a little alcove to the right made itself apparent, set up to be a kind of coat closet with some extra storage. A small kitchen was further in the back directly across from what you assumed was the bedroom. ‘Least it isn’t a studio.’

“It isn’t much, but this is pretty typical of the Vanguard barracks apartments.” Bobbing around, Poe poked in and out of every nook and cranny in the cramped space. “Every Guardian has the option of claiming one, but most don’t wind up spending a lot of time here. Hunters especially.”

Humming in understanding, you peek into the bedroom, noting the distinct lack of another door leading anywhere else. “Hey Poe, does this unit have a bathroom? We aren’t doing a communal kind of thing, are we?”

“Nope!” Turning around, you see your little Ghost bobbing towards the front door again, stopping by another pocket door to the right that you missed when you came in. “Should be right through here. There are units with communal lavatories and kitchens, but I figured you’d want your own.”

Gratitude spread through you as you approached the door. Stopping, you stood there, frozen, aware that you were likely about to confront something you’ve been putting off even thinking about since you were Risen. Hovering around your head, Poe asked, “Are you okay? It’s just a bathroom, promise. No Fallen or Hive hidden behind any doors here.”

A nervous chuckle choked out of your throat. “No, no, I know. It isn’t that it’s…” Trailing off, you suddenly felt very stupid for being so concerned. “I’m just. What if I don’t have my face?”

Properly confused now, Poe positioned himself directly in front of you. Still, he could tell you were concerned, so he addressed you with all the seriousness he could muster. “Nevret, you have a face. I am looking at it right now.”

“I know I have a face,” emphasizing your concern, you hoped you would come across more clearly now, “but what if I don’t have my face?”

Realization hit Poe as he started, then drooped in thoughtful silence. You felt guilty, not for the first time, over having to put your Ghost through such odd ordeals. “Ah. Well. That, I don’t know the answer to.” He paused, and you were still frozen in front of the door. A moment of silence later, you decide to rip off the bandaid.

Screwing your eyes shut, you flung open the door to the bathroom. Through your eyelids, you could tell when Poe switched the lights on. You felt around for the sink, and by extension, the mirror. Finding it, you raised your head and took a deep breath, then you opened your eyes.

Staring back at you, was you. Somehow, against all odds, you were looking at a familiar reflection in the mirror of your alarmingly small bathroom. Squinting, you looked closer. ‘Hold on now…’ Leaning in, you noticed some key differences. You were looking into the same green eyes you’ve known all your life, the same mouth was drawn down into your standard stress frown, and the same nose was millimeters from touching the glass. Still, you began to really see the differences. The eyebrows that were scrunched above your eyes were thicker, far more defined than they naturally were in your previous life. For that matter, so was the dark brown, nearly black, hair that fell in greasy strands around your face. The color startled you for a moment, at least until you remembered that the dark brown was, in fact, your natural hair color. ‘Makes sense that I wouldn’t be brought back from the dead with freshly applied Manic Panic.’

Straightening, you also noted how low the sink was, how small the space felt. “Hey Poe? How tall am I?” Not taking your eyes from your reflection, you waited for him to answer.

“You are one hundred and eighty one point sixty centimeters tall! Around average height for a Guardian.” Blinking lamely, you realized that it was probably a good thing that imperial units seem to have died out in the apocalypse. Still, you hoped that Poe would be able to translate for you.

“Right. So uh. Can I get that in feet and inches?”

“Oh, uh.” Pausing, Poe’s shell whirred for a moment. “Yes, just give me a second to find some sort of conversion data…”

After a moment, he piped up, “Yes! It was pretty hidden in some very obscure VanNet forums pertaining to ancient measurement units, but I think I got it.” Stifling a desperate laugh, you tried to ignore the ‘ancient’ descriptor. “You are five feet and eleven inches tall! Well. Eleven and a half, to be specific.”

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’, a surprised reflection of it staring back at you.

“I’m taller.”

Thinking to yourself for a moment, you figured that something in the genes of this universe’s you got mixed up. ‘Got Dad’s height and Mom’s hair, not the other way around.’

Poe hovers nervously around your head, and you turn to him, smiling. “I’m taller than I was before. Not by much, just a couple inches.” Turning back to yourself in the mirror, you continue. “I’m exactly as tall as my Dad.”

Then something snaps.

Reality hits you, cold and callous. ‘Dad. I’m exactly as tall as Dad.’

You’d never see him again. You were here, alive and well. You were there, dead and rotting. You’d died in some kind of accident, that much you know. It was painful. That much you were sure of. ‘I was visiting my sister. I’d gone to visit my sister.’

You don’t remember your knees colliding with the cold tile of the floor. You don’t know when the tears started streaming down your face or when it got so impossibly hard to breathe. When did it get so fucking hard to breathe?

Curled into a ball, you cried and shook for long enough that your brand new knees actually started to ache. Poe had wedged himself into your tightly curled up body, emitting a warm glow, pulsing slowly and speaking to you in a calm, comforting voice. Eventually you could make out what he was saying. Eventually you listened to him and worked to time your breaths with the slow pulsing of his Light. Eventually you calmed down and uncurled from your little ball.

Silence passed uninterrupted. Poe was still glowing, and you were still breathing in time with it, mind and body numb and empty in the wake of your breakdown. “Well. That was dramatic. Glad there weren’t any mirrors in the Cosmodrome.”

Hoarse and quiet, your voice scratched out of your throat. Chuckling dryly, Poe agreed. “Yeah. I don’t think that would have been ideal.”

It’s another while before you straighten yourself up, only moving when you feel the dry, thick feeling in back of your throat calling for water. Standing, you splash cold water on your face, bringing a handful of it into your mouth as well.

“Ah, the kitchen should be stocked!” Whizzing out into the main living area, Poe called back to you. “Well, with mugs and MREs at least!”

You flick the light off and follow him into the kitchen, eager to eat something and fall into bed. “Any chicken and egg noodles in there?”

“Thank you for your perspective regarding this mission. Be sure to register on VanNet by the end of the day so you won’t have to give your reports in person in the future. In the meantime, I appreciate your flexibility and cooperation.”

Commander Zavala sat across from you, going over the notes taken on the datapad in his hands. When you found him this morning, he was out in the Tower, away from his office, “enjoying the morning sun”. He had known you were coming, alerted by Poe, and chose a café tucked away in a hidden little courtyard as the location of your meeting. He even had a cup of coffee waiting for you, still hot, and spiced in the style of the City district the Tower overlooked.

It warmed you to your core. You could pick out bright cardamom, the deepness of star anise seed accentuating the roast of the coffee. A hint of cinnamon zinged through it all, brought out by the sweetened condensed milk added at the end. Sipping it out of a chipped and worn mug while sitting in a sunbathed courtyard made this meeting feel more like catching up with an old friend as opposed to a debrief about a disastrous, bloody strike. You supposed that was the point. ‘Best to make the traumatized New Light feel welcomed so they’re more inclined to stay.’

The corners of your mouth tugged into a slight frown as you mentally admonished yourself for interpreting this act of kindness as a cold tactical ploy to gain your loyalty. Afterall, it could be both. And both is fine.

The silence was broken only by the occasional mutterings of Targe, Zavala’s Ghost, correcting portions of the report, or adding detail to where he thought needed it. You sipped your coffee and let your eyes wander, taking in the area and making a mental note to come back for breakfast. Glancing to Poe, he seemed to read your mind as your gaze was pulled towards the alcove that held the service counter of the café. A little ping on your handheld comms unit, acquired just this morning, alerted you that this location had been saved under the designation ‘Quaint Eateries’.

A smile spreads across your face and you scrunch your nose fondly at your little Ghost. He responds with a little bonk to the side of your face and settles into his spot on your shoulder as you take another sip.

“You and your Ghost seem to be close. That’s good.” While Zavala’s words were short and to the point, there was a distinct warmth coloring the tone in his voice. “The bond between a Guardian and their Ghost is like no other. Nurturing it will not only do you good on the battlefield, but at home as well.”

‘Ever the Commander, I see.’ You chuckle lightly at how dedicated to his role Zavala is. You remember the interactions with him in the game being much the same, the stalwart Commander, standing strong and true in his position of protector of humanity. To think that this version, the real version, would follow that characterization so accurately. It really was almost comical. Still, the debrief wasn’t over yet, and you were reminded of that when he next spoke.

“Now,” Setting the datapad on the table between you, he folded his hands in front of him, looking you directly in the eyes. A gaze you returned without wavering, even if you found yourself somewhat transfixed by the cerulean glow of his irises. “Shaw mentions ‘unusual circumstances’ in regards to you, but leaves it at that. I’m going to assume that he is privy to those unusual circumstances, but wanted to give you the opportunity to tell me about them yourself.”

The look in his eyes left no room for interpretation. While he didn’t explicitly command you to go into detail about that portion of the report, the look on his face certainly did. You expected this. Shaw had asked you if you wanted him to hold off on mentioning anything unusual about you in his report, saying he would respect your decision if you wanted to keep this quiet. That he would keep your secret if you asked. While it was a relief to have the option, to know that you’d made a friend that was willing to do that for you, you opted to reveal it all soon as you were able.

Trying to keep everything under wraps had been exhausting, and you weren’t even good at it. There was no sense in making yourself look more suspicious than you actually were. So, you set your coffee mug down and returned Zavala’s serious gaze with one of your own. “Right, so this is going to sound completely insane, but I’m going to need to you stick with me…”

‘Well, he’s certainly been quiet for longer than I’m comfortable with.’ Glancing nervously to Poe, you could feel the little bubble of panic in your gut bloom into something larger. Jitters spread through you, and you suddenly regretted drinking coffee on a nearly empty stomach. You’d told him more or less the exact same thing you told Shaw and Poe back in the Cosmodrome. This explanation included answers to some of the questions they had asked you after the fact, just to cover all your bases. Or at least some more of them.

[I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s just… thinking.]

Sensing your anxiety, Poe tried to reassure you mentally, but unfortunately for you both, he sounded as nervous as you felt. He corroborated your story, even went as far as offering to ping Shaw to make a statement on your behalf. He’d already sent the same set of logs to Targe that he gave to Hattie when doubt was expressed at your story. Zavala took your Ghost’s testimony seriously, but waved off the suggestion of pulling Shaw and Hattie into the conversation. You had hoped that was a good sign, that he believed you without their testimony, but now you weren’t so sure.

Fingers steepled, he leaned into his elbows on top of the table, regarding you with that same serious stare he’d been leveling you with since the start of your… confession? You hesitated to use that word, but there was something about revealing a potentially unpleasant and problematic story to an authority figure that launched you right back to your Catholic school days. Suddenly, you weren’t a Guardian anymore. You were an overly anxious child waiting to be given your punishment.

Just when you were about to speak up, Zavala sighed. Not a huff, not an exhale, a true and proper sigh. It reminded you that the man sitting across from you was nearly two hundred years old, and in this moment, he looked every one of those many long years. His forehead was pressed into his folded hands now, still propped up by his elbows. Another moment, and he raised his head to look at you.

“To say this is unprecedented would be an understatement.” His voice was even, strong. No hint of the bone deep exhaustion his sigh revealed to you. “There have been cases of Ghosts bestowing the Light upon the living, with those Guardians retaining their memories throughout their lives. However…”

Another sigh from Zavala.

“I do not like my Guardians looking into the past. We do all we can to discourage members of the Vanguard from looking into their previous lives.” You could feel something in you bristle at that. ‘ “My Guardians”. ’ Internally, you scoff. Externally, you keep it together and listen as Zavala continues talking. “A Guardian’s job, their duty is to be focused on the present, the future. We live our lives for the people of the Last City, by the grace and will of the Traveler alone. Allowing your focus to be divided between the now and the then is in direct opposition to fulfilling that duty.”

Oh, now you were absolutely taking issue with the direction of this conversation. You had assumed that it was going to turn around into some inspiring, if slightly propaganda-y, speech about being the saviors of humanity and the Sol System. Something similar to what you remember happening in the ame. You did not expect this to turn into borderline evangelization.

“I sincerely hope that you know what is required of you. That in spite of your previous civilian lifestyle, you are able to readjust your priorities accordingly.”

Through it all you held Zavala’s gaze, kept that unwavering eye contact. You weren’t sure if said eye contact was meant to intimidate you, or if that was just how he conducted himself during a serious conversation. Either way, your defiant streak reared its head once again, and that part of you took it as a direct challenge. One you did not intend on backing down from.

You folded your hands on top of the table, looking down at them, eyebrows furrowed in thought. After a moment, you look up. “I think it would do us both a world of good to get a few things straight, sir.”

It was far outside of your usual character to use honorifics, in any situation, but you decided to in this case. Even if the usage was tongue in cheek.

“My life is my own. Period. I do not live it for anyone else. I do not live it by anyone, or anything, else’s grace.” You failed to keep the disdain from your voice towards the end there. You didn’t let it bother you, even if Poe was visibly panicking now. “I did not ask to be here. I did not ask for this life. I will not spend it beholden to a ‘duty’ I did not, and could not, consent to accepting.”

To say Zavala was tense would be an understatement. Veins bulged in his face as he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, you held your hand up and firmly stated, “I am not finished speaking.”

His mouth snapped shut and both Ghosts regarded you with wide optics. Having taken the floor, you continued. “However. I do recognize that I am in a unique position to do more good than I could ever have hoped to do in my previous life. I, as a Guardian, as a member of the Vanguard, have great power. With that power comes great responsibility.”

You half hoped that Spiderman didn’t survive the Collapse so that you could get away with co-opting Uncle Ben’s dialogue for your little tangent. ‘Sorry, Stan Lee.’

“I choose to accept that responsibility. I choose to accept that duty. I am, however, not beholden to it. The only will I live by is my own.” Eyes narrowing, you wrap it up. “My life before this is not a distraction. It is the foundation of who I am, and I’m sure it will guide me through what is to come. Through what is expected of me.”

Leaning back, you unfold your hands and pick up your coffee, still hot enough to enjoy. Taking a sip, you smile over the rim of the mug after you do, any trace of the seriousness you held just moments ago gone from your face. You speak, voice as light and airy as the courtyard around you. “I’m finished now, sir.”

Air rushed from Zavala as he exhaled from his nose sharply, jaw still clenched shut. Still, after a moment, the tension started leaving him. Not all of it, of course, but enough to where it no longer looked like he was about to lunge at you over the table. Then, all at once, he slumped back into his chair, head hanging over the back with a hand drawn up to cover his face. You take another sip of coffee.

“Well, I suppose you’re not the first Hunter we’ve gotten with a strong personality and issues with authority.” He sounded weary, finally speaking in a tone that didn’t bleed ‘Commander’. A rush of pride surged through you, and you had to hide your giddy smile in the dregs of your mug. Leaning back up, he regarded you with a different, calculatingly wary look in his glowing eyes. “So, I take it that you do have the intention of joining the Vanguard?”

Canting your head to one side in a show of confusion, you set your now empty mug down. “Of course I do. Pretty sure they don’t have cute little courtyard cafés out in the Wilds.”

You could have sworn that Zavala almost cracked a smile at that. Almost.

“Right. That is good to hear.”

Smiling demurely at him across the table, jitters set into you as the caffeine in your bloodstream begins to take effect. “Was there anything else you needed from me, Commander?”

After a moment of consideration, and a sideways glance to Targe, he responded. “Yes, in fact, there is.” He nods to Targe now, and Poe blips with the sound of a received transmission. “You will go to my office. There, you will enter the code I just sent to your Ghost into the panel on the far left wall of the room.”

Eyebrows furrowing, you wondered what this was about. “A door will open. Through it, you will find my personal weapons vault.”

Your furrowed eyebrows immediately shot into your hairline.

“There is a weapon, a Kinetic Sidearm called The Lonesome.” He pauses, taking in your somewhat shocked, and very confused, expression. “Take it. It’s yours.”

You sit there, stock still and silent, before responding. “Do you give out weapons from your personal vault to all the mouthy New Lights, or am I special?”

Leveling you with a look that should have had you shrinking into yourself, Commander Zavala chose to ignore your little quip and said, “I am sure you are aware by now of the vacant Hunter Vanguard position. Until one is appointed, you will report to me for assignments.”

Pushing himself back from the table, he stood, gathering the empty mugs as he did. You nod, and take his standing as your sign to leave. Rising to your feet as well, you chirp out a tongue in cheek, ‘Yessir’. Getting the distinct feeling that Zavala is resisting rolling his eyes at you, you try to hold back a grin as he continues. “I would accompany you to my office, but I have a few things to attend to. I’m sure your Ghost will be more than capable of showing you the way.”

He started off towards the café alcove, empty mugs still in hand. After a few steps, he stops and turns to face you. “I look forward to working with you, Guardian. I hope you have some bite to go along with that impressive bark.”

All you can do is stand there, somewhat shell shocked by how the conversation wrapped up. You thought that this might be the first time in your life that you’ve properly stood up for yourself and not gotten read the riot act as a result. ‘Not to mention the whole “take a weapon from my personal collection” thing. Wild.’

Poe was floating next to you, also watching as Zavala dropped the empty mugs into the café’s bus pan. He nodded towards the clerk, who waved cheerily at him, and walked with purpose out of the courtyard, not looking back to you once the entire time. When he was out of sight, you could have sworn you heard Poe exhale in relief. “I think he almost gave you a compliment at the end there.”

“Yeah. Yeah I think he might have.” Your voice sounded far away to your ears, mind too preoccupied with processing the previous hour. Also the caffeine jitters.

“Oh, and I have a question for you, Nev.” Pulling your gaze out of the middle distance, you glance up at your Ghost with a ‘hmm?’.

“Are you actually insane and you just haven’t told me yet?”

Barking out a laugh, you push your chair into the table and make for the same hall that Zavala left through. “What? No, of course not.” After a few steps, Poe course corrects so that you’re both heading in the correct direction of Zavala’s office. Grinning your wide grin at your little Ghost, you continue. “I’ve always been up front with you about that.”

⫸ Soon After, In Another Part of the Tower. ⫷

Zavala passed through the halls of the Tower, winding through corridors of steel with flickering fluorescents, ‘I need to find time to visit Tower Maintenance Management, these works orders are taking far too long to process’, and feeling the sun on his face whenever he passed into an open air walkway.

People greeted him as he passed. Tower employees, refugees, representatives of various City businesses that have come to trade. Guardians greeted him as well. While the civilian greetings were mostly quiet, reverent, sometimes a little afraid, the Guardians, his Guardians, spanned the whole range informal to formal. Some saluted as they passed, others giving a polite ‘sir’ and a head nod. His personal favorites were the ones that disregarded decorum entirely, calling out ‘Hey Big Blue!’, or some variation of it, from wherever they were.

Yes, those were his favorites, but you would never be able to tell by the look on face. He kept it stoic, impassive. Authoritative. He thought back to his conversation with the New Light, Nevret, and how she very nearly broke that stoicism. How she very nearly got him to crack a grin, to let out a chuckle, on more than one occasion. ‘I can’t believe how much of a wise ass that one is. It seems that Hunters are always Hunters, no matter their circumstances.’

It had been a long time since he had felt that kind of mirth from a simple conversation, especially with someone who amounted to essentially a stranger. A long time. At the very least, not since the Red War. Not since Cayde-

Zavala shakes his head roughly. He didn’t want to let his thoughts stray. Couldn’t let them. Rounding a corner, he reaches his destination. Tucked into a corner away from the rest of the hustle and bustle of the Tower, the doors to Ikora’s private study whooshed open with a soft hiss of air. The smell of insense wrapped around him, floral and pungent, and he had to fight the urge to sneeze. ‘I don’t know how she can stand the smell of this all day.’

Not looking up from her datapad, Ikora lounged on a overstuffed pouf, the brightly colored plush cushion nearly swallowing up her frame. Ophiuchus, her Ghost, bobbed lazily around the room, moving from one patch of sunlight to another. “So, how did the meeting with the New Light go?”

Doors whooshing closed behind him, Zavala walked further into the room. Tapestries hung from the walls, and the floors were layered with rugs of all colors and patterns. Low tables and poufs were scattered around the space, along with a number of paper books, scrolls of parchment, and the occasional tablet hewn from unknown material. He was sure that if he asked, Ikora would reassure him that what was chaos to his eyes was an orderly system to hers. That thought barely stopped him from compulsively organizing. His fingers twitched as he pulled the only actual chair in the space over to where his fireteam member was curled up.

He refused to lounge in a pouf.

Once seated, he huffed out, “I sent the report. I know that you’ve read it.”

Rolling her eyes, she lowered her datapad into her lap. “Of course I’ve read it. It was informative. Sterile.” Ikora smiled at Zavala, ever patient with the Titan. “I want to hear what you thought.”

Verbalizing his dissatisfaction with something between a hum and a groan, he leaned forward, resting an elbow on armored knee. Holding his head in that hand, he expressed his thoughts.

“She concerns me greatly.”

A moment of silence passed before Ikora prompted him with a bemused, “Go on.”

Raising his head, he spoke, deeply exasperated and much more freely than he would with anyone else in the system. “She is headstrong. Stubborn. She’s lived a whole life before this, a life where she has developed her own fully formed, very strong, opinions and personal moral code.” Zavala was gesticulating now, throwing an arm up in frustration, adjusting his large frame in the rather dainty chair, just generally being visibly agitated. “We have no hope of guiding her. Not if she doesn’t want to be. She strongly opposes showing any form of deference to anyone, and to top it all off-”

Zavala settled himself now, looking Ikora straight in the face. Her eyebrows were raised expectantly, a look of mild, relaxed amusement on her features. “She’s a complete wise ass.”

Ikora burst out laughing.

Waiting for her to compose herself, Zavala shifted in the chair, brows still furrowed and set into a serious expression. However, Ikora continued laughing. She was doubled over with it, clutching her stomach as it bubbled up from her, bright pockets of tinkling sound bursting around Zavala’s still scrunched face.

“I fail to see how this is a laughing matter, Ikora.”

Her laughter died down to a light chuckle, and she straightened up, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just was not expecting you to say that.”

After another moment, the Warlock Vanguard composed herself fully, looking Zavala straight in the face. “Now that we’ve addressed the reasons she makes you anxious because you can’t mold this New Light exactly to your liking,” Zavala scowled, fully aware that Ikora had lanced him right at the core of his issue with Nevret, “what do you actually think of her?”

Surrendering, he slumped boneless into the ornate wooden chair, weariness finally catching up with him. “I think,” he gritted out, “that Cayde would really have liked her.”

A somber quiet settled over the study at the mention of their fallen teammate. Ikora’s face twitched slightly as she suppressed the urge to harp on Zavala about things they long agreed to leave be. He didn’t notice, didn’t see her tell, and continued. “I think that I would prefer to have him here. If only so he could handle her instead of me.”

At that, Ikora’s face softened. “You don’t have to ‘handle her’ alone, you know. Not all Hunters are defacto your responsibility just because you’re Commander.” Leaning forward, she placed a kind hand on her silly, stubborn Titan’s knee. “I’m more than willing to have a hand in that. Besides, I would love to speak with her about her experiences in this alternate universe she says she comes from.”

Leaning back now, she picks up her datapad once again. “Not to mention she claims to be from well before the Golden Age. I’m very interested in seeing just what kind of person she is.”

Feeling at least some of the weight he bore lift from his shoulders, he looked to Ikora with fondness. And a small amount of exasperation. “Well, we should just hope that her presence doesn’t cause too much of a disruption to the Tower. Things are hard enough to manage as they are.”

It was then Ophiuchus joined the conversation.

“Well, I think that’s something you should give up on sooner rather than later, Commander.” Bobbing over to where the two of them were seated, Ikora’s datapad pinged with the sound of an incoming notification. She opened the message, and with a series of swipes and flicks, threw the video her Ghost linked up onto the holoprojecter embedded in her desk. “Look what I just found circulating the VanNet.”

The video was shot from high up, looking down on a courtyard from an opportune vantage point. The camera was focused on a pair of people sat at a table off to the side of the sunny space. It took a moment for Zavala to realize that he was one of the people focused in the shot. The New Light, Nevret, was the other. Then, the audio kicked in.

Zavala heard himself waxing poetic about the duty of Guardians, internally cringing at the sound of his own voice. Nevret’s rebuttal followed. She spoke well, firmly. Too firmly. Then, came the moment where she raised her hand to silence Zavala, asserting herself and stopping him from interjecting.

His face heated at that, and only grew warmer with the recorder’s commentary, which amounted to a deeply eloquent, “Oh, shit.”

The video continued until the conversation concluded, feed cutting out with the shaky movement of a Ghost desperately trying to catch up with their spry Guardian. The title of the video appeared on the stilled image. “New Light Serves Commander Zavala The Hand”. Groaning, the Commander slumps back into his seat once more.

“I don’t suppose there’s any hope of containment.”

Ophiuchus took a moment, perusing the thread the video was posted to. “Not likely. The thread itself already has a few hundred views, and dozens of comments. The reception is mixed, ranging from admiration to vitriol and offense on your behalf.”

Ikora perused the thread as well, brows raised and half smile on her face. “It seems our new Hunter has already made a name for herself. Or at least the beginnings of one.”

Finally giving up, Zavala stood up from his straight backed wooden chair and collapsed into the oversized pouf at Ikora’s side.

“Fantastic.”

Chapter Text

“Should I be… doing something?” Your voice was exasperated, tinged with a slight desperation that you couldn’t keep from seeping into it. “Like. Going on patrols, getting some hands on training, or. I don’t know. Something?”

It had been a few days since your meeting with Zavala and since then, you’ve gotten exactly one, (1), message sent to your comms unit. A standard digital welcome packet for New Light, basically a brochure, detailing the services and amenities available to you in the Tower. You have done the suggested things in the brochure, familiarized yourself with said services and amenities, and now? Now you were bored.

“I know you want to get out there, but you’re still New Light. No matter how extraordinary your Rising was.” Poe bobbed along beside you, repeating a version of what he’s been saying since you’ve been vocalizing wanting to get out of the Tower. So, since about fifteen minutes after the end of your conversation with Zavala. Plodding along the familiar path to the courtyard café you were fast becoming a regular at, you huffed at Poe for the thousandth time. He rolled his optic and responded with practiced, patient optimism. “You’re bound to get an assignment soon. Just sit tight. We’ll be back out there before you know it!”

“I know, I know. I’m just… eager, is all.” You chose a much lighter word for the feeling that was making your bones itch. Eager was nice. Tame. Helpful. Not at all like the gnawing, thrashing urge to get back out into the wilds. To get out there and do something. The little routine you’d established over the past week or so was nice, sure, but you were quickly realizing that you couldn’t just stick to the mundane flow of domestic routine. Not like you did in your previous life. ‘I was pretty shit at doing that anyway, actually.’

Groaning audibly, you rounded a corner into the courtyard, ready for the next step in said emerging domestic routine. Early morning sun filtered through colorful swaths of fabric draped across strategically placed pergolas, illuminating the terracotta tiles under your feet with a kind of stained glass effect. The courtyard opened up from under those pergolas, wide enough to feel open, but cozy enough to feel welcoming. Flowering vines crept up the walls, their aerial roots digging into the concrete, exposing the stone below the surface in more than a few places. Soft chatter and the gentle rustling of leaves in a light breeze calmed your nerves as your eyes were drawn to your destination.

Just a little alcove set into the thick walls of the Tower, ornate stonework and hand painted tile bordered the opening, creating an artistic halo around the café’s order window. The signage embedded in the wall read ‘مقهى شروق الشمس’, which Poe translated as ‘Sunrise Café’ for you. Nearly everything in the Tower was listed in a multitude of languages, not always containing English, and you were glad for Poe’s translation abilities. ‘Maybe I should look into becoming a polyglot. Might as well, have all the time in the world now.’

Striding across the courtyard, you shook your arms out as you did, a habit you noticed forming the longer you were stuck in the Tower. You’d begun to feel strange recently. Itchy, but not physically. Like there was a faint buzzing just under your skin that you couldn’t rid yourself of no matter how much you paced the halls of the Tower. It was only this morning that you finally realized you were going through the worst bout of restlessness you’d ever experienced.

You were anxious, twitchy, desperate to do something productive. Desperate to distract yourself from the feverish chill that settled under your skin, making your body break out into cold sweats. So, finding yourself without an assignment and orders to stick around the Tower, you decided to familiarize yourself with the small arsenal of weapons at your disposal. Over the past few days you’d frequented Banshee’s stall enough times that he finally told you to, “Post up behind the counter so you’re at least out of the way.”

Now free to ask all the questions you liked without bothering other patrons, you were soon very familiar with the capabilities of your new Linear Fusion Rifle, an Arc model called ‘Dead-Ender’. You’d gotten used to spending time crouched over your fancy new gun in the shadows of the gunsmith’s stall. Banshee had gotten used to your presence as well. Enough for him to have you grabbing the odd spare part or supply crate from the back, at least. Poe was beginning to suspect that he thought you were a new assistant dropped into his lap, not a bored New Light.

Smiling at the thought, you pull away from the anxious gnawing in your stomach, trying to take in the surrounding serene atmosphere. It was then you spotted a group of Guardians sat at one of the tables scattered around the courtyard. You’d seen other Guardians here before, and Poe, not for the first time, gently nudged you in their direction. “Go say hi! Introduce yourself!” Said in a hushed, encouraging whisper, he bonked your shoulder repeatedly, as if to push you in the direction of your fellow Lightbearers.

They appeared to be in the middle of a conversation, and as you were wondering if this would be a good time to interject and introduce yourself, your comms pinged. Pulling out your handheld, Poe peered over your shoulder at the screen, other Guardians seemingly forgotten. From the message preview, you see it is from someone with the handle @VAN-IR1.

“That’s Ikora’s official VanNet handle!” Poe chirped right in your ear, whirring his shell in excitement. “Maybe it’s about an assignment! Open it, open it!”

Chuckling, you were beginning to suspect that your little Ghost was just as eager to be out of the Tower as your were. “Yeah? What about introducing myself to that group over there?”

Huffing, he settled on your shoulder. “Oh, don’t be smart, just read the message.” You laugh again, and flick your thumb across the screen, opening the message from the Warlock Vanguard.

{{VAN-IR1: Hello, Guardian. This is Ikora Rey. I hope you’ve settled into life at the Tower over the past few days. That being said, I’m sure you’re eager to get out and stretch your legs. Please meet me in the main plaza for a mission assignment.}}

The message was clear, well punctuated, and completely corporate. You tap your response rapidly, continuing to walk towards the café counter as you do.

{{NEVRET: you have no idea. feels like my legs are gonna detach from my body and run off without me if i dont get outta here soon.}}

You hit send, then immediately begin typing another message. A chronic double texter in this life and the last.

{{NEVRET: got a coffee order? at sunrise cafe getting mine.}}

Sending that one off as well, you can practically feel Poe’s disapproving stare boring a hole into your skull. You ignored it, waiting until your handheld pinged with her response.

{{VAN-IR1: Masala with two shots of espresso. No sugar. I look forward to meeting you, Guardian.}}

Grinning, you place the order at the counter, getting a near identical drink to Ikora’s, opting to keep the sugar for yours. Once done, you shoot off your reply.

{{NEVRET: nice, now i know what to bribe you with. ;] }}

Watching the barista prepare your drinks, you enjoyed ignoring Poe for just a little bit longer. When you could practically feel the heat coming off his processor, you glanced over to him, eyebrow cocked in feigned confusion. “Something wrong, Poe?”

You were expecting him to fly off the handle, in a good natured way of course, but off the handle nonetheless. He did not. Instead he slumped, and said in a deeply resigned and defeated voice, “There’s no hope for you, is there?”

Laughing, you simply said, “I’m being friendly.”

“You’re being insubordinate.” His little optic narrowed at you, finally shrugging his shell after a moment. “But at least you have the decency to be charming about it.”

Grinning, you gasped in theatrical delight. “You think I’m charming?”

Rolling his optic eye at you, he perched on your shoulder once again, waiting for your order to be finished up with. The barista popped open a little recycled cardboard carrier for you, securing the drinks in the cubbies. Your name was written in pretty, looping script on one of the lids, Ikora’s on the other. Pausing, you squint at the lids before looking up at the barista. “I never said the other drink was for Ikora.”

Smiling, the barista simply replies, “No one else has the audacity to order a masala with no sugar.”

