Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saving the world and all that is easy. Yeah. All Thorne has to do is pilot Emperor Kaito down to his shiny royal palace and everything will be rainbows and sunshine again. Easy right?

Yep.

Well, the palace probably won’t be as shiny as it used to be before the recent Lunar attacks. It’s likely to be very not shiny. Thorne is choosing to focus on the positive and upbeat details.

Cinder’s in the hangar finishing adjustments to the podship. Kai disappeared suspiciously soon after her. He’s been gone four minutes. Cress is rummaging around in the storage boxes by the loading dock. Wolf is—

He has no clue where Wolf is or what Wolf does in his spare time.

Thorne sits in the kitchen enjoying a last-minute snack. He scrapes the tin can of peaches clean with his fork, before tipping it back for the dredges of syrup. It’s a delightful treat. Anything is delicious after a year of prison food.

Thorne stands up. The metal legs of his chair screech along the metal floor. “Alrighty! Who’s ready to join them? I’m always down for a bit of smack talk.”

Iko pokes her head out of the control room. She notices him moving toward the hall. “Captain! Wait a minute.”

She insists they give the couple a few moments of privacy together and Thorne can't argue with her. He drops back down into his vacated kitchen chair. Waiting annoys him…

Yeah, that's what it is.

He twiddles his thumbs for a bit, before returning to the task of scraping the can clean.

He waits an extra three minutes, tapping out a count on the metal table top with his fork. Once he reaches 180 taps, he walks into the control room and drags Iko out with him. They head through the cargo hold for the hangar bay.

Iko skips along beside him, gushing. Iko gushes A LOT. It’s one of the many reasons he and she get along so well. Not that Thorne has ever gushed in his life.

Iko is good company.

She recognizes a man of talent, good humor, and looks when she meets one. The guy he’s talking about is himself. Obviously. If that isn’t obvious.

They hear muffled talking through the hangar bay doors.

Mushy stuff. Lots of pauses and breathy sighs. The usual.

Iko sighs, dramatically. “Listen to them. It’s so dreamy….” She falls against the smooth steel wall, throwing an arm over her face.

He gets the message loud and clear. The dreaminess is too much for her to bear. A dreaminess overload.

He mimes gagging. Thinks better of it. Frowns at Iko in thought. “Wait, don’t you like him?” He quirks an eyebrow in her overwhelmed direction.

“Well of course I do. Duh. But he and Cinder are perfect for each other. They were made to be together, like soul mates or something. Since my love for him is perfect, I can give him up for true love—that’s what true love is.” She clutches a hand in the silk of her blouse and throws her head back exposing the damaged material of her throat.

Braids thwack into the wall.

“Uh huh. I get the sentiment but, soul mates? True love?”

She straightens. Blinking at him. “You don’t agree?”

“I didn’t say thaaat. It’s just those are some strong words.”

A rich chuckle slips out into the cargo hold. His majesty has vocal chords straight out of a net drama. Figures. 

Cinder’s voice, “I didn’t want you to know I was a cyborg. It seems so silly now.”

And then the sultriest laugh from Kai, “Good. We must’ve made progress.”

“Isn’t Emperor Kai absolutely dashing??” Iko gasps.

“No. I don’t personally find him to be dashing.”

There’s silence. Breathy silence.

“Do you think they’re kissing?” Iko whispers.

“Kissing! Who?” Cress squeaks from behind them.

Wolf is here too. He raises his eyebrows at Thorne and Iko. The two of them are crouching at the door with their ears shoved up against it.

“Not if I can help it.” Thorne hisses back.

He shoves through the gliding doors.

Cinder and Kai jump apart.

No kissing but looks like they were close to it.

Time to save the world. With Cinder’s boyfriend. Figures.

Obviously, this will be child’s play.

Chapter Text

Their progress through Luna’s outer sectors is slow and tedious.

Sometimes they take shuttles. Sometimes they progress by walking through the tunnels. Sometimes they use Wolf’s identity to send a shuttle on without them before skipping to a different platform and heading in the opposite direction. Sometimes they split up and rejoin one another a couple of sectors over to confuse any security personnel who might be looking for them.

As they trudge through the abandoned and dusty streets, Thorne thinks. He thinks and thinks and thinks. He has so much time for it. In the quiet. No matter who he splits off with, they walk in silence.

Cress is gone. Cress is dead. Cress is gone. Cress is dead. Cress is gone. Cress is dead.

There’s nothing to distract him.

It’s unnerving if not downright creepy. He’s never liked silence. He can kinda understand when it’s just him and Wolf. They don’t get along under the best circumstances.

In comparison, walking beside Cinder or Iko in complete silence grates on his nerves.

Right now he and Iko trek along an abandoned shuttle track. The going is slow as they pick their way along the rocky ground. At least there’s no sun to fry them like in the desert.

Iko slips her hand into his. Her manufactured skin is cool to the touch and smooth. It’s really weird for Iko to go without talking for such a long period. She’s a straight up chatterbox any other time. It’s not that Cinder is super talkative, but she’ll participate in a conversation if he starts it.

There’s too many thoughts drifting around his head like scrambled thought soup. Cress is gone. Cress is dead. Cress is gone.

Iko’s hand in his reminds him of how long it’s been since he’s touched Cinder. He hasn’t done that since Kai joined them.

Doesn’t feel appropriate somehow. Even if the touches had never been intended to cross boundaries.

Cress is gone. Cress is dead. Cress is gone. Cress is dead. Cress is —NO.

Thorne stops the repeating mantra before it can unravel him.

He doesn’t know Cress is dead and he refuses to accept it. Still, he can’t shake the despair. It echoes in his head, around and around in circles.

Cress isn’t safe. He knows that for a fact.

Thorne’s been confused ever since Kai forced that impromptu therapy session on him. It’s like he can’t figure out what is in his head and what is actually true. It’s all Kai’s fault.

He keeps telling himself that because it’s easier.

“Something tells me Cress might still like you too. Against her better judgment.”

Something something feelings, blah. Discomfort, that’s what it really comes down to. He can’t sort out how he feels. He can’t separate his own emotions from the ones he knows Cress wants him to feel.

If she still likes him— loves him like she confessed in her feverish stupor in the desert—he doesn’t know what he should do. Maybe he can be her knight in shining armor. Or…maybe he can live up to her expectations at the very least.

Thorne shrinks in on himself. It’s a weird sensation; for once in his life he doesn’t feel confident. He feels small and insufficient. He isn’t who Cress wants him to be.

He doesn’t know if he ever will be.

This realization sucks.

He’s just Carswell Thorne. He’s just a pilot dropout with a stolen ship. He’s just a lucky guy who fell in with important friends.

He can’t recall ever feeling this way before.

Now that he has time to think it all over, he has too much time. The silence leaves no spaces for the slippery cold thoughts to hide. He’s forced to face each uncomfortable fact.

Cress loves him?

She wants him at least.

He doesn’t know how he feels.

There’s an absence in the middle of all this.

Cinder.

He doesn’t know why she’s been so distant, only that he too has drawn back to give her the space she wants. Or does she? Does she want less to do with him?

There is a barrier between them that wasn’t there before Kai. He can’t work out why. If they’ve only ever been friends, why would Kai’s presence change anything?

But it has.

Everything is out of whack.

He can’t put it back together by himself. It’s a two person job.

They pass a huddle of quiet lunars dressed in drab clothes. Iko shifts closer to Thorne. She looks nervous which is unusual for her. Bubbly and nervous don’t mix.

He holds his breath, counting the seconds. 

One. No following footsteps.

Two. Still none.

Three. Still none.

Four. They’re probably safe.