Chuckling, you grab the drink carrier in one hand and wave a thanks to the young woman as you walk away. As you start in the direction of the Tower plaza, you catch the eye of one of the Guardians at the table, a Warlock if you guessed right, and raised the hand clutching your comms unit in a friendly wave. The Warlock started a bit, or at least you think they did, and averted their eyes, looking pointedly away from you while they addressed their group. None of the others reacted in any kind of way, so you just shrugged it off and tap your handheld with one thumb, messaging Ikora. ‘Fine then, no more friendly waves for you.’

{{NEVRET: on our way! should be to you in a few minutes.}}

Pausing, your thumb hovers over the hardlight screen, debating on whether or not to send the followup message. Shrugging, you think, ‘Fuck it’, and double text the Warlock Vanguard once again.

{{NEVRET: by the way, seems youve got a reputation at this cafe. no sugar in your masala? how audacious.}}

Poe sighs deeply, and you chuckle as you see the ‘other user is typing’ notification pop up in the chat window.

{{VAN-IR1: I don’t care for overly sweet things. Also, the sugar makes me antsy.}}

You snort in disbelief, rapidly tapping a reply.

{{NEVRET: so we’re pretending the double shot is blameless in that?}}

Distracted by your handheld, you nearly round a corner into a passing group of Guardians, another fireteam you think, and just barely manage to avoid a collision. Startled, you call out your apologies over your shoulder, continuing on your way to the plaza. Handheld pinging again, you come to a stop to check it this time.

{{VAN-IR1: I’ll see you soon, Guardian.}}

Pocketing it, you, “I know, I know” Poe’s chastising and reminder that you need to watch where you’re going, no matter how excited you are. You pull your masala from the caddy, taking a swig knowing full well the caffeine will do absolutely nothing for your ever present jitters. That the hot liquid will only exacerbate the sweaty, clamminess of your restless body. You enjoy it all the same, now practically trotting towards your first meeting with Ikora Rey.

After punching in new coordinates, you let Baby’s auto pilot take control, spending your short ride from the EDZ to the Cosmodrome inspecting the armor you picked up from Devrim. “You know, that was pretty cool. I had always wanted to get out to northern Europe. Bummer that I only get to see it post-apocalypse, though.”

You tug at one sleeve idly, pulling it over the wrist of your new glove, admiring the friction grips imprinted on the underside of each finger. Poe whirred in his new shell, shaking his chassis at your nonchalant attitude towards the Collapse. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time raiding Fallen lairs and hideouts.” He pauses, taking you in for a moment. “You look good, by the way! The armor suits you.”

Beaming, helmet long since tossed into transmat storage, you look towards your little Ghost. “You think so? Finally looking more ‘Guardian’ and less ‘dirty scavenger’?”

Laughter filled the cockpit as the ship burst through the cloud cover, reaching cruising altitude shortly after. “Definitely. More and more like a proper Guardian by the day.” Poe gazed out over the scenery, dense evergreen forests and snowy mountains dominating the view. “I like that my shell matches you, too. We look like a team.”

His voice carried a strange quality to it. Almost wistful, Poe’s quiet, reserved expression of happiness brought a smile to your face. Hundreds of years he’d been looking for you. Looking for his partner. Now he finally had one, and he was allowing himself to be pleased about being decked out in matching camo print. ‘Guess I gotta make sure that we’re in coordinated outfits forever.’

Reaching out, you pat his chassis gently. “Course we do. Plus, getting you in something a little more subtle than ‘gleaming and alarmingly white’ has been on my to-do list since you first found me.”

Chuckling, the two of you admire the fluffy clouds and moment of peace in silence. Just when you’d really settled in, about fifteen minutes, Baby started her descent. Seeing the Cosmodrome in the near distance, you were shocked at how quickly you got here. You were about to verbalize that to Poe when your ship’s comms pinged with an incoming call request. Seeing it was from @S-HAN, you grinned and accepted the request.

“Hey, stranger. Didn’t think I’d be back in your neck of the woods so soon.”

Teasing smile in your voice, a staticky burst of laughter came through Baby’s charmingly dated speaker system. *I know, I’m surprised. You miss me already?*

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t stop the edges of your mouth from tugging into a wider smile. “No, smartass, I’m here on assignment. On the hunt for a weapon frame that Cayde-6 stashed somewhere around here.” You paused, briefly wondering how much you should say about this over comms. Deciding that if the Vanguard wanted this to be a secret, they would have told you, so you shrugged and continued. “Seems like the Super Conductor could be compatible with it. Resurrect some Golden Age weaponry, or something.”

Shaw hummed in understanding, managing to only sound slightly disappointed. *Well, I’m glad that the Super Conductor’s being put to good use.* Just then, Baby notified you that you’d reached your destination shortly. *I’ll leave you to it, then. But, hey.*

Voice turning somewhat serious, your ears perked in response to the change in tone. *You get in over your head? Call me. I still owe you a rescue or two.*

A pang of somber seriousness shot through you, and you decide to respond without any snark for once. “Of course. No more dead Guardians.”

*Yeah, no more dead Guardians.*

Smiling, you prep for transmat, jumpship now hovering over the drop location. “Alright, I’m heading out. Wish me luck in finding one of your old Vanguard’s stashes?”

*Oh, absolutely. This is Cayde we’re talking about, you’re going to need it.* Groaning, you let go of the small hope that Poe was over exaggerating when he said that Cayde liked to be extra tricky with his stash locations. *So good luck! Shaw, over and out.*

With that, the connection ended, a little ping indicating that Shaw disconnected. Pulling out your handheld, you shot off a message to the handle he had called you with.

{{NEVRET: ill drop by again soon! probably. :] }}

Shaw sends a return message before you could even close out the window.

{{S-HAN: Oh good! You got your VanNet account set up. And yeah, dont be a stranger alright? See you around Nev :-) }}

Chuckling, you toss the comms unit back into transmat storage. ‘Of course he uses the smilie with the nose. Dork.’

You dropped out of transmat onto the dry, brown grass of the Cosmodrome. Taking a deep breath, the familiar scent of rust and Eliskni ship fuel filled your nose. Baby soared overhead, shooting back into the upper atmosphere to hover and wait until it was time for you to leave. Checking your HUD, you searched for the marker indicating which direction you need to head in. Still needing to seize a good amount of location data from the Eliksni, Poe marked one of their stomping grounds for you to get started with.

Just as you got yourself oriented, he drifted into your view, smug aura surrounding him. Eyeing you Ghost with suspicion, you cautiously ask, “...Why are you looking at me like that?”

Poe simply shrugged his shell. “Oh, no reason.” Continuing, you were sure that if he had a mouth it would be set in a shit eating grin as he did. “I’m just glad that you and Shaw seem to get along so well. It’s cute.”

Snorting out a laugh, you wave him off, mounting your summoned sparrow. “Yeah? You and Hattie gonna set a playdate up for us soon?”

Popping into your Light in preparation for the journey, Poe responded directly into your mind. [You know, I just might. You haven’t spoken to a single person outside of Banshee and the café’s baristas since you’ve been to the Tower.]

Just as you were about to open your mouth to retort, that yes you had spoken to someone else, Poe all but shouted, [Zavala and Ikora don’t count!]

“Fine, fine, I’ll try to be more,” wincing, you force out the word in a display of mock, exaggerated umbridge, “sociable.”

Poe huffs at you, and you cackle as you crank the throttle of your sparrow and shoot off towards your destination.

[Hm. The only other note is, ‘Chasm. Have fun.’] Trotting along familiar lengths of metal catwalks, you groan internally at the late Vanguard’s little note. [Considering we’re hunting for one of Cayde’s stashes, the first word is a threat, the last two sarcasm.]

The internal groan turned external when the catwalks ended abruptly at the mouth of, you guessed it, a massive fucking chasm. Scooching close as you were comfortable with to the edge, you peer over into pitch blackness. A piece of scrap rested near your foot, and you opted to kick it over the edge. Just to see.

The little piece of scrap metal tumbled into the darkness, never to be seen, or heard from, again. Seriously, you strained your ears and you couldn’t hear the bit of metal hit the ground, bending over slightly in an unconscious effort to extend your hearing. ‘Oh, wonderful.’

Just then, a bolt of crackling energy shot past your head, singeing your hood as it narrowly missed you. However, the shock of the shot set you just off kilter just enough to lose your footing and begin to tumble into the chasm below. Screeching, you flail, flinging one arm out, grasping at anything to save you from the fall. Managing to grab the very edge of the catwalk, it groaned under the sudden force of your grip, and you were left dangling by one hand over what might as well be an endless fall.

The stray Shank fired off another round of energy bolts at you, once again, narrowly missing. Your free hand instinctively draws Lonesome, and the Shank falls into the abyss shortly after, not getting another chance to shoot at your dangling frame. Panting, a wave of intense vertigo washes over you, electric terror coursing through your limbs as you really register the feeling of empty nothing beneath your feet. It is paralyzing, and sets your body alight. You holster Lonesome, managing to haul yourself up onto safe ground, crawling a good few feet away from the edge.

[Watch you angles. That fall would absolutely kill you.]

Sprawled on your back, chest still heaving, you listen for any of the telltale whirring that would signal the presence of more Shanks. Hearing none, your pulse quiets, your breathing evens. “Right. Good to know.”

You pull yourself up after a moment, significantly more cautious around the ledge now. “Would you be able to get me up if I did fall?”

[Oh, absolutely. I just can’t imagine falling to your death is a pleasant way to go.]

Sighing in relief, you choose to look up into the hollow wall instead of down. “So. Gonna guess we’re going up?”

Poe responds after scanning the area for a moment, popping out of your Light and right back in. A routine your nerves insist on keeping, one the sweet little Ghost hasn’t once complained about. [Yes. From what I can tell, the cache is most definitely up.]

Still feeling the wobble in your legs, an electric jolt of vertigo running through them and up the rest of your body, you breathe the stale air surrounding you deeply. [Also,] Poe continues, [it is worth noting that the Shank you took down just now was likely on a patrol. I imagine that its owners will come looking for it once enough time has passed.]

“Right.” You take another deep, steadying breath that barely does its job. “So, time is of the essence and I’d better get moving?”

His answer came quickly. [Without a doubt.]

Eyes scanning around for footholds and platforms, you spot one, and before you can scare yourself out of it, you leap towards the platform, taking your fear and vertigo hurtling over the edge with you.

“Mother fUCK-”

Your scream was cut off abruptly by the loud metal clang of your body slamming into the metal pipes crisscrossing the vast chasm below you. Also by the shattering of your spine.

Coming to on the platform you’d jumped unsuccessfully from in a burst of Light, you let loose a string of curses, shaking your limbs out as you did. “I swear to whatever is listening, when I get my hands on that Exo motherfucker-”

Still out and about in the world, Poe cuts off your threat of violence towards Cayde-6. “Right, well, luckily for him, he’s dead, so he won’t be able to suffer your wrath. Now come on, you almost made that jump!”

Huffing, you ran a hand over your helmeted face, trying to calm yourself.

“Ah, yeah. Right. Nearly forgot about that for a second.”

Not only was falling to your death deeply unpleasant, as Poe predicted, you’ve done it nearly a dozen times now. You were sick of it. So sick of it. Every platform you spotted managed to be just out of reach, just too slippery to find purchase, just too brittle to hold your weight. It was infuriating. You barely even knew where you were going, getting no navigational help from Poe until you rose farther, farther, farther into the walls of the Cosmodrome. ‘I have to be going about this wrong. I’m missing something, I have to be.’

Plonking down on the platform, your legs dangled over the edge, no longer bothered by vertigo or the fear of falling. ‘Something, something, exposure therapy.’

Letting yourself fall backwards, you laid down, gazing up with arms splayed out above your head, unable to see an end to the walls built around you. Poe hovered in front of your face, shell drooping ever so slightly. “I’m sorry that I’m not able to be of more help to you. I don’t have to worry about needing a solid surface under me, so I’ve never thought about platforming like this.”

Your grouchy face cracked into a smile under your helmet. You’d told Poe about your disdain for platforming mechanics in video games, and about how this was all a special kind of hell for you. How this portion of the ‘tutorial’ in the game version of this reality wasn’t nearly as difficult as this. Then you had to explain what platforming was. “It’s alright, bud. Not your fault.”

You pat Poe on the shell as he settled to rest on your stomach, and just as you were about to say something about never having done this before either, something about what Poe said clicked. ‘Of course I’m not getting anywhere with this.'

It was so simple. So simple, and so stupid. This was a puzzle, a challenge posed by the most Hunter of all Hunters. Of course you weren’t getting anywhere. You weren’t thinking like a Hunter. You were still thinking like you. “Hey, Poe?”

Shell twitching, he acknowledged you with a, “Hmm?”

“Cayde was a tricky bastard, right? Like notoriously sneaky and really enjoyed putting people through the ringer?”

Sputtering, Poe shot up from his spot resting on your stomach, regarding you with mild shock. “Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say he was a bastard,” you rolled your eyes at his pearl clutching, “but I do agree that he was tricksy.”

Humming in thought, and thoroughly convinced that Cayde-6 was in fact a bastard, you reassessed the vertical maze of platforms and pitfalls with different eyes. Gravitating at first towards the obvious, tugging your eyes away from established patterns was difficult at first. However, other pathways started opening up, previously unseen patterns revealed themselves. Pulling yourself upright, you dust off and plan for the next leap.

You move fluidly, confidently. Even when you had left behind the fear of the fall, and the paralyzing vertigo that came with it, your jumps were marked by hesitation. Anxiety. A habit of second guessing your actions. All things that you still hadn’t managed to break away from since your Rising. Now, you felt the moment it all left you. Felt the moment something inside you shifted, slid into place. A revelation of sorts. Climbing higher and higher, spotting likely platforms and ledges came to you easier, getting better at timing your little boosts, your double jumps, to get the most airtime possible. The hesitation was gone, and now you soared.

[I wonder how much of his secrecy was for safety, and how much was for fun.]

Poe mused, tucked away in your Light, after about ten minutes of consistent climbing with no real end in sight. The walls went on forever, and there wasn’t a single way into this vertical labyrinth outside of where you just came from. Snorting out a laugh, you thought back to your more sneaky and secretive tendencies. Writing notes regarding personal information like travel plans and medical history in a code only you knew, stashing wads of cash around your home in, frankly, insane places, even going so far as taking different and varied routes to and from your house when running routine errands. “I’m gonna guess a solid half and half. Paranoia, but make it fun, you know?”

Leaping nearly straight upwards to the next platform, you continue. “I gotta imagine it was fun exploring this place, too. Even more so finding a little nook hidden away that you could call your own.”

[Hmm. I suppose you’re right. The spirit of exploration is strong among most Guardians, Hunters especially.]

An easy silence fell over the two of you as you continued to climb, only interrupted by the occasional directional queue from Poe, directing you to go deeper still into the ruined structure. You’re really starting to question if Cayde had sent you on a wild goose chase when Poe’s voice sounded in your head. [I think we’re nearly there! My readings are showing it should be just ahead. Well, ahead and up.]

You sighed in relief, trying not to let the eagerness you felt to make you sloppy. Your body thrummed with excitement, so it took you slightly by surprise when Poe started speaking again, this time noticeably somber.

[You know, the math says that even those closest to Cayde would ever be able to find all of his stashes.] Your feet thumped solidly onto a stretch of massive metal piping, causing an eerie, hollow ringing to fill the air as you landed. Pausing in your climb, you listen to Poe with concerned intention. [The rumors of his misadventures don’t even begin to scratch the surface of the trouble he got up to. Maybe if Sundance was still with us…]

Now your little Ghost sounded like he was about to cry. You inferred that Sundance was Cayde’s Ghost, not actually knowing. The topic of Cayde and his death seemed slightly taboo around the Tower, so you had avoided asking about it. In fact, this was the first you’d really heard anyone talking about him, outside of the fact that he had died, anyway. Poe took a deep breath, or at least it sounded like he did. When he spoke next, his voice was stronger. He had put away what he was feeling when talking about Cayde. About Sundance. At least, he tried to. His sweet little voice still wobbled slightly. [But the memories of those we care about only hurt because we care.]

You stay silent, instead choosing to direct as much love and care towards the little Ghost tucked away in your Light as you could. [Thank you, Nev.] Clearing his throat, or, again, at least sounding like it, he continues, back to his normal, chipper self. [Anyway, let’s go! We’ve gotta be close.]

“Sounds good, little buddy.” The last few bounds and leaps were disarmingly simple, and it was barely another minute before you arrived at an opening in the walls. The frame of the doorway looked hacked away, the ruined hinges appearing as if they were melted, doors ripped from them once they were pliable enough. “Huh. Guess he couldn’t get the doors open the usual way?”

[Suppose not. Maybe he thought he didn’t need them with how far up the cache is?] Shrugging, you walk through the opening, anxious anticipation buzzing through you. This was very much a treasure hunt, and while you knew what you were going to find, the excitement was there all the same. Carrying on through a pitch black corridor, you let Poe pop out to light the way. Soon, after a couple of twists and turns, the soft glow of halogen lights could be seen just up ahead. Finally, you took your first step into one of Cayde’s infamous dens.

And it was filthy.

Nevermind the flickering lights and rusted walls, not too much to be done about that, but there were crumbling ceiling panels and hunks of scrap metal littering the floor, pushed sloppily off to the sides of the space in hurried piles. Pipes and thick, frayed wires were also scattered around, with barely enough cleared space for you to make out a path to the storage area.

At least the space that Cayde actually used seemed to be in relatively good order. Well, save for the dozens of bright red tickets littering the floor. There were boxes and supply crates stacked up on metal tables pushed against the far walls, all labeled, mostly organized. Eyes roaming over everything in the space, your gaze landed on a dull piece of metal tossed carelessly into a gap between the boxes and crates. Poe checked for traps one last time, and once assured that it was safe, you approached.

Scanning the dull metal on the table, Poe confirmed that it was the weapon frame you were looking for. Scrunching your eyebrows, you stepped forward to take a closer look. ‘I guess it is vaguely gun shaped…’

While drab, the metal of the frame was devoid of rust, and the only wear evident on it was the almost completely worn away paint job. In fact, you wouldn’t have know it was once painted if it weren’t for the flecks of cerulean blue that managed to hang onto the metal deep in the crevices of the frame. Pleased that you’d found what you were looking for, you stashed the frame in your storage.

“Alright! First official Vanguard assignment complete!” Poe chirped happily next to you, bobbing around your head in a happy tizzy. “Now we just need to hand the frame and the Arc Conductor off to Banshee! Piece of cake after all this.”

Grinning, the giddy buzz of accomplishment coursed through you. Wishing you remembered the name of the gun that was going to be fashioned from the frame, you wracked your mind for the name of the weapon. It was your first Exotic when you played Destiny 2, but you remember replacing it with a bow shortly after getting it. The frustration you felt with yourself only lasted for a moment. ‘If someone had told me that me paying close attention to Destiny 2 lore and quest progression was going to matter this much, I don’t know if I would have listened to them anyway.’

Huffing, you try not to let it bother you. This was an accomplishment! You ought to act like it. So, you shake your head and let your eyes wander over the rest of the den. “...Nev? Should I call down Baby so we can head out?”

Still regarding the boxes in the den, you pull one down off the top of the stack on the table next to you. Pulling out a knife, one of the many you’d picked up since getting to the Tower, you cut through the tape to reveal what was inside. Pulling back the cardboard flaps, you stare at the contents of the box in mild disbelief.

“Nevret? Are you okay?”

Turning your head to Poe, you just blanky state, “This box is full of instant ramen packets.”

Flitting over to you, the little Ghost takes a look over your shoulder. “Oh. Yes, I suppose it is. Cayde did have a thing for spicy ramen, so this isn’t too surprising.”

Shooting him a disbelieving look he absolutely couldn’t see through your helmet, you take a packet out and inspect it, looking for an expiration date. Finding it, you were pleased to see that the ramen, at least in this box, doesn’t go bad for at least another two years. “Oh, nice!”

Smiling, you put the packet back, close the box, and pop it into your storage along with the weapon frame.

“Uh. Nev? What are you doing?”

Busying yourself with checking the other boxes for expiration dates, you answer, somewhat matter of factly. “Taking all this stuff. Duh.”

Whirring around to try and face you, Poe sputtered, “Wh-what do you mean? You can’t just take everything!”

Confused, you look up from you task, after popping another two boxes into storage. “What do you mean I can’t take everything? Does all this instant ramen belong to the Vanguard or something?”

That last bit came out pretty sarcastic, but like. Come on. “Finders keepers, right?”

Poe just stared at you in shock, so you kept doing what you were doing, finding no fault in it. “Look, if we leave it here, best case scenario, it goes bad in a few years because no one comes to find it. Worst case, we leave a cache of food stuffs and who knows what else for the very hostile Eliksni to find.”

Looking him directly in the optic now, you plant one hand on your hip and finish making your case. “Either way, all this goes to waste. May as well grab it all while we can so it actually gets put to use.” Popping another box away, you get in one last quip. “Besides, I really hate grocery shopping.”

Rolling his optic, Poe relents, much to your amusement. “Oh, fine. You make excellent points. Which really is concerning, to be honest. You can be very convincing when you want to be.”

“Poe that's a good thing.” You’re laughing now, seeing as Poe was helping you in your endeavors, simply scanning boxes to check for quality before storing them. “It means we’ll get what we want more often than not.”

Voice mostly joking, Poe snaps back. “You mean you’ll get what you want.”

You clear the room shortly after, continuing to banter back and forth with Poe, a comfortable conversational rhythm that keeps you both occupied. You come across a few crates of ammo as well, deciding to donate them to the Vanguard. It didn’t match up with any weapons you had on hand, and you decided that you may as well score some points with Zavala if you could.

Aside from that, you now had enough instant ramen to feed you for years. Which was kind of a horrifying thought, but hey. Free food. Not to mention those tickets scattered around the space were coupons for the ramen joint in the Tower, and they were still good to use. The late Hunter Vanguard seemed to be pretty one track, diet wise. ‘Did Exos even need to worry about diet?’ A thought you decided not to voice for fear of being insensitive, you simply shrugged and decided that Cayde was just severely unhinged. \u004d\u004f\u0052\u0045\u0020\u0054\u004f\u0020\u0046\u0049\u004e\u0044

“Okay, now can we go?” Poe had been patient and gone along with your, admittedly also unhinged, hoarding endeavor, but now his patience was running out. “I was serious about the Fallen coming to look for that Shank, you know.”

“Okay, okay, just one more sweep.” You placate him as you pass your eyes over the nooks and crannies of the space, deciding to look under the tables once more for good measure. Running your hand along the underside of the metal surface, you bump into something. “Oh, hello.”

Bending down, you wave Poe over to shine some light on what you’d found. About a foot back from the front edge of the table was a worn book, bound in leather, crudely affixed to the underside of the table. You tug at the scrap wires that bound it in place, and they popped off with little resistance. Pulling the book out, you give it a once over. The leather was scuffed, but soft. Very clearly used. It was barely larger than your hand, but thick, and stuffed with pages and paper clearly from other sources. Just as you were about to crack it open, Poe shouted.

“We’re about to have company! We need to move!”

Popping the odd book into storage, you bolt for the exit out the back of the den, just barely making it out before hearing the guttural sounds of Eliksni language coming up behind you. “Okay, you can call Baby down if you want to now!”

“You don’t say!”

Kicking the door of your apartment shut, you turn to your left and flop face down onto the couch, legs dangling over the edge, not even close to fitting on the small piece of furniture. Fleeing from the Cosmodrome followed by a lengthy debrief had drained you. Poe lets you stay flopped for all of two minutes before reminding you of the absurd hoard of instant ramen you insisted on taking that now needs to be put away. Whining into the couch cushion, you protest doing anything even remotely productive. “Can’t we just leave it all in storage?”

Bonking you on the head, your Ghost’s stern voice gives an answer. “Absolutely not. We don’t have unlimited space in there, and we are not leaving foodstuffs in it.”

Rolling to your side, you make a show of pulling yourself upright and off of the couch. “Fiiine.”

Box after box after box is unloaded into your small kitchen. Practically all cabinet space is taken up, with a few cases having to be stored in the little alcove next to your front door. You could feel Poe’s optic burning a hole in the back of your skull with each box unpacked, and you very stubbornly refused to look his way, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the mild panic in your eyes. ‘I sincerely hope I don’t get sick of this shit within a week. I will never hear the end of it.’

When it was finally all done, you decided to actually try one of the packs. Opting for a more conservative spice level, you stared blankly into the middle distance as you wait for the water to boil in the stove top kettle. At least until you remember the mysterious leather bound journal still tucked away, waiting to be read. Jolting up from your slouched position against the counter, you materialize the journal, turning it over in your hands a few times before unwrapping the cord that tied it shut.

You thought so before, but now that you were holding the journal in your bare, ungloved hands, it struck you how very worn the book was. There was practically no firmness left to the leather, scuffs and nicks telling a story of rough handling and heavy use. A spade, as in the playing card suit, was carved into the leather on the inside of the flap that folded over the front cover, with six hash marks etched into its center.

“Well that confirms it.” Poe’s voice is quiet as a whisper, as if not to alert anyone that might be listening to the truth of what you found. “This is Cayde’s. No doubt about it.”

Running your thumb over the etched figures, you pause, wondering for a moment about the morality of snooping through a dead man’s things. Just for a moment, though. ‘If I am nothing else, I am nosey.’

So, you shrug and flip open the leather cover. The book, you find, was actually a journal, and it is an absolute mess in the best sort of way. You flip through hand drawn maps and diagrams, sketches of terrain, and pages and pages of notes, thoughts, and reminders scrawled in surprisingly ornate cursive. The script was cramped, looping, and very rushed in more than one passage. You found yourself having to really concentrate to make out what a good portion of it was saying.

“This is… really surprising.”

Poe, still hovering at your shoulder, pipes up. “Not really. It was pretty well known that Cayde kept notes and journals and such. It makes sense that he would have one stashed away somewhere.”

Flipping back to the front of book, you shake your head. “No, I mean the cursive. I wasn’t expecting such pretty handwriting.”

Squinting his optic, Poe takes a closer look at the front page, a message of warning not to read any farther scrawled on the paper. “Pretty? I can barely read this.”

Inspecting the inside of the front cover, you notice a flap in the leather, a hidden pocket containing something thin and hard. Digging at it with blunt fingernails, you respond. “Aesthetically mindful, then. I don’t know, I would have expected him to write like a toddler, honestly.”

Aghast, it takes a moment for Poe to respond to you. By the time he does, you had extracted whatever was hiding in the journal’s cover. “You’re really holding a grudge over the platforming, aren’t you?”

“Yyyep.” Popping the ‘p’ in defiance, you turn over the object in your hands. It’s slim, and reminds you of a flash drive if it weren’t so small. “Do you know what this is?”

“Hmm.” Floating closer, Poe scans the object for a moment, whirring coming to a stop when he finishes. “It’s some kind of data storage drive. Looks like salvaged hardware, but I should be able to extract whatever’s on it and have it uploaded to your handheld?”

Nodding, you do as Poe instructs and place both the drive and your handheld comms unit on the counter. Shell whirring, he gets to work. While he does, you flip through the journal again, looking more closely this time. Nothing was ordered, or organized in any way that you could discern. Everything was written in stream of consciousness, like Cayde was talking to himself through writing. Still, something was off about it all. Scrunching your nose, you subconsciously lean closer to the pages, rich leather smell filling your nose as you squint at the words.

You flip forward, then back again, then forward to a different section altogether, sure something was odd about the journal. At first glance, it seemed be a simple, if a tad chaotic, record of thoughts and observations about various places out in the wilds, spanning Earth and the rest of the System. However, the more you looked, the more you read, the more you noticed subtle patterns in the writing. Repeated phrases that seemed out of place with what the late Hunter was describing, the same ten dollar word used over and over. Even the margin doodles gave of a sense of strange familiarity, often referential to passages found in entirely different sections of the journal’s pages. It was something you couldn’t un-see once noticed.

It was at one of these margin doodles you squinted, scrawled in the same odd colored ink as a far removed sentence. Flipping back and forth between the passage and the doodle, something clicked.

“Hey, Poe, I think this journal is-”

Just as you looked up from the pages to address your Ghost, he chirped, “Done! It was encrypted pretty heavily too, but we should be able to see what was on the drive now.”

Glancing down, your comms unit lights up with a crackly video feed, showing what you assumed was another den or cache location. Dimly lit, dingy, with crates and boxes stacked against the far wall, most of them marked with a now familiar spade.

*Wh- Hey, are you recording already?*

A voice, one you were very familiar with due to a Firefly fixation in your early twenties, came from the comms’ speakers. Sounds of frantic footsteps and something being drug across a metal floor came through next, accenting another voice, indignant and feminine. *You told me to point in this direction and record, so that’s what I am doing. Not my fault you’re unprepared.*

Poe gasped, a small thing, heavy with recognition and loss. “That’s Sundance. That’s… that’s her.”

You turn your gaze back to the small screen, hunching over where it rests on the counter. Cayde-6, dragging an old metal chair, walks, no, saunters, into frame. ‘Huh. So that’s what he looks like?’

Clad in a ratty cape, leather armor, and-

Your brows furrow, and you lean closer to the screen. ‘Are those… Are those assless chaps?’

The Cayde on the screen sets up his chair, plonks down, and leans forward, propping an elbow up on one knee as he addresses the camera. Or in this case, Sundance.

*Alright. So you found my journal. Which means, you’ve been pokin’ your nose round someplace you shouldn’t have.* He takes a moment, silently looking into the camera, serious expression on his face. Your heart skipped, the feeling of getting caught snooping washing over you unexpectedly. Then, in an instant, his demeanor changed. Leaning back into the chair, he tossed his hands up in a shrug, serious look wiped from his face. *But hey, no hard feelings. Not like you’re gonna be able to make much use of it, anyway. I’m just recording this as… we’ll call it a courtsey. Ain’t that thoughtful of me.*

Cayde cracks a grin, his faceplates cocked to the side mischievously. How he managed it, you had no idea. Then again, your main exposure to Exos was Banshee, and you’re not sure that he has ever smiled. Or made any other sort of facial expression. So maybe you weren’t exactly well versed in what an Exos face was capable of. While you were pondering the extent of Exo facial expressions, the recording of Cayde continued.

*Now, if you’re clever, you’ve likely caught onto the nature of the contents of this journal.* You perked, suspicions that there was more to the journal that initially seemed confirmed. *But don’t get excited. You’ve got my personal guarantee,* At this he jabbed a thumb at his chest, emphasizing his ‘personal guarantee’, *that you won’t be able to figure it out. So do yourself a favor and just take it on back to the Tower, will ya? I’ll pick it up, won’t even be mad at you for snooping.*

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself at that. *If you didn’t notice anything about the contents of this journal before finding my little recording here, well. Just means you aren’t clever, so. Just do as you’re told.*

You chuckle, any sort of commanding effect created by Cayde in the moments previous ruined by his side tracked thought. Still, he seemed to be happy with how it all turned out, as he fully relaxed into the chair, legs splayed to the sides in a classic man spread. *Alright ‘Dance, that should do it. Kill the recording.*

Still rolling, the Ghost responded to her Guardian, decidedly not killing the recording. *What, that’s it? That’s your big threat that’ll get a looter to return your diary?*

Sputtering, Cayde turns exasperated, any sense of cool demeanor gone. *How many times have I told you, it’s not a diary, would ya just cut the-*

The recording ended, freeze frame of Cayde leaning forward out of the chair towards Sundance stuck on the screen. You couldn’t help but laugh. Unexpected freezeframes were never flattering, and this was no exception. Half in and half out of the chair, distressed expression frozen on his face and still mid-sentence, you were sure this had to be one of the least becoming images of the late Hunter Vanguard ever captured. Picking the comms unit and the drive off the counter, you stash them both away in transmat.

“Do you know what Cayde meant? About the journal?” Poe was bobbing next to you, looking expectant in spite of himself. Actually, you were surprised that he hadn’t suggested returning the journal to the Vanguard, even if Cayde was no longer around to ‘pick it up’. Pleased, you were happy that your little Ghost was just as much of a sucker for a good mystery as you were.

“I do.” You grin, opening up the journal for Poe to see. Flipping through the pages, you point out the things you noticed while he was extracting the data file. “You see? Here, here, and here.”