Five. He lets the breath out. None of the lunars they’ve encountered have been the slightest bit interested. Not like a couple of dirty kids on foot should attract attention.

“Phew. I’m not used to the looks.” She whispers in her singsong voice.

“Looks?”

“Suspicion is written all over their faces.”

He represses the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse behind them of the lunars. They’ve put a good 50 feet between them and the huddle.

“Maybe they were trying to get a look at my face.”

“I wouldn’t blame them but I don’t think that’s it.” She frowns like she’s weighing the possibility.

Another reason he likes Iko so much. She finds him as attractive as he finds himself. And she takes his words at face value AND she laughs at his jokes.

He tosses around the idea of making one now that they’re talking.

Instead he says something he doesn’t mean to. “Do you ever worry?”

“Of course I worry, Captain. I worry about all sorts of things all of the time. I worry about so many things. It’s silly because I can just run the probabilities in my processor but mathematics aren’t the be all end all when it comes to humans.”

“Ever worry about anything as trivial as heartfelt emotions?” He means to deadpan but the joke doesn’t quite land. He’s never been good at the deadpan—that’s Cinder’s specialty.

She fidgets with the tattered sleeve of her tunic, worrying her bottom lip between perfect white teeth. Her tone is miffed like she’s about to say something she’d much rather not admit. “There’s probably better people to ask.”

“You have more emotion in your pinky than most humans experience in their entire lives.” He flashes her a grin.

His face feels tight with the false bravado.

Pity or something equivalent to it flickers through her artificial eyes. “Cress is fine. She’s so smart! I know she’s fine.”

She squeezes his hand as much for her own reassurance as for his. Her words are too assured to be actually confident. She’s trying to convince herself.

Thorne squeezes her hand back. He doesn’t know if she can feel it because he’s not exactly clear on the whole android-in-a-body situation. The gloom returns to weigh heavy on his chest.

He’d give up a lot of shiny expensive objects to go back to not being confused. It’s a lot easier to not think when you don’t have anything to think about. He wants to go back to before Iko and Cress and Kai and Wolf and Scarlet and—

Well, maybe not before Cinder. If he could, he’d go back to that day months ago when she broke him out of jail. He’d go back in time and settle somewhere between freedom and the weight of trying to save the world.

And maybe he wouldn’t feel so insufficient because Cinder has never asked him to be anything more than himself.

He imagines briefly, the peace and confidence of before. It’s kinda nice. He tries to focus on that instead of everything in his head right now.

Chapter Text

They sit in Maha Kesley’s house for several days. The space is too small for all five of them. Like absurdly too small. And the silence returns. They don’t dare to make noise because here, in the lap of luxury on the moon, poor people don’t get windows. The only thing separating them from the outside world are some flimsy patchwork curtains.

The little shuffling around they do generates noise. The noise brings out Cinder’s worst side. Unsurprisingly, her worst side lowers morale.

The person having the most trouble with silence is Iko.

Why exactly an android is having difficulty resisting the impulse to hum is beyond him. Every time the Eastern Commonwealth’s anthem titers through the room, he can see the vein pulsing in Cinder’s forehead.

The humming cuts off just as abruptly. With each day Iko improves.

Thorne’s getting worse. He thinks he’s going to go absolutely crazy.

They pass the only port screen around for communication. Thorne types out jokes whenever he gets a turn. Cinder always kicks him.

It’s worth it to wheedle an emotion out of her other than worry, even if it’s not amusement.

They quickly eat through Maha’s small pantry.

Thorne begins fantasizing about green things to eat which is something he’s never done in all twenty-one years of his life. Meat would be nice too… Or cheese. Or anything, really, that isn’t grey and needs to be rehydrated.

It’s funny. He’s learning so many things about himself in such a short time. He’d have never described himself as picky before.

He’s actually starting to remember the bland prison food with fondness—bad sign.

He might already be off his rocker.

He hasn’t even gotten started on how horrible it is to go a week without a bath. Imagine what kind of soap they have on this hunk of space rock. It’s probably rough and grey like everything else. Probably dries your skin and hair out too.

They take turns peeking out of the drawn shades when Maha is off at work.

Cinder doesn’t like it when they do this. She’s paranoid. He’s starting to get annoyed with her if he’s being honest.

His life can’t get too much worse at this point.

And then Scarlet returns.

The afternoon she arrives is about as dull as the rest have been. Wolf goes absolutely rabid. One moment he’s moping on the floor and the next he bolts from the shack—house—without an explanation. By the time they reach him in the square, he’s mauling an innocent bystander.

She’s pretty, with wild red curls and prominent curves that show through her tattered clothing and—oh. Oh. OH. That’s Scarlet.

He never would have recognized her.

She’s lost a lot of weight and she’s filthy.

Thorne wrinkles his nose in greeting because it’s reminding him of how much he needs a bath. He wishes he was back in New Beijing prison. At least there he’d had lots of soap. It hadn’t been the nice kind but at least he’d had the option.

Her accent is ridiculous—just as nauseatingly French as he remembers. A grin spreads across his scruffy face. He’s about to offer her a hug but then his eyes take in just how skeletal her body has become.

Her abduction was two months ago and it looks like she hasn’t eaten in all that time. Her body also shows the signs of faded blotchy bruising. The anger that flashes to life in his chest is unfamiliar.

He uses all the self control he never knew he possessed, not to ogle.

Thorne knows she is knockout gorgeous but her curves are more pronounced than ever. She has her arms crossed firmly across her chest, shielding herself. And it makes sense because her clothes are—he makes deliberate eye contact and cracks a few jokes. The skin showing isn’t a fashion statement.

She brings an update on Levana. She also comes bearing the gift of Crazy Princess Winter. Here he thought Maha’s home couldn’t possibly get any more cramped.

And Cress is alive. The relief is like a punch to the gut. About as pleasant as a crash landing. Cress isn’t safe but at least she’s not dead.

Yet.

And after they broadcast Cinder’s video announcing her heritage and claim to the crown, hell breaks loose.

It isn’t instantaneous but there’s no stopping the wave of chaos. The residents take convincing at first and that’s a harrowing task. A few days, a few riots, a few deaths later.

Levana’s guards arrive before the week is through and begin rounding the inhabitants of Sector RM-9 up like cattle. The streets are packed with hurrying lunars making their way to the sector square. Aimery Park’s voice booms through every sound system and his image glows on every hollow screen in a three mile radius.

Cinder and her crew, as well as Maha and a good dozen citizens, huddle around in a warehouse in the middle of the mining sector.

Everyone is on edge.

A shrill scream echoes through the streets outside.

Cinder runs for the window, plastering her body against the wall, ready to duck out of view if she needs to. Thorne flattens himself against the wall beside her.

"You should hide," he whispers.

“So should you!”

Neither of them move.

Countless guards march through the streets along with half a dozen Thaumaturges. More reinforcements pour in from the narrow streets that stretch out on all sides of the main square like spokes on a wheel.

The guards corral the citizens into uniform lines around the fountain in the middle of the square.

Aimery stands in the center of it all with his hands raised above his head like he’s conducting an orchestra. The arrogance is palpable. Thorne instantly hates him.

He’s not exactly one for hatred but, he wants to knock that smug smile off the Thaumaturge’s face just about as much as he wants to take a bath.

Thorne and Cinder’s gazes meet across the cramped space. He can’t figure out what she’s thinking. She’s easy to read when her emotions get the better of her. Right now, she’s frozen in place. She looks nothing at all like herself. He’s never seen her so afraid.

His own throat tightens.

Levana knows she’s here.

Running from the government is one thing.

Crashing a wedding and kidnapping a government official is one thing.