The things you pointed out were in very different area of the book, separated by many pages, some added in hastily, tape ripped and jagged around the edges. Scattered throughout the journal, winding through all the words and illustrations, were little bits of information, connected by a common threat of something. An unusual turn of phrase, strange punctuation, even ink color. On their own, they were random phrases, silly doodles, sentences that seemed to blend into the surrounding paragraphs seamlessly. But together? They said something. Told a different story. Pointed in a different direction. “Then, look…”

You continue, highlighting a few more instances of these threaded together pockets of information, even finding others as you did. Poe followed along, nodding his chassis as you pointed things out, asking questions for clarification once or twice. “So, what is it? It’s some kind of code, clearly, but for what?”

Grin widening, you feel a little manic, but mostly excited. “I think these are describing places. I’m- I’m pretty sure this is a map of some kind.” Eyes glittering, you beamed at your Ghost, a sense of adventure that you hadn’t felt since you were a child welling up within you. “If I’m right, and I really think I’m right, this is a written map of Cayde’s dens.”

Poe pauses, thoughtful for a moment before responding. “If you’re right about that, then that would mean we have something really incredible here. Like I said, most of his dens, caches, and hideouts were unrecorded. Well.” Stopping, he corrected himself. “At least not recorded officially.”

He pauses again, scanning the journal in your hands briefly, checking to see if he had missed anything in the worn leather and ragged pages. “You’re going to keep it, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.” Holding it up, you shake it at Poe. “And I’m going to find these hidden dens of his. Who knows what else he’s got stashed away. Hopefully more then just boxes of instant ramen, at least.”

Suddenly self conscious, you ask tentatively, “You don’t think that I should turn it in, do you?”

Humming in thought, Poe shakes in a negative motion. “No. No I don’t think you should. Finders keepers, right?”

Whooping, you punch the air in a show of excitement, delighted that your little buddy is on the same page as you are. “Hell yes! Now, I think that we can absolutely figure this out if we put our heads together, well my head and your processor, cause I’m betting that a lot of the places described in this are off planet, like this one right here, I’m pretty sure it’s on the Moon, and I would absolutely love to go to the Moon, used to dream about it as a kid, but I’m not sure-”

Completely on a roll, your excitable rambling was cut off by a confused Poe. “Uh, Nev? We can’t go to the Moon.”

Canting your head to the side, it was your turn to be confused. “Why not?” You remembered a ‘Moon’s haunted’ meme that made the rounds in the corner of the internet you inhabited, but you were a Guardian, right? That shouldn’t mean the whole Moon was off limits.

“Well. I mean, we can’t? Zavala grounded all Guardians after Cayde’s death.” Now you were really confused. You were certain that wasn’t something that happened in the game, not even as part of the tutorial. You went to Nessus right away, you were sure of it. Poe went on, speaking as if this was an assumed fact of life. “Unless you’re a part of a special task force, you’re bound to Earth only operations. Jumpships can’t even break the atmosphere without clearance. There’s a software installed in all Vanguard operative’s ships that prevents it. Even then, in order to leave the Tower we have to be on an assignment or get a request approved.”

A moment passes where you just look at each other. You had no idea what to say, how to respond to what he was saying. It didn’t make any sense. Bobbing over to you, Poe taps your forehead lightly with his shell. “Are you okay? I thought you’d know all this, since you had ‘played the game’ for a bit before you got here.”

Looking up at him, you cup your hand for him to settle into. Brows still furrowed, you became more and more certain that this was not lining up with what you remembered. “Yeah, I’m fine bud. But no, I didn’t know about that.”

Walking across your little apartment, you toss the journal on the coffee table, sinking into the couch shortly after. Poe stayed cradled in your hand, now resting on your lap as you looked down at him. “Guardians were never grounded. Not even after Cayde was killed.” Scrunching your face, you strained to remember as you continued. “I’m pretty sure there was a big quest around that, too. ‘The Guardian’, the player character, went off to chase after the killer. It was like. A whole thing.”

“Oh…”

Continuing, Poe rose out of your hands and hovered around the table, glancing down at the pages of the journal as you absently flipped through it. “We really can’t leave the Tower without permission?”

You couldn’t keep the disbelief from your voice. The feeling of being confined, denied the basic freedom of movement, clutched at your chest, constricting your breath. The walls of your apartment seemed to be getting closer, closing in on you with each passing second. Clammy sweat broke out on your forehead, the feverish chill that’s still stubbornly set deep in your bones amplified by the panic setting in.

“We can go into the City, but apart from that we have to stay in the Tower.” Distressed, Poe circles back to you, bobbing just in front of your face. “I’m sorry, I really thought you knew. It hasn’t really been all that long since Cayde, and Zavala hasn’t taken it well. Apparently it’s caused some tension between him and Ikora.”

Cocking an eyebrow, you were about to ask how he could possibly know that when he beats you to the punch. “Unpaired Ghosts have a kind of… information network. We hear things. See things. Perks of being little, and all.” Huffing, he settled back in your cupped hands. “Just something I heard in passing, though. Who knows if it’s true.”

You hum in thought, leaning back into the worn couch cushions. “This sucks. I have an honest to god spaceship and I can’t even take it out for a spin without asking Daddy for the keys.”

Scrunching your face, you realize you just called Zavala ‘Daddy’. ‘Fuck’s sake, never doing that again. Ew.’

Popping up again, Poe’s shell whirs and twitches as he speaks. A little tell of his you’ve noticed that happens before he suggests something… unorthodox. “I might have an idea. You’re a Hunter. And Hunter’s need to be out in the wilds. You need to have some sort of freedom.”

He bobs around the room now, almost like he’s pacing. “It’s why there aren’t really any veteran Hunters around. They wouldn’t stand being grounded, so they mostly all took off before the ground order came through. That and they’re avoiding The Dare.”

You wanted to ask about what ‘The Dare’ was, but Poe was on such a roll you couldn’t find a good time to interject. “So. How about we take assignments as normal. Do them by the book. Get to the location, do the job, report back. But!”

At this, he whipped around, suddenly positioned directly in front of your face again. Startled, your eyebrows shot up, but you couldn’t keep a grin off your face at the conspiratorial tone of your Ghost’s voice. “In the downtime, we figure out this journal. We might not be able to get to off-planet dens, at least not for a while, but we can absolutely find Earth bound ones. We just need to figure out where they are, and try to take solo assignments in the general vicinity.”

Exhaling, the panicked tightness growing in your chest began to release. Sure, you were restricted, but you weren’t trapped. Far from it. And more importantly, you weren’t alone. So, you smile, and rise from the couch. “Alright, then. If we’re gonna do this, I’m going to need supplies.” Making for the door, Poe follows after you. “Is there something like an Office Depot around here?”

“A what?”

Chapter Text

Your neck hurts.

Eyebrows scrunched, a groan rumbles from your chest, irritated that your sleep has been disturbed by something as mundane as muscle soreness. Your groaned again, any attempt at readjusting to find lost comfort unsuccessful. Then something else registered. A low beeping broke through the veil of sleep you were desperately trying to hold onto, accompanied by… someone’s voice? No, no, there was absolutely a voice chattering on and on while you were trying to sleep.

Just as you were thinking about how rude that was, a very solid bonk to the head made you shoot upright from the hunched position you had fallen asleep in. Dazed, bleary eyes took in the piles of notes strewn across the coffee table before you. Your mouth was very dry. A reminder of the long, uninterrupted hours spent pouring over the open leather-bound journal you had been drooling on just a moment before.

“Nevret! Light’s sake, you sleep like the dead.”

Poe was hovering in front of you, and just as you blinked him into focus, he darted off to the side of the table. Squinting, you saw him nudging your comms unit across the cluttered surface towards you. Or at least, he was trying to. “The alert! It’s going off!”

Head tilting to one side, your eyebrows remained furrowed. Confusion was the only thing you were capable of holding in your sluggish mind. Poe rolled his optic, clearly frustrated by how slow on the uptake you were. Huffing, your little Ghost zipped back in front of your face, gently tapping his front fin to your forehead.

“The alert for assignments? Ones that are in proximity to Cayde’s dens? You know, that alert?”

Another blink and another moment pass before the lump of fatty tissue you call a brain jolts to life. A strangled kind of noise, one you meant to convey that you had heard and understood Poe, clawed its way out of your throat as you scrambled to grab your comms unit. Clumsy hands swept clutter to the floor as you pawed for the device, finally silencing the alert that had been going off for a good minute now.

You drew it up to your face, a scant few inches from the end of your nose before remembering that your eyesight was now a crisp 20/20 even without glasses. Voice still waking up, you rasp out, “Another Cabal assignment. Just scouting.”

“What’s the location?” Poe hovered over your shoulder, optic trained on the display of the device.

Hauling yourself up, you hit ‘accept’ and proceed to tap through the various pages of disclaimers and wavers; a necessary preamble to accepting an official scouting mission through the VanNet. You’d done a few of these scouting assignments in the past weeks, so all of the information you needed to input was pre-saved. Honestly, you didn’t bother reading anything thoroughly anymore.

“Dunno yet, tapped into the wavers and junk before I had a chance to look.” A couple short lived loading screens gave you time to get a mug of instant field ration coffee together. Solar energy bloomed in your fingers that gripped the mug, heating the room temperature water quickly. Tip the packet in, stir, and something resembling coffee was ready to be dumped down your throat. While the ‘coffee’ cooled, you grabbed a bottle of what from your fridge. Lifting it to the back of your neck, you rest it there for a moment, trying to cool yourself down. ‘I really need to see if these units can have better climate control. I’m always so fuckin’ hot.’

A moment later, yours comms unit and Poe pinged. Mission summary received. Poe’s shell twitched, betraying his excited anticipation, even though his voice remained relatively steady. “Hmm. Old Chicago? I’ve never been there. It was actually on the list of places to search for my Guardian before I found you.”

Humming, you looked over the document, eyes flitting to the wall adjacent to the kitchenette. Setting the waterbottle down, you grab your mug. “I’ve been there a couple times. It was just ’Chicago’ then, though.”

You moved to stand in front of the wall, eyes trained on a map of the American Empire, formerly known as the United States. A highly useful thing you managed to scrounge up from a swap meet in the City. Unfortunately, you very quickly had to give up any hope of finding a map with recognizable state lines or country borders in your search. The one you had pinned, taking up half your wall, was a relic from just before the Collapse. Or a copy of one, you hoped. Sipping your ‘coffee’, you thought, ‘I doubt the nerds at Fu’an Institute would let an original go.’

Though honestly, you didn’t care. This one had recognizable city names at least, and was one of the few you could find that wasn’t covered in old, Dark Age War Lord territory borders. You were pretty sure those ones were bogus anyway. The War Lords didn’t really seem like the type that’d allow themselves to be mapped.

Another moment and another sip pass, deep in thought. You must have pulled some sort of face while drinking your ‘coffee’ because Poe chirped up with a sentiment he’d been reminding you of for the past few days. “You know, we could pop over to the café for coffee. I’m sure it’d be better, and you could use a quick break before we ship out.”

Your eyebrows scrunch, disbelief written across your face. “Poe, this is a break. I’ve done nothing but sit around for most of the past week.”

“No.” Chiding you, Poe zipped over, stopping to hover between your face and the map on the wall. “You’ve been sedentary, yes, but all this?” His little fins gestured to the room around you, an adorable display that you tried not to react to. “This is work. You need a break.”

“Okay, okay.” You throw your free hand up in a display of surrender, attempting to placate your little caretaker. “I’ll take a break. After we find this den.”

Poe groans dramatically, but concedes. “Fine. But I’m holding you to it. You’re immortal. You’ve got all the time in the world. Don’t burn out before you even hit the six month mark.”

“I won’t, promise.” And if two of the fingers looped through your mug’s handle were crossed, well. You’ve always been a little too eager when it came to things that grabbed your interest. ‘Dog with a fuckin’ bone.’

“So,” you continue, “it looks like the scouting mission will take us within a hundred kilometers of where those clues pointed to.” Attention turned back to the map, you gestured to a small cluster of notes pinned on top of the yellowing paper. They were connected to another pin by a short length of string situated at the southern most tip of Lake Michigan. The scraps of paper were covered with quotes, your own speculations, and a traced doodle, all pulled from different parts of the journal. It was your hope that this mess of scribbles and notes pinpointed the location of a den.

‘Big on the ‘hope’. ’

The string of clues leading to your assumption were borderline deranged in their nature, so you couldn’t be completely sure. Poe was also skeptical. An outlook you understood, as one such clue was a coffee stain, outlined in umber ink. A coffee stain you recognized, that you thought you’d recognized, as Lake Michigan. Poe recognized it as phallic.

Especially because the accompanying scrawl made a crude joke about the coffee stain’s ‘tip’.

“I’m still not convinced that stain is anything but a stain. Cayde was pretty clumsy when it came to that kind of stuff, you know.” Poe had come to rest in the crook of your neck, looking up at the notes with you. “Shockingly clumsy, actually. I could never figure out if it was an act or if it was genuine.”

Bringing a hand up to pat his shell, you agree. “Yeah, he does put on a pretty good show of being kind of a fuck up. Doesn’t really match up with most of the reports, though.”

You take a step forward, eyes focused on a note that read, ‘...and I was tempted to put it all on black…’, accompanied by ‘???’. That bit was your addition, as you couldn’t figure out exactly what that passage was referring to. “Especially when you start digging into the more ‘unofficial’ stuff. His friends always seem to have some outlandish, overly heroic tall tale to spin about him, and those on the other end of his gun talk like he’s the fucking boogie man.”

Reaching out, you tap the note you couldn’t quite crack. “I still think this is related somehow. It’s written in the same brown ink as the rest of the clues. It was the only sentence out of pages and pages of rambling about a good poker hand that was written in this specific color.”

Poe trills thoughtfully, a little low buzz and twitch of his shell on the skin of your jaw bone. “If we’re following that logic, I’d have to agree. Though I’m using the word ‘logic’ pretty loosely here.”

A little huff came from the little Ghost before he continued.

“And I think the term ‘fuck up’ is a little harsh. Goofball, for sure, but he really was a capable Vanguard leader.” Floating up, he scanned the portion of the map you’d both been studying, saving it as a reference for when you’re out in the field. “He led the Hunters as well as you could expect anyone to lead them. Unless you’re counting Tallulah.”

A deep sigh rumbles out of you. Turning to the kitchenette, you dump the dregs of your ‘coffee’ into the sink, rinse the mug out, turning it upside down balanced on the lip of the sink to dry. “Yeah, I know. He just seems so…” You pause, searching for any other more charitable word than the one that popped into your head. Failing, you sigh out, “Simple.”

You could practically feel Poe roll his optic at you. “Alright, I give up. Whatever opinion you’re going to have about Cayde, I’m going to let you have it.”

He sounded so defeated, so resigned, you couldn’t help but chuckle. His mutterings about your stubbornness only fueled your laughter as you went about preparations for the mission. You wanted to ship out soon as your jumpship was cleared for launch, so most of your things were already together.

Once done, you pop your armor on, tugging on the numerous straps and buckles, ensuring a secure fit. “Think we’re ready, little buddy?”

Settling into your hood, Poe quips, “As we’ll ever be, big buddy.”

The uneven coastline sped by as you looked out over a vast expanse of blue, blue water. Sun still high overhead, the light refracted off the small waves whipped up by the wind. The lake glistened.

You became lost in it, remembering your many layovers in O’Hare International Airport. Remembering the view of the lake that accompanied them. You never thought that’d you think fondly of layovers at O’Hare, but after seeing the ruined wasteland that Chicago, sorry, Old Chicago, had become, it was a line of thinking you couldn’t stop. Waxing nostalgic about even the most tedious aspects of the society you once lived in. The memories tugged on your heart. A strange feeling, caught halfway between grief and gentle yearning, filled you.

Sighing, you redirect your attention to the datapad propped up in your lap, still open to the report you were typing up for the scouting mission.

VANNET POSTING ID NUMBER (IF APPLICABLE) :: 497.1175
ASSIGNMENT DESIGNATION :: Scouting
LOCATION OF ASSIGNMENT :: Old Chicago, Earth, Sol System
ASSIGNMENT FOCUS :: Cabal activity tracking
FIRE EXCHANGED Y/N :: No

The cursor blinked at you from the screen, positioned at the very beginning of an empty text field. Pursing your lips, stationary fingers hover over the touchscreen keyboard. The first sentence was always the hardest.

::Evidence of Cabal activity apparent in area formerly known as ‘Millennium Park’. Five abandoned drop pods found at the following coordinates; 41.88272721372085, -87.62328038781615.::

You pause, thinking of how best to word what came next. ‘Eh, fuck it. They’ll get a history less too, why not.’

::Four were found empty, with the remaining fifth crushed into a former landmark. In my time, it was called ‘The Bean’.::

Snickering to yourself, you went on to explain how it seemed that landing in the lump of metal caused the door mechanism of the drop pod to jam, trapping the Cabal inside. At least, that’s what you guessed, considering the smell of rotting meat coming from the cracked vessel.

Adding a brief bit of trivia about The Bean, you absolutely refused to call it CloudGate, further paragraphs took shape detailing the tracking of the group. They made their way inland, crossing the river that cut the derelict city in half vertically, and made their way further into the urban sprawl. They’d gotten maybe twenty or so kilometers in, trundling through narrow alleyways and under ruined overpasses, before they made a final camp on the outskirts of the city. It was there that they had been picked up. Evidence showed that a larger ship had swooped down from atmo, grabbing the Cabal unit to bring back to base.

‘Thresher class maybe…?’

You concluded that they had done a casual sweep of a former Golden Age urban hub, and left. No grand plan, no attempt to raise an outpost, no cause for worry. All in all, the actual assignment took just under three days to complete. ‘Not too fucking shabby, if I do say so myself.’

Satisfied, you attached numerous image and video files, hit ‘save as draft’, and turned your attention to the real reason you came all the way out here.

“Hey Poe, you pick up on anything yet?”

Poe’s shell whirred, and he hummed thoughtfully before responding. “No… Though I have to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for.”

Releasing a sputtering sigh, you redirect attention to the view panels of your ship. Suburban sprawl stretched out below you, interspersed with pockets of green that were slowly but surely taking back the land. Baby was flying low and slow, a good portion of her tech on constant lookout for hostiles in the vicinity. The rest of her scanners were dedicated to anything squirrely that could help in the search for a long abandoned Hunter den. You’d been steadily upgrading her tech, spending just about ever space cube of glimmer you had on top of the line scanners.

Nothing had pinged, unsavory or otherwise, and the buildings were mostly uniform in size and shape. Humming, you pop the journal out of transmat. “Yeah, neither do I.” Muttering more to yourself than anything, you self correct after a moment. “Well, I have half an idea. Maybe.”

Poe blips and whirs as he continues to scan the landscape. “I should hope so. You spent enough time digging up old reports and vid files of Cayde. You have to have at least some idea of how he thought by now.”

A low sound, half hum and half groan, buzzes in your chest. You run searching fingers over the written passage that you hoped was a hint as to what sort of structure the den was hidden in “Every time I think I have even a sliver of an idea about how this maniac thinks, even a clue about his processes, I’m proven wrong. So no, I’m not sure I really have any idea about the inner workings of Cayde’s mind.”

“Thought.” Poe corrects you, for the dozenth time. “Past tense. Dead, remember?”

Waving your hand dismissively, your gaze turns from the leather bound book in your lap to the view panels. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Semantics.”

“I don’t think forgetting about that would fall under ‘semantics’, but okay. Just be sure you don’t make that mistake in front of anyone else.” Poe bobbed over to directly in front of your face, locking optic with eyes. “Especially Zavala or Ikora. They wouldn’t take it well.”

Leaning forward, you tap your forehead with Poe’s front fin, bonking him like he so often does with you. “I know. I think I just need to take a break from the Archives. At least until I stop hearing his voice in my head instead of mine.”

Many, many hours in the Archives were spent listening to the late Vanguard ramble on in reports and meetings. You’d even managed to find VanNet forums with long abandoned threads that contained… less than official recordings of Cayde. Mostly in gambling dens, running his mouth. All in an attempt to make deciphering his inconsistent, infuriating codes a little easier. It had worked, at least a little. ‘At the cost of some sanity, sure. But hey. Not like anything about my life is remotely sane anymore.’

With a small smile on your lips you sigh, deeply appreciative of your much more socially conscious little buddy always looking out for you. The low, rhythmic beeping of Baby’s console filled the cockpit until Poe piped up again. “And I thought you said he was simple. How can you call him that but have no clue as to how he thought?”

Shrugging, you responded, attention still turned to the journal propped up in your lap. “You can be simple and also completely erratic.”

“So,” closing the journal, you pop in back into transmat storage and continue, quoting the passage. “‘And I was tempted to put it all on black.’ Maybe he’s referring to a black building? Or some kind of mark in black outside a decrepit underground rat hole?”

Poe rolled his optic at that. Your habit of disparaging Cayde and his choices had not faded, even if you were only half as serious as you were weeks before. In fact, you’d grown somewhat fond of the odd Exo in the time you’d spent trying to get into his head. Baby swooped low, circling back around the former suburban neighborhood, flying over the shoreline of the lake instead. You kept your eyes trained on the horizon, searching. ‘Not like I’d ever admit to it, though.’

“If it’s something like a mark on a building, we’re going to have to spend a lot of time searching. More than we have on this mission, at any rate” He whirred, deep in contemplative thought. “I suppose I’d have to get better at recognizing hidden spaces, picking up on stray tech that he might have left behind. I’ll look into upgrading Baby’s scanning tech again as well. We’ll have enough Glimmer for that after getting paid for this.”

You have to stifle a groan. “Who knows the next time an assignment is going to be in this area, scouting or otherwise. And that’s even assuming we’ll be the ones to get it.”

You squint, leaning even further forward in your seat, willing your eyes to be sharper, more perceptive. “No, we have to find it now. It shouldn’t be too hard. Just have to know the area to look and what to look for.”

“Only we don’t know what we’re looking for.”

Poe was right to point it out. You could only justify spending another day out here before reporting back. Standard, low level scouting missions were allotted five days of time in the field. Anything after that needed a signoff for extension from the Vanguard. A signoff that required serious justification backed up by a substantial amount of evidence. Something you didn’t have for your little under the radar side mission.

You continued to look to the horizon, strengthening Baby’s scanner as much as you dared before it was likely to attract unwanted attention. Lip chewing had begun now, and the struggle to keep an optimistic mind was well on it’s way. ‘Please be something obvious. Please, please, you stupid idiot, let your den be something so fucking obvious. Like a weirdly conspicuous mansion with a big spade on it, or a place under a billboard that says LOOK HERE, or a-’ \u00U+0054\u00U+0048\u00U+0045\u00U+0052\u00U+0045

You jolt forward in your seat. “Poe. We need to pull closer to that building, out there, by the shore.”

Poe directed the ship to cruise over to where you indicated. A huge building came into view, sat right at the edge of Lake Michigan. It looked familiar. Through all of the decay and rot, it still set off a glimmer of recognition in your mind. Not for the building itself, but the layout. Tall, with a huge parking lot, and another portion of the building that was just one story. Squinting at what appeared to be a somehow still standing porte-cochère, it clicked.

“This was a casino.” Your eyes locked on an overhang on the single story building, specifically on a half ruined sign that read ‘Lake Star Casino’. Or rather, ‘-ake Sta- –sino’. You auto completed the missing words, silently thanking the many years of watching Wheel Of Fortune with your grandmother for finally coming in handy.

“How can you tell?” Poe hovered by you, taking in the building as you set up everything to have Baby shoot off into the lower atmosphere after you transmat down to the surface.

“I grew up around a lot of them; would know the look of one half blind. I’m just glad it doesn’t look like the design changed much over the centuries.” Without looking up from you task at hand, hands shaking slightly from excitement and nerves, you continue. “Also the sign.”

“So… this has gotta be where the den is, right?”

You shoot Poe a look, mouth stretched wide in an excited smile. The final piece of the puzzle, ‘...put it all on black…’, fell into place. “Oh, absolutely.”

Wedged fingers pry open the front doors of the casino’s hotel. Once through, the snapped shut again, sealing you in with the old, stale air that filled the building. It was damp, wet with decades of uncycled lake air. Something in you perked, subconsciously trying to find similarities to the kind of humid molder the Hive gave off. ‘No, this isn’t Hive rot. Almost smells… fresh by comparison.’

While mold covered most of the cavernous space, you couldn’t detect the same organic rotting of viscera that came with being deep in Hive territory. Even though Poe’s scans had already come back clean, you let out a sigh of relief. As if reading your mind, your Ghost chirped, “Still nothing on my end. We’re the only ones around for a long while.”

“Good.” You felt yourself relax as you looked around. High ceilings adorned with what used to be fine light fixtures, worn carpet that was surely once a horrendous, tacky pattern, and slot machines lining the walls that once took people’s money by the millions.

Looking up, you spot signage that at one time directed patrons to the elevators, gaming floor, and the handful of restaurants the casino offered. Your eyes took in everything around you, wandering onto the gaming floor. Outside of the stray bullet hole in a machine or faint residue of an explosive, it looked remarkably untouched. Tutting thoughtfully, your wandering continued, Poe hovering behind you all the way. \u00U+0052\u00U+0049\u00U+0053\u00U+0045

“Why is it so dark?” Poe questioned the pitch blackness of your surroundings as his guiding spotlight flickered on. “Where are all the windows?”

Mind elsewhere, you answer distractedly while moving towards a nearby customer service counter, tugged along by a sudden hunch. “Casinos don’t have windows. Creates a kind of timeless effect if you can’t see the sun.”

Vaulting over the counter, your feet hit the damp carpet on the other side with a wet squelch. “Helps in the effort to make people lose time here. Keeps them spending more of their money at the machines and tables.”

The door leading back into the employees only area was locked. Huffing in annoyance, you pull back, bracing an arm on the counter behind you. ‘Nothing’s ever fucking easy, is it.’

With a swift and sturdy kick, the door caves in, ripped from its hinges. You grin, satisfied with not only how good that felt, but also in the fact that you had the ability to do something so outrageous. Poe just watched you, already more than familiar with your battering ram tendencies. Once the door was no longer in your way, he spoke up.

“That’s… Really predatory, actually. This was a normal business practice?” He sounded shocked by what you said.

“Yep.” Poking your head through the doorway, you saw what you’d been hoping to find, eerily illuminated by Poe’s flashlight. “Pretty fucked, huh?”

Before you stretched the inner corridors of the casino. The guts of the building; plain, concrete hallways that employees used to get from one place to another. They ran through the whole complex, helping keep the illusion of the casino’s ‘eternal playground’ vibe going. You hoped they would also give you access to functional elevators.

“Alright, lets go down this way. We’re looking for stairwells, or a service elevator. Preferably an elevator.”

Picking a direction at random, left, you start off with a confident gait, backlit by Poe’s light. Said light bobs a little as he zips to catch up with you, long strides having already taken you rather far down the hallway. “Hey- would you, Nev! Slow down, we don’t know if there’s anything waiting for us.”

Huffing, his shell twitches as his little mechanical trills fill the corridor. Scanning concluded, he nods to give you the go ahead. “We’re all clear. You’re welcome.”

You laugh at his indignant tone, and take care to follow Poe’s lead. He had a point. “Sorry, sorry. Just got excited is all.”

Poe trills again, accepting your apology. “So, why are we looking for an elevator? Shouldn’t we clear this floor first?”

You continue walking, not really sure how to answer. That should be your instinct, but a hunch had grabbed hold of you. You couldn’t shake it, at least not until you’d checked it out. “I dunno. I just kind of… felt like we should go up first.” You shrug, not really having anything more to justify the thought with, but trying anyway. “It’s a casino, right? Meant to be at least a little flashy. Maybe the den follows the same logic? I’d want to be in the penthouse, personally.”

Your footsteps echo in the hallway, accompanied by the distant drip of something leaking. Poe’s light casts a shadow on an indent in the wall ahead of you. Trotting towards the indent, you find your elevator. Acting before you could even ask, Poe interfaces with the control panel, breathing life back into the ancient lift. As the creak of rusted machinery echos behind metal doors, Poe asks, “If we’re going up anyway, wouldn’t it be easier to call the jumpship instead of using the elevator?”

“Oh, come on bud.” You bounce from foot to foot in anticipation, suddenly very sure you were on the right track. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Before he had a chance to respond, the elevator dings, and the doors open. Or mostly open. Gripping the sides of them, you pry them wider, with enough space for you to fit comfortably through. The light flickers slightly, but it illuminated the elevator well enough for Poe to turn off his light. It was huge, far larger than any customer facing lift would be. More industrial than anything, there were no frills to speak of. There was, however, a massive black spade painted on the back wall.

Smug, you grin. “Told ya.”

“Yes, yes. Never again will I doubt your razor sharp Hunter’s intuition.” Poe’s reply dripped in sarcasm, little voice echoing as the elevator climbed, button for the top most floor already punched. In spite of a few sickening lurches, the ding signaling your arrival came soon enough.

A breath caught in your throat. Stuck in your larynx, you choked on it as the elevator door jerked open, caught on decades of rust and mold. Your lungs half filled in a stuttering gasp a moment after the doors fully opened. Feeling a nudge on your shoulder, you hear Poe say, “Well go on. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, I know.” But you were nervous. In spite of all your bloviating, in spite of your smugness. You always are, really. Your whole life. Self assured, operating with an underlying confidence that drove you forward.

Success came to you often. Not always, but often enough to give validity to that rashness bubbling under the surface of your anxiety. But the anxiety still lived in you, spoke to you in hushed whispers that never stopped, permeating your every thought, your every action. An unwelcome chorus, chanting for reasonable things like caution, tempered expectations, and forming habits of overabundant preparation. So very reasonable.

It was paralyzing.

The quiet chorus got so loud in times like this. When you were floating in the ether of unknowing, where hope of success still lived. Where the disappointment of failure couldn’t touch you. ‘Shrödinger’s den.’

The sudden thought got you through the elevator doors just as they started to close, breaking the spiral of anxious energy that was dragging you downwards. Poe had already bobbed out into the service hall, waiting patiently for you. He came to a rest on your shoulder when you joined him. The weight was slight, but comforting all the same.

Patting him, you spot another spade painted on the wall, this time on its side, pointing like an arrow to a door just up ahead. “Man really knows how to commit to a theme, I’ll give him that.”

Your voice echoed, and that combined with the trilling of Poe’s scans drowned out the ding of the elevator, as well as the low, rhythmic beeping that now emanated from the elevator shaft.

Satisfied that the door marked by the pointing spade wasn’t going to explode upon opening, Poe gave the all clear for you to proceed. The process repeated once more, exactly where you thought Cayde would set up a den in a casino. Given that the gaming floor itself was ruined, molded, and now shrouded in complete darkness, it seemed almost comically obvious that the next place he would set up shop would be in the nicest room the hotel had to offer. ‘The King of Spades, lording in his high tower.’

As soon as Poe cleared the door of any traps, you flung it open, no longer giving your nerves a chance to be heard.

A rush of wind tugged at your cape, nearly throwing your hood back. Squinting your eyes, you took your first steps into the den, struggling to adjust your eyes to the sudden brightness of unfiltered sunlight. Poe darts around, inspecting the various alcoves set up around the suite. He returns after a moment to find you already going through a pile of rusted sidearms dumped on a bland hotel armchair in the entry hall.

“I think there’s a window open somewhere. The air’s too fresh for this to be an enclosed space.” Poe said as he followed you around the suite. You’d left behind the sidearms, all broken, and glanced over a table covered in playing cards, all losing hands, little Ghost scanning away as you did.

“You know,” calling over your shoulder as you wandered into the suite’s kitchenette, “I don’t think you need to be scanning so thoroughly in here. Do you really think Cayde would run the risk of blowing himself up in his little club house?”

Zipping back over to you, Poe trilled as he did a quick once over of the cabinet you were about to open. He nods to you, giving the go ahead as he replied. “No, you don’t know. Especially not after we nearly got blown into the stratosphere poking around that Fallen outpost.”

No longer interested in the kitchenette, you’d just shrugged and moved onto the main lounge of the suite, finding the source of the fresh air. The space was lined with floor to ceiling windows, and a number of them had holes dotting the glass. ‘Wait. What?’

You cross the room, inspecting the pocket marked panes of glass. “Hey bud, do you have any idea what could do this?”

Already scanning, Poe just shakes his chassis. “Not sure. Most Solar weapons I know of would just shatter the glass, or punch a melted hole straight through. Whatever this was had some sort of scatter shot effect, and not the shotgun kind. This is much more refined.”

The punctures in the glass were clearly melted, indicating Solar Light. It’d been long enough that any actual residual Light would have faded, but considering this was the haunt of a trigger happy Hunter, the assumption was sound enough. What stumped you, what stumped Poe, was the smattering of other holes around the main one. They were spread out from the central puncture, smaller and scattered, some not even melting fully through the first pane of glass. It was a strange effect, like someone had lobbed a hunk of lava that splattered on impact.

“Musta gotten carried away with a new toy he found.” You glance down at a table next to you, littered with Lake Star Casino poker chips and playing cards gathering dust. “Or won.”

“That seems pretty likely.” Hovering around, Poe drifts to one of the suite’s bedrooms when he suddenly starts. “Nev! Cache!”

He zips towards you, coming to a halt an inch from colliding with your helmet. “I found a cache!”

Silently thanking the resource detecting mod you splurged on for Poe’s shell, quick feet carried you to the entrance of the room he flagged seconds later. “In here?”

You’d technically asked a question, but your hand was already turning the knob of the main bedroom door Poe was hovering in front of. This room was very clearly Cayde’s. Crates of ammo lined the wall directly to the left of the door, stacked high enough to be used as a side table. Which it was. Piles of dust covered poker chips were left abandoned, along with a data drive. Pocketing the drive, you turn your attention to the rest of the room.

Much like the rest of the den, the only thing that really gave away this space as abandoned was the thick coating of dust on everything in the room. Mold was also more or less absent as well, a side effect of the fresh air circulating in the suite thanks to the bullet holes in the windows.

A huge king sized bed dominated the center of the room. Your eyes lingered on the rumpled sheets, the indent in the pillow. It wasn’t hard to imagine the late Vanguard rolling out of the bed, groggy after a late night, maybe even the equivalent of whatever Exos experienced instead of being hungover. ‘Actually. Can Guardians even get hungover? I should figure that out.’

Rounding to the right side of the bed, you open up the side table drawer. Inside, you find a few cubes of glimmer, not even amounting to fifty, and a small pile of scrap paper. They were covered in scribbles, diagrams, and ramblings, all in the same hand that filled the leather journal that led you here.

“Everything should be in there.” Poe was bobbing in front of the closet door, pulling your attention away from the notes. You stash them in your transmat storage, making a mental note to read them later. “No funny business, either. I already checked.”

The closet was standard. Not a walk-in from what you could tell, but you could see the faint shimmer of the light that engrams gave off leaking from the gap between the door and the carpet. In your eagerness, you vault over the unmade bed, nearly slamming into the closet doors on the landing.

“Oops.” Bracing yourself on the doors, you right yourself. Then you pull them open. You’re greeted by a respectable pile of glimmer, tossed in the corner of the closet carelessly. But that isn’t what your eyes rest on. No, no. Your gaze snaps to the golden engram, shoved up high on the shelf at the top of the closet. Poe busies himself with the pile of glimmer, “Looks like there’s about four thousand here!”, while you reach for the Exotic.

You’ve come across engrams before. Ones that Poe was able to decrypt right away, a faded white, green, or blue, containing something disappointingly common in their data structure. Legendary engrams had more of less eluded you. The ones you did manage to get a hold of were just gear, old discarded pieces of armor abandoned by previous Guardians in the field. Poe disassembled those. You didn’t want to trade out any of the armor you were currently wearing, especially not since you’d been upgrading it.

Concerned that you were just uniquely terrible at finding loot, you noticed just how many Guardians around the Tower carried mostly blue grade or below weapons. The notable exceptions were the handful of high level fireteams you spotted in the main courtyard on occasion. It made you appreciate the sidearm Zavala gifted you all the more. It also made you more or less give up on the hope that you’d come across an Exotic in the wild any time soon.

And now you were holding one in your hands.

The solid matter data lattice pulsed under your gloved fingers. You felt the thrum of energy even through the thick fabric and rubber fingerpads, asking, begging, for you to decrypt and reveal what was inside. Poe hovered, ready to do so once you asked. ‘It really is pretty…’

You let yourself be transfixed for only a moment longer, the concept of matter turned physical data encryption fascinated you endlessly, before nodding to your Ghost. In a flash of bright, golden light, the engram changed shape. All at once, the engram transformed, and a hand cannon rested heavy in your hands. An astonishingly beautiful hand cannon at that.

Hovering over your shoulder, Poe trills, giving it a quick scan. “Hmm. The data file attached says it’s called ‘Sunshot’.”

“Sunshot.” You breath the word out, running a gloved thumb over the astrological geometric engraving on the grip. ‘I think this might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever held.’

Mindlessly wandering over to the bed, you plop down on the sheets, gun still resting in both your hands. Poe called out from the other side of the room to you. “It’s a Solar weapon, too. I think it might be Guardian forged, or at least retrofitted. Your Light is meant to supply the ammunition.”

He was bobbing around, checking all nooks and crannies for anything that could be interesting while you remained in a daze, transfixed by the shiny, new weapon. “I’m betting it was what made those holes in the glass.”

Your ears perked at that. “Sounds like a solid bet.”

Rising, you leave the bedroom behind, returning to the pockmarked windows in the main lounge of the suite. Raising the gun, you take aim, the heft of it settling nicely in your hands. As you pull the trigger you hear an anguished, “I wasn’t actually betting!”

The recoil jerks the gun straight up, not unlike the Golden Gun you used against Navôta. Faster than you can blink, a fresh hole is melted into the glass of the window. Red and molten, there were now cracks branching across the pane of glass.

It was then the entire building shook.

“I didn’t do that.” A loud boom shook the windows, and the floor rocked under your feet. “At least I think I didn’t.”

Poe was a flurry of motion and mechanical trills, zipping around the room and scanning portions of the walls. You stood stock still, as if displacing your weight even an inch would cause the building to crumble around you.

“Explosives are detonating. Some kind of timed set up maybe, but I’m not sure. We must have missed it all on the first floor.” He spoke quickly, returning to your side to huddle in your hood. “We need to go.”

“I’m assuming taking the elevator is out of the question?” You eyes dart around the room, feet still firmly planted. The building was swaying now. Poker chips and empty glasses slip of tables, tinkling against each other as they rolled across the now tilted floor.

“Don’t even think about it. I’ve called Baby down, but I don’t know how we’re going to get out of the building.” A brief pause, filled by a third, deafening boom. “I don’t know if I can pull you out of the rubble if I’m buried deep in it with you.”

Dread pitted in your stomach, heavy and rancid. Jitters fueled the trapped prey animal voice of your mind, heart racing with the panicked chanting of out out out out out out out now noW NOW NOW N-

Your eyes settled on the window you’d just shot at. Full of holes from the gun your were holding, now laced with cracks. “I have an idea.”

Raising the Sunshot, you don’t bother aiming carefully. You just pull the trigger. One round, then two, then three, you shot the window full of more holes, cracking it even further. When the floor canted dangerously under your feet, you decided it was time to go.

Alarmingly calm, you simply state, “Okay, gonna need you to hold on now, little buddy.”

Before Poe has a chance to respond, you take off in a sprint straight for the window. Just before you reach it, you launch yourself towards the glass, curled in tight on yourself as you could manage.

For the brief moment your shoulder is connected with the window, you worry that you’ve effectively launched yourself into a solid wall. That worry only lasts a moment. You feel the crunch of breaking glass before you hear it, and a second later, your momentum carries you straight through the window and into the open air.

Floating in space, you feel the empty nothingness under your feet, free of the collapsing building. Lifting your head out of your arms, you’re just in time to see the shards of the window suspended weightlessly around you. The glitter of them was nearly as captivating as the sun refracting off the lake’s surface.

Then you fall.

Your innards lurch, suddenly weightless, hurtling towards the ground where the only thing waiting for you is a sickening splatter. Rather than looking down, your head snaps up, scanning the sky for your jumpship.

“She’s almost here!” You can barely hear Poe’s little voice over the rushing of the wind around you. You spend your two bursts, fighting against terminal velocity, against the inevitability of gravity.

Another boom sends a shockwave through the air, almost drowning out the sound of jumpship engines. Swooping in from the stratosphere, Baby is a growing speck in the bright blue sky. You reach a hand towards her, craning your body, up, up, up, away from the concrete below.

“Transmatting now!”

You watch as your outstretched hand dissolves into flecks of light, still reaching, ever reaching, and all at once you’re sat in the pilot’s seat of Baby’s cockpit. Suddenly still, suddenly quiet. The rush of air and the boom of explosives muffled memories now, you let out all of the air in your lungs with a triumphant whoop of victory, punching the air with your still outstretched hand.

Chuckling along with your near manic laughter, Poe brings Baby around to face what was once a somewhat stable building. “Well. I just hope we got everything there was to get out of that den.” As Poe speaks, the wing of the hotel you were just standing in collapses to the ground, now nothing more than a pile of concrete rubble. “Because I don’t think we’re getting back in.”

Snorting out a laugh, you take hold of the controls. “Yeah, I think we can pretty firmly check that one off the list.”

The trip back to the City shouldn’t take too long, and you didn’t have any reason to stick around the ruined suburbs of Old Chicago. So, you keep your eyes forward, leaving the ruined building behind you. The world rushes by, and you smile at the comfortable weight of the Sunshot strapped to your hip holster.

The Night Before, At The Altimeter

It was late. Later than Wex usually liked being out, but he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. His mouth pulled down at the corners, a slight ache developing in the muscles. He’d been frowning more often than usual lately. Gulping from his mug, the Titan tried to push it all down. ‘Why am I mourning someone who’s sitting across from me?’

Misti whooped from across the bar, her optics and voicebox glowing violet in the dim lighting. She and a handful of Vanguard pilots were watching a sparrow race, broadcast live from a popular track within City walls. It was the reason they were here. Out to late in a pilot’s bar, cheering on the favourite racers, like everything was normal.

A swell of noise and activity washed through the room again. Some racer that Misti had money on must have performed well. Her hooting and hollering had reached a record decibel level, echoed by laughter and mournful groaning from the people around her. Wex looked up to see her arm slung around Calum’s shoulders, jostling him in her excitement. The frown he’d been fighting deepened.

Calum’s eyes were far away. Unfocused. His slumped, uninterested posture was only betrayed by the white knuckle grip he had on his still full mug of beer. He stared through it, barely reacting to Misti carrying on a full conversation with him.

‘Well. Half a conversation.’

Can’t exactly be full when one party is entirely checked out.

He’d been one of the only veteran Hunters that actually stuck around after Cayde bit the dust, and now his fucking Ghost is dead. Wex’s grip on his own mug tightened, glass threatening to crack under the pressure.

Things have settled now. Commercial break, maybe. A word from the sponsors, advertising the latest tech for civilians and Guardians alike. Jumpship drives with increased performance from Veist, guaranteed to take you wherever you needed to go with double the fuel efficiency and speed. Omolon’s latest and greatest auto rifle, able to change the flavor of Light you wanted to shoot hostiles full of. Even has an upgrade to improve stability now, if the chipper, intelligent sounding voice was to be believed.

Misti had wrapped herself around Calum in the time that Wex was distracted by the advert, draped over his back in a half embrace while showing him something on her handheld comms. Her face was pressed close to his, bright optics fixed on what she was showing him. Whatever it was, it managed to get the Hunter to crack a smile. A shimmer of himself rose to the surface, suspended on the chuckle shaking his shoulders. In an uncharacteristic show of public affection, he turned to press a kiss into his Warlock’s cheek plates, one hand cupping the other side of her face. Keeping her close.

Flustered, Misti floundered under the sudden attention. A preening flounder, but a flounder nonetheless. Now it was Wex’s turn to laugh. For how much she loved being in the spotlight, little shows of genuine affection really knocked her off kilter. It’s one of the things Calum loves most about her. Wex shared that opinion, but in a very different way than his fireteam member. The Titan winces.

Former fireteam member.

Knocking the rest of his drink back, Wex flags the barkeep for another. He watched Calum finally take a swig of his own drink, some life returning to his eyes. ‘He’ll be alright. We’ll make sure he’s alright.’ Grabbing his mug, Wex pushes his stool back, making his way over to join his friends. ‘Don’t mourn the living, Wexler. Get it together. He’s right there.’

Calum spots him first, Misti’s attention returned to the race. Wex returns his smile with one of his own, hoping it isn’t a grimace.

“Hey, big man. Finally get tired of just staring at us?”

Calum’s voice was quiet, as per usual, but it sounded forced. Likely was. Clapping him on the shoulder, the Titan’s heavy hand jostled Calum’s slight frame. The beer in his mug nearly sloshed over from the force of the impact, and Wex muttered an apology as Misti shot him a look out of the side of her optics.

“What, a man can’t have a quiet drink to himself?” He straddled a barstool, leaning on the bar to face his Hunter. It was then Misti whooped again, her throat aglow with violet light. “Well, mostly quiet.”

That got a laugh out of Calum, one Wex couldn’t help but join in on. Neither of them speak for a bit, allowing the sound of the races and Misti’s chatter with the pilots to fill the air. Halfway through his drink, Calum spoke up again. “So. You find my replacement yet?”

Misti went stock still. The arm she had looped around Calum’s waist tightened, her conversation with the pilots abandoned. “We aren’t replacing you.” Pressing her forehead to the side of his, she mutters, “Couldn’t if we tried.”

Wex mirrored the sentiment, watching the swirling of emotion on Calum’s face. “She’s right. Neither of us have any intention of finding a ‘replacement’. We’re more than capable of taking on assignments between the two of us.”

Wex paused, returning his eyes to his mug resting on the bar. “However,” he continues, “Zavala wants us to take on a third for the bigger mission we have coming up.”

He raises his head to look Calum in the eyes, sparing a glance to Misti before he goes on. “His orders are firm. No getting around them.” His hand rests on his friend’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “But that’s all they are. A floater. No permanent additions, no matter the orders.”

Calum smiles. A small one, a little sad, but he takes comfort in his friend’s words. Taking Misti’s hand in his, he asks, “You know who you’re getting yet?”

Huffing, Wex takes a moment for a swig of his beer before he answers in clipped, irritated sentences. “Kind of. Some New Light. Hunter. Still has grave dirt behind the ears.” His grumbling tone grew deeper with each word. “She turned up in the Cosmodrome a couple weeks back.”

Optics once again glued to the race, Misti chimes in, “She’s the one from that video of Zavala in the courtyard a while ago. Remember, hun?”

Wex groans, echoing the edge of irritation Misti had in her voice now. “I can’t believe she talked to him like that. Where does she get off behaving that way? Like, seriously. You’re New Light. Know your place.”

Calum only laughs. “Yeah, I remember that. Typical Hunter.”

“I just wish we knew more about her. She’s a complete hermit. Doesn’t talk to anyone outside of Banshee and the Vanguard.” The Titan’s frown returns. “I hate the idea of taking some unknown into the field with us.”

Humming in agreement, Calum scans the bar crowd. “Well, Amanda’s sitting over there.” He nods to a booth in the corner of the dimly lit bar, the lead shipwright nursing a drink while going over a datapad on the table. “She knows everyone. Maybe she’s got a read on this New Light?”

Wex only grunts, willing himself not to look over at her, a light blush coloring the tips of his ears. Canny as ever, Calum calls him on it. Leaning in, he murmurs, “Plus, it’ll give you an excuse to talk to her.”

Looking more like himself than he has in weeks, Calum’s eyes sparkle mischievously, shit eating grin plastered on his face. Wex groans again.

‘Of course this is what pulls him out of his own head.’ Wex has been nursing a crush on Amanda for years, something both Misti and Calum are more than aware of. They never let him forget it, either. Feeling the blush on his face deepen, Wex mutters into his drink. “Don’t wanna bother her.”

“Oh, come on.” Misti’s voice cuts through the bar chatter. “Just go over there. She’s always happy enough to talk to you!”

Panicked, Wex shoots Misti a wounded look while checking to make sure Amanda didn’t hear her. Head now resting in her open palm, Amanda furrowed her brows at the datapad, oblivious to Misti’s encouragement. The Titan lets out a sigh of relief while the two chucklefucks he calls his best friends laugh their heads off.

“I swear,” Misti manages to get out between laughs, “we could be facing down a wall of Hive Knights, and nothing.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, all trace of melancholy gone from his face, Calum continues for his partner. “But bring up talking to Amanda? Pure. Panic.”

Waiting for them to finish, Wex polishes off his drink and orders two more. “Well, I’m glad wanting to maintain a professional relationship with the Tower’s lead shipwright is entertaining to you.”

As soon as the drinks are up, he grabs them, leaving behind the half assed apologies of his friends. It wasn’t like he really needed them, but it helped that they at least pretended to be admonished. Even if the show of it was pretty unconvincing. Approaching Amanda’s booth, Wex snaps into perfect posture, defaulting to soldier mode out of habit. Something he did whenever he felt unsure of himself.

A pair of blue eyes look up at him from the datapad. Wex smiles, a real smile not a grimace, ‘How could anyone not smile around her?’, and he holds up the spare drink. “Want company?”

Amanda’s eyes crinkle around the edges with a grin of her own. “Sure, why not? S’not like I can make heads or tails of,” she waves a dismissive hand at the discarded datapad on the table, “whatever horse shit this is.”

Sliding into the booth across from her, Wex pushes the mug to the shipwright. He cracks a knowing smile, empathizing with the type of frustration she was feeling in this moment. “Tough work order?”

Amanda doesn’t answer until she’s had a large swig of the beer. Nearly slamming the mug down, she regards the Titan with a knowing exasperation reserved for colleagues. “You have no idea.”

“Now,” she continues, “what can I do ya for, Wex? Much as I enjoy your company, I know you’re not one for idle chit chat.”

Wex grunts, a noncommittal sound, masking the buzz of something warm and electric after hearing that Amanda enjoyed his company. “Matter of fact, wanted to ask you about someone.”

He gestured to the datapad, a nonverbal ask to use the device. Amanda nods her permission, and Wex taps at the screen. A moment later, he rests it on the table facing the shipwright, a Guardian's profile pulled up from the public database.

GUARDIAN NAME :: Nevret
REGISTRATION DATE :: 04.09.497CA
VANNET HANDLE(S) :: NEVRET
------------
GUARDIAN CLASSIFICATION :: Hunter
LIGHT ATTUNEMENT :: Solar
REGISTERED WEAPONS (ACTIVE USE ONLY; LINK TO VAULT) :: Lonesome (Kinetic Sidearm), Jiangshi AR1 (Solar Auto Rifle), King Cobra-4fr (Arc Linear Fusion Rifle)
------------
FIRETEAM NAME :: n/a
FIRETEAM MEMBERS :: n/a
CLAN NAME :: n/a
COMMENDATIONS :: n/a
------------
DIRECT REPORT :: Commander Zavala
ASSIGNMENTS COMPLETED :: 6
OFFWORLD AUTHORIZATION (Y/N) :: No
REGISTERED JUMPSHIP :: ACJS1 - Arcadia Class - ‘Baby’

Amanda barely gave the profile a glance before her expression soured. “Yeah, I know ‘er.” She tapped the Guardian’s portrait with a sharp rap of her finger. “Piece of work, this one is.”

Wex was going to develop frown lines at this rate. He regarded the portrait more closely, viewing it in a different light. Hard, green eyes peered out at him from the screen. Dark hair, lank and a little greasy, framed her unusually pale face. The only bit of colouring to her skin were the bruise purple bags that had begun to settle under her eyes.

Empty mug pushed to the end of the table, Amanda flagged down the bartender for another. Quickly finishing his, Wex did the same. “So… Not a fan of her?”

Snorting, she crossed her arms and slumped back into the booth. A light flush coloured her face, the effects of her drinks finally hitting her. “No. Not at all. Rude.”

Wex’s eyebrows shot up. Amanda hardly dislikes anyone. She continued. “Fixing for a fight, that one. It’s in her manner of speakin’. Don’t care for it.”

“S’like she ain’t got the time to spare anyone that needs to talk to her more than half a thought.” Two more drinks were deposited at the table, Amanda takes a swig from one of them before continuing. “You’re a man of few words, Wex, so that ain’t where I’m taking my issue. Where I’m takin’ it is in her attitude.”

“Plus,” Amanda gestures to the datapad, oblivious to the slightly too firm grip Wex has on his mug. “You happen to catch her jumpship designation? It’s name?”

His brows furrow. He hadn’t, but looks for it at Amanda’s direction. He stares for a moment, knowing that he’d seen that jumpship designation and name somewhere. Then it clicks. “Wait. Isn’t this Maeve’s ship? Maeve’s Baby?”

“Yyyyup.”

The Tower was a small place. The Guardian community even smaller, and Wex knew Maeve. Not just knew of her, but actually knew her. They came up at around the same time, running in adjacent circles. It took her years to finally fireteam up with a solid crew, and he remembered exactly when she did. The day the paperwork went through she posted in the forum thread he and a handful of other Titans were a part of. A little VanNet community of bulwarks that were Risen within months of each other. They used it to keep it touch.

It was mostly quiet now.

“She’s been makin’ modifications to her. To Baby.” Amanda was really on one now. It was rare to see the chipper mechanic so bent out of shape over anybody. The Amanda he knew was one to take things as they came, treat everyone she met with the same unwavering kindness and understanding. It made the sudden shift in regards to this Guardian all the more jarring.

“Keeps slappin’ all sorts of fanciful upgrades on her. Top of the line, hyper modern. Not a care afforded to the kind of classic tech that the Arcadia Class runs with.” Her freckled face, one so often set in a grin, lighting up the hangar with her own personal brand of light, pulled into a tight scowl. “No respect for the authenticity Maeve kept with the ship. Don’t understand why she won’t just buy a new one. Why she’s gotta ruin Maeve’s Baby like that.”

Wex was quiet through all of it, letting Amanda talk. Pensive, he lost himself in the lingering foam on the surface of his beer for a moment. He already didn’t care for running with this unknown Hunter. Now he had to contend with the roiling ball of anger he felt towards her, towards this Guardian he never met. All on behalf of the woman sitting across from him. On behalf of the woman that returned to the Light, who’s ship was now being overhauled without an ounce of respect to the previous owner.

Wex must have looked as angry as he felt, because Amanda piped up, apologetic tone in her voice. “Ah, shoot. I’m sorry Wex. You were sayin’ that you gotta work with this Guardian?”

She shook her head in self admonishment. “Didn’t mean to ruin your opinion of her before ya even got a chance to meet. Honest, wasn’t my intent.”

Shaking his head, Wex cut Amanda off before she could apologize any more. “No, you’re alright. I asked. I wanted to know.” Sighing, it was his turn to slump into the booth seating. “The Hunter I’m about to have in my fireteam has an attitude problem, and views her own wants and opinions as correct, in spite of any evidence to the contrary.”

Leveling his gaze, he looked Amanda directly in her eyes. “I’m glad I know. Could save my life out in the field. Could save Misti’s life.”

He paused, suddenly hyper aware of the bright, clear shade of blue Amanda’s eyes were. Bashful, he just finished with a firm, “Thank you.”

Amanda’s face softened, her eyes crinkling around the edges again as she smiled. “Course, Wex. I just hope I’m wrong.” Shrugging, she went on. “Granted, I’m usually right, but hey. First time for everything, right?”

She offered up another smile, accompanied by a laugh. Wex returned with a chuckle of his own, raising his mug to tink against hers. A show of companionship. Of understanding. There was a brief moment of silence, a little awkward from Wex’s perspective, as he worked up the nerve to ask Amanda for a favor. Finally, he cleared his voice, grabbing her attention.

“So, I uh. I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

Canting her head to one side, unpleasantness of the the irritating Guardian forgotten, she just smiles, eyes prompting him wordlessly to continue. Shifting in his seat, now well and truly uncomfortable, Wex went on. “You’ve heard about why we need to take on a random third for this assignment, right? Heard about what happened with Calum?”

Amanda’s face fell. Reaching a hand across the table, she rested it on the Titan’s thick forearm in a show of sympathy. “Course I heard. How could I not? Tragedy as it is.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Wex struggled to keep his mind on the task at hand, now hyper focused on the soft, warm weight resting on his arm. “Well, you see.” He cleared his throat again, fully aware of the red blush that had taken over his face. “I was wondering if it might be possible to train Calum like the rest of the Vanguard pilots? Like you?”

He averted his gaze now. He never was very good at asking for help, even on behalf of someone important to him. “His Ghost is… gone. But he’s a decent pilot, and. I don’t want what usually happens to Hunters that’ve lost their Ghosts to happen to him. We don’t want that to happen to him.”

Chancing a look at Amanda, Wex’s breathe caught in his throat. She was looking at him so softly, with such care. Her measured concern shone through as well, and it was clear that she took his ask seriously. Gently squeezing his forearm, she pulled away after a moment. “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.” Grinning, she nodded her head. “We’d be happy to have him. Just have him come by whenever he’s ready, we’ll get him all set up.”

Letting out a sigh, Wex let a small fraction of the stoic soldier facade drop. “Thank you. Honestly, you don’t know what this means to Misti and I.”

Waving it off, Amanda laughed her signature laugh, dispelling any seriousness that lingered in the air between them. “Ah, don’t mention it. Just be sure to know that you’ll be footin’ the bill for anything that Hunter of yours breaks.”

Caught off guard, Wex laughs. A big laugh, coming from deep in his belly. The kind of laugh he hadn’t been able to summon as of late. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Conversation now over, Wex didn’t want to take up any more of Amanda’s time. Especially now that her fellow pilots were waving her over to weigh in on some argument they were having. So, they parted ways, and Wex practically floated back to his fireteam at the bar.

Misti elbows him good-naturedly in the ribs, coy smile on her face. “Sooooo. That looked like it went well.”

Smacking her arm away, she and Calum laugh conspiratorially, always eager to tease him about his crush. Rolling his eyes, he brings the pair back down to Earth. “Actually, we might have a problem. Amanda doesn’t like the floater.”

Faceplates shifting into an expression of surprise, Misti regards Wex questioningly. She also knew how rare it was for the ship wright to dislike someone, especially enough to actually voice that dislike. Calum’s face is also serious, waiting for Wex to elaborate. So, Wex leans in, voice low as he says, “But, I think I might have an idea about how to deal with the issue…”

Chapter Text

“But I don’t like rocket launchers. Half the time I miss, and the other half I blow myself up.”

Poe huffed, fully aware of your reluctance to spend hard earned glimmer on a weapon type you weren’t comfortable with. “Yes, but the only way you can get better is through practice and frequent use.”

Just as you were about to respond with further argument to you Ghost's gentle chiding, your comms pinged. Thinking it might have something to do with your upcoming assignment, the handheld unit was out of transmat in a flash. It was Shaw. Smiling at the screen, a trill of happiness rushes through you. The semi-frequent messages you and Shaw exchanged were about the only real socialization you had, and honestly? It just felt good ‘texting’ a friend. ‘Something normal. Even if our topics of conversation center around hostile aliens and Risen zombie super soldiers.’

Bobbing above Banshee’s counter, Poe realized that you were momentarily distracted, so he turned back to the Exo, taking advantage of your divided attention. Flicking your thumb across the screen, you hear Poe mutter to Banshee, confirming the sale of the rocket launcher you’d been putting up fight a about. Rolling your eyes, you grin, silently conceding to your Ghost’s judgment. Banshee was going over the specs of the weapon, and trusting Poe to run you through it later, your full attention turns to the message.

{{ S-HAN: Hey! Hear youre going on a big official op tomorrow. Are you excited? }}

Sale and demo now completed, Poe bonks your head. Your eyes flick up to him, smiling as he nudges your attention to the rocket launcher sitting in your transmat storage. Seeing you nod in acknowledgement, Poe settles comfortably on your shoulder, reading your reply as you send it off.

{{ NEVRET: keepin tabs on me, boy scout? but yea, you heard right. first official, coordinated op. im on a fireteam and everything. }}

Waving back to Banshee, you tap out another message, answering your friend’s question about ‘excitement’.

{{ NEVRET: i’m more anxious than ive ever been in my fucking life. }}

Still reading from your shoulder, Poe nudges your jaw, non-verbally reminding you that there is absolutely no reason to be anxious. Zavala informed you of the upcoming op the day after you got back from scouting in Old Chicago, leaving you with little time to prepare. Spending every waking moment in a flurry of motion since then, you were forced to bed last night after voicing your desire to pull an all nighter prepping.

{{ S-HAN: Not keeping tabs, just curious. Hive activitys down, and what you’ve been up to is way more interesting than what ive been doing. }}

A second message pings in before you can even finish reading the first.

{{ S-HAN: And youll be fine! Just do what your fireteam leader says and try not to backtalk too much. :-) Shouldn’t be a problem, right? ;-) }}

Poe laughs at that. Rolling your eyes, you spare a chuckle, knowing damn well that you gotta have your shit together for this. It was your first time fireteaming up with anyone since Shaw, and honestly? That barely counted. You needed to make a good first impression.

{{ NEVRET: yea, i know. x[ ill be filling in for a missing slot too, so i really REALLY have to do a good job. }}

Sending it off, you could feel anxiety seeping out of the message. Wincing in embarrassment, you follow it up with yet another double text, trying to dilute the sheer amount of nerves you were dumping onto Shaw.

{{ NEVRET: but youre right! its a simple op. drop in on some cabal, blow up their stuff, get out. betchya ill do so good zavala’ll give me another weapon from his personal collection. nothing to worry about. :]]]]]] }}

A breeze whipped up from below as you crossed the metal catwalks back to the barracks. It tugged at your cloak, ruffling the hood you had drawn up around your head. You’d been wearing it around the Tower more often than not lately, half for the comfortable weight of it hanging on your shoulders, half to help with the weird rolling chills you’d been experiencing for the past few weeks. Your comms pinged in one of the pouches strapped to your belt, but you left the messages unread until you reached your apartment.

Transmatting your armor away once your door swung shut, lazy civvies were popped on immediately after. It was only once a packet of instant noodles sat cooking in a bowl of Solar heated water that you checked what Shaw had sent.

{{ S-HAN: Thats the spirit! Even if you’re being sarcastic. }}

There was another one sitting in your inbox for you, sent a few minutes after the first when you didn’t respond right away.

{{ S-HAN: Seriously though. Youre going to do great. Ive seen you in action, and I know you’ve gotten better since then. }}

You stood there, staring at the messages as the instant noodles softened in the steaming bowl. Poe had told you about the same. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him, you really did but… It helped to have someone else echo what he’d been saying. The knot in your gut didn’t release, not even close, but it did ease enough to let you actually entertain the idea of eating the instant ramen you weren’t really planning on eating. Hovering close by as always, Poe simply said, “Told you.”

You wave him off, a little embarrassed by your own pessimism, and pulled out a pair of chopsticks before tapping your reply.

{{ NEVRET: thanks, shaw. i mean it. im shipping out first thing tomorrow, but ill let you know how it goes? }}

You were most of the way through the bowl of noodles when his reply came through. In the midst of forcing yourself to finish to finish the bowl, you took this as an excuse to put down the chopsticks, admitting defeat. The anxious knot was still taking up too much room in your gut. ‘At least I don’t really need to eat.’

{{ S-HAN: Please do! Im serious, hive activity is way down and there hasnt been a new light in DAYS. Im so stinkin bored. Dont think I can wait for the official report. }}

Rolling your eyes at the use of the word ‘stinkin’, you shoot off your last message for Shaw. Poe was insisting that you spend time actually relaxing before this op, so you had compromised. You would be in bed by a reasonable hour, after spending some time reading up on the Guardians you’d be paired with on this op. You even bought herbal tea.

‘Well. Reasonable by Hunter standards, anyway.’

{{ NEVRET: i will! promise. and you should have some leave coming up soon, right? so just let things be boring till you can get me that bowl of ramen you owe me. }}

Just as you settled in with your datapad and mug of said tea, another ping came through on your comms unit.

{{ S-HAN: Cant wait. :-) }}

You were early. You were really fucking early. Something you were well aware of when you left for the hangar nearly two hours before the designated rendezvous time, insisting to Poe that you wanted to be there in case the rest of your fireteam showed up for pre-op briefing. Or if they wanted to meet you before shipping out. You hoped that they’d want to meet you before shipping out. The op was simple enough on paper, nothing big or flashy or especially dangerous, but you were still going behind enemy lines with them. Couldn’t hurt to make some small talk beforehand, right? Plus, neither of them had reached out after you messaged them via the VanNet, and you weren’t sure when they would be arriving anyway.

So, that was the line of thinking that had you sitting on an old Häkke crate for the better part of those two hours.