Plotting to overthrow a tyrant is one thing. It’s dangerous, sure—but actually facing that same tyrant’s wrath is something completely different; and terrifying.

“They’re rounding up everyone in the sector.” Whispers Maha. “No doubt they’ll search these buildings too. You should all hide. The rest of us will give ourselves up. They might not search these upper floors if everyone is accounted for.”

Cinder argues with her but only briefly. They can’t stop Wolf’s mother from joining the crush of people outside. She’s right that her absence will draw unwanted attention. The rest of their allies file out with grim expressions.

Maha is the last to leave.

Wolf hugs her and neither mother or son hide their tears.

Cinder crawls to the wide window and looks out on the insanity outside. Iko paces in circles, wringing her hands and twisting her long braids around and around her fingers.

Only Thorne and Scarlet stand idly by. He catches her eyes and sees his own helplessness reflected back. The two of them have made up. Sort of. They never got along before her abduction. Now they don’t have time or the luxury to do anything other than behave.

Maha untangles Wolf’s squeezing arms and hurries down the stairs out into the street.

Thorne, Cinder, Iko, Wolf, and Scarlet, are left in the empty room. They stare at each other. The looks range from fear to resolve.

But there’s something—someone missing.

Winter. They left the Princess back at Maha’s home. Cinder jerks up; he and she seem to realize at the same moment.

Scarlet gasps, a second delayed. "What about Winter?"

Cinder turns wide eyes on her. The panic is clear. It’s almost stronger than her original fear.

“I can go.” Says Iko. "They won't be able to detect me like they would any of you."

Thorne experiences a sudden spike of pride. Warmth fills his chest with the sudden emotion. That’s his Iko—often silly, and obsessed with the most trivial things, but fearless. In that moment he forgets that she is an android made up of wires, gears, and synthetic skin. She’s so much more than that.

Malfunctioning personality chip aside, Iko is human in every respect that counts.

Cinder presses her lips in a firm line, debating. It’s obvious the same thoughts are not running through her head. She’s not busy contemplating Iko’s humanity but calculating the danger.

Iko is Princess Winter’s best chance and only real hope. The lunar guards won’t be able to detect her because she has no bioelectricity to detect. She also can’t be turned on them in the event of a fight.

Cinder assents, finally, letting out a long breath. It’s clear she sees no other option. "Be careful. Sneak out through the loading bay."

Iko gives Cinder a side hug. She grips Thorne’s hand in a quick squeeze and the gesture says loud and clear I’ll be back.

She gives the room a brief nod and then she, too, is gone.

First Maha and now Iko. Their small pool of allies has shrunk by a quarter. Cinder is shaking as she looks around at Thorne, Wolf, and Scarlet.

Aimery’s voice reaches them, bouncing off the concrete walls on every side. “Residents of Regolith Mining Sector 9, you have been gathered here to face the consequences of your unlawful behavior. In harboring and aiding known criminals, you are all guilty of high treason against the crown.”

Thorne rolls his eyes. He can’t escape his celebrity status even here on the moon. Once a famous person, always a famous person. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Aimery’s voice lowers with relish at his next words. They slip out into the silent air like silk. “The sentence for this crime is death.”

Thorne imagines him licking his lips. Snakey bastard.

Aimery Park offers the crowd several options; give Cinder’s location up or die. From his tone it’s obvious he thinks this is generous. The height of mercy. It’s also clear he has no preference which they pick.

The silence that follows suggests the residents are holding their ground. Cinder will be the first to cave. She’s too selfless for survival. Was she always this way? Or is it a new development? He can’t recall.

“I can’t let them die for me!” Her face has drained of blood, leaving her skin pale and clammy.

“No one is dying for you.” Wolf growls. “If anyone dies today it will be because they finally have something to believe in. Don’t you even think about taking that away from them now.”

If that’s supposed to be a pep talk, Wolf should try again. The snarling is off putting to say the least.

“But I can’t—“

“Look at me, Cinder. Get yourself together.” Thorne grabs her by the shoulders, pinning her against the cool wall. He takes a deep breath before trying out his own motivational speech. He holds onto her shoulders as they quiver beneath his hands. “You are the heart of this revolution. If you give yourself up now, it’s over.”

And if you give yourself up I’ll go insane.

He wonders briefly how she’d react if he came out and just said that.

It’s not his best work but he is preoccupied with a lot of stuff.

Cress. His own imminent demise. Cinder.

Cinder.

Protecting the people he cares about is the only thing keeping him from running screaming from the building. It’s the only thing that’s kept him from throwing in the towel at every single step along the way. He isn’t cut out for this-saving-the-world stuff.

But, it’s not like he has a choice. The longer he spends playing the part of hero and revolutionary, the more difficult it is to recognize himself.

He really is going crazy.

It’s the only explanation for all of this. For once in his life, Thorne wants to be the hero. He’s slipping into the role like it’s a second skin. It’s an itchy and unpleasant transformation but the change is undeniable.

He’ll probably become accustomed to it eventually. Hero. It’s catchy. A bit heavy too.

He doesn’t want to save the world. He just wants to wake up tomorrow and maybe shave his stubble covered face. He wants to take a bath with luxurious soap and put on expensive lotion afterward. He wants to live another day with the people he’s grown to love.

He isn’t a hero or a revolutionary—he’s a selfish good-for-nothing bastard with exceptional taste in clothing who also happens to be an international thief. He isn’t a storybook character. He doesn’t have what it takes aside from some misplaced courage.

The only reason he’s here at all is because this one time his selfish desires line up with a rebellion.

He is without a doubt unhinged. It’s kinda nice, he’s not going to lie. If he really is out of his mind he can’t be held responsible for his actions. Realizing that he doesn’t have to be good or heroic lifts all the pressure off his shoulders.

He just has to wing it like usual. He can do that. Simple enough, right?

It doesn’t matter how this pans out. He’s got nothing to lose. He’s Captain Carswell Thorne. 

Now if he can just stop Cinder from playing martyr.

Chapter Text

“Levana will kill her soon, then. Tonight, maybe, or tomorrow. Nothing like an execution on your wedding day.”

He means it when he says it. It makes him feel sick, but what else can he do? Pretend that everything isn’t as bad as it can possibly be? Like. Bad. Bad. Awful. Cinder and Wolf have been abducted—arrested.

They have about as much hope of saving them as Dr. Erland had of sprouting wings and bunny ears.

But if Thorne is anything at all, he’s a stubborn optimist who refuses to give up. One of his finer qualities—if he does say so himself.

“Stop it. Stop acting discouraged, all of you. We don't have time for it.” He claps his hands, making the three women in the room jump.

Scarlet glowers at him. She’s trying to hide her anxiety but she’s failing.

Iko wrings her hands in agitation.

"You are not discouraged?" Winter asks. She’s the only one completely unfazed in all of this even with the bloody gash over her eye. She’s crazy so it’s not surprising but it is unnerving.

“It’s not in my vocabulary. I am going to figure this out; like I always do. First, we're going to find a way to get into Artemisia. We're going to find Cress and rescue Cinder and Wolf. We're going to overthrow Levana, and by the stars above, we are going to make Cinder a queen so she can pay us a lot of money from her royal coffers and we can all retire very rich and very alive, got it?"

They look at him. The only one even mildly impressed is Iko.

Everyone is down and defeated and it’s ticking him off! Now is the absolutely most vital moment to get back up and fight back. He’s sick of wallowing in his feelings. He’s done nothing but mope and worry since they set foot on Luna. It’s time for some good old-fashioned Captain Carswell Thorne action.

Uh, now if they can just come up with a plan…

Thorne dives head-first into the crashing waves. Cinder’s body is lead in his arms and he almost can’t keep the two of them afloat. He kicks and kicks and kicks, straining to keep them both above the surface long enough to pull in great gulping lungfuls of oxygen. She doesn’t struggle.

She’s coughing, spluttering, sagging in his arms. They reach the metal wall that traps this lake inside of its sweeping dome. As he treads water and pushes her body into the slippery metal, she slumps against him. The waves bubble and wash around them. Cinder’s face falls on his arm. She rests her cheek against his shoulder, barely conscious and fatigued. If it weren't for the icy water, he’d probably run his fingers through her hair. It’s matted to her face and neck.

“Cinder.” He gets her name out through a mouthful of water.

She stirs at his voice.

“Stop slacking off, would you?” He cradles her in one arm, pushing against the smooth wall with his other. He can’t get a good grip. “Cinder!”

He pulls her body tightly to his own. Between the waves and the wall, she’s crushed into his side. Her face rolls on his shoulder, slipping further into the crook of his neck. She grimaces at him with half-conscious eyes. They’re bloodshot and vacant.

“Thorne?” The words are garbled.

“That’s Captain to you.” He pulls them toward shore one push against the dome at a time. The rocking waves help to propel them along. It’s still a struggle. “Aces! You’re heavy.”

And then Jacin is reaching down to grip her wrists. It takes both men to drag Cinder up onto the wet shore.

“Oh there you are! How nice of you—” Thorne heaves one final time. “To help out.”

He pulls Cinder up from the sloshing water and they’re finally finally on land. Her body slumps over his aching legs. She’s barely breathing.

“Your mouth uses up a lot of energy.” Jacin gripes. “Roll her onto her back so her body’s not fighting—”

Thorne tugs her into a crushing hug. He can’t help himself! He buries his nose in the curve of her neck, nuzzling down.

Jacin is protesting but none of his words register.

All Thorne cares about is Cinder. Cinder. Cinder.

He keeps getting these death scares. First Cress and now his cuddly cyborg. (Scarlet not being dead was more of an unexpected plus).

She’s safe—and soaking wet. She shivers in his arms. Thorne breathes her in. Iron is the strongest scent in his nose. The high concentration of iron is what contributes to the acrid taste of the ‘natural’ water here. But under the bitter minerals is her familiar smell. Chamomile or lavender or bergamot—or—no. He’s reaching. He has no idea what flower she smells like. Those are all tea flavors, right? Maybe she doesn’t even smell like a flower. Cinder is earthy but warm—no. He can’t describe it.

It's a tender scent, a consoling scent, an almost domestic scent that reminds him of home and safety.

This is why he’s never going to write poetry.

She hugs him back but there’s only so much strength in a drowned rat. Her teeth chatter and she sucks in a breath with shuddering gasps. He squeezes her tighter.

Alive and SAFE. It’s the only thing that matters. He can’t imagine anything else ever mattering ever again.

They pull back to look at one another almost in unison.

He grins at her and tugs playfully at the messy hair by her ear. She grips his hand and squeezes. In answer, he tucks some hair behind her ear with his other hand.

“Alive, huh?”

“What are my options? I’m not dead.” Her voice is hoarse. She can barely speak.

“See? We’ll make an optimist out of you yet.”

Cinder slumps forward into his arms: unconscious.

Jacin and Cress and Iko crowd around and the world is no longer inhabited by only him and Cinder.

They drag her along between them all to a fisherman’s abandoned shack.

Thorne reasons that this is the closest to a bath he’s going to get for the time being.

When their ragtag group arrives at the empty home they’ve chosen to crash in, Thorne is exhausted. He wasn’t joking when he called Cinder heavy. She is. It’s partly from being waterlogged and partly from the energy he exerted in the rescue. It’s also partly the 36% percent or so of her made of titanium. His brain wanders to unsavory places and he wonders how sex works when you’re a cyborg. Would she crush him? Not that he’d mind

Thorne instantly regrets the thought. It isn’t that he feels embarrassed or even ashamed. No, he’d just rather not reflect on who she’d be canoodling with.

He hasn’t had dinner yet but now he’s nauseous.

Once a meal and sleeping arrangements have been worked out, they decide Iko will keep watch. She’s the only one who can quite literally recharge her batteries. Lucky.

They all position themselves around the room with blankets and pillows. Iko sits with Cinder’s head cradled in her lap. Jacin props himself up against the opposite wall with a grimace and two matching cushions.

Cress lays down not too far from Jacin.

Thorne paces for a while. It’s the adrenaline at first that keeps him up. Then nerves take the place of his biology. He isn’t content to sleep like everyone else.

Cinder is back.

Eventually, he stops pacing.

The house is dark and the only illumination comes from the city lights outside. Dozens of colors peek through the shutters painting the walls and the floor in stripes. The wedding celebrations are in full swing.

It turns out that in the lap of luxury on the moon, people actually get windows.

The soft falling and rising of breath tells him at least someone has fallen asleep. Good for them.

Iko cradles Cinder in her arms, petting smooth caresses along Cinder’s face. Cinder was hysterical earlier. It’s reassuring to watch her sleep now.

Iko looks up and gestures for him to join her. She pats the spot beside her. He gives in and settles down with his back ramrod straight and his knees crossed.

He watches Iko fuss over Cinder’s untidy hair. She twines strands together and curls the loose bits. As Iko fidgets, Cinders sleeps like a dead man. Only the slight rise of her chest gives away the life hiding beneath her ribs. He thinks back to the resuscitation and thanks Jacin again. He is stars above the sky thankful it wasn’t on him.

What if he’d accidentally broken something?? Or didn’t do it right? He shivers.

Beside him, Iko nudges his knee.

“Straighten out your legs. You’re poking me.” She whispers.

He complies and wiggles around to stretch out his crossed knees. 

When he settles back against her side, Iko pulls the cover back over his legs. She pauses. Contemplating something.

He squints at her. “What?” He whispers.

Without explanation, she takes his hand and threads his fingers through Cinder’s now dry hair. The mineral-dense water has left her hair, as well as his own, stiff and knotted. 

Hesitantly, he combs his nails through the tangles. He is gentle. Oh so gentle. Almost afraid to touch her.

Would she be angry? If she woke up and caught him stroking her scalp.

“It’s okay.” She whispers. “My hands are probably cold.”

She holds her palm out for him and he dutifully strokes a finger along her skin. Not cold, only cool to the touch.

“It will be more comforting if you do it.”

He doubts that but soon he finds a rhythm and once he does, his fingers move on their own. It soothes him. Just the motion. More than the motion. It’s the touch. He feels himself relaxing. His tension melts away along with the built-up anxiety. They’re all safe.

His eyes trace the line of Cinder’s jaw. She’s clenching her teeth in her sleep. He wants to poke her or something. Maybe pry her mouth open. That’d probably piss her off. He bites back a grin.

Best not add to the problem.

He pauses in his diabolical plot to harass her for his own amusement. She really is pretty—in a—in a plain sort of way. Nah, who is he kidding? She isn’t plain. He can’t even lie to himself.

It’s pitiful.

Cinder has a pretty mouth and pretty eyelashes and pretty nostrils. Like somebody took a scalpel to maple wood. Her face is carved in fine lines of warm tan. With—all the—she has a nice face.

He promises himself to never ever write poetry.

Iko watches him watching Cinder. He feels suddenly and appallingly exposed. He looks away. His fingers withdraw from the soft dark hair. 

“Do you love her?” Iko asks.

Her voice is so quiet he wonders if he can pretend he didn’t hear. Maybe she’ll drop it. Maybe it’s just another of her little holodrama roleplays.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Too much hangs on the question. He knows the answer. He’s known for a while now. Slowly, ever so gently, his fingers resume their patterns in Cinder's hair.