With each minute that ticked by, your anxious heart rate increased. You’d been checking your comms every few minutes, just in case they messaged you and you’d missed it, a habit carried over from a life that contained iPhones. You thought about messaging Shaw just to do something about the anxious boredom, but thought better of it. ‘Don’t wanna bother him. Wouldn’t know what to talk about, anyway. How’s the weather holding up over there? Any notable New Light get Risen in the twelve hours since we last spoke? How about the Hive, what’re they up to? Oh, the usual rampage of violence and death? Cool, cool. Yeah, no, I’ll pass.’

At some point your leg started bouncing. You weren’t sure when, but it had gotten noticeable enough that people were starting to stare. Finally, just when you were about to check your empty inbox for the thousandth time, you felt a gentle bonk on the side of your head. “Eyes up, Guardian. They’re here.”

Your head snaps up, entire body tensing in response to Poe’s alert. Willing yourself to calm down, you took a deep breath and arranged your face in a way that hopefully looked less anxious than you felt. Thanks to the pictures on their profiles, you recognize them immediately.

The huge, armored figure drew your eyes first, his heavy boots thunking loudly down the corridor. Wexler Prox. A Titan that’s been running Void since before Twilight Gap, his track record was beyond stellar. The number of strikes he has under his mark is staggering, and everyone that’s worked with him seems to have something good to say about the hulking man. The worst thing you could find while scrolling through his commendation records was, :: Not the best sense of humor. ::

‘Yeah, I can understand how he earned that comment.’ Even when he was talking to the fireteam’s Warlock, his face had a scrunched kind of look to it, the furrow between his brows striking you as permanent. His tight, soldier’s posture and stride was in direct contrast to his fireteam member.

‘Armistice-9. Helluva name.’

She preferred to go by ‘Misti’, and she fit the spunky name very well, you thought. Decked head to toe in bubblegum pink, she was talking animatedly with Wex as they approached. Flashes of violet light lit up her face as she spoke, mirroring the glow of her optics. Still, in spite of her upbeat nature, she was a force to be reckoned with in the field. The few vid clips you watched of her in combat transfixed and terrified you, and now you were fireteaming up with her. With them.

‘Annnnnd I’m staring.’ Suddenly unsure of how people typically greeted each other, you call out from your perch on the Häkke crates in a moment of adrenaline fueled impulse.

“Hey! Heard you need a Hunter?”

The internal cringing started immediately.

It didn’t look like Wex was bothered by your unconventional greeting, but his facial expression never seemed to change from ‘slightly pinched’, so there wasn’t any way to tell. His gaze turned towards you, deep brown eyes giving you the once over. “Nevret?”

Deciding to be as direct as possible to avoid any further embarrassment, you briefly answer, “Yep.”

Hopping off the crates, you follow along after them as they pass your perch. “I’ve sent your Ghost the meeting point coordinates. See you on the ground.”

It took a second to realize Wex was talking to you. He faced forward the entire time he spoke, and you were now trailing a few feet behind the pair. Blinking in surprise, you trot up to Wex, spinning around to walk backwards in front of him. “Shouldn’t we like. Do a pre-op brief or something?”

Still trotting in reverse, you crane your neck up at the Titan, noting with some irritation that he still hasn’t looked at you. “I just- shit- I don’t know any of the specifics. Wasn’t included in the documentation I was sent.”

Sparing a glance at the ridge in flooring that almost caused you to trip, you nearly didn’t notice when Wex stopped walking. Coming to a halt with him, he finally looked down at you. “That would be because you don’t need to know. Your only job is to follow my exact orders, New Light.”

Confused, you prepared to protest, about to insist that it actually might be important for you to know the details of the op you were about to join them on, also that you weren’t exactly new anymore, thank you very much, when you remembered Shaw’s message.

‘ “Just do what the fireteam leader says and try not to backtalk.” Rrrright.’

Whatever reply you were concocting never made it past the click of your teeth as your jaw snapped shut. Wexler was still looking down at you, ‘Could almost call that a sneer, fuckin’ hell’, waiting for an answer. So, trying to keep what Shaw said in mind and desperately hoping it wouldn’t sound sarcastic, you simply chirp, “Yessir.”

Regarding you for another moment, the Titan grunts, “Good”, and continues on towards the hangar. Misti breezes by with him, regarding you out of the sides of her optics before wordlessly continuing on without so much as a “hello”.

The anxiety you had hoped would be dispelled upon meeting the fireteam only settled deeper in your gut. Hands clenched, you turn the opposite way Wex and Misti did, making for where Baby was docked.

It took about four seconds before you started nervously chattering.

“That was weird, right? Like, I’m not crazy for thinking that was really weird, am I?”

Shaking his chassis, Poe seems just as confused as you are. “No, no, that was pretty weird. I knew Wex was a ‘straight to business’ kind of guy, but that was just… odd.”

You pop your helmet on, shielding your now slightly panicked face from the questioning stares of the various Guardians and hangar mechanics in your vicinity. The chatter and sounds of heavy machinery fade into the background as you walk on. ‘I’ll win them over. Or at the very least, I won’t give them anything bad to say about my performance. I can do that much.’

Gritting your teeth, you clunk up the onramp into Baby’s cabin. ‘Besides, it isn’t like ops are completed with the power of friendship.’

‘Jesus fuck it’s humid.’

That was the first though that crossed your mind when you rematerialized and touched down from transmat. The perpetual clamminess of your skin was exacerbated by the damp environment, bringing it to the forefront of your mind for the first time in a few days. You’d gotten so used to the weird chills and sweats, you almost forgot about it. ‘I feel like I should get that checked out, though. Don’t really see any other Guardians walking around consistently schvitzing.’ Shaking your head to clear any thoughts of weird sweatiness from it, you take in the area.

The rendezvous coordinates landed you in the middle of a tropical jungle, walled in by thick air and dense foliage. Tall trees formed a solid canopy, shrouding the undergrowth in murky shadows your sight had trouble piercing. It was while you were squinting into the undergrowth that Wex and Misti appeared, materializing in the small clearing next to you.

Wasting no time, Wex’s voice echoed from behind his helmet, addressing you. “I’m assuming you know the goal of this op?”

Nodding, you respond, making sure to keep it concise and to the point. “Cabal in the area have begun to excavate materials and are in the process of building a permanent encampment here. We are to go to the construction site and destroy as much as we can, with a focus on the excavation rig. Once finished, we return to the Tower and submit our reports.”

Grunting, Wex nodded back at you. “Didn’t ask for a summary, but that’s the long and short of it.”

Wex’s Ghost pops out of his Light as you struggle to keep your eyes from rolling, and a soft ping sounds in your helmet. Your HUD blinks with the newly placed marker in the distance. There was no description attached to it, so your head cocked to one side in confusion. Before you could verbalize that confusion, Wex speaks again. “You’re scouting. Go to the marked location, report back with what you see, and we’ll proceed with the op according to your observations.”

For the first time, Misti addresses you, voice sharper than what you remember from the vid clips of her. “So be quick about it. The longer we’re here, the more likely the Cabal will catch onto our presence.”

Nodding along with what his fireteam member was saying, Wex adds, “For that reason, keep your comms quiet and disconnected until you have something solid to report.”

Another ping. “This is the channel you’re to connect to. It’s encrypted. Don’t go shouting into any random available channel. You’ll give us away.”

You nod once, heart now pounding in excited anticipation. The longer you stood on solid ground outside the City’s walls, the more your anxiety eased. Each breath of air unoccupied by the noises and smells of the Tower sharpened your mind and loosened the knot in your stomach. Sure, this was the first time you were running with a fireteam, but this was hardly your first time scouting out a Cabal encampment.

“Is the point you dropped at the beginning of their general territory? Or is it farther in?” The way you approached scouting changed dramatically depending on whether you were actively moving through enemy territory, or just moving towards it. So, you didn’t consider the question backtalk, even if the way Wex’s face scrunched told you otherwise. ‘Christ alive, what is this guy’s fuckin’ problem?’

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking it, but you were glad that your helmet shielded your eye roll from view. He and Misti exchanged a look before he replied. “Beginning. Now, get going. Unless you have anymore questions.”

Phrased like a statement, you decided that no, you didn’t have any more questions. Not only that, you wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. “Nope. All set, boss.”

Turning on your heel, you couldn’t stop yourself from at least matching energy a little with your reply. ‘I still have my fucking pride.’

Leaping up onto the thick branch of a nearby tree, you call out, “I’ll check in when I have something.”

And with that, you take off into the jungle, the rolling waves of sticky warmth cleaving your skin to your padded armor.

Perched high in the leafy canopy, you peer between glossy foliage down at the Cabal encampment in a clearing below. Chewed off remains of stumps stick out of the sodden dirt, and huge swaths of ground are blackened and charred. ‘So, not a natural clearing. Wonder if I need to mention that.’

Eyeing the huge piles of forest debris pushed up around the edges of the camp, you decided Wex needed to know. You figured a solid lay of the land would be needed, and the remains of the jungle they’d cut down could serve as strategic cover.

Or something.

‘Honestly, I just don’t want him getting on my fucking case about it.’

In a low whisper to Poe, you voice another observation about the Cabal encampment. “Aren’t we supposed to be blowing up construction? And supply caches? I don’t see anything like that here.”

Keen eyes scan the area again. Several threshers sit in the north of the clearing, engines off. A mid-sized carrier ship dominated the center of the cleared land, and a few dozen Cabal were milling about a small, stationary drill. There was no evidence of any effort to expand the encampment, or that this was in any way a permanent setup. It felt temporary.

Whirring in thought, Poe regarded the scene more closely. “Maybe the intel was bad? That happens sometimes. Scouts can get signals crossed, or misinterpret what enemy forces might be up to.”

“Hmm.” Your brows furrow. Something felt off. Wrong. A jittering electric trill had joined the feverish chills now, and your fingers twitch towards Sunshot on your thigh holster. “Maybe. I’m going to call it in, see what Wex has to say about it.”

Poe popped back into your Light, activating your comms while he did. Speaking in hushed tones, you report in to your fireteam leader over the channel he gave you.

“Hey Wex, I’m at the Cabal encampment. It was a lot deeper into the jungle than we thought it was going to be.” In the scant mission brief that you were given prior to meeting Wex and Misti, it was stated that you’d be dropping in about fifteen klicks from the destination. You’d traveled at least double that. Still, that’s where the marker Wex gave you pointed, so that’s where you went.

“Also,” you pause again, briefly scanning the area one last time to make sure you didn’t miss anything, “there’s no way this is more than a temporary setup. It looks like they mined here, but they seem finished and there aren’t any supplies or active construction sites to speak of. You sure we got the right intel?”

You stop speaking, waiting on a reply from the Titan.

A few moments passed, and you were still waiting on a reply from the Titan.

“...Wex?”

Not even static was coming through the channel. It was still just… nothing.

Scowling now, you check the channel you were given. Personal, and short range, it was encrypted so no one could listen in on your conversations, or use the signals to pinpoint your location. ‘Wait, what the fuck?’

“Hey Poe, isn’t this comms channel supposed to be encryp-?”

You felt the heat first.

The punch of the explosion second.

And the slug to your gut third.

Blood pours from the hole in your side, warm and slick, pooling in the shiny leaves of a vine you took down with you in the fall. Dizzy, you sprawl on the forest floor, crushing ferns and other plant life under your prone form. Bodily instinct had you up and running in a flash, darting between trees as fast as your feet could carry you. Droplets of your blood patter against the undergrowth, drowned out by the Cabal pursuing you. Thundering footsteps shake the ground beneath your quick gait, almost dainty by comparison, and falling leaves whip around your head as heavy bullets lodge into tree trunks, knocking them loose.

But, you are a Guardian. So the hole in your side soon knits itself together, your double vision returns to one, and the Sunshot is drawn, aimed at the Psion crouching behind a large, swaying fern a few yards ahead. Your jaw is clenched, teeth gritted, bracing for the recoil you’d just barely become familiar with in the shooting range. “Get fucked.”

This was the first time you’d had the chance to use the Sunshot in actual combat. You knew that the ammunition came from your Light, and that they created an explosion of Solar energy at any point of impact.

What you didn’t know is how effective it would be against flesh and bone.

The Solar slug buries itself in the chest of the slight Psion, scattershot lighting the surrounding foliage in blazing fire, impervious to the damp clinging to everything in the jungle. You watch, for just a second, as the Psion collapses in on itself, gaping charred hole in its body putting off an unsettling smell of burning meat and melting rubber. From then on your finger only left the trigger to reload.

You are stalked through the undergrowth, trying your best to fire back, to dodge, but there are many of the Cabal, and only one of you. It wasn’t long before you were reduced to a bleeding prey animal, sprinting recklessly towards perceived safety. For every Cabal and Psion that fall, another emerges from the jungle, weapon drawn and footsteps pounding. Torn between holding your ground to pick away at their numbers and putting distance between you and the never ending legion, your panicked mind decided on a hodge podge mixture of both.

All the while, you cry out for your pack.

“Wex! Misti! Where are you, I’m surrounded!” Panting breaths echo in your ears in place of any response from your fireteam.

Fear constricts your chest as calls for help go unanswered. Your mind flits back to the Cosmodrome, back to Shaw’s fireteam, to what it usually meant when Guardians go radio silent. Preoccupied, hurried, you realize all too late that you weren’t actually running from the Cabal.

You were being herded by them.

Bursting through from the tree line, blinking in the face of sudden, full sunlight, you stand right at the edge of the Cabal encampment. Sweat pours down your face under your helmet, stinging your eyes as they snap up to the roof of transport ship in the middle of the clearing. ‘I can make that jump. I have to make that jump.’

Taking off in a sprint, you ignore the burning of torn flesh and gaping wounds from shots you couldn’t dodge. The stinging itch of Poe closing them as best he could while remaining hidden slowly replaces the burn as you bound over clusters of Cabal, but the phantom pains remain. You still carry yourself like you were severely wounded, not being to shake yourself back into Guardian form in the midst of the most frantic fight you’ve ever been in.

It was difficult to get steady footing in the mud surrounding the carrier ship. The slick ground made it difficult to maneuver, difficult to dodge the Cabal that seemed to appear out of thin air. Finally, blessedly, your feet find the one patch of dirt solid enough to let you leap skywards. One burst, then another, and unsteady, muddy feet connect with the solid metal of the ship’s roof.

Your wounds fully heal. Flesh melds together with the gentle sting of your Light and Poe’s frantic assurances, and suddenly you aren’t so unsteady. Shifting your weight to the balls of your feet, you feel almost weightless. You grin, more than ready to make target practice out of the heavy boned Cabal from your elevated vantage point.

In the rush of it all, you’d forgotten that they could jump too.

Barely a second later, you are face to face with a Cabal Incendiary, hovering in the air before you with the help of a very powerful jetpack, scorcher cannon aimed directly at your face.

“Ah, fuck me.”

You are a flurry of movement, whirling in circles, finding it almost impossible to keep up with the sheer number of Cabal launching themselves at you from the ground. You work with the limited surface area the best you could, footwork resembling a whirling dance rather than the desperate combat you engaged in. Yet, you manage to hold out.

Bulky Legionaries and uppity Psions are knocked from the sky with the fiery kick of the Sunshot, exploding knives lodge into the gaps between thick armor of Gladiators, and Warbeasts’ gnashing jaws never quite reach their target.

You burned. Solar radiation danced under your skin, enmeshed with your soul, burning hotter than the Sun itself. Suddenly, in the thick of it all, you recognize it. That heat, brought to such an intense fever pitch it was almost all consuming, triggers a glimmer of recognition. This was the feverish, clammy feeling you’d been stewing in for weeks now. Simmering low enough that you barely noticed it before, now cranked to a height that made you dizzy.

It was everything. It was powerful. And a good thing, because, they wouldn’t stop coming. Spilling out from the tree line, you hazily realize one of them must have called for backup.

‘Must be nice.’

A weary thought. In spite of your Lightbearer stamina, your burning Light, you’ve gotten slower. The ache of unhealed wounds and fractured bones dampen your focus, the length of the battle finally getting to you. It must have been hours. No matter how many you killed, how many you incinerated with the Sunshot’s incendiary bursts, it had been so long. They just wouldn’t stop.

All the while, you scream for your fireteam, fear seeping into your voice as your blood and Cabal gore join to slick the metal under your feet. “Wex! Misti! Please, anyone!”

Your cries were harsh now. Voice cracking and spent, hoarse from use. In the back of your mind, Poe was talking you through it, trying to find a different channel, trying to find your fireteam, in between sporadic attempts of stitching you back together. His focus was just as divided as yours.

With a grenade prepped in your hand, you leap into the air, ready to huck the bomb at your feet. You’d barely cleared the tops of the Cabal’s heads when a thick fingered hand closes around your shin. Jerking you from the air, you are hurled towards the ground, grenade tossed in a random direction, explosion wasted.

You saw blue, blue sky, felt the sharp crack of your shattered knee, then nothing.

Then suddenly, everything.

Gasping back to life, your back arches up off the ground, jerking back into consciousness where everything was too bright, too loud, still expecting to be mid-fall. ‘Too slow. Too slow, I’m too slow getting back up, I have to move, I have to m-’

Another huge hand closes around your skull, gripping hood and helmet together. Hoisted off the ground, your feet dangle in the air. One of your hands grasps at the Cabal’s thick fingers, tugging hard, more to relieve the feeling of your body weight being supported by your neck than to get it to release. Your other hand had already drawn Sunshot, firing unaimed, on instinct.

The Gladiator was seemingly unphased by the slugs hitting home on his armor, his flesh, his weaponry. His hand squeezes your head, and your legs begin kicking and twitching as the bone of your skull flexes under the pressure. Flexes, then begins to crack. Guttural screams, phlegmy and animalistic, tear from your mouth. Your hearing goes muffled, your sight watery. Your whole body is jerking in the air now, Sunshot tossed to the ground as you spasm and flail.

Poe screams out into the comms for your fireteam, receiving only silence in return.

After what feels like hours, you hear a wet squelch, ‘Like a dropped egg’, and all was quiet again.

You wake screaming. The weight of the Gladiator’s hand was still heavy around your head, you could still feel the flex and the crack of what you’d always thought, always believed to be, to be sturdy bone. Scrambling, your hands fly up, finding your hood, your helmet, fully repaired and intact.

[I pulled you out of the middle of it, but I couldn’t get far.]

Panting, you haul yourself to your feet. Your whole body is wracked with violent tremors, almost in time with the thundering footsteps of innumerable Cabal rushing to find where their prey had fled to. Your lungs couldn’t hold enough air. In spite of the gasping, deep breaths you rip from the air around you, they never quite seem to fill. They burn, burn right along side the horrid feeling of your Light searing you from the inside out. You couldn’t take it. No one was coming. You were alone and it was hopeless and the best thing you could hope for was a final death that was nothing like the last you’d just suffered.

[NO!]

Poe’s voice tore though your mind, and he was pissed.

[Absolutely not! Don’t you dare! Fireteam or no fireteam, we’ve always made it home. Don’t even think about giving up on us, Guardian!]

A jolt runs through you at hearing the word ‘we’. At hearing ‘us’. Your breathing steadies some, lungs feeling fuller, spiraling nerves gaining purchase on that determination you’d first found in the walls of the Cosmodrome. When you were only hours Risen, and less than a quarter of the Hunter you are now. Like then, you focus on that feeling. On that solid foundation you’ve been building upon since that day.

A dry laugh barks out of your mouth. You were still half convinced this was the end for you both, surrounded and alone in the middle of the fucking jungle, but you’d be damned if you didn’t take out as much as you could before kicking it.

“Thanks, little buddy. Lost myself for a second there.”

He humphs indignantly, tucked firmly away in your Light. [Well, that’s what I’m here for. To find you and bring you back.]

Smiling behind your helmet, you grip the Sunshot tightly, willing your hands to stop shaking. ‘If we’re alone, then we’re alone. Wasted enough energy calling for help. I can’t find Wex or Misti if I’m fucking dead.’

Finally taking in your surroundings, you realize with some amusement that Poe had rezzed you behind one of the small mountains of forest debris the Cabal had arranged around the edges of their clearing. Peeking out from behind the edge, your eyes hone in on something that escaped notice on your first survey of the encampment.

Hidden from the view of your previous vantage point, you see barrels and barrels of fuel situated on the ground surrounding the open hold of the carrier ship. As well as a fair amount sitting in the ship’s cargo hold itself.

“Hey. Do you think the ship will explode along with the fuel barrels if I shoot them? Like, really shoot them?”

Seeing through your eyes, Poe hums in though. [It’s possible. Though, you would have a better chance of causing the ship to explode if you set fire to the fuel lines. Then the barrels would take as soon as the ship does.]

“Awesome. Where are the fuel lines?” Your eyes dart around the ship’s hull, searching. You’d been able to study the odd abandoned Thresher, and more drop pods than you can count, but this is the first time you’ve encountered a ship of this size before.

[Just beyond the cargo hold. You’ll have to board in order for this to work.]

“Ah.” You let the true meaning of his words sink in, resolving yourself to this course of action before you ask the followup question. “So. Suicide mission, then?”

You Ghost scoffs. [Well I’ll be able to get you back up. It’s just an explosion.]

Your eyes roll practically on instinct. ‘Of course.’

You reload the Sunshot, all other ammo expended. Your Light burns in rolling waves under your skin, demanding to be used, to be let out. Unpleasant as the feeling was, you took comfort in it, knowing you had enough for what was coming next. “Think you can keep me up long enough to lure most of those bastards into the ship with me?”

[So long as you’re quick about it.]

Grinning, you nod, and launch yourself over the bulwark of ruined plant life, trying very hard to be quick about it.

Your feet clunk onto the metal flooring of Baby’s cabin as you transmat up from the Earth’s surface. Wasting no time, you sprint to the cockpit, Poe interfacing with the ship’s onboard comms before you could even sit down. Whirring away, he checks the private channel you were given once more, this time with a stronger signal. “Still nothing. There isn’t anyone connected, and I don’t see evidence that anyone ever was. Besides us, I mean.”

Your brows furrow as a strange feeling settles over you. ‘That doesn't make any sense. None of this makes any fucking sense.’

Even if they didn’t respond to your hails when you needed them, they should have been connected to the comms channel at some point. That was standard practice for Guardians out in the field, something you knew that a fireteam leader like Wex wouldn’t let slip.

“Wait…” Electronic trills accent Poe’s furiously whirring shell. “Nev. I’m picking up on a couple fuel trails.” With a few more beeps and trills, Poe brings up a zoomed out map of the upper atmosphere, the standard idling altitude for Vanguard Guardian jumpships since being restricted to Earth. Highlighted in bright orange were two trails, swooping down to the planet’s surface, then taking off again. “Those are from Wex and Misti’s ships. They have to be. No other Vanguard craft were authorized to be in this airspace.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth, Poe answered your unspoken question. “Cabal, Eliksni, and Hive ships give off totally different readings. This had to be them.”

A moment passes in silence.

“So… they’re not in danger? Not dead? They just… left?”

Your voice sounded far away to your ears. You didn’t understand. Did something happen to make them leave? Did they leave to get help? Were they forced to abandon you? What was going on? Poe’s voice broke through your thoughts. “So, uh. We just got a summons to the Tower. We need to get going.”

Nodding, you silently set the coordinates, for once in your life at a loss for words.

“We need to go to this office, here I’ll mark it for you.”

It took a fair amount of self control not to sprint there from the hangar. The blind panic you felt for your fireteam members had morphed into nervous dread. You felt like you were on your way to the fucking principal’s office, and you had no idea why. Wex and Misti didn’t respond to any direct forms of communication through their VanNet handles, and the channel given to you at the beginning of the op had been deactivated while you were en route back to the Tower, so. There was no way to know what you were walking into.

So you try to rationalize. ‘This is probably just a touch base for when we lost communication. Yeah. One hundred percent. I dropped off for some unknown reason, and rather than continuing the op, they dipped out and came back to the Vanguard for help.’ Rapid footsteps wove through the corridors of the Tower, led by Poe to an office in the same wing of the Tower that contained Zavala’s. ‘And once we got up to Baby, we could properly be pinged cause… cause. Uh. Cabal interference. And now we’re regrouping. Sure. Yeah, that sounds about right.’

That absolutely did not sound about right, and deep down, you knew it.

“Did the message say anything else? Are Wex and Misti okay?” You blurt out a question you knew Poe didn’t have the answer to, just to fill the air. Just to stop your stupid pea brain from reeling, if only for a second.

Shaking his chassis, Poe replied, bobbing along beside you. “No, and I made sure to ask. I didn’t get a reply, and the original message only said where to meet. Not why.”

“I don’t get it.” You muttered under your breath, stomach sinking when your off the wall rationalizations weren’t cutting it anymore. “This feels off.”

Poe was silent, but you could feel that he agreed. Wordlessly, the pair of you continue on until reaching the office. Upon approach, the doors swoosh open, a rush of cool, filtered air greeting you. Tentatively, you step inside, suddenly feeling very out of place. The office was neat and organized, bordering on sterile. There was nothing in here that reflected any sort of personality beyond ‘tidy’.

Someone you didn’t recognize sat behind a desk towards the back of the room, their Ghost hovering around the desk, scanning various dataslates and paper documents. After a moment, she looks up from what she was reading, deep crimson hair swept back from her face into a neat bun at the base of her neck. Seeing that you had entered the room, she raises from her seat and rounds to the front of the desk, resting in a half lean against the polished metal. Her glowing golden eyes regard you expectantly, if with an air of general disinterest. Heart thundering if your chest, you approach her, waiting for a cue to speak. For once, you didn’t want to be the one to break the silence.

“So,” her tone was light, almost casual. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

The question caught you off guard. Accusatory in nature, but the tone of her voice and look in her eyes were distinctly dismissive. Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, you simply ask, “About what?”

She continues to regard you, taking you in lazily. After a moment of this, she sighs lightly, almost sounding disappointed, and turns to her Ghost as she rifles through some of the papers piled up on her desk. “Bring them in.”

The Ghost whirs, and after a moment, the doors behind you whoosh open. Whirling around, you see Wex and Misti stride into the room, whole and unharmed. In spite of yourself and the baffling situation you’ve found yourself in, relief floods through you, and a smile spreads across your face. “You’re alright! I was so worried that something had happened, where did you go?”

They ignore you. Breeze right on past to stand at attention to the left of the Guardian at the desk. Neither of them would look at you, no matter how you stared.

“I ask again,” The Guardian addresses you, her glowing eyes now locked on your face. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

You respond, again, eyes unable to leave the two Guardians you had half convinced yourself were dead. “I really don’t understand.” Your eyes shift to the Awoken woman, realizing vaguely that she hasn’t given you her name. “What am I supposed to be saying, exactly?”

Her head falls forward a bit, and she lets out another weary sigh. The atmosphere in the room was so strange. She looks up again, this time addressing Wex. “Wexler. Would you be so kind as to deliver the report you gave to me a few hours ago to Guardian Nevret?”

‘What? A few hours?’ A few hours ago you were fighting for your life in the middle of the Cabal encampment. A few hours ago you were screaming for help that would never come into the comms channel given to you by the Guardians now ignoring your presence. A few hours ago, you dreading the idea that they could be dead. ‘But… they were… here? Giving a report?’

In the midst of wrestling with your confusion, Wex began speaking. It didn’t take long for that confusion to morph into paralyzing anger.

“We touched down to the designated drop point at 09:00. After giving Guardian Nevret the fireteam comms channel and scouting orders, she took off into the jungle. She never connected to the comms channel, but tracking shows her veering off course, going in the opposite direction of the assigned objective point.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You didn’t even have the presence of mind to defend yourself, to object to the blatant lies that were being said right in front of you, being said about you. To your horror, he continued.

“Numerous attempts to hail Guardian Nevret were made, all were ignored. After it was clear that she had abandoned the mission objective, Misti and I went to the objective point blind, at great risk to ourselves. Luckily, we were able to complete the operation without a problem. One more attempt was made to contact Guardian Nevret, but again, it was met with silence. Unable to wait due to the dangerous nature of remaining in low orbit above Cabal territory, we returned to the Tower without her.”

Your jaw hung open in pure shock. None of that was true. None of that happened. Yet somehow, for some reason, this woman was nodding her head along with what he was saying. Poe at least had enough presence of mind to try and speak up in defense of yourselves. “Miss, none of what was just said is true. Here, I’ll show you the logs-”

“Enough.” She cut him off with a lazy wave of her hand. “You know, it’s one thing to fabricate a story yourself, Guardian Nevret, but to involve your Ghost really doesn’t help your case.” She sighs again, like somehow all of this was a bother to her. Like she was put out and bored by this whole ordeal. Like she was more focused on wrapping this up than listening to anything you had to say. “Well, really, none of this helps your case.”

Eyes wide, you look to Wex and Misti, desperate for answers about what happened, willing them to see that this was all a big miscommunication, a misunderstanding. Locking eyes with Wex, the Titan’s standard stoic face cracked a cruel smirk, knowing look in his eyes. Misti’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. Something clicked. You understood now. ‘Ah. So that’s what this is.’

Looking back down to her desk, she picks up a dataslate. “Also, the Vanguard are aware of your little side mission in Old Chicago.”

Turning your head away from Wex, you took in the woman with a flat look on your face, resolving yourself to silence. You knew her type. Knew that she wouldn't listen to a god damned word you said. ‘She’s already made up her fucking mind.’

She continued. “Apparently, Commander Zavala was willing to let it slide. You got the assignment done, and no real harm came from it. Not to mention, notes in your file indicate that due to your unique circumstances, you were to be given a longer leash than most.”

You jaw ached from how hard you had it clenched, the word ‘leash’ echoing in your mind. Still, she went on, voice hardening, but keeping that same, disinterested and detached tone she’s had from the get go.

“However, what will not slide, is abandoning your fireteam in the middle of an operation. You put the lives of your fellow Guardians at risk with your blatant negligence.” Stopping for a pause, she let her words sink in before continuing. “It has been determined that you can not be trusted in the field.”

Poe was bristling now. You could feel his anger, and his internal conflict over that anger, through your connected Light. Pity welled up in you for him. He had complete faith in the Vanguard, in the institution that he’d been a part of since it’s inception. In contrast, a calm had washed over you. Icy and knowing, you kept your face impassive and thoughts to yourself, waiting for this to be over.

“As such, your jumpship will be impounded until further notice. You will be on probation until it has been determined you can be trusted to operate in the best interests of the Vanguard once more.” She looks to you, gauging your reaction.

You had none.

Instead, you keep you jaw clenched, projecting to Poe to keep quiet. Letting the silence drag on, you maintain your even look, your stiff posture. Misti shifts, transferring weight from one foot to another in restlessness. Even Wex looked like he was more than ready to leave, not bothering to mask his expression. ‘Oh I’m sorry, is the witch hunt your orchestrated boring you? Cunts.’

When it became clear you weren’t going to respond, she cleared his throat. “Right. You’re dismissed. No need for a report on your activities, Wex has graciously covered that for you as well.”

‘Course he fuckin’ did.’

Wordlessly, you turn on your heel and walk out of the room. Stopping just around the corner, you wait for the lying bastards to show their faces. When they do, you block them bodily, forcing Wex to look at you. “What the fuck is your problem? What did I ever do to you?”

The cold calm you found in the office was evaporating, burning away with the righteous heat of your anger. It bubbled in your gut, violent and roiling. You hoped it showed in your eyes. You hoped it would be enough to get an answer out of him. Give you some reason why they did this.

Looking down his nose, Wex actually granted you the courtsey of a response. “Did you really think I was going to let some unknown floater operate on my fireteam? That I was going to let a clearly erratic, selfish Hunter risk our lives?”

Throwing your hands up in frustration, you reply. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know me!”

Leaning down, Wex’s face comes within inches of yours. “Exactly. No one knows you.” Straightening, he glares down at you. Misti still hasn’t said a word. “You’ve been here for how long? And still, no one knows you. So, I did some asking around, and I didn’t like what I heard. Then I did some digging.”

Smug, he crosses his thick arms across his torso. “Did you really think no one would notice an explosion of that size so close to Old Chicago? Did you really think you wouldn’t leave a trail, blasting out scanners of all kinds for Traveler knows how long?”

He shrugged. “So, since I couldn’t kick you off the fireteam, I got rid of you a different way. Sent you of in another direction far enough away from us so you couldn’t put anyone but yourself in danger.”