“We all do. That’s why we’re risking our lives. Right?” He replies.

Iko works her lips with her teeth. She doesn’t call him a liar.

It’s way worse than that.

They sit together, thigh to thigh, both stroking fingers through Cinder’s hair. The silence returns but peace isn’t anywhere in this equation. It makes him think of all that walking in the dusty tunnels. And the fear.

The silence and the half-truth suffocate him. Thorne can’t lie to Iko. It feels wrong.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do love her.” He breathes, swallowing back the tightness in his throat.

Iko doesn’t acknowledge his confession. She moves her hand to stroke long fingers along Cinder’s cheek. She takes his hand in her smooth, perfect one and squeezes gently.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Then she leans into his side and nestles her chin in the hollow of his shoulder.

“I’m learning so many things about love.” Her voice is hushed and the vibration of her vocal chords tickle his chin. “It’s not all equal. A lot of it is selfish. Sometimes when you want someone… they don’t feel the same. And... and even if it's okay they don't share your feelings and it won't work out and that makes you sad, it doesn’t stop you feeling how you feel. But that’s okay even if it hurts. Even if there isn’t a cure.”

“Never realized how much of a heartbreaker Kai was.”

“I’m not talking about Kai.” The audio ghosts across his throat, whirring with the internal fan inside her. The thrumming thrumming thrumming of her delicate machinery.

“I think…” He starts in a hush. His voice falters but he pushes through the discomfort. “I think that love teaches you who you are. Selfish love isn’t selfish if you don’t expect it to be returned. You can wish all you want. Doesn’t hurt anything.”

“Maybe.”

They sit like this, in the quiet and in the gloom, for a long time. He doesn’t know how long. Time passes like lapping water. The waves of each breath rolling into minutes and then hours.

Sometime very early in the morning, he opens his eyes. At some point, he fell asleep. He doesn’t recall when—he only knows that he feels calm and his body is rested. He hasn’t slept so well in weeks. Not since Kai joined them. Not since Scarlet was taken. Not since Cinder stopped being his only crewmate.

Cress is lying down against the opposite wall. She is tucked up into the side of a snoozing Jacin. The former royal guard has his arm draped loosely over her shoulders.

Thorne catches her eyes and she quickly looks away, her pretty pale face flushing.

There was anger in her gaze. Almost betrayal. He can’t work out why.

Then he recalls his own sleeping arrangements. Iko sits in the same place as she did hours ago. He wonders how this must look to Cress. Iko and him curled together, whispering in the dark, wrapped up in each other.

It’s silly honestly. But, in a way, he understands.

Thorne can recognize jealousy when he sees it. It's too familiar to miss. How often has he felt it himself? Recently.

Thorne resumes his idle stroking of Cinder’s hair. She groans in her sleep. It’s a pained sound but he has to bite his tongue to stop the laugh that threatens to burst out.

He closes his eyes. Purses his lips. Sucks in a deep breath.

The laugh is gone when he opens his eyes again.

Cinder turns onto her side in her sleep. She nestles into his lap, scrunching up against him. Iko shifts to allow the movement. She wraps her arm around the two of them, tucking her chin once again into his shoulder.

Peace washes over Thorne and soon, he drifts off. This time he sleeps until morning.

He wakes up on the floor. Iko is missing. The blankets he’d tucked under his legs the night before are a jumbled mess. He winces, confused and drowsy. His arm is numb and he can’t figure out why.

Then, he freezes.

He’s lying on his side and Cinder is next to him. She’s curled into his side, facing him, with her head resting on his arm.

He contemplates his options. Pull her closer and breathe her in… or shove her away. Neither one seems right. The third option is to readjust her head to one of the pillows scattered around.

While it seems the most heroic option, he’s not a fan.

So, instead, Thorne wraps his other arm snugly around her and closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

Cinder wakes encased in warmth. She feels fuzzy from her head to her toes. The warmth is pleasant but it isn’t the good kind of fuzzy.

Her head feels like it’s been stuffed, none too gently, with cotton. Or like someone’s been smothering her in her sleep.

Arms encircle her torso. She is cocooned in softness and comfort. If only her head wasn't pounding so badly.

Her ribs are on fire. It’s a dull kind of burn that throbs with every pulse of her heart. 

“Nnhh.” She grits her teeth as the groan crawls from her throat.

“Are you okay?” The voice by her ear asks.

Cinder yelps, her human fist connecting with the squishy side of someone’s cheek.

“——!” Thorne yells. And a few other choice words.

Her ribs blaze as she squirms out of his arms and shoves herself up against the wall.

He’s swearing and holding his chin where the soft flesh meets cheek. “What the hell! Why’d you punch me!”

“Who hit who??” Iko squeaks.

“What is going on?” Jacin barks. And then he adds, “You’ve never been hit before by a woman? That I find very hard to believe.”

Thone rolls his eyes without good humor.

Cress’s voice is absent but Cinder catches a glimpse of cropped golden curls out of the side of her eye.

Cinder doesn’t answer. She bends double with the pain, clutching with her good arm at her bruised chest. She’s too busy cursing to respond. Her cyborg arm hangs loosely at her side and she can’t move it. There is no feeling at the end of her elbow where the circuits begin.

A cool hand settles over her shoulder and she freezes.

“Hey, Cinder, it’s okay.” Iko rubs a soothing palm into her back. “You’re safe.”

“Why was he holding me?” She points an accusing finger at Thorne.

He still cradles his face. “You started snuggling me first.” He muffles at her.

She frowns fiercely. That’s something she’d remember. Her head still feels like a stuffed bag of barbed wire and wool. But she knows that is something she would remember without a doubt.

Thorne shrugs. "You can hit me again if we get to sleep like that every night."

Cinder groans and, with her one working hand, yanks the blanket from Thorne's lap to bury her face in.

Chapter Text

Thorne and Jacin haul Cinder bodily into the recreation tech room. Entertainment room?? The one with the portscreen table and the VR equipment. Yeah. That one.

They set her down on the first available chair. It's this full sofa with soft velvet upholstery and too many cushy velvet pillows.

Thorne straightens up and swipes sweaty hair from his brow. He wasn't joking when he said her titanium prosthetics add a couple of extra pounds. More like a couple hundred. (That's an exaggeration but since no one has asked his opinion in over two hours, he doesn't feel the charity necessary to correct himself.)

She starts scanning the room the second they set her down.

They're all pretty excited about the potential footage of Levana she has in her brain. It's exciting for quite a few reasons. Like, way more reasons than one. If Cinder really did capture video of Levana in her throne room, it will mean ammunition for their rebellion. Not only will the violence further prove to the People of Luna that they are correct to fight, but Levana's true appearance will shock the population.

Their beautiful queen is not really the goddess she projects herself to be. What other lies has she been hiding? What other reasons do they have to mistrust her? It's like a whole hollow drama! Intrigue and deception and treachery.

Hell yeah.

That is if the footage wasn't destroyed in the water…

He shivers at the memory. Icy water and Cinder’s unconscious form still haunt his thoughts. It’s uncanny how detailed that memory is. The feel of her slipping from his weary fingers in the chill water has been branded into his very brainmatter.

"Thorne, pry off the back panel of that receiver, but gently." Cinder instructs.

"There's not going to be blood when we open you up, is there?" He carries the receiver over to Cinder so she can pick through its inner workings. "I mean, we're talking straight cybernetics, right?"

"Better be." She replies.

Cinder is way more nonchalant about this than she has any right to be. If they were all gathered around discussing the inside of his skull and which wires to plug into his brain, he'd be convulsing on the floor. He might even practice his very effective self-defense skills.

"It's not so much surgery as... maintenance. Someone else has already done all of the medical parts—if there is blood it means something is very wrong. Our biggest concern is whether or not all the hardware will be compatible."

This only reassures Thorne a tiny bit. No blood and no brain? He can do this.

She points to a virtual reality viewing chair. “Drag that over here.”

Jacin is quicker to obey than Thorne and he pushes it to Cinder. She pulls herself into the chair, facing backward so she can drape her arms over the back.

She rests her forehead against the dark leather of the chair. “Cress?”

“Ready when you are.” Her voice is assured and there’s this look of deep concentration that she sometimes gets when she’s programming.

The look is incredibly attractive on Cress.

“All right,” Cinder says through clenched teeth. “Let’s see what we can find.”

Iko brushes the hair from Cinder’s neck in a delicate motion. Then she digs her synthetic fingernail into the latch at the back of Cinder’s skull. As the panel swings open, Cinder flinches.

She takes two calming breaths but it’s obvious to everyone present that this is ineffective.

“Oh suuuuurrrre,” Thorne says. “When I open her head panel, she yells at me. When Iko does it, she’s a hero.”

“Would you like to do this?” Cinder snaps. She’s glaring at him from under her crossed arms.

Does he want to dig around in her skull? Mostly no. But maybe just a little bit. “Not even a little bit.”

“Okay then, would you please back up and give them space to work?” She presses her forehead back into the polished leather.

He watches Iko fumble around, slipping her fingers along the lip of the access panel, and then she dips her fingers in.

He has to look away.

He has to adjust himself, shifting in his seat on the floor. Ever so slightly. Just enough for comfort.

The intimacy of the action isn’t lost on Jacin either. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorne notices him repositioning himself on the couch.

Thorne recites engine theories in his head for a bit, running through flight maneuvers and their names. When the ticking blood in his neck and lower down calms, he refocuses on Cinder and her duo of nurse and temporary-mechanic.

“The connection worked,” Cress says. Her breath catches with a mixture of relief and excitement.

Cinder twitches with every tap and swipe of the inner port screen. Her knuckles whiten against the chair's headrest. As much as he wants to help… he isn’t qualified for this.

Instead, he offers his own specialty. He cracks a few jokes, makes some brilliant observations, and offers encouragement.

Everyone ignores him.

Not even Iko is paying him mind.

Cinder's fidgeting increases. She squeezes her forearms, her nails leave red raised marks along her skin. She is high-strung.

Cress taps a few more commands into the base of Cinder’s skull. “Done!” She announces with triumph.

“Check it before you disconnect!” Cinder says. Her voice pitches up in worry. “Make sure you have the correct file.”

“It’s… showing a lot of people.”

“There’s Kai!” Iko shrieks, clapping her hands.

“Kai? Show me!” Cinder struggles up. 

“Wait Cinder! Let me disconnect you—“

But Cinder doesn’t let her. She jerks up to protest. The cord in her head goes taught and the wire plugged into her brain tears free.

Cinder slumps like a sack of mud.

Thorne scrambles up from his spot on the floor. “What the hell happened??? Is she okay?”

“Yes!” Cress snaps.

He and she pause.

They exchange startled looks.

That’s new, he thinks.

“Yes, Cinder will be fine.” She says, softening her tone. She quirks an apologetic look his way as she returns to Cinder. She plugs the major wires back in and begins tapping along the inner port screen.

“She must like that guy or something,” Thorne says.

He thinks it’s a hilarious statement himself. He receives a bewildered look from Cress and a scathing one from Jacin. Iko is completely oblivious to the comedy show going on right in front of her.

She cradles Cinder in her arms. “I hate that! I hate this.” She says.

Thorne doesn’t realize he’s doing it until his arm encircles her narrow shoulders. Once again he’s reminded of the fact that Iko is an android. Not human. An android.

Her body is cool—almost temperature-less. Her body is also uncannily firm, with no give. She has flesh but it’s more like a casing than the pliable organ that all humans possess.

Ewwwwww…

Thorne grimaces at that revolting mental image.

“She’s okay, you promise?” He asks Iko.

He’s much calmer now that Iko has Cinder. Her delicate fingers begin the swirling strokes of Cinder’s scalp from the night before. Such a gentle motion. It’s almost hypnotic to watch.

“She’s going to be perfect again.” Iko promises.

Thorne believes her; Cinder was perfect to begin with.

Chapter Text

"Why does Cress always get to wear the best clothes!” Iko crosses her arms, frowning deeply. “I mean, why can’t I enjoy a secret mission in fabulous clothing every once in a while?? Cress get’s to have all the fun.” She whines.

Iko paces around the shorter girl, hands migrating to her hips. She pouts. It must really be an injustice.

Cress looks more like an angel with butterfly wings than an actual butterfly. It’s her fluttery blonde eyelashes and the soft curls framing her face. She floats—wobbles—in the heels. She lifts her arms and the sleeves lift with them. Her clear blue eyes widen as she takes herself in, all glimmer and glitter.

“Cress is risking her life to do this.” Cinder reminds her, frowning just as deeply. She pokes her head back into the closet. 

“Besides!” Thorne adds, “You’re too pretty for all of these clown suits. Tell me I don’t look as ridiculous as I feel.” He fidgets with his suit cuffs, tugging them further down on his wrists.

“Nonsense!” Iko chirps, “I elevate everything I put on! It’s a talent.”

She saunters over to him and begins to fuss with his plum bowtie. Her fingers curl under the edges as she tugs it into shape. How domestic. And nice. This is genuinely nice.

Iko looks up at him through her lashes, and winks.

He feels his face heat and grins.

Cress crashes into them a moment later. She and Iko hit the floor. Thorne helps Cress and Iko back to their feet. Both women cling to his arms. He feels incredibly masculine and powerful for about 17 seconds.

“Maybe ridiculous is the word of the day.” He teases, giving Cress a full look up and down.

“Hey Captain,” Iko fusses, “Stop checking out her legs!”

He shrugs, grinning with special appreciation. “What can I say? I’m a connoisseur of the finer things in life. Legs are one of the finest things.” He carves curves into the air with a hand.

Cinder rolls her eyes as she exits the closet and tosses a new pair of heels their way. “Here Cress, try these on.”

Iko laughs. She helps Cress remove the heels. “Well Captain, you’re in for a treat then!”

She slips the first pair of shoes on and begins to prance around the room. He oohs and awws appreciatively. Cress joins in by clapping awkwardly. She gets points for effort but it’s clear her heart isn’t in it. 

“Stunning Iko.” And Thorne whistles.

"Oh, yes," Iko cooes, "I am keeping these."

Thorne drapes his arm over Cress’s shoulder. "How do we look?" He directs at Cinder before she can disappear again.

Cinder scratches her neck. "I guess you look Lunar?"

“Why thank you, ma’am. I’ve never felt more complimented.” He does a little bow.

He nudges Cress and she attempts to curtsey. Before she can tumble forward again, he catches her. She’s about as light as a feather.

Cinder’s expression hardens and she looks away.

A rather uncharitable thought comes to mind. Bet she doesn’t look at Kai this way. He’s only the recipient of Cinder’s affection, never her jealousy. Thorne wonders what the prince would have to do to receive even a measure of Cinder’s attention.

Then he thinks better of it.

Thorne only gets to hug her when she’s unconscious—or the rare occasions when he returns from the dead. Kai has him beat.

“I guess that’s it.” Says Cinder as she scans Cress and Thorne’s outfits again. “Are we ready?”

“If anyone answers no to that question,” Says Jacin as he appears in the hallway with a scowl and tapping fingers. “I’m leaving without you.”