“Didn’t think you would screw up so badly, though, getting jumped like that.” Misti finally decided she had something to say. Her voice was light, bubbly, but carried a cruel, disinterested tone. “Really thought you’d turn around at some point, what with how far out the mark was.” She shrugged, the shimmering bubblegum pink of her robes catching the setting sun.

Continuing, she brushed off invisible dust from her sleeves, making sure to convey just how little this conversation meant to her. “Still, since you like taking off on your own so much, we figured you could handle it. You did wind up making things a lot easier for us through, so I guess I should thank you for that. Even if you were a little loud about it.”

Leaning down into your space again, Wex left you with a parting piece of advice before the pair walked off. “Yeah, you really shouldn’t have been calling out into an unencrypted channel like that. You drew so more Cabal to your location than you needed to.”

With that, he straightened up and walked off, Misti following after him. You just stood there, shock settling in. The weight of what actually happened really hitting you.

‘They knew. They fucking knew. They heard me screaming, and they did nothing.’

Once they were long gone, Poe ushered you away, having the good sense not to let you continue to loiter in the area. So you walk off in a haze, and at some point, you reach your apartment. You don’t remember getting here, but suddenly there you were, standing in front of your door, staring at the flat white of the paint. Pushing it open, you step over the threshold, feeling very different than you did when you left just this morning. The setting sun cast golden light across the open air hallway in front of the door, the angle of it never reaching your singular window. Passively, you realize that your apartment never got any natural light.

Closing with a click, the door swings shut behind you. Now alone, Poe breaks the silence. “Nev… I don’t know what to do. Why didn’t you speak up for yourself? Why wouldn’t you let me speak up for you?”

Shaking yourself off, you begin to follow the routine you’d made for post mission wind downs, hoping your mind would catch up if you followed an ingrained routine. Your armor was popped into transmat storage, but your cape hung up by the door. Stepping into the bathroom, you peel your under garments off as the water from your shower heats, steam curling up to the ceiling before long.

“Nev?”

Mind starting to clear, you shrug, stepping under the stream of water. Poe bobbed just outside the closed glass door. “I don’t think anything we could have said would have made a difference. They planned this. Planned it well. Besides, we were clearly talking to a middle manager.”

Thinking back to the way she barely looked at you, how piled high her desk was with documents, it was a good guess that your’s wasn’t the only case she was seeing today. You knew the look of a bureaucrat with a tight schedule when you saw one. “You saw her. She didn’t give a shit about anything that was happening.”

Lathering your hair in shampoo, the hot water washed away the remaining tension in your body. This part of the routine was most important. Washing the Wilds off you. Washing the death, your’s and others’, down the drain. Poe chirped, true concern in his voice. “So what do we do?”

Taking pity, you finally voice the inkling of a plan that had been slow cooking in the back of your mind since your realization back in the office. “We submit a report. Detail it out like we normally would.”

Stepping out of the shower, you grab a towel, rough and standard issue, wrapping it around your body before crossing the small apartment to your kitchen.

“Wex clearly didn’t dig very thoroughly when he was looking into me, otherwise he’d know that we record practically everything we do in the field. That we’d have him on camera giving the orders sending me to that encampment.” Scrounging around in your cupboards, you pull out a packet of instant noodles you hadn’t tried yet. ‘ “Super Extra Dragon Spicy”. Sure. Why the fuck not.’

As the noodles cooked, you went on, Poe patiently listening. “We’ll submit it. Vid feeds, audio recordings, channel activity and all. Do our due diligence. Still, I doubt that anyone will see it for a long while, if at all, considering it won’t be associated with any official assignment.”

Confused, Poe does his version of pacing, drifting back and forth at roughly eye level around the room. “Then… why bother? Shouldn’t we take it directly to Zavala? Make him listen? Skip the middle manager?”

Shaking your head, you agitate the noodles with a pair of chopsticks, breaking up the softening block of ramen and mixing in the contents of the flavor packets. You knew you were giving into your pride on this one, that this wasn’t strictly the best course of action. If only the thought of groveling didn’t bring the taste of bile to your mouth. “No. No, I'm not interested in begging to be heard. He shuffled us off to some fucking nobody instead of speaking with us directly.”

“No,” You lean against the counter now, cupping the bowl of ramen in one hand, letting the stinging heat seep into your skin, grounding yourself in the pain of the half burn. “We’re not going to be relying solely on someone who thinks that little of us. Not anymore. Not when it’s clear any goodwill can be tossed out at a moment’s notice. I can’t trust that won’t happen again.”

Understanding, Poe breathes out, “You want to take matters into your own hands.”

“Yup.” You slurp down your noodles, eyes and nose watering with the spice level. Wiping your nose on the back of your hand, you ask your Ghost, “Where did you say Drifter’s lurking around these days?”

Chapter Text

One Fine Day in the Tower

It was warm.

The blush of late spring, carried gently on a breeze that still stubbornly held onto a nip of winter. Those remaining teeth try, and fail, to sink into Poe’s chassis as he drifts along the corridors of the Tower. He was able to feel that there was cold on the wind, sure, but to register it as anything other than a passive observation wasn’t something the inorganic life form was capable of. So on he went, unbothered, gliding through the air towards his destination.

Rounding a corner, Poe spots the sign for Nev’s favourite café, or the only one she’s actually been to, ‘مقهى شروق الشمس’. He trills, happy to have reached his destination. A line winds across the sun faded cobblestone of the courtyard. The typical mid-afternoon coffee pick-me-up rush for employees of the Vanguard and the Tower. So he queues up, patiently bobbing in the air as he waits his turn to order, enjoying the sounds of rustling leaves and ambient chatter.

‘This will cheer her right up, I bet. Nothing like a well brewed cup of coffee and a nice pastry to lift one’s spirits.’ He moves forward along with the line, remembering to keep eye level with those around him so he doesn’t inadvertently lose his place to someone larger. ‘Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.’

Now simply waiting, no longer occupied with bobbing and weaving through crowds in the Tower’s corridors, the little Ghost’s thoughts drifted back to his Guardian. His shell droops slightly, concern washing over him. It’s been a week since the incident with Wex and Misti, with the Cabal. Poe’s shell droops further. ‘Nearly a week and a half, now that I think about it. And she’s spent most of it in bed.’

After finding out that Drifter was away from the Tower, and that he wouldn’t be back for an indeterminate amount of time, it was like she shifted into standby mode. Just waiting out the days doing… nothing.

‘Well, not nothing’, he supposes. Not exactly. ‘I wonder if she’s gotten through all of the vid files and data entries she found at the Old Chicago den yet.’

Curled up in bed, she’s spent her time sifting through the pilfered data cache. Conveniently uploaded to her handheld comms unit, its glowing screen the only source of light in the apartment. It washed out her face, flattening her sharp features, her normally bright, green eyes glued to the screen. She refused to talk about what happened. She’d go hours without speaking actually, completely engrossed, only moving when thirst, hunger, or the need to use the bathroom became too great for her to ignore.

‘That’s something, at least.’ Poe thought. He’d heard about Guardians that went off the deep end. Neglecting even the most basic care and upkeep of their organic bodies, falling into disrepair. Apparently, Guardians that were in a particularly rough way could die of starvation or dehydration. Their Ghosts revived them of course, but it didn’t take long for an organic body, no matter how extraordinary, to die of such simple things. Poe found himself immensely grateful for Nev’s leftover self care habits. Even if that self care was minimal, consisting of tap water, days old coffee, and instant ramen packets. ‘But that’s why I’m here! Getting her some real food and good coffee.’

Huffing in determination, his shell spins rather aggressively, startling the person ahead of him in line. Poe apologizes, bashful, and spends the rest of the short wait trying to decide what to get his Guardian. In no time at all, it’s his turn. He floats up to the familiar woman stationed at the counter, chirps out his order, “One spiced flat white and a knafeh, please!”, pays, and bobs off to the side to wait for pickup.

Just then, a familiar voice calls out to him. Turning towards it, he spots an old, friendly acquaintance floating in his direction. “Oh! Hello, Greenie. What brings you here?”

Poe greets the other Ghost politely, squinting slightly when the sun bounces off their vibrant, and very reflective, ’Nev would have a heart attack if I tried to leave the Tower in that’, green shell. With a voice as boisterous as their appearance, the other Ghost greets Poe in kind. “Hey, old pal! My Guardian needs a ‘caffeine fix’, apparently. Whatever that is.”

Gesturing to said Guardian in line, a Warlock in mismatched robes toting a submachine gun that had seen better days, they continued. “Just Risen a week or so back. There’s been a mad rush to the Cosmodrome lately, so I thought I’d check it out, and wouldn't ya know it? I finally got lucky!”

The two Ghosts trilled happily, exchanging sentiments in a language made of shell twitches and frequencies only they could understand. Still keeping half an optic on the counter, Poe offers congratulations, his voice warm. “I’m glad, Greenie. It’s been so long, and I remember what it felt like to find my Guardian. You must be thrilled.”

Greenie’s optic widens, just for a second, before responding. “Oh! Right. Yeah, man, I uh. I heard about your Guardian.” Pausing awkwardly, Greenie draws in closer to Poe before continuing, an uncharacteristic hush coming over their voice. “You know, if you need anyone to talk to about that, I’m all ears. Figuratively speaking.”

Poe’s shell scrunches, a chill of worry washing over him. When he doesn’t respond, Greenie fills the dead air. ‘They never could stand silence for too long.’

“I’m just sayin’, you hear about Ghosts getting stuck with problem Guardians, you know?” They shake their shell, sullen, like this was a difficult topic to broach. Poe could feel himself heating up in frustration. “You never think it’ll happen to you, and then, well. Your Guardian dips out of an op and you get drug down with ‘em.”

Giving their chassis another shake, oozing concern and pity, Greenie is oblivious to Poe’s fuming. “All I gotta say is we’re here for you, man. You aren’t alone in this.”

Poe had never felt like this before. His little form never having contained such intense frustration, such desperate anger. Maybe if he hadn’t been steeping in a lesser level of that frustration and anger for the past few days, watching his Guardian rot in bed for hours and hours at a time, he’d be able to respond better. Maybe if he hadn’t watched two senior, supposedly honorable Guardians lie about his Nevret so flagrantly, he wouldn’t have snapped.

Unfortunate, really.

Jerking back from Greenie, Poe spits out, “Nevret is not a ‘problem Guardian’!”

Taken aback, Greenie starts, a little frantic, “Hey man, chill, I just-”

“No! Don’t ‘hey man’, me! Don’t ‘just’, me! And I won’t ‘chill’! My Guardian isn’t a problem, and I certainly don’t need your pity.” Poe’s optic is narrowed at his now much less friendly acquaintance, who has been shocked into silence. A few moments into their brief, tense stare down, the barista calls out, “One spiced flat white and a knafeh for Poe!”

Poe’s shell twitches in the direction of the counter, ready to pick up the order and leave. Before he does though, Poe gets in close to Greenie, speaking in a low voice. “And I know I’m not alone. I have her.”

With that, he floats to the counter, leaving the stunned Greenie behind. Tucking the to go order into his transmat storage with a flash of Light, Poe zips up and out of the courtyard without another word, eager to get back to his Guardian.

In The Pit of Despair

‘What am I even doing?’

Laying curled up in your bed, eyes glazed over and staring at your comms unit, you watch the video on the screen being replayed for the third time today. Everything on the data drive you swiped from the Old Chicago den had been watched twice over by now, but still found yourself coming back to a few of them. In this particular one, Cayde’s voice was hooting and hollering about some stellar hand of cards that some absent person was, “-sure gonna be sorry they’re missing”. The ghost of a chuckle flutters in your chest. You could practically recite Cayde’s little rant by this watch through.

So, attention only half there, your mind drifts to the other documents stored on the drive. Pictures, pages of text, and audio files were all dumped there, completely unorganized. You’d taken to sorting them. First by data type, then into folders based on content.

It felt good. Sorting, categorizing, making sense of a pile of chaos that you actually had control over.

The few handwritten documents you swiped from the den were piled on your nightstand, tossed down a few days ago under the worn journal that lead you there. You’d decided the digital data took precedence, so in the meantime, a small army of empty mugs and cups had formed around the papers and journal.

You were steadfastly ignoring the nightstand.

Sure, it would take little to no effort to bring them to the kitchenette sink barely ten feet away, but you just couldn’t muster the energy to do it. Couldn’t muster the energy to do anything except doom scroll through a borderline useless data cache left by the former Hunter Vanguard. You’d held out hope that the text documents might prove useful, or maybe an actual map could be found among the photos, but no such luck.

Not to say everything was entirely useless, but there were only so many pictures of Cayde’s sparrow snapped from varying angles you could reasonably call ‘interesting’. The videos were more of the same. Clips of laughter and shouting, out of focus shots of Cayde and the ensemble cast of his little makeshift casino, all drinking and gambling. It looked fun.

‘Oh.’ A moment of clarity snaps through the fog. ‘I’m jealous.’

So fucking jealous, actually. Of the fun they were having, of the Hunters that got a Vanguard of their own. Of being able to do something besides lay in this pit you’ve made for yourself. It slithered under your skin, noxious and sticky. ‘Wonder if Cayde would have heard me out. If he would have shuffled me off to a middle manager for a fucking staged tribunal.’

You shake your head violently, jostling the creaky bedframe in an effort to dispel the thought. ‘It doesn’t matter. Wishful thinking isn’t going to unfuck your situation.’

Not that you knew what would. It wasn’t like you could just leave, after all. There was nowhere else for you to go.

So, there you lay, trying not to feel the weight of the abandonment inflicted upon you at the hands of the temporary fireteam that never gave you a chance. Trying to ignore the knowledge that you were stuck here unless you managed to convince Drifter to do you a solid.

Funny how things you’ve gotten fairly good at ignoring could still pin you under their weight. Funny how you could still be pressed into the shitty mattress of your bed by it all, wrapped in the thin, scratchy blanket the apartment came with.

A little shimmer of Light tugs at the edge of your thoughts, brightening that corner of your room for a moment. Poe drifts over to you, nestling himself into your sad little depression nest. He settles between your face and the comms screen, and his front fin nudges your nose, bringing a grin to your previously deadpan features. “I got you something.” He was whispering, soft and eager. “Come on, let’s get you out of bed. I’ll put it on the counter.”

One more nuzzle to your nose and he bobs off, phasing into the main room with another gentle burst of Light. Sighing, you uncurl from the fetal position you’d been holding for the past few hours. Trying to ignore the kink in your neck and the headache it caused, you hoped that Poe would take care of it before too long. ‘I’ve really gotten spoiled with that. Don’t think I can ever go back to ibuprofen.’

You must have been taking longer than you realized, because Poe’s voice calls out to you, asking if you were coming. “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”

Voice hoarse from disuse, your response came out in a raspy croak. Wincing, it was a harsh realization that those were the first words you’ve actually spoken since yesterday.

Morning.

‘Yeah, I gotta. I gotta get my shit together.’

Just as you open the bedroom door, Poe zips up to you, stopping mere inches from your face. “Wait! Wait, close your eyes. I’ll lead you.”

Chuckling, you humor your Ghost, murmuring, “Okay, okay”, while he steers you to what was presumably the little counter bar separating your kitchenette from the living space. Your hand rests on his shell, his gentle tugging guiding you to your destination. Almost immediately, he comes to a stop and urges you to open your eyes, bright voice filled with excitement.

Eyelids cracking open, you blink through the sudden brightness of literally every light in the apartment being on. Once your eyes adjust, you see a still steaming to go cup of coffee and a perfect, golden brown slice of knafeh sitting on a square napkin. The fragrant, sweet smell of the sugary desert wafts towards you, complimented by the bitter, spiced aroma of the coffee. Your mouth begins watering immediately.

“I think I remember you saying that you wanted to try this?” Poe bobs around your head, gauging your reaction to his impromptu gift of food. “Plus, I’ve read that cheese is a decent protein source, so I thought this might a bit more substantial than something like balaclava or maamoul.”

Poe continues talking while you take the knafeh and bite into it, retroactively self conscious about his choice in pastry. “Though I suppose maamoul has a lot of pistachios, and those are supposed to be pretty high in protein, too. Hm. Maybe I should have gotten both?”

You don’t respond right away, too preoccupied with chewing to even really register what Poe was saying. The syrupy sweetness hits your tongue first, teeth breaking through the crisp pastry topping of the dessert. Then, the richness of the still warm, melty cheese cuts through the sweet, balancing it out perfectly. Crushed pistachios crunch as you chew, and the delicate flavor of rose water ties everything together.

It was easily the best thing you’ve eaten since being Risen.

Smiling, you reach your free hand out to Poe before taking another bite. Pulling the little Ghost in, you press him to your cheek, humming happily. “It’s perfect, Poe. Just as good as I hoped it would be.” Taking another bite, you pause for a moment before clarifying, speaking around the half chewed knafeh stuffed in your cheek. “Better, to be honest.”

Trilling happily, Poe’s shell whirs in response. The two of you chat while coffee is drunk and knafeh is eaten, touching on everything you’ve found on the data drive since you started going through it. “Yeah, I don’t actually think there’s anything especially useful. Unless you’re a debt collector.”

Shifting in the stool you brought in for counter side sitting, you itch your scalp, realizing a shower was likely overdue. “Even then, I’m not sure any of those contracts are legally binding. Or if anyone mentioned in them is even still alive.”

Poe hums, deep in thought. This was the most you’ve spoken to him in days, a fact that you realize with no small amount of guilt. You hadn’t meant to shut him out. You just… shut down.

“Well, from what you’ve said, I’m guessing that den was more of a social spot than anything. I don’t think Cayde would’ve kept anything important to him there.” His chipper voice lifted your spirits. Your Ghost was taking tracking down Cayde’s dens as seriously as you were, and he valued your opinions about everything. “You got really lucky with the Sunshot, I think. He didn’t trust easily.”

Snorting out a single laugh, you stand up, wiping any crumbs left behind into your hand to toss into the sink. “Yeah, I can understand that.”

An uneasy quiet fell over the apartment as you clean up. When Poe speaks again, he does so carefully, a cautious tone colouring his voice. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but what happened to you was an exception, not a rule. I really believe that, Nev.”

He said your name softly, careful not to scare the skittish animal his Guardian sometimes was back into her den. Standing over the sink now, your hands brace on the counter, trying to listen to what Poe was saying without doing just that.

Little bubbles of panic, desperation, and loneliness had been rising to the surface of your mind intermittently since the disciplinary meeting. They popped at random intervals, always without the mercy or kindness of a warning. The feeling was often so overwhelming that you couldn’t do anything but curl tightly in on yourself, every muscle in your body tensing against the intrusive emotion.

Floating over, Poe gently nudges the side of your face before he continues. “It’ll get better. I promise. You’re a good person. A good Guardian. We’ll get through this, together, and when we do, Wex and Misti can- they can-”

Pulled out of your reverie, you look at Poe, eyebrows raised in mild shock. You take in his his ranting and rapidly twitching shell expectantly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this worked up before.’

“Oh! They can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine!” Huffing, Poe’s shell was scrunched in on itself, tight around his glowing optic, and you realize this must be what his ‘angry face’ looks like.

It was fuckin’ adorable.

But, not wanting to demean him and the anger he felt on your behalf, you keep those thoughts to yourself. Instead you put on your best appropriately appreciative look, offering him the first genuine, full faced smile you could muster since that damn op. “Thanks, bud.”

He trills happily, shell spinning in a pattern you’ve grown to recognize as his ‘happy whirs’. Deciding then and there that you were going to perk up, ‘By force, if necessary’, you made for the apartment’s tiny bathroom for a shower. Poe kept a light, chattering conversation going as you did, clearly having missed talking to you for the past week. He was in the middle of catching you up on the new stock at Banshee’s stall when he stopped speaking with a start.

“Oh!” His shell perked up in surprise. “Well. It’s a good thing you’ve bathed.”

“Yeah?” Towel drying your hair, you spare a glance to your Ghost in the mirror. “Guess I was getting pretty rank, huh?”

Distracted by whatever message he received, Poe takes a second to respond. “No. Well, yes, but also-”, you roll your eyes at his comment about your degraded hygiene levels while he thinks another moment, “-it looks like Drifter is back in the Tower.”

“Well, shit.” Deciding you didn’t actually care if your hair was still wet, you about face, turning on your heel and popping your armor on from transmat in one fluid motion. Grabbing your cloak, you’re out the door before the call to rot can reach you again.

Slamming you against the wall with a heavy thunk, the nameless Titan crushes his thick, armored forearm into your sternum, pinning you in place. Nothing was cracking, but the pressure was intense, and you were finding it hard to catch a breath. A little group of rag tag Lightbearers watched on as the scene unfolded. ‘Really not having any luck with Titans lately, am I?’

Resisting the powerful urge to try and pry his arm off of you, your hands remain where they are, lifted above your head, palms facing out and open. “I said,”, you manage to wheeze out, “I’m just here to see Drifter. I don’t want trouble.”

Leaning even further into your space, the Titan sneers out, “Right, and I’m the fucking Vanguard Commander.”

Just as you were about to say something that would have absolutely gotten your chest cavity flattened, a drawling voice calls out from across the room. Echoing off the walls, the tone was relaxed, bordering on amused. “Hey, now. Is that any way to treat a guest, Arnold?”

The now named Titan, ‘Pfft, Arnold. Dork ass name’, freezes at the sound of the man speaking. The pressure of his arm lets up a fraction, but it was still more than enough to keep you pinned. You didn’t take your eyes off his helmet, where you thought his eyes ought to be. He returns your stare, presumably, as he responds to the man that called out to him. “She’s a rat, Drifter.”

You bristle under his hold, becoming increasingly annoyed by everyone and their fucking mother making wild assumptions about your character and intentions. Ignoring your withering glare, Arnold keeps talking out of his ass. “She’s Zavala’s new favourite pet. Ain’t no way she’s here on accident.”

“Well, suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re a little behind the times, brother.” Footsteps clunk across bare flooring, stopping halfway down a flight of textured metal stairs. “But this ‘favourite pet’ has, oh, how should we say it.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the moment hang in silent theatrics. “Had a little tumble from grace.”

Arnold was no longer looking at you, his head turned to where Drifter stood. Not interested in a one sided stare down, you follow his gaze, setting your eyes on the mysterious Drifter for the first time since you were Risen.

He was grinning now. An easy, natural thing that very nearly reached his eyes, very nearly looked friendly. “So, how about we give our guest some breathin’ room and find out why she’s come all this way to see us, hm?”

Arnold huffs under his helmet, clearly unhappy with this development. Regardless, he removes his forearm from your chest, taking barely half a step back. Clearly trying to intimidate you, he remained in your personal bubble, saddling you with the task of extricating yourself from the tight space. Sick and tired of remaining polite while being pushed around, you smile up at the Titan as you make a show of dusting yourself off, consequences be damned.

“Thanks for the warm welcome.” Patting him cheerily on his chestplate, that syrupy smile still plastered on your face, you finish with, “Lovely meeting you, Arnie.”

Scooching sideways, you remove yourself from between the wall and Arnold, who was now practically shaking in anger. Your smile widens when you hear his friends snickering behind you, some muttering the little nickname you coined under their breaths. It deepened at seeing his hands balled up into fists at his side. Drifter watched the little exchange silently, amused look in his eyes.

“You’re a hard man to get a face to face with, Drifter.” You keep your tone light, breezy. Mimicking the rogue Lightbearer’s demeanor, you saunter up to him, stopping short of the perforated metal stairs he stood on. “Like I tried to explain to your guard dog,” you jerk a thumb back in the direction of Arnold and his little posse, “I don’t want trouble. Just here to talk.”

Drifter’s grin widens into a smile, his pointed canines now on display. It still didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, come on then. Let’s get talkin’.”

He motions for you to follow as he turns around and walks back towards the corridor he must have come from.

Drifter might not have a hood pulled up around his head, might not have a cloak swishing around his legs, but in this moment, you felt hunted. Poe pulled in close, giving you a sidelong glance as he did. You smile tightly, silently conveying that you shared his apprehension. But, it was either this or kiss ass and play nice with the alarmingly corporate hierarchy of the Vanguard. ‘Like hell I’m wasting my time with that.’

So, you follow Drifter up the stairs and down the hall into what you took to be his ‘office’. It was cluttered, weapons of all sorts in various states of disassembled strewn about most of the table surfaces. Small piles of jade coins cluster around empty cups, tins, and jars. Passing by one, Drifter casually flips one such coin at what you realize now is a target. Sinking the coin, he huffs softly, victorious.

You cock an eyebrow as he glances back, shooting you an expectant look you could almost call goofy. Deciding it’s in your best interest to at least try to get on his good side, you offer up a, “Nice shot?”

Waving you off with a, “Bah”, Drifter settles, leaning up against a workbench piled high with weapon parts and other clutter. Chuckling, you mirror his pose, leaning up against the workbench opposite him. Finally, after a moment of sizing each other up, he speaks. “So. What brings you here, sister?”

You jaw tics. Not caring for the over familiarity of being called ‘sister’, it’s a struggle to reign it in for the sake of this conversation. But you do. Already on the back foot, you know you’re at a disadvantage. As it stands, you want something from him. Need something. He’s got all the power here, a fact you are sure he is keenly aware of.

So, you start your preplanned spiel, hoping the carefully crafted speech can somehow Jedi mind trick him into giving you what you want. “I’m guessing you’re aware that I’ve been put on probation. That my jumpship’s been impounded.”

Drifter’s grin quirks at the edges, but he says nothing, waiting for you to continue. You try not to let any of your latent anger at the situation seep into your practiced, matter of fact tone. “In addition to that, all Vanguard operatives are altitude locked, save for a handful of special favourites. Can’t break atmo, can’t leave Earth.”

He knows this. You know he knows this. Your hope is that by repeating the facts, you’re priming him for the question you really want to ask. ‘Only one way to find out.’

“I know you run Gambits. I know the Guardians who participate fly themselves out to your arenas.” His face doesn’t change. Same smug grin, same knowing look in his eyes. He knows what you’re here for. Probably knew even before Arnold had the bright idea to slam you into the wall, hackles raised and foaming at the mouth. “I want that. I want whatever it is that lets your friends get around the blockade done to my jumpship.”

That predatory gleam in his eyes was back, accompanied by that toothy grin. “I have to say, it’s a real treat to deal with someone so direct. ‘Friends’ is a bit strong, though.”

You don’t smile back, keeping your face neutral, hoping that he can’t smell the desperation rolling off you in waves. Hoping he can’t smell the rot of the past week. Hoping he can’t tell if this doesn’t work out, you’re broken. A wild animal caught in a trap, gnawing it’s own leg off.

“Tell ya what, I’ll return the favor. Won’t beat around the bush, won’t run ya in any circles.” He carries on, flipping another jade coin up into the air. Catching it mid-flip, he simply states, “It’ll cost ya, but sure. Why not, sister.”

His easy agreement comes out of nowhere, catching you completely off guard. Your face cracks. Eyes widening, you lean forward just a bit, as if you’d be able to reach out and grab his promise of freedom. Drifter’s eyes narrow every so slightly, focusing with intent on his new prey.

‘Ah, fuck.’

You face must have fallen, because he starts laughing. A belly deep thing, the smile that comes with it finally reaches his eyes, crinkling the skin around the edges into branching crow’s feet. “Ah, relax, relax. ‘Ol Drifter’s fair, he ain’t gonna run ya dry over this.”

Too irritated with how easily you let the mask fell, you snap out, “Do you usually refer to yourself in the third person, or is it just when you’re mocking people?”

Leveling you with a look you couldn’t quite place, Drifter locked his eyes with yours. Refusing to cow, you return the look, not bothering to fix the expression you knew was souring your features. Bastard has the nerve to chuckle.

“Knew you had a decent bark. Word is you got a bite to go along with it, too.” He snorts a single laugh out, shaking his head. “Got use for your type. Scrappy, focused. Clever enough to know there’s more than one way of doin’ things.”

‘Scrappy…?’ You listen to him talk, feeling a little odd that he’s speaking to you like you’re some young, fresh faced kid. ‘Been a good few years since anyone’s talked to me like that.’

He leans forward, pointing at your chest. “Plus, you’re thorough. Seen your reports, and phew.” He lets out a low whistle in admiration. “Thing ‘o beauty, those are. Got a real knack for information gathering.”

You leer at him, immediately suspicious. “Why do you know all that? Why bother paying attention?”

The questions comes out haltingly, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to ask them even as the words formed on your tongue. He just shrugs, fiddling with yet another jade coin.

‘Jesus. How many of those things does he have?’

“You’re interesting, sister. Not every day a transdimensional Guardian turns up in the Tower with a full recollection of their life before the Light.” He flips the coin absently in the air, a musical tinkling paired with each flick of his thumb. “Plus, I got an eye for people that might wind up being useful to me.”

He grins that toothy grin. You huff and cross your arms. He laughs.

‘Prick.’

“Aw, come on, don’t look at me like that. Said I’d help ya out, didn’t I?” He brings his hands up, ‘surrendering’. With a roll of a wrist and a dopey expression on his face, he pulls a coin out of thin air. “You just gotta do somethin’ for ‘ol Drifter first. I got this team that’s down a slot, and-”

“No.” You cut him off, voice harsh. Firm. “No fireteams. I’ll do whatever you need just. Just no fireteams.”

Your firmness softens into a half plea towards the end. It takes all your self control not to tack on a ‘please’, but again, you really didn’t want to seem desperate. Weak. Sighing, Drifter’s head flops downward, hanging towards his chest. Bringing it up a second later, he runs a hand over his eyes. “Fine, fine. Tried to start you off on easy, but hey. Not like I blame you.”

He takes you in again, calculating look on his face, gaze boring a hole through your skull. You shift uncomfortably, well aware of the weight of the rogue Lightbearer’s eyes on you. For a moment, he looks much older than you initially took him for. Shoving off the worktable, he walks over to another, rifling around in the clutter dominating it’s surface. “Don’t much care for all that ‘buddy buddy’ bull, either, sister.”

‘Not sure how much I like having anything in common with this guy, to be honest.’ A sigh huffs out of your nose. You cross your arms, finding comfort in the pressure created by the defensive posture.

Poe had been silent since the incident with Arnold, letting you take point. You’d agreed to this beforehand, deciding not to offer up anything more than was asked, wary of the potential for your close relationship to be used against you. Still, Poe stayed close as ever, and he takes this opportunity to give you a gentle bonk on the head while Drifter’s back was turned. Smiling, you let out another small huff, releasing some tension that had built up in your chest.

Meanwhile, Drifter continues to scrounge, muttering curses under his breath as he does. A sharp, “Ha!”, punctuates the end of his search, and he turns around to face you, triumphant. He tosses you a small data drive without warning, and you catch it purely on instinct. Just as you were about to ask what the fuck he just threw at your head, he pipes up.

“That’s your job. Bit more of a to do than what I first had in mind for ya, but.” Drifter shrugs, pausing in his explanation as he does. “Solo work is what you want, so solo work is what you’re gonna get.”

You look down at the drive still clutched in your hand. Unassuming, it’s almost identical to the one you pulled from Cayde’s den, if a little less beat up. Scanning it, Poe starts the process of uploading the contents to your handheld.

“Scouting work. It’s a ways out, ‘cross the ocean on the other continent.” He points to the drive in your hand. “The info on there is what a previous, underwhelming scout got a few months back. It’s sparse, but enough caught my eye to make me wanna send someone else out. Someone competent.”

You cock an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. “What caught your eye?”

He levels you with a serious look, all traces of the easy going facade he’d put up till now gone. “Some descriptions of a Fallen Pike gang, out in the desert. Could be nothin’, could be somethin’. I’m hoping the former.”

Your eyebrows scrunch, furrowing deep divots on your forehead. Having fully expected to be given dirty work, gun running, smuggling, or who knows what else, being asked to do a standard scouting job took you off guard. “So you’re taking it upon yourself to look into it? Why not submit this to the Vanguard, if it could be as serious as you think.”

Drifter barks out a laugh, bitter and mirthful. “Zavala barely let’s his precious Guardians outta sight of the City walls these days. Cayde’s death rattled him good. Besides, it ain’t like I got a lotta goodwill built up with those goody goody types. Doubt they’d listen.”

“As for why I’m doin’ this?” He scratches his chin in thought, blunt fingernails scraping over rough stubble. “Well, you could say it’s all in line with my charitable nature, sister.”

He grins, toothy and wolfish. You just roll your eyes and shrug, grunting in neither disagreement nor affirmation. It was pretty unlikely you were ever going to get a straight answer out of him, so you decided it was better not to pry. “Are you expecting me to cross the Atlantic Ocean on a sparrow, or do you have a jumpship to loan me?”

“Ah, shit. Nearly forgot about that. C’mon.” He starts for the door that leads to the makeshift hangar bay, beckoning you to follow. As you trot to catch up to him, you ask a question you aren’t sure you want to know the answer to, but can’t stop yourself from voicing.

“You said there was a previous scout. They still around? Might have some questions.” You walk beside Drifter, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction to the question.

Regarding you out of the corner of his eye, he smirks and simply says, “Nah. Didn’t work out. Had to let ‘em go.”

Picking up the pace, he pulls ahead down the narrow hallway leading towards the hangar bay.

‘Hate that.’ The lingering thought that you were tossing yourself out of the frying pan and into a cremator started creeping up your spine again. ‘Really hate that.’

Before you were given too much time to spiral into that particular worry, a loud hoot cuts through your thoughts. Boisterous laughter and loud conversations that sounded just a little to friendly to be considered arguments bounce off the metal walls, successfully distracting you. Arnold and the handful of other Guardians all sat in a circle, squatting on unused crates around one serving as their card table. Completely engrossed in whatever game they were playing, they were only pulled away from it when Drifter shouts, “Arnold!”

The Titan’s head snaps up. Helmet now removed, his short, blonde curls were half plastered to his forehead with sweat. Silvery, glowing eyes narrow in your direction before looking to Drifter expectantly, his lavender skin practically glowing in the over head lights of the hangar as he does.

“New kid needs a jumpship for a few days. She’s takin’ yours.”

Arnold loudly protested, standing abruptly and knocking several neat piles of cards to the floor. The Guardians closest to his hulking frame smack him hard on the legs, jostling the Titan and their card game further. Cutting if off with a round fired straight into the air, ‘When the hell did he draw?’, silence fell over the space immediately.

“Thank you.” Drifter’s face was flat, expressionless. Hard eyes stared down at the group below, as if daring any of them to speak, to move. Finding yourself caught up it in, and more startled by the sudden gunshot than you’d like to admit, you also stood stock still.

Keeping his eyes trained on the group, he addresses you, snapping you out of your unintentional freeze reaction. “Now, you ain’t gonna bang up his jumpship, are you sister?”

“Nnnope.” Popping the ‘p’, you place your right hand over your heart, raising the left into the air. “I’ll bring it back safe and sound, scout’s honor.”

Easy grin back in place, Drifter claps you on the back roughly, knocking you forward into the guard rail. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.”

You test a friendly smile out on Arnold, but he was very stubbornly refusing to look at you. Sighing, you shoot Poe a look and silently hope that he gets over his shit quickly. ‘Not like he was the one slammed up against a wall. Fucks’ sake.’

“Oh.” Just as Drifter was turning to walk away, he stops, addressing the group again. “One more thing. Arnold, you’re shipping out with Lirien’s group to the Shore for a security job. They’re down a man and need a temp. Have fun, brother.”

With that, Drifter walks off back to his workshop, leaving you standing awkwardly on the catwalk as an aggravated, “Oh, come on!”, echoes off the walls.

That Same Night in the Eastern Bazaar

Shaw moves through the crowds of the bazaar quietly, putting more effort into his movement than he needed to. He hadn’t quite adjusted to being back in the Tower yet, so he was still hyper conscious of the amount of noise his footfall made. Head snapping in the direction of a jovial, but still loud, shout for the sixth time, he just sighed. Hattie teased him gently, pointing out his jumpy nerves. “I don’t think that drunken hangar tech is any kind of a threat to you, Shaw. Try to relax. You’re starting to freak me out.”

Sighing again, he scratches the side of his face, a little embarrassed about how touchy he still was. His nerves usually unwound the moment the Traveler came into view. Then again, he wasn’t used to taking in that view without his fireteam’s easy comms chatter to go along with it. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, Hats. Still adjusting, I guess.”

His Ghost hummed thoughtfully, then, carefully said, “We can talk about it, you know.”

When Shaw didn’t respond, she let silence settle between them. There was a time for pressing the matter. This wasn’t it.

The longer they wandered, the more the noise of the crowds died down. Vendors pack up their stalls, bathed in the amber glow of lanterns strung up between them. Talking wearily amongst themselves now that they were free of their demanding Guardian clientele, easy chatter filled the air. Last calls at the handful of bars scattered around the market cut through the chatter of the merchants, accented by the clumsy stumbling of Guardians and Vanguard employees taking the edge off after a hard day.

The Tower was taking one last sleepy sigh before turning in for the night.

All in all, it was nice. A familiar scene to return to, with many remembered, stumbling nights of his own lending to that sense of ‘home’. His thoughts drift to one of Cas trying his best to herd both he and Maeve out of closing bars, insisting that they get some food in their stomachs before they regret it in the morning. Fed up with their nonsense, both Hattie and Maeve’s Ghost refused to help with any sort of hangover they’d get if they fell into their respective beds on empty stomachs.

Shaw smiles, chuckling lightly to himself at the thought. That exact scenario played out at least once every couple of months, usually after particularly long ops or difficult postings. Maeve always liked coming home. Looked forward to it in a way Shaw couldn’t relate to. Still, he always followed. Even if he didn’t understand the draw of ‘home’ in the way she did, he’d follow her anywhere. Always.

He fought to keep the grin on his face. Fought the rising lump in his throat. He had wanted to follow her, one last time. Tried to, he thinks, without really realizing it. The icy phantom of mortality passes over Shaw at the thought, sending a chill up his spine. Then, Nev barges in on his remembered near death experience, and his grin returns. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so angry.’

Not able to help himself, he laughs, remembering how confused he was when she nearly shoved him back into needing a rez. He could still feel her iron grip on his chest plate, see the fear and betrayal in her mossy, green eyes. The Hunter lets out a long sigh, laughter gone. ‘She saw right through me. Right through my ‘heroism’. ‘

Before he could sink further into self pity, something catches Shaw’s eye. A lone figure, hood drawn up around their head, slinking out of what he thought was just a service corridor in the courtyard’s wall. His eyes narrow, clocking the suspicious pattern of movement. Just as he was about to move towards them, the figure looks up to their Ghost hovering above their head, revealing a familiar face.

Wide smile spreading across his features, Shaw calls out to the figure. “Nev! Hey! How’s it going?”

Deep in conversation, she doesn’t seem to hear him, a group of drunken pilots loudly spilling from the nearby pub just as he called out to her. Trotting to catch up with her quickening pace, he calls out again. She hears this time, a startled jerk giving her away. Freezing, she slowly turns to face him, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Confused, Shaw stops in his tracks. ‘That’s… weird. She wasn’t that jumpy before.’

Still, it’s only a second before she recognizes him, and her somewhat fearful expression shifts into one of embarrassment. “Hey, Shaw. Sorry, I was a little distracted.”

Uncharacteristically bashful, Nev looks up at him with a sheepish grin on her face. Just as Shaw was about to respond, the loud rush of metal grating being pulled over a closing restaurant’s storefront startles Nev, causing her to practically jump out of her skin. Brows furrowed, he places a hand on her shoulder, looking down at her as she tries to mask the response she just had to the sudden noise.

“You have time for that bowl of ramen I owe you?” Shaw smiles, choosing not to address the strange jumpiness for now. “There’s a late night branch that should still be open. Has a nice spot away from all the drunks we can eat, too. Sound good?”

At the mention of food, Nev’s eyes light up, and she nods quickly. “Sounds good. Lead the way, boy scout.”

Relieved by the familiar, teasing nickname, Shaw did just that, trying not to think too much about the dark bags under her eyes that he could swear weren’t there before.

Returning with the food, Shaw takes care to make noise as he approaches where Nev sits, legs drawn up and curled into a tight ball, looking out over the City below. She was already so tense, he seriously worried that too sudden of an arrival on his part would snap that tension, sending her over the edge. Literally and figuratively.

So, Shaw clears his throat when he’s about a meter away, just for good measure. A good call, he decides, as Nevret uncurls herself slowly, no snapping present in her careful movements. Leaning back, she reaches her hands behind her, resting on her palms as she calls over her shoulder to him. “You don’t have to go that far, I hear you coming from a ways back. You practically stomped over.”

Looking up at him, she grinned, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now hurry up, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Chuckling, Shaw settles in next to her, lettings his legs dangle over the wall’s ledge. “Maybe you should plan your meals better, then. Not my fault you skipped lunch.”

“It’s hot, so don’t drop it.” Shaw ignores the face Nev is making at him, tongue stuck out and face scrunched, while he hands her a covered bowl. “They were closing up when I got there, so this was their last order for the night. Oh, and, we have to return the bowls after we finish.”

She takes the bowl, holding it firmly, either ignoring or immune to the fact that the contents were just shy of boiling. Lifting off the ceramic lid, the cloudy pork based broth fills the air around them with the rich smell of tonkatsu. Setting the bowl next to her, she grabs for a pair of chopsticks, snapping them apart. Pushing her hood back, she digs into the meal with a quick, “Thanks!”, and an enthusiasm that Shaw remembers well.

They ate in relative silence, only the occasional, “Good stuff, right?”, and request for hot sauce breaking it. Finishing quickly, Nev flops back, laying on the ground with her legs kicking over the ledge and arms propped under her head. Her eyes were closed, and Shaw took the opportunity to take his first real look at her since she pulled her hood back.

The dim lighting of the courtyard threw heavy shadows over her face, but Shaw was right when he thought she looked thinner. Gaunt, almost. In addition to the bags under her eyes, it almost looked like someone had gone in and hollowed out a portion of her cheeks. Already sharp cheekbones cut harshly across her face, mirrored by her jawline. Also, her hair looked almost damp, laying limp and stringy against her scalp. A halo of flyaways fuzzed outwards, created by the friction of her hood.

Shaw’s eyebrows furrow in concern. Even out in the Cosmodrome, only days Risen and thrown into a strange and violent world, he remembered her fussing over her hair. She swept it carefully out of her face, weaving a tight, tidy braid out of it to make sure it stayed that way. A remembered anecdote of her father liking to fish and teaching her how to braid tightly when she was little floated through his mind as Shaw took her in.

That was the other thing. This was the longest Nev had ever been quiet in his presence. ‘Unless you count when she’s sleeping.’

Too deep in thought, Shaw didn’t notice that Nev’s eyes had been open for some time now. “Do I have food on my face or something?”

Starting rather violently, Shaw’s arms jerked, sending the near empty bowl he’d been eating out of flying out of his hands and down into the empty air below. The pair of Hunters lean over the ledge, arms braced on either side of them for support, and watch the bowl plummet, smashing onto the roof of a service building below.

“Ah, crud.” Shaw’s head flops down to his chest at the sound of shattering ceramic. “I’m gonna owe them for the bowl now. Shoot.”

Visibly trying not to laugh, Nev looks at him with a mixture of concern and deep amusement. “Little jumpy there, Shaw?”

Returning the look and the sentiment, Shaw simply replies with, “Could say the same about you.”

Nev just shrugs, a little more somber, but maintaining a small smile. She faces the City, a look in her eyes Shaw couldn’t place. One that worries him.

“We’d come to this spot, sometimes.” He stares out over the City with her, changing the subject. Trying to find the hope he’d often feel gazing at the sea of lights with his fireteam. “Cas, Maeve, and I. Even if the ramen place was closed, we’d just sit here. Look out over it all.”

Nev says nothing, quietly listening, waiting for Shaw to continue. Glancing over, he sees that her Ghost had settled in on her shoulder. Hattie bobbed nearby, the presence of her Light a comforting constant. “It was always Maeve’s idea. She was insistent that we never forget what home looks like.”

A sad laugh shook Shaw’s shoulders as he brought a hand up to absently scratch at the side of his face. “I have no idea why. It isn’t like there are any other cities to confuse this one with.” He pauses, fully aware he was on a ramble now, not sure if he was making sense, if Nev even cared about anything he was saying. “We went along with it, though, Cas and I. Always did. She was very hard to say no to.”

Shaw shrugged. “Titans.”

Glancing to Nev, Shaw was surprised to meet her eyes. She was watching him, contemplative look on her face. Turning back out to face the City, her brows furrow, and she huffs in thought. “I didn’t know her, but…”

She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably so you’d have something to hold onto. So when you’re on the receiving end of a rifle, in a situation that feels hopeless, you’re able to remember you have something to come back to.”

Nodding her head towards the City, she continues. “I think it’d be safe to say each of those lights represents a person. A real, living person with a life, and everything that comes with it.”

“Maeve had the right idea, I think.” She brings her legs up again, resting her chin on her knees. “We’re the Guardians in the high Tower. Watching the City from above, protecting, but not living. Not really. Not the way they are.”

Nev’s voice goes quiet, soft, carrying a vulnerability that surprises Shaw. He briefly wonders who these words are meant for, thinking they seem almost too personal for him to be hearing. “We need reminding, sometimes. Not just about why we do what we do, but reminding that we’re living, too. We’re just as much a part of this place as every one of those lights.”

Glancing up at him, Nev must see something in Shaw’s face, his concern, his grief. Her eyes flicker, like she’s just remembered where she is, who she’s speaking to, and that vulnerability vanishes. A wall comes back up. “Don’t know how much Maeve’d approve of tossing perfectly good ramen bowls down into the City, though.”

A sliver of the grin she only bothers to half hide behind her knees is visible on Nev’s face, familiar glint returning to her eyes. Rolling with it, Shaw groans theatrically, shoving her gently on the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to. It’s half your fault, anyway.”

“Oh, like hell it is!” Shoving him back, considerably harder, Nev uncurls, letting her legs dangle over the ledge again, face alight with laughter. She looks almost like herself again. “So, ‘butter fingers’ or ‘boy scout’, which do prefer?”

Their joint laughter is snatched by the wind, echoing off the gently curving walls of the Tower. It dies down sooner than it would have if they were still out in the Cosmodrome, before the weight of all they carried had a chance to settle. Before new weight was added. Still, Shaw felt lighter than he had since returning. He was able to look out over the City and find some of that hope, that peace, that came so easily when he was with Cas. With Maeve.

“It’s nice to see you again, Nev.”

Reaching out to shove him again, she just mutters a, “Nice to see you too.”

She’d turned away as she said it, clearly embarrassed. ‘The weirdest things get to her, I swear.’

Choosing to take this chance to tease her further, he scooches closer, bumping her with his shoulder while he does. “By the way, wasn’t I supposed to get a thrilling recap of your first official op with a fireteam? It’s been more than a week. I couldn’t even find your report when I looked.”

Nev goes rigid. The easy, comfortable energy they’d found suddenly evaporates, leaving Shaw to wonder what he said wrong. When she turns to face him, there is a hardness in her eyes he didn’t recognize. It was calculating, detached, like she was trying to decide something about him in that moment. Pulling out her handheld, she taps a few things onto the screen. His beeps a moment later, tucked inside his transmat storage.

Her voice is hard, distant, when she speaks. “That’s the report. I’ll tell you my version after you read it, if you’re still interested.”

Confused, Shaw shares a look with Hattie. He pulls out his handheld, and Hattie’s shell whirs as she reads along with him.

“What-?” Head snapping up from the report, Shaw looks to Nev, eyes wide with shock. She’s facing forward, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused. Her hands are balled up in her lap, a slight tremor shaking them. He continues reading, not sure if he’s able to believe the contents of the report. She offers no insight, remaining quiet until he finishes. Once done, Shaw looks to his friend, to someone he thought he got to know rather well in the short span of time they spent together.

“I don’t understand.” Shaw is staring directly at her, eyes boring a hole in the side of her face. She remains facing forward. “Nev, I don’t get it. This says you abandoned the mission. Abandoned your fireteam. You.”

Disbelief coloured his voice, but he couldn’t deny what he read. He knew Wex. Or knew of him, at least. Maeve’s opinion of him was a high one. They came up together. Heck, they fought in the Twilight Gap together. But he knew Nev. He knew exactly how she felt about being left behind. “Nevret, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” Her voice is soft again, barely there. Her Ghost floats up to her eye level, tilting his chassis like he was asking her a question. She nods.

“It’s a lie.” Speaking for her, Poe recounts what actually happened. Critical mission data being withheld, being given a dummy, unencrypted comms channel, getting jumped by dozens, upon dozens of Cabal. How she screamed, begged, for her fireteam the entire time.

‘It’s a miracle she made it back. I don’t know anyone else that would have.’

Poe finishes his recounting of events with the disciplinary meeting. By the end of it, Shaw’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. All the while, Nev watches him, watches his reactions. ‘That’s what that look was for. She was trying to decide if I would believe her or not.’

“If you need proof, we have it.” To his credit, Nev’s Ghost sounds like he’d try and shove Shaw off the wall if he accused them of lying. Attempting to save himself from the wrath of Poe, he shakes his head quickly.

“No, no. I don’t need any. I believe you.” Gaze dropping to his lap, Shaw processes everything he’d learned about Nev’s op. About her subsequent punishment. His jaw clenches, frustrated with how things have become since Zavala tightened his grip on the Vanguard and the Tower. ‘I know he’s coming from a good place, but this is too much.’

“You know, that kind of disciplinary action didn’t even exist until a few years back, right after Cayde was killed. We had the Praxic Order, sure, but they’re for the intense stuff.” He risked a glance up at Nev, only to find her listening intently, her full attention directed solely on him. “From what I hear, most of the time those meetings don’t end up being serious, but. Well.”

He trails off, not really sure what to say, with only half an idea about how to help. “I’ve heard the appeals process is a nightmare, and waiting it all out when you haven’t done anything? Screw that.”

“Look, I’m not saying this would be a good idea under pretty much any other circumstances, but,” Shaw clenches his fists, resolving himself to give what might wind up being absolutely terrible advice. “I think you should go talk to Drifter. He’s got ways around the blockade, and you don’t deserve to be stuck here.”

Nev’s mouth is hanging open, staring at Shaw in abject disbelief. Just as he about about to defend his advice, she does something he doesn’t expect.

She starts laughing.

Full bodied and deep, Nev’s eyes are screwed shut, face split in half by a jaw breaking smile. Shaw watches her, feeling a little hurt. ‘I didn’t think my suggestion was that much of a stretch.’

“You know,” piping up during a break where Nev wheezes to try and catch her breath, Shaw mumbles, indignant, “you could just say it’s a bad idea.”

Scrambling to gather herself, she gave Shaw a pained, apologetic look, clearly trying to hold back her laughter. “No, no, that isn’t it.”

“I just. I didn’t expect you to say that, I- shit-” Finally catching her breath, she sighs out, laughing fit now over. “Sorry, the timing is what got me.”

Confused, Shaw waits for her to continue.

“That’s where I was coming from. I just made a deal with Drifter for my jumpship and a way around the blockade.” Disbelief still colouring her voice, she placed a hand on Shaw’s forearm. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by laughing. The timing is just objectively hilarious.”

Shaw scratches the side of his face absently, look of mild shock on his face. “Well,” he shakes his head, settling his gaze on Nev’s face, still ruddy from her laughing fit. “I guess you’ve got that covered then.”

Giving him a chucking, “Mmmhm”, she bumps her shoulder into his playfully, looking back out over the City. Poe had settled back on her shoulder, looking silently with her.

“You know, I could join you.” Bumping her back, Shaw offers his help, almost without thinking. “That can be a rough crowd to run with. You might need a friend.”

Shaking her head before he could even finish his sentence, Nev declines his offer, a sad smile drawing at the corners of her mouth as she did. “No, Shaw. You’ve got a good thing going. Don’t toss that out the window on my account.”

Opening his mouth to protest, Nev cuts him off. “Besides, you need the Cosmodrome posting, don’t you? You’re still tracking Navôta. You need to be there.”

Shaw’s mouth snaps shut. She’s right. Of course she is. Just… for one moment, one desperate moment, he was overwhelmed by the need to be on a team again. Be latched to someone familiar, a part of something with someone. So he sighs, for what feels like the hundredth time in the few hours he’s been back to the Tower.

“Yeah, I know. I know.” Feeling Nev lean into him, he took comfort in the warm weight of her hand on his forearm. “I don’t feel like I’m any closer. She just vanished into thin air.”

Squeezing his arm, Nev spoke reassurances, sounding so convinced of their truth. “You’ll find her. You’ll find that Hive bastard and put her in the ground. I know you will.”

She spoke with a confidence Shaw couldn’t relate to. A confidence that felt easy to follow. “I want you there.” He looks Nev directly in the eye, serious as death. “I don’t care what kind of strings I have to pull, I want you there when I go after Navôta.”

Nodding, she responded with an easy, “Of course”, like it had been decided from the beginning. Shaw chuckles, amused by how easily she always seemed to take things. The casual confidence that he still couldn’t figure out the genuineness of.

“I’m glad you’re alright, even after all that.” He leaned forward a bit, angling himself just a little over the ledge they sat on in order to catch Nev’s eye. “I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t, though.”

Shaw doesn’t know if it was what he said, or the way he said it, but something in Nev cracks just then. The sudden furrow in her brow, a sharp intake of breath, glassy eyes accompanied by rapid blinking. Quietly, she whispers, something in her finally letting go. “I don’t think I’m alright. I don’t think I’m alright at all, actually.”

Her jaw trembles, and fat, round tears spill from her eyes. They streak down her face, leaving shining, wet tracks in their wake. Nev’s whole body clenches, and before she can turn inwards, collapse in on herself, Shaw pulls her in close, wrapping his arms around her in a near crushing hug. Stiff as a board, it takes Nev a moment before she leans into the hug, into Shaw. Nearly the same height when standing, a little corner of Shaw’s mind was startled by how small she felt in this moment, how easily he could curl around her shaking frame, wracked by sobs.

Nev’s arms were wrapped around him now, clutching the fabric of his cloak like he was in danger of slipping through her fingers. Or maybe because Nev was afraid that she might be the one to slip away, sinking into the deep, dark hold of the grief that had its teeth in her. Poe was nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and even Hattie decided to rest on her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while. Shaw was patient, deeply aware of what it was like to hold everything in until breaking. His hand rubbed circles into her back, responding to her sputtering apologies with assurances that it was alright. That she was fine, that she would be fine, even if it didn’t feel like it right now. His sentiments were echoed by the two Ghosts she had perched on her shoulders, and soon, Nev began to calm down.

Her breathing steadied, the grip on his cloak loosened. Still, she didn’t let go. Neither did he.

It felt nice, Shaw decided, to not let go. To just let the warmth of another person seep into him, to have a face, even if it was a little damp, tucked under his chin, pressed into the skin of his neck. His thoughts flickered back to Maeve. Back to the missed opportunities and fumbled moments that could have been like this. Nev whispered, “Thank you”, there, her face still hidden, finding the words in between an occasional sniffle.

Smiling, Shaw gave her a tight squeeze. “Of course.”

A moment passes. Unable to help himself, Shaw asks, “You’re not actually going to start calling me butter fingers, are you?”

Letting out the most indignant huff Shaw had ever heard, Nev grumbles, face still buried in his neck, “Nooooooo.”

He laughs, jostling her slightly. “Thank you.”

Nev just grunts, clearly unhappy with the potential new nickname being stolen from her. Letting his face tilt forward, he closes his eyes, resting his forehead on Nev’s hair. In spite of how it looked, he was surprised by how soft it was. Hazily, exhaustion finally hitting him, Shaw can only think one thing, his face now pressed into her scalp.

‘She smells like flowers.’

Chapter Text

The door creaks as you swing it open, rusty hinges giving more resistance than expected. Dim, yellowed light from halogen bulbs filters through smoke rising from cigarettes. Delicate tendrils of white snaking through the air, pooling at the ceiling. The hand rolled tobacco burns, tips cherry red, tucked between chapped lips, left forgotten in ashtrays, or held between rough fingers. Stale beer congeals at the bottom of recycling bins and bus pans, the smell of it mingling with pungent smoke, the little out building housing the pub apparently devoid of any real ventilation.

You’re hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong it nearly knocks you off your feet.

No one looks up when you enter, all patrons preoccupied with finding the bottom of their mugs and bottles. A room full of thick appendaged construction workers and salvage crews, unwinding after a long day of rebuilding a ruined sector of the City. One that apparently prioritized the construction of a dingy dive. Poe had tucked himself away into your Light in the interest of flying under the radar, hoping that you might blend in with the crowd; wearing civvies instead of Hunter armor and hiding behind your relative anonymity outside the Tower.

Scanning the room, a lone man catches your eye, tucked away in the farthest corner of the little pub. Rough, unfinished concrete walls soak up what little light should have made it to the corner, obscuring the identity of the person to anyone casually looking.

However, you weren't casually looking. Raising a hand, you return the little wave Shaw was now giving you, having just noticed that you’d walked in. Weaving your way through the cramped room, he pours a mug of beer from a scuffed pitcher on the table. By the time you reach him, the pint is filled, mostly with foam.

Grumbling, he gestures to the mug as he sets it in front of you, very clearly exasperated. “Sorry. Same thing happened with mine. I’m not really used to pitchers.”

You chuckle, settling into the chair kitty-cornered from his. Shaw had left the Hunter armor behind for the night, too, at your request. Plain work pants and a simple grey henley, he wouldn't look out of place with the rest of the construction teams. “Don’t worry about it, the head’ll go down.”

Reaching over, you snatch Shaw’s half full glass before he has the chance to stop you. Knocking back the ale, light and refreshing in spite of its dark colour, you finish the glass in just a few gulps.

“You know, I was drinking that.”

Shooting him a grin, you push the still full, foamy pint over to him. “And now you aren’t.”

Shaw sighs, resigning himself to waiting for the head to go down while you pour yourself a fresh pint, correctly. Silence falls over the two of you, and you shift a little awkwardly in your seat. "So… about me snotting all over your cape the other night…"

Chuckling, Shaw reaches over the table and clinks his glass against yours. "You are one hundred percent fine, and we never have to bring it up again. I get it."

You return his smile and take a long drink of your beer. "I knew I liked you."

"By the way," You start, looking around the small, dingy bar. “How’d you find this place? Doesn’t seem like the type of pub you’d frequent.”

He shrugs, chuckling into a swig of beer that was just starting to be more liquid than foam. “It isn’t. But I couldn’t exactly take you to any of my usuals around the Tower, not with you wanting to keep a low profile.”

Shaw quickly continues, the half formed defense of your insistence dying on your tongue. “I’ve heard your arguments, and I’m not disagreeing with you. Figured this was far enough out and too much of a dive for most Guardians to come to.”

Satisfied, you smile over the lip of your mug at him, happy to let comfortable silence settle between you. The general ambiance of the bar was soothing, and almost painfully familiar. With eyes closed to the City architecture and a repurposed frame bussing tables, you could almost convince yourself that you were home.

“-disturbances on Luna have resulted in Vanguard Commander Zavala recalling all operating fireteams from the moon’s surface. Insider sources report overwhelming Hi-”

Almost.

The news broadcast abruptly cuts off, replaced with rankings from the most recent Sparrow Racing League events. Spirited commentary and speculation about upcoming races blare until the barkeep barks at the frame to cut the volume. It responds in an obedient, if static laden, voice, and the hum of casual conversation and clinking glassware rises to dominate the soundscape shortly after.

Spell broken, you open your eyes to see Shaw’s locked on the dusty screen that was playing the news broadcast moments ago. Curious, you ask, “Know anything about that?”

Pulling his eyes from the screen, grim look set on his features, Shaw shakes his head. “Not much. Rumors, mostly. Nothing concrete.”

Your eyebrows furrow, more confused than curious now, distinctly remembering free access to most Guardian reports from all over the system, past and present. “Seriously? Aren’t the Luna reports open to us?”

“Yeah, normally.” Gripping his glass tighter than he needs to, Shaw continues. “For whatever reason, these are behind a wall. Nobody seems to have a high enough clearance level.”

“Well,” Shrugging, you grab for the pitcher. Having recently found the bottom of your mug, remnants of foam slide down the inner walls, you are keen for a refill. “Sounds like it’s above our pay grade, then.”

Shaw gives you an exasperated look as you pour, and you can feel Poe shaking his chassis from within your Light. He reaches for the pitcher when you set it down, mimicking how you pour your own drink this time. “Oh, come on. There’s no way you aren’t concerned. Or curious, at the very least.”

Sinking into your chair, it takes considerable effort to keep from becoming surly. “Course I am. But what can I do about it?”

You take a swig, corners of your mouth tugging downwards in spite of the comforting sting of carbonation traveling down your throat. “Zavala called everyone back and you’re saying that he locked down all information. Even if I wasn’t in time out, seriously, what could I do? Waltz into his office and demand answers?”

Looking very much like he would expect you to do just that, Shaw only manages to get out a teasing, “Well…”, before you kick at his shin under the table, laughing when you make contact. Happily, you find it harder to slip into a spiral of rumination when you have good company and decent beer.

Even still, you stick your tongue out at him before adding, “Besides, I’ve got enough to worry about at the moment, even without mysterious lunar activity being added to the mix.”

With that, your mind drifts, wandering towards your rapidly approaching unsanctioned scouting mission for Drifter. Before you have a chance to spiral too deeply, Shaw breaks you out of it once again. “Know what Drifter’s having you do yet?”

Eyes snapping towards him, you steel yourself to stick to the decision you made shortly after meeting with the vagrant Lightbearer. “Yes.”

Shaw cocks an eyebrow, unused to you being a Guardian of few words. “So… Are you going to share?”

“No.”

Your answer is murmured into your beer, eyes downcast. You drink deeply. ‘Sticking to my decision, but feeling like crap about it. I sense an unfortunate pattern forming.’

“Do you not trust me?”

Glancing up at him, your eyes pull away from the dregs of your mug. He’s leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, glass clutched in one hand. Hurt flickers behind his eyes, getting through the mask of nonchalance he's obviously trying to maintain.

Looking at that hurt nearly breaks your resolve, but you stick to it, firm in the knowledge that it’s better this way. “I trust you, of course I do.”

Shaw waits for you to continue, to explain your willful silence and withholding. The sigh you exhale carries the weight of heavy anxiety you’ve been shoving down and bottling up since you took on the job. “I don’t trust him.”

Clutching a now mostly empty mug in both hands, you lean in. The worn wooden table creaks under the pressure, accenting your hushed voice. “I have no idea what the purpose of this job is. I don’t know his end goal. I figure the less you know, the better. Plausible deniability if this all goes tits up.”

Pulling away, you lean back, consciously softening your tone. “It’s for your own sake, alright? You're the only friend I've got. You really think I'm going to risk dragging you down with me? Fuck that.”

A little, whirring nudge from your Light demands attention.

“Well. Only friend save for the most notable, and obvious exception.” You chuckle at the self satisfied trill that carries through your Light. Shaw, however, crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, head pointed towards the ceiling. Waiting anxiously for him to break his silence, you drink deeply again, and your eyes begin wander.

They trail over the bare skin of Shaw's forearms, golden and littered with scars, gray sleeves of his henley shirt pushed up past his elbows. Taut and formfitting, the fabric of the shirt stretches tight over his chest. Your wandering gaze settles on the hollow of his throat and the cut of his jaw before you realize what you’re doing. Snapping your eyes down to the table, you are suddenly desperately interested in the whorling pattern of the wood grain.

After a moment, your eyes flick up to his face, still upturned to the ceiling in thought. Sighing in relief that he hadn’t caught you blatantly checking him out, the internal scolding begins immediately. ‘Incredible. You see his forearms once and immediately react like a Victorian man seeing a bare ankle. Get it together.’

In the midst of your internal crisis, Shaw uncrosses his arms and levels you with a solid look. You return that look, actively ignoring the heat spreading across your skin that has nothing to do with alcohol, and the needling thought that this was the longest dry spell you’d suffered through in almost a decade.

“I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” The question was flat, squashed under the weight of an anticipated answer.

“Nope.” You shoot Shaw a smile over the rim of your glass, with the hope that you can get him to crack, even if he has no hope of doing the same to you. It works. He rolls his eyes and relaxes. In spite of yourself, you make note of flexing muscle under thin cotton.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re very stubborn?”

Chuckling, you ‘Mhmm’ while finishing off your pint. The thought that you should be feeling the effects of the alcohol by now drifts across your mind. “I was four the first time my grandfather called me ‘obstinate'. Learned the meaning of it and wore the word like a badge of honor from then on.”

Shaw huffs a chuckle into his beer, the ghost of a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. He regards you for a moment in silence, and then, "I keep forgetting you have family."