His eyes catch on Cress and his scowl tightens. But, it changes slightly. So slight is the shift from irritation to frustration that unless you’re watching him for it, you’d never notice.

Hmm. Thorne thinks. Frustration?

Cress wobbles over to Thorne and fidgets with her swooping sleeves. “I guess I’m ready.”

Thorne chucks her under the chin. “What, are you saying you don’t feel that bravery and determination coursing through your veins?”

She ducks her head and he can’t make out her mumbled response.

Once again out of the corner of his eyes, Thorne notices Jacin’s scowl deepen.

Jealousy. How very Cinder of the ex-guard.

He grins, saunters up to Jacin and throws his arm around his neck. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, partner!”

He winks at Cress.

She flushes and looks away.

Cinder rolls her eyes.

Iko is too busy with the killer heels to catch on.

Jacin throws Thorne’s arm off and moves for the exit, waving their ragtag group out of the house.

Chapter Text

They set out in the early morning. It’s grey and dark and cold.

Before their two groups go their separate ways, they have to walk.

And walk.

And walk.

And his legs are getting so tired of all the walking on this hunk of space rock.

Isn’t space exploration supposed to be fun? All he’s gotten out of it so far are blisters.

As they move along, Thorne and Iko make the best time. Their longer legs are an advantage. Although Jacin is the tallest among the group, he and Cress hang to the back. They look suspiciously secretive. She hovers by his side, head tilted to listen. He bends slightly, his lips moving a hairsbreadth. 

Cinder falls somewhere in the middle as they walk.

Thorne is too tired for chatter on this journey.

They rest at last. This is it. This is where they part.

Cinder crouches a little way off. Her pants are covered in moon dust and the dark regolith. He squats down next to her and bumps her side.

“Ready?”

She picks at the cuff of her pants. “I feel all wrong. I can’t really explain why. Me and Cress were talking about it this morning, but, separating feels like suicide. I’m—”

“Frightened?” Thorne offers.

Cinder crosses her arms across her chest. “What do you want me to say? Of course I’m scared. Of course I am, but we have to win.”

“You’re right, Cinder. You’re absolutely right. You will win. We’re counting on it.”

“I still don’t want to leave. It still feels wrong.”

“You just have to promise to find me—us—after this is all over. No dying. Promise?”

“Yeah. I guess I can promise not to die.” She rolls her eyes.

“Good.” And he offers up his pinky.

“What?” She scowls. “Pinky promises?”

“Yep. That’s how all solemn oaths are made. Didn’t you know?”

“Ah, it must have been excluded in my general course of important information for politicians and rulers.”

“Must have been.”

She grimaces and they link pinkies.

He twists their fingers together, once, twice. And then, a third and final time for good measure. The touch is fleeting. It is just as meaningless to her as the everything it means to him.

He can’t help feeling disappointed.

They crouch side by side in silence.

Without warning, Thorne says, “Home is a long way off.”

“Home…” She stares deep into the gloom. There is a far-awayness to her gaze. It speaks of loss. Maybe even of being lost. “Do you miss your family—how long has it been—since you saw them last?”

“My parents?” Thorne asks, “Four, five years. Nah. I don’t miss them. They’re probably better off without me anyway. I always was a troublemaker.” He grins, elbowing her.

“That I believe.”

“As well as dashing, clever, and funny.”

“Of course you were.”

“You’re finally getting the picture!” He shifts on his heels. This crouching isn’t exactly a comfortable position. “Can you believe that girls my age didn’t appreciate me back in the day.”

She’s unperturbed. “ Noo . That’s shocking.”

He tilts his head to frown at her. “What were you like as a kid?”

She rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“I’m curious!”

“I was suspended in medical jelly like some kind of lab experiment.”

He grimaces. “Ooooh, yeah. Sorry.”

“But I do wonder who I would have been—if I’d grown up here.”

He’s silent. He watches her face work in the gloom. Cinder scowls. It doesn’t seem that she likes the mental image.

Cinder shakes her head. She claps her hands together and pushes up from the ground to her feet.

Thorne rises with her. She gives him a tight little smile and that’s his goodbye, he supposes. That’s all she has to offer.

He winks at her.

The eye roll he receives is almost enough to lift his mood. Almost.

As they go opposite ways and he links arms with Cress for the daunting trek in front of them, he realizes something. 

This is the best he’s ever going to get from Cinder; stolen hugs and pinky promises.

It doesn't matter if Thorne is dashing or brave. No. It doesn't matter because Cinder has already found someone dashing and brave and noble— actually noble . Thorne never had a chance.

It’s sobering and depressing all at once.

Kissing Cress is like insanity. It’s every good thing come true.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this is manipulation by a Lunar. Somewhere deeper down he knows, and he doesn’t care. Deeper even still inside of him, he wishes this Lunar woman had chosen a different face to adorn herself with.

That thought is true insanity itself.

Lunar-Cress runs her fingers through his hair and kisses him with a single-minded passion. How much of that is the compulsion shaping his view of her? How much of her overwhelming desire is real? She strokes her fingers down his sides, sending a shiver up his spine.

Thorne wraps his arms around her and tilts her backward. She reciprocates by deepening the kiss.

The novelty wears off quickly and he wants her to stop. She doesn’t stop. She continues to kiss him.

Her tongue and teeth feel good because she wants them to feel good to him. Her hands skim his back and then she’s dragging sharp nails down his shoulders. 

And then the compulsion says through his lips, “I think I’m in love with you.”

She giggles. 

Lunar-Cress melts away into the breathtaking vision of his captor. She has long lashes and sultry eyes and if he’s being honest, he likes what he sees. She finally lets him go.

If he’s being honest, he would probably have gone after her himself under different circumstances. These circumstances change everything. She must know that.

Does the woman know? Or is this a game she plays with every man she wants? She didn’t give him a choice. His willingness makes all the difference in the universe. Stars, what a bunch of sick freaks these people are.

She kisses him on the cheek. It’s a languid brush of wet lips and warmth. She smudges her finger against his cheek, wiping the mark of her lipstick away. Then she saunters off with her friends all giggling and whispering beside her.

Cress is missing.

No—where has she gone?? Panic suddenly takes hold of him. He shouts for her.

She isn’t safe!

If a woman here will do this to him, what might a male Lunar do to precious little Cress? She’s too weak to defend herself!

“Cress!” He calls out again.

His pulse gallops in his throat.

“Cress!”

“I’m here.”
He spins around and there she is. Cress slips from behind one of the marble pillars. Her face is flushed but otherwise she is unharmed.

His whole body sags with relief. “Spades. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, that was—”

But, something is wrong. Anger twists her usually pretty face. 

She crosses her arms and sneers. “I don’t want to know.”

All of his panic is gone in a spark of disbelief.

She begins to stomp down the corridor, her butterfly wings bouncing behind her.

He chases after her. “Woah, hey, hold on. Are you mad??”

“Why would I be mad?” She swings her arms in wide and open gestures. Painting her words in the air with one strike at a time as she marches down the hall. “You have the right to—to flirt with and kiss and proclaim your love for whoever you want to. Which is good, because you do . All the time.” She punches the air one last time. 

“Sooo… you’re jealous?” He tries for teasing.

She doesn’t like that at all. “You do realize that all she wanted was to get a laugh at your expense, right?”

“Yeah, I get that now . Cress!” He tugs at her elbow. “Wait.”

She jolts to a stop in front of him.

“I know they can’t do it to you, but the rest of us can’t choose not to be controlled by them. She controlled me.” He says simply. “It wasn’t my fault.”

In her eyes is this odd kind of light. She's angry. Really and truly furious. He's never seen her like this before.