"Had." Punctuating a mourning period that didn't happen, your correction is short. Firm. You shrug. "Think we can pretty solidly put the 'family' thing in the past tense."

"Ah. Right, sorry." Looking very much like a kicked puppy, he does you the courtesy of topping off your pint, killing the pitcher. "I'll, uh. Get us another."

Pushing his own chair back, Shaw rises to his feet and makes for the bar, squeezing your shoulder as he passes by. You look up at him as he does, offering a smile that he returns, acknowledging your forgiveness for his blunder. He stops at the bar dominating the center of the room, back facing you as he leans against it, signaling to the barkeep for service. Poe speaks from your Light, unheard to anyone but you.

[Sooooo. What was that about?]

Choosing to play dumb, you sip your beer, muttering into it at a level you hope no one else can hear. "What was what about?"

[Oh, come on.] Poe's voice was flat, matter of fact. Playing dumb with your own Ghost was a losing game, and both of you knew it. [Guardians are hardly celibate, you know. What you're feeling is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of.]

Choking on your half swallowed beer, most of it comes out of your nose in a strangled, dying animal kind of noise. The rest of it is coughed back into your pint glass. You cause enough of a scene to draw the attention of a few people seated around you, and it is a significant struggle to regain your composure as you feel heat return to your face.

"Fuckin' hell, Poe. Are you really trying to give me the birds and the bees talk in the middle of a dive bar?" Hissing into your now damp sleeve, your breathing steadies as the burn of carbonated alcohol fades from your sinuses. "And I didn't die a virgin. All covered on that front."

[Sorry, sorry. Just trying to be helpful.] He pauses, clearly contemplating something as you finish drying your face. Glancing over in Shaw's direction, you see the barkeep pouring two pitchers. He waits patiently, elbows propped on the composite wooden surface of the bar, oblivious to your minor crisis. [What are the birds and the bees?]

"Yeah, I'm gonna put a pin in that question for later, okay?" Regarding your mug, you think a moment before shrugging and taking a gulp of what you're pretty sure isn't nose beer. You feel Poe signal an affirmative from inside your Light just as Shaw returns with the pitchers, setting one in front of each of you. Taking you in, red in the face and suspiciously damp, he cocks his head to one side.

"What'd I miss?"

Shaking your head, you wave his question off. "Beer went down the wrong tube. Choked a little, but I'm fine."

He chuckles, settling into his seat. His knee knocks against yours, nearly causing you to flinch. The casual, platonic closeness the two of you had developed flipped to something else in the span of just a few minutes. "Alright. Just so long as you don't need a rez. Pretty sure that would blow our cover."

A laugh snorts out of you, dispelling most of the awkwardness lingering in your nerves. "Yeah, yeah I think that would do it."

For the rest of the night, easy chatter flows; conversation weaving through inconsequential Tower gossip to weapon mod debates and back. No mention of disciplinary hearings. No speculations about the purpose of secretive scouting missions. Just as close to a normal night out with a friend as you could get.

A platter of flat bread, vegetables, and a dip resembling hummus is dropped off at your table before long. You dig into it enthusiastically, polishing off your pitcher and then some in the hour or so before last calls were finally made. Settling up, you file out onto the street with the rest of the bar's patrons. The night air is cool, almost brisk. Summer seemed to take its time coming to the City.

"Why am I not drunk?" Stretching your arms over your head, your back arches, seeking relief after sitting stationary for so long. "I feel like I should be drunk."

"On that stuff? Nah." Meandering down a side street with you, Shaw kept pace, letting you direct the late night stroll. "Takes a lot more than that to get a Guardian anything more than buzzed."

You hum thoughtfully, adding 'super alcohol tolerance' to the list of things that pull you farther from the person you once were. Conversations begun in the bar continue as you navigate the back streets and alleys of this sector of the City. Remnants of the Red War are scattered all around you. Bullet holes splattered across walls of residential buildings, crumbling plaster and mortar, the occasional pile of discarded Cabal machinery waiting to be repurposed. 'The construction crews have their work cut out for them.'

Soon though, a yawn splits your face. Shaw only manages to get half a laugh in before he does the same, your weariness contagious. So, you say your goodbyes, prepping for transmat in opposite directions. You to the Tower barracks, and Shaw to his place tucked away in a district of the City you hadn't heard of before. Wishing each other luck and holding on maybe a little too long when Shaw pulls you in for a hug, it's only when you do pull away that Poe reminds you of something important.

"Oh, shit, wait before we go." With a flourish and a flash of sparkling Light, a slip of paper materializes in your hand, pulled from transmat storage. "I found this in Baby. It was taped up in the cockpit."

Bits of tape still on the corners, you hadn't wanted to risk tearing the image in removing it, you hold out the photo of Shaw and his former fireteam. Lips pursed, his face crumples as he reaches out for it. Shaw clutches it tightly, little indents forming where his fingers grip the paper. You watch silently, never having figured out how to handle grief, your own or otherwise. Voice thick, his hushed whisper carries on the chilled night breeze. "Thank you."

"Of course," you murmur back. You watch as one of Shaw's thumbs absently run across the part of the picture you knew held Maeve. "You love her."

A truth spoken kindly, a statement of obvious fact. Shaw sighs, sounding defeated. Letting his head drop, it hangs for a moment before he raises his eyes to meet yours. "Guess there's no point in denying it. No more fireteam to break up with rumors or awkward feelings."

He's quiet for a moment, looking down at the picture still clutched in his hands before stashing it away in transmat storage with a brief flash of Light. Softly, with no small amount of regret and guilt, Shaw admits, "I do. Even still."

Smiling, you close the distance between you both, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm. "Good."

Shaw returns your smile with a confused frown, corners of his mouth tugging down at the edges almost comically. Unable to help it, you laugh at his reaction.

"What? Did you expect me to say something like, 'Live and let live', or, 'No use dwelling in the past'?" Leaning in, you grip his arm where your hand still rests and whisper conspiratorially, "Fuck that."

"She's gone." You straighten up, releasing Shaw and stepping back a pace. "That love is the realest thing you have left of her. Anyone advising that you should be quick to forget and move on is an idiot. Grieve how you need to."

A faint smile spreads across Shaw's face. He still looks sad, but there's an amount of gratitude mixed in with it that makes you realize he probably doesn't have a lot of people to talk to about her. "Is that what you do? With your family?"

Poe signals that your transmat back to the barracks is ready, and you give Shaw a look and leave him with your answer just before you activate it. "Of course not. They didn't die. I did."

A tingle builds in your body as you feel your physical form glimmer and float off into little sparks of Light.

*See? What'd I tell ya.* Drifter's smug voice carries over the comms of Arnold's borrowed jumpship. *Cleared the checkpoints without a hitch. Ol' Drifter's got your back.*

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to stop referring to yourself in the third person when you're talking to me." Still a little on edge from the terse hand off with Arnold, you speak your mind a little more readily than you would've otherwise. "Or at least knock it off until I get a handle on Starpuncher's controls."

*Huh.* You could practically see Drifter scratching at his ill kept stubble over the comms. *Here I thought your Ghost was a whiz at all that stuff. Why're you goin' manual?*

"I am a whiz at 'all that stuff'." Huffing, Poe makes no effort to hide his indignation, at both the question and being locked out of the ship's controls. "Arnold only gave me partial access to the systems, and my Guardian has very graciously decided to respect his boundaries and refuses to let me gain the permissions I would need by force."

*Ain't that nice of you.*

"Eh, not really." Flicking the switch Poe was currently gesturing to, you continue to make the adjustments necessary for ascending above Vanguard monitored airspace. "I just don't feel like being thrown up against a wall again."

Drifter's laughter barks over the speakers as Poe signals to you that you're ready to break into the mesosphere. With an upward tilt of the controls, that harsh cackle is what marks your ascent into the upper atmosphere. So preoccupied with manually flying a fucking spaceship and watching for any Vanguard patrols, you don't notice how high you'd flown until your view looks like it belongs in an astronomy textbook. Letting out a sigh of relief at having cleared the border for restricted airspace, you finally register the view. Any remaining air in your lungs whooshes out with a hollow gasp.

*Sure is somethin', huh?*

Jolting in your seat, you'd briefly forgotten you still had Drifter on the comms. "I- Yeah. Yeah, it really is."

*I remember my first time crossin' over. Didn't have none of these fancy jumpships when I first started out, so it took some time but-* Cutting himself off, Drifter lets out a low whistle. *Man, oh, man, sister. Don't think I saw Terran soil for a good decade once I did.*

You say nothing, only grunting in vague acknowledgment of his recounting, still struck dumb by a view you never dreamed of seeing firsthand. A funny kind of electric jitter runs up and down your arms at the sight, tingling through your torso and lighting up your legs. A strange, restless yearning that wasn't entirely unfamiliar to you, but this had a strange… quality about it.

*I wouldn't blame ya for clearin' out. It'd be a pain and a half to talk Arnold off the edge if you make off with his ship, but. I'd get it.*

Shaking your head, you rip your eyes from the horizon, from what lay beyond it in the star freckled black. "No. No, I'll wait until I have my own ship back until I do anything like that."

*Colour me impressed. Not a lotta Hunters would be able to resist cuttin' loose once they get a taste of freedom.*

Shrugging, you silently thank whatever brought you here for waiting until you developed functioning self control. "I gave my word. Don't intend to go back on it. Even if it is Arnold we're talking about."

Drifter snorts a laugh out over the comms. *Oh, he ain't that bad. Stupid as all get out, but he'll come 'round.*

You hear distorted shouting coming from the comms just as Drifter finishes speaking, panicked and hurried. Not quite being able to make out what was being said, you glance at Poe, unsure if you should cut the connection or not.

*One of you sorry sacks of Light better tell why I'm only just hearing abo-*

Biting the unfinished threat off midway, Drifter remembers his still live connection to your comms.

*Gotta go. Don't fuck this up, sister.*

With a blip and empty static, your call with Drifter cuts out.

"Did he sound worried to you?" Poe's shell whirs, the Ghost clearly a little uncomfortable with the abrupt send off.

"That sounded-" Readjusting your hands on the flight controls, you take one last glance out over the endless expanse of space, blood still singing to the starlight. "-like it was above my pay grade."

Huffing, Poe gestures to the last remaining toggle that needed toggling. "I really hope you don't actually internalize that attitude."

"I won't. Just trying not get distracted." Coordinates set and flight plan locked in, you set off for your destination. "Let's go not fuck this up."

//V₳₦₦Ɇ₮//ⱠØ₵₳Ⱡ_₴₮ØⱤ₳₲Ɇ_𝟰▓𝟳.▓▓𝟬𝟱//Ɇ₦₵ⱤɎ₱₮łØ₦_Ɇ₦₳฿ⱠɆĐ//
//ØⱤł₲ł₦:▓▓▓//
//₳ɄĐłØ_ⱠØ₲_𝟬▓-₮Ɽ₳₦₴₵Ɽł₱₮łØ₦_Ɇ₦₳฿ⱠɆĐ//
//Ʉ₴ɆⱤ:@₦ɆVⱤɆ₮//
//Ʉ₴ɆⱤ:@₱ØɆ//

//BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION

@NEVRET: *First audio log of the scouting mission pertaining to suspicious Fallen activity on Earth's North American continent. The purpose of this mission is to expand on information gathered by a previous scout under the now deactivated handle, '@GUARDIAN6584'. At present, the time is roughly oh eight hundred hours and-*

@POE: *I don't think you need to be that official. After all, this is just for Dri-*

@NEVRET: *EY. No names! We're being sneaky, remember?*

@POE: *Right, right, sorry. Sneaky.*

@NEVRET: *Anyway. Touched down near the last known location of the pike gang. They've moved south, but left a pretty easy to follow trail. Sent the jumpship back up into atmo; figured it would be in our best interest to follow on the ground and out of sight. It's lookin' like they've established territory in and around one of this region's major cities, or what's left of it.*

@NEVRET: *There's a mid-sized spaceport, weapons research compound, and a good old fashioned metropolitan area surrounded by suburbs. Gonna figure out their territory perimeter, set up camp in the outskirts, and see what sort of guard patrols they have going, if any. From there, I'll do what I can to get close and see what they're up to.*

@NEVRET: *Alright, that's it for now. Nevret, signing off.*

@POE: *I thought you said no names!*

@NEVRET: *Ah, fuckin'- Whatever.*

//END TRANSCRIPTION

Heat.

Sun and sweat and asphalt.

The bones of forgotten vehicles, scoured clean of paint and colour, scraped down to now brittle metal. You drift between them; the hum of your sparrow's engine wavering through the air, bouncing off dead machinery. A pale, echoing reminder of what the highway once was. A weak ghost of it, pulled from beyond by reminiscent sound.

Those echoing reminders trail in your wake, kicked up in the dust motes swirling behind the heel of your footfall. Soft. Washed out in comparison to the gleaming past. What was once a human moving through what was once a civilization.

Divisions are clear out here.

Sun and shade. Blue sky and red earth. Guardian and Fallen.

The Wilds are a place of certainties when you find yourself alone in them. No sideways glances to decrypt, no loyalties to second guess, and no one to answer to. Any questions you have are inconsequential. You're here to scout. Gather information and report it back to someone else more suited to the responsibility of finding answers.

Clouds gather behind the mountains. Distant, rolling thunder brings the smell of rain on a gentle breeze.

//V₳₦₦Ɇ₮//ⱠØ₵₳Ⱡ_₴₮ØⱤ₳₲Ɇ_𝟰▓𝟳.▓▓𝟬𝟱//Ɇ₦₵ⱤɎ₱₮łØ₦_Ɇ₦₳฿ⱠɆĐ//
//ØⱤł₲ł₦:▓▓▓//
//₳ɄĐłØ_ⱠØ₲_▓4-₮Ɽ₳₦₴₵Ɽł₱₮łØ₦_Ɇ₦₳฿ⱠɆĐ//
//Ʉ₴ɆⱤ:@₦ɆVⱤɆ₮//
//Ʉ₴ɆⱤ:@₱ØɆ//

//BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION

@NEVRET: *I think we should be glad the weapons research facility was stripped a long time ago. Anything useful or dangerous was carved out and hauled off decades before we got here. Nothing for these Fallen to get their hands on outside of scrap metal. Granted, they've been known to get a lot accomplished with scrap, but hey. Least they're not salvaging missile schematics and long range ballistics.*

@NEVRET: *They're… a little weird though. I've been observing for a while now, and I haven't seen any Servitors. Maybe they're being kept in a more secure location. I haven't gotten too close just yet, still getting a feel for their routine, and honestly? Something about them freaks me out. I don't like how they move. Anyway, the apparent absence of Servitors is odd, so I'm noting it.*

@POE: *I also personally want to note the distinct lack of any expected Fallen tech. Outside of their pikes, that is.*

@NEVRET: *Yeah, that too. All in all, the previous scout was right to flag the weird activity. Right to keep his distance too, I think.*

@NEVRET: *That's all for now. It's about monsoon time, so I'm heading for cover. Nevret, signing off.*

//END TRANSCRIPTION

Twilight.

Rain, respite, and whiskey.

The air is charged out here. Especially now, whipped up and gusting, carrying on it the promise of a much needed storm. Rocks glass in hand, you watch it roll in across the valley, perched atop the roof of your chosen shelter. Unburdened in a way you scarcely had words to describe.

So much of yourself was being repressed by the confines of the Tower. By the well meaning, loving, stranglehold your Commander keeps on his Guardians. But now, you're free of the walls of the City. Slipped through the fingers of that crushing grip. Even your ops directive is loose, open ended. No mandated check ins, no strict due dates. Only thing guaranteeing your return is your own word, given freely with the full intention of keeping it.

You hadn't known that you were living in bated breathes and half measures until you took your first full gulp of air steeped in freedom. Senses no longer dulled, everything thrown into bright, vibrant focus. Dorothy stepping out of her sad little farm house into technicolor Oz.

You find the den in a little cinder block building on the side of a lesser used back road; a suburb of a suburb. Fading paint, sagging roof, overgrown with desert brush and cholla cacti. A long burnt out neon sign reading 'Bar' planted just off the road. You're drawn to it, finding something almost painfully romantic about a watering hole on the side of a lesser traveled path out in the wild west.

It's not his den. Not anyone's, really. A communal sort of place that any and all used to frequent. Worn floor boards and less dust than you'd expect in a place square in the middle of a dusty, desert nowhere. A spade, carved into lacquered wood, bar stool pushed back in a way that implies a speedy exit.

'Cayde.'

Your bones settle here. The itch to stake out and post up scratched. Comically uniform in your rugged individuality, the imprints of Hunters past comfort you in your relative solitude.

The storm rolls steadily closer, thick humidity a precursor to the heavy rain that will soon follow. Your Ghost settles into the crook of your neck, snuggling into tremors brought on by remembered Cabal gunfire. Remembering a time when you were not just alone, but abandoned, in a place with deeper humidity than that of a rare desert storm on the horizon.

You breathe deep, a grounding inhale, damp air filling your lungs.

It smells like the ocean. A vast stretch of arid, sun-baked earth, remembering what it was like to be the sea. It steadies you.

Feeling very much like you are sharing a drink with an old friend, the skin of your thumb traces over a sloppily etched spade in the side of your chosen rocks glass. The burn of liquor is a comfort, and you allow your eyes to drift shut, smiling to no one else in the fading, violet evening.

//V₳₦₦Ɇ₮//ⱠØ₵₳Ⱡ_₴₮ØⱤ₳₲Ɇ_𝟰▓▓.0▓▓8//Ɇ₦₵ⱤɎ₱₮łØ₦_Ɇ₦₳฿ⱠɆĐ//
//ØⱤł₲ł₦:▓▓▓//
//₳ɄĐłØ_ⱠØ₲_1▓-₮Ɽ₳₦₴₵Ɽł₱₮łØ₦_Ɇ₦₳฿ⱠɆĐ//
//Ʉ₴ɆⱤ:@₦ɆVⱤɆ₮//
//Ʉ₴ɆⱤ:@₱ØɆ//

//BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION

@NEVRET: *Their ether is weird. Their ether is really, really weird. Whatever this group is huffing on looks plain noxious. Sticky. Rotten.*

@NEVRET: *And I've found their Servitors. They're… mangled. Torn apart, almost, welded together into something that generates, or farms I can't tell, that nasty ether.*

@POE: *I've done some preliminary digging into Eliksni with these features. I touched on some files related to the Prison of Elders and… Cayde's death. I had barely started skimming when I was booted from the server- not a very easy thing to do I might add.*

@NEVRET: *Yeah, so we've decided to hold off on doing our own digging. Here's hoping you have a backdoor into more restricted files or something. Otherwise, whatever data I've gathered here is what we've got. We've been working on patching into whatever communications frequencies they're using as well, to moderate success. Hope you've been studying up on your Eliksni, 'cause I can't translate.*

@POE: *I sort of can. Not a lot, but the gist of a few broken transmissions. There's one word they keep repeating, like an address to someone they're reaching out to. 'Father'. Everything else is pretty garbled, spoken in a strange dialect.*

@NEVRET: *So, that's it then. We've been out here a while, and I don't think there's much else I can get without engaging, and I am absolutely not doing that. I think it's time to send this data pack off. Gonna compress it all, further encrypt the package, and hope the Vanguard doesn't intercept it. There's a lot of vid, even more stills, and daily, detailed written reports of more or less everything encountered out here.*

@NEVRET: *This should reach you before I get back. Don't uh. Don't be concerned if I don't turn up for a little while. And don't let Arnold blow his lid, alright? I'm keeping my word. Wouldn't wanna hang onto his ugly ass jumpship anyway, and you can tell him I said that. I just… It's nice. I feel like I can breathe out here.*

@NEVRET: *Right. Nevret, signing off.*

//END TRANSCRIPTION

Midnight.

Stars and sleep and quiet yearning.

Head resting on a pillow of intertwined fingers, sleep plays at the edge of your consciousness much like the gentle breeze toys with the edge of your cloak. Monsoon recently passed, you find that you don't mind the cool damp of the roof under your back. The Milky Way is bright, a splatter of glittering watercoloured stars spread as far as you could see into the night sky.

The roiling burn of your Light pulses under your skin. It'd gotten worse, not better, out in the Wilds. You want to chalk it up to the desert heat, but something itches in the back of your mind. A worry, left for the last moments of consciousness between the bottle of a bottle and the velvet black of sleep.

You'll be leaving this place tomorrow. Scouting op successfully completed, there was nothing tying you here. As soon as you hit 'send' on the data package, a little trill ran up your legs and through your body. Heart pounding, it hit you that you could go anywhere. Pick a direction and ride. Nothing stopping you. Nothing holding you back.

Cayde's worn leather journal sits next to you, leather strap wrapped neatly around it. It gave you no real direction, just a hunch or two. An inkling of an inkling.

The open possibility of it all makes you dizzy.

The Tower can wait. Drifter can wait.

"Hell, everything can wait." An imagined voice, familiar and cobbled together from scavenged audio files and vid feeds, tickles at the back of your consciousness. "Besiiides, what's an unsanctioned op without a little unsanctioned activity, amirite?"

A grin spreads across your face as you chuckle lightly, silently agreeing with the fictitious ghost of Cayde-6 you'd conjured in your mind.

ONE MONTH LATER

"It feels good to be home." Poe whirs happily, hovering along beside you as you clunk down Starpuncher's on ramp into the Annex's hangar. The little smile that just started to play on your lips tugs down into a scowl at the sight of your second least favourite Titan. Arnold stood leaning against a concrete wall, arms crossed in front of him as he watched you leave his jumpship.

'Here we fuckin' go.' You hadn't been looking forward to this interaction. Leaning in, you whisper to Poe, keeping your eyes on the Titan now striding towards you. "If he comes at me again, he's getting Sunshot."

You Ghost grunts in the affirmative, also keeping his optic trained on Arnold. He stops a yard or so back from his jumpship, running a critical eye over every visible part of the craft. Wary, you wait a moment before piping up. "Told you I'd get her back in one piece."

Arnold spares only half a glace in your direction before he continues surveying Starpuncher, brows furrowed slightly. A few moments pass, and you debate simply leaving, removing yourself wordlessly from this now awkward interaction. You barely take a step away from him before he finally speaks.

"You… waxed her?"

Jolting, you freeze. 'I'm surprised he can tell.'

"Uh, yeah. Kinda stumbled on an abandoned mechanics garage in the middle of the desert." Relaxing, you tentatively move next to Arnold, looking up at the ship with him. "The well the place's water system's connected to hasn't dried up yet, and the wax was good so… yeah. Didn't feel right returning her to you covered in sand and stuff."

He grunts, still inspecting your handiwork. "You were gone more'n a couple days."

Prickling, your retort snaps out of you, what little social graces you left the Tower with apparently dried up in the desert sun. "Yeah, well shit happens. It took as long as it was gonna take."

Bracing yourself, Arnold just shrugs. "S'not like it matters. I only got back last week."

You wait for him to say more, and when he doesn't, you decide now really is the time to make your exit. "Right, so. I'll leave you to it."

Turning to leave, you're stopped in your tracks when Arnold's hand shoots out and grabs you roughly, his fingers completely encircling your forearm.

You wedge the Sunshot under his chin, finger dancing on the trigger, before he can blink. Feeling the cold metal of your hand cannon jabbing into his skin, Arnold releases your arm, hands up in surrender. A mirror image of yourself when he threw you up against a wall just a few months before. Finger putting just a hair of pressure on the trigger, you cock your head to the side as you stare up at him, contemplating the shot, face hard and unyielding.

He stays motionless, eyes flickering up from your face to somewhere behind you. Huffing, you roll your eyes and holster Sunshot. "What, Arnie?"

"I- shit, I didn't-" Cutting himself off, Arnold's face screws up like he's thinking very hard about something, his face flushed violet. You were starting to feel bad. "M'not s'good with words."

"I just wanted to say, I shouldn't've done that." Face serious, Arnold looks at you with some amount of expectation. "When I, you know. Called you a rat. And the- the shovin'."

Your eyebrows shoot up. It wasn't quite an apology, and it was absolutely more than a shove, but this was clearly very difficult for him. Yeah, you felt bad. Sighing, you wave him off like you hadn't been dreading meeting him again for weeks.

"Don't worry about it. I kind of get where you were coming from." You didn't, but the pathological need to smooth over an uncomfortable interaction had completely taken over. Cautiously, you add, "We're good now though, right?"

A huge smile spreads across Arnold's face. Paired with his relatively round features and his golden curls, he resembled a ridiculously oversized cherub. "Course!"

He claps you on the back roughly, causing you to stumble. Laughing good naturedly, like the two of you had literally never been at odds, he uses a meaty hand to steady you. "Glad I listened t'my husband. I thought you'd still be pissed, but it's like he says, 'Can't know 'til you try'."

Looking past you again, Arnold shoots his hand out into a thumbs up. Turning around, you see that another Titan, presumably his husband, is giving Arnold a double thumbs up in return. 'Incredible. There's two of them.'

You give Arnold's husband a little wave, and decide that the third time has to be the charm. "Cool, so I think I'd better go and check in with Drifter. I'll catch you later…?"

"Oh!" Arnold starts, having just remembered something. "Yeah, he wanted to see you soon as ya landed."

Blinking dumbly up at the large Titan, you keep a smile plastered firmly on your face, hoping it hides the knot of agitation tangled in your gut. "Perfect! I'll get going then."

Trotting away, you wave over your shoulder to a now furiously waving Arnold. Poe bobs along beside you, keeping pace easily. "I have to say, I didn't expect that."

"Yeah." Coming up on Drifter's 'offices', you slow your trot, not wanting to burst in on the man. "That was something."

Calling out to the rogue Lightbearer, he hollers to you from the back of his cavernous work area. Following his voice, you weave through the space until he comes into view. "Good to see ya, sister. How ya livin'?"

Rolling your eyes at Drifter's exaggerated manner of speaking, you respond. "Can't complain. Met Arnie's husband. Kinda."

He chuckles, looking up from the data slate he'd been reading when you entered. "Ain't they a pair? Almost cute."

"Got your report here." Drifter waves the data slate in your direction, whistling low. "Knew I was right on the money with you."

"I'm guessing I did alright then?" You're anxious, and it bleeds into your voice. "Alright enough for you to get my jumpship out of impound?"

Drifter's head snaps up from reading, confused look on his face. "Well sure. It's like I told you sister, got your Baby outta the impound lot the day you sent the report in. Just keepin' her outta sight 'till you got back."

Now it was your turn to look confused. Chuckling, Drifter continued. "Didn't read your messages, didya?"

He laughs as you frantically whip out your handheld, scrolling through an inbox full of news feed updates, multiple somethings regarding probationary training from the Vanguard, and finally, an encrypted message from Drifter, dated just about a month ago.

"Classic Hunter. Always is a toss up whether or not I can get a hold of your lot out in the field." He huffs out one last laugh before settling, half sat on a workbench. "Glad you're worth the hassle. Ya got me exactly what I was after."

You tamp down the feeling of pride spreading through you at Drifter's praise. You'd gotten significantly worse at maintaining a poker face since your trip out to the Wilds, and you still weren't sure you'd like to give Drifter the satisfaction of knowing you'd do just about anything to hear a simple, "Good job."

So, you deflect. "What are those things? I reviewed the footage, the stills. There's no way those are regular Eliksni."

Before Drifter could answer, a voice, low and lyrical, comes from the shadows of a dim hallway at the back of the room. "Scorn."

"They are called the Scorn." The first thing you notice about the figure slowly emerging from the shadows is the single, glowing green eye. A glowing green you were deeply familiar with. Hive green. "Monsters risen from the corpses of the Fallen; unnatural things that have no place among the living."

Sensing your instincts reacting, Drifter firmly grabs your forearm, preventing the hand you hadn't even realized was resting on Sunshot from moving an inch. He gives you a terse shake of the head, and calls over his shoulder towards the woman. "Hey, Moondust. Sure you should be up and about?"

"I will tolerate bed rest no longer. I grow stiff. My body aches from disuse as much as from my wounds."

She had come into the light now, finally illuminated enough so that her one glowing eye was no longer the sole focus of your attention. 'Holy shit.'

The left side of the woman's body and face have been mutilated. Mottled, pink scar tissue dominates her face, hair and features shorn, ripped away, wrapped in a light gauze. She wears comfortable, loose clothing. Heavy bandaging peeks out from under a cotton tank top, wrapping her entire torso. A cardigan is draped over her slim frame, the left arm hanging limp, unfilled and tied in a loose knot in some effort to keep it from swinging too much. The knitted collar of the sweater had been pinned with careful hands to the strap of her undershirt.

Your two eyes meet her one. Glowing and obscured by a similar gauze that covers the rest of her face, a black ichor runs down from it, seemingly fading into nothing before reaching her jawline.

"I have heard much about you, Guardian." Nodding her head towards you, if she is bothered by your staring, she doesn't let on. "Only some of it good."

Grimacing, you avert your gaze, eyes drawn to the floor in shame.

"I will not judge you harshly for it." Her voice is gentle as she settles into a chair brought over by Drifter. "I am no stranger to vilification, and I prefer to make my own opinion."

"I… appreciate it." Unsure of how to continue, what to address, where to look, you stumble through an introduction. "It's nice to meet you, uh-"

"Eris. You may call me Eris, Hunter."

Smiling, you reach your hand out to shake hers, resolving to keep eye contact while addressing her. "So, not Moondust?"

Grimacing, Eris clasps your hand with her, skin unnaturally cold and grip alarmingly tight, while Drifter barks out his signature laugh. "No. I abhor that nickname, something Drifter here is well aware of."

"Oh, it's all in good fun. Don't get your bandages in a twist." Still chuckling, Drifter gently pats Eris' good shoulder and turns to address you. "Moondust here is with us. She was up on Luna 'till just about when you took off."

"Luna?" Your minds darts back to your night out with Shaw in the City, the news broadcast abruptly cut off in favor of Sparrow Racing statistics. "Do you know what happened? Why everyone was called back? The records still aren't accessible."

"Hive." The word is heavy in Eris' mouth. Weighted. A reverent curse, calling to something you had no hope of understanding. "They spill, unfettered, from the maw of Hell- a splinter of Darkness lodged in its gullet. Swirling in the bile of Nightmares, there is no one left to stop it."

Eyes wide in horror and confusion, you look to Drifter for some hope of clarity. His gaze is firmly locked on Eris' face, gripping the back of her chair. The wood creaks under his hold. She finishes, "The Moon is lost."

"Lost?" Your voice is coloured with disbelief. "What do you mean, lost?"

"She means," Cutting in, Drifter clarifies in much less flowery speech. "Lost, sister. Gonzo. Done for. Ain't nothin' for us but death, the kind that sticks, up on that rock."

"But I mean… they're doing something about this, right?" You look between them, between the grim looks locked on their faces. "The Vanguard's not just going to let the Hive keep our moon. That's crazy."

Poe whirs, speaking up after his extended silence. "I'm not seeing any indication of an operation being put in motion. No bounties, no scouting reports, nothing. Anything involving recent lunar activity is still dark."

Your mouth hangs open, unable to fully believe what you're hearing.

"Told ya. Zavala's still spooked. He'd rather hunker down and wait for the storm to pass than lose any Guardians goin' up against it." Drifter shakes his head. "Hell, I wasn't a fan of Cayde myself, but not sending the cavalry after his killer? Shit."

He sucks air through his teeth with a hiss, fist planted on his hip. "That's cold."

"Yes." Eris speaks, head resting in her one remaining hand. "Last I spoke with Ikora on that subject, she expressed extreme frustration that Uldren Sov remains alive. She will be made less happy with the fact that his Scorn are now on Earth."

Just then, Eris hisses through her teeth. Whole body tensing, she grips at her side, doubled over with pain. Her hand comes away bloody.

"Alright sister, time for you to clear out." Gingerly, Drifter scoops Eris up into his arms. Weakly protesting, the woman's groans come out in a mix of pained and irritated. "Gotta get this one patched back up."

"Yeah, yeah of course." Still in a bit of a daze, you watch as Drifter carries Eris off back through the hallway she came out of.

"We should get back home, too." Poe bonks the side of your head. "I think you're due for a shower, stinky."

Snapped out of your reverie with that comment, you pull your head back to look at your Ghost, incredulous. "How do you know I'm stinky? You can't smell."

Huffing, Poe shrugs his shell. "Well, it's a fairly educated guess. You haven't bathed in close to a week."

"…Fair point."