She goes on and on. She lists every one of his infractions. Every single one. Every time he has found another woman beautiful and said so or even the times he let his eyes wander.

With each misdemeanor added to the pile, he feels more and more like the failure she must know him to be. Just like the skeevy guy Cinder met in New Beijing Prison. He’s just a guy in a white jumpsuit and a tablet filled with a bunch of downloaded pinups.

He is suddenly guilty. The hurt is still there too. He can’t decide which emotion is stronger.

“But I’m not invisible!” She cries, “I’m not. And yet you flirt with every single one of them. You’ll flirt with anyone who so much as looks at you.” The anger in her voice falls away and she’s defeated. “And all I do is look at you. You never see me. Never. That’s what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it?”

He blinks at her, confused.

“In the desert.” She clarifies. “You were trying to warn me.”

He takes her flushed face in. Her wet eyes. The deep creases between her eyebrows. She’s a mess. She’s torn to pieces and it’s all his fault.

Isn’t it? What would a true hero do.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He says. That’s the truth. Unadulterated and complete.

And after Cress shouts and rages with her genuine grief, he kisses her.

Her lips are soft on his.

Her hair is soft in his fingers.

Her hands are soft against his skin.

And Thorne feels like a monster because the woman he wants to kiss is all rough edges.

Chapter Text

Thorne stands on the edge of his life as he stands on the edge of the throne room’s balcony. He looks out over the black waters of Artemesia Lake and feels weightless. Unreal. The whole world just kinda floats inside of him, rising in his throat. The distance below him is immeasurable.

Far below the dark waters wash and roll.

From this height, he can't calculate how long the drop is. He's frozen in place. Levana has chosen this spot for him to stand and without her say, he cannot move from it.

His heart hammers away in his throat and swallowing does nothing to dispel the terror.

It’s a weightless terror.

He’s a hostage and a decoy and a shield all bundled into one.

He wonders if they'll discover his body. The lake probably washes up all kinds of things. The real question is if they'll ever figure out how he fell. Maybe they’ll check the surveillance cameras...

What will Cinder think? Cress will cry—there's no pretending otherwise. Iko will cry in spirit. Though, who knows. She's so human inside and out that she might cry actual tears.

He wonders, too, if he’ll miss them.

Do you notice once you're dead? That you’ve left the people you love behind.

He feels removed from the situation. It's like he's looking down at himself from a very far way away. He can feel his pulse thundering through his veins and his dry throat, but they belong to someone else.

His bound wrists smart and the pulsing blood in his injured leg hurts like hell.

Feet clack along the marble floors in the hall. Without precursor, a figure appears in the towering doorway.

Cinder—come to rescue him?

His heart leaps into his throat but he is cemented to the balcony. He can’t move. He can’t speak.

No.

Cinder is here to face Levana.

She doesn’t stand a chance. But, she’s survived every other obstacle her Aunt has thrown at her.

Bloody and battered, Cinder stands defiantly in the throne room doorway. Gore covers her arms and knees. Leaking wounds wind up her body, peeking from her shredded clothing.

She’s a mess.

And she’s perfect.

Thorne decides in that moment he doesn’t care if Levana forces him to throw his body off of the balcony.

Seeing Cinder one last time is worth death.

That sounds beyond over-dramatic, yes. He’s not too concerned at present with moderation. Now isn’t the time to be picky over semantics.

Everything he’s been through in the past six months has been more than worth knowing Cinder. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the whole wide universe.

He quirks his lips and says, “Well, it’s about time! You have no idea how awkward these last few minutes have been.”

Talk about awkward! He's been stuck with his own thoughts of death. It doesn’t get much worse than that. The least Levana could have done is monologue at him with her evil plans!

What a poor host.

Earlier he’d been minding his own business in a cell. Of course being left to his own devices was too much to ask for.

Imagine his surprise.

The cell doors had clanged open and Thorne had jumped to his feet. He was expecting a guard, an ally, maybe even a leprechaun. The last person in the entire universe he expected to march through the cell doors was Queen Levana.

His arms had snapped to attention at his sides. His body had jerked forward and past the queen into the stone hall. His heart had beat in time to their footsteps.

“Rough day?” He asks.

Cinder glares in concentration. “Your leg?”

“It won’t kill me—unless of course the prisons were full of grimy bacteria and the wound gets infected, which let’s face it, is entirely plausible.”

She doesn’t find this funny. Figures. The only thing he’s good at are these well-timed and on-theme jokes. If he can’t be helpful, he might as well shut up. Not likely but it’s always an option.

Cinder takes a step forward and his body moves one step closer to free fall.

His heart speeds up.

She clenches her teeth in frustration. Cinder cares about him—it’s nice. Very calming and soothing and satisfying and all that but the thing is… she’s stuck in the doorway! What is he supposed to do to help!! There is literally nothing he can do but stand ramrod straight and hope she figures out a solution.

“Why Selene?” Levana says. “Why do you want to take everything from me?”

Finally, Levana does begin to monologue. It’s long, self righteous and self pitying. And then they’re screaming at each other. It’s all this stuff about dead queens and dead mothers and torture and misplaced love. He’s honestly lost.

But, he’s also the least of the two women’s worries. From his sleeve, he inches the dagger that he nicked from a guard earlier. He begins to wiggle it this way and that.

Then Levana and Cinder quiet.

He looks up in interest.

“Love,” the queen whispers in a broken voice, “Love is a conquest. Love is a war. That is all it is. Let us see how much your love is worth.”

His body takes a jolting step back toward the abyss.

He’s reminded of the footage of Cinder’s body hurtling down from this very point. Again he’s hauling her from the icy water. Again her heartbeat slows to a murmur of life. Again he crushes her to his chest.

The memory plays like a damaged hollow recording. Skipping, juddering, broken—repeating. The memory plays again and again.

Cinder, in the water.

Ice to the touch and slipping away out of his grasp.

Nightmares are made of exactly that memory.

And then he’s remembering stroking fingers through her hair.

It’s coarse and tangled as he runs his nails through. Her cheek is silky smooth. Her breath is warm on his palm.

And Iko is there in the memory too.

Her fingers thread through his and squeeze.

And squeeze. And squeeze in reassurance. Everything will be okay, her cool palm in his says. And he'd believed her then.

He wants to believe it now.

If only this were a fairytale.

He doesn't expect a happy ending.

Cinder pales. She shouts something, lunging forward towards him. Thorne doesn't catch her panicked words.

His foot takes the last step back of its own accord. His stomach drops to his toes. The feeling of vertigo sweeps up from his ankles to his throat.

And then he’s falling.

He scrabbles for purchase of the balcony’s edge, fully in control of his body and self again.

Her bloody hands catch him and his fall jolts to a stop! Her nails bite into his soft flesh but she has him.

Pain—blazing pain where she grips his wrist in her titanium fist. Skin bruises under the metal. But she's hauling him up, one inch at a time. He squeezes her arms for dear life, hanging on for all he's worth.

“Thanks!”

Then his free fist cracks into her jaw.

He swears and shouts an apology.

She doesn’t let go. She keeps firm hold of his arm. Adrenaline pumps in great sweeping roaring pulses through his veins as she tugs his body up to safety.

They land somewhere to the left of the throne.

The ground is firm under their gasping bodies. Their tangled limbs.

Her pulse races alongside his.

She grabs hold of him and squeezes, squeezes, squeezes. He can’t breathe. His heart is thundering in his chest. Life tastes so sweet on his tongue. It tastes sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted before.

The world slows.

His hands move without permission and he’s stabbing the knife from the mansion into her thigh.

She screams. The sound pierces through his chest. Blood spurts.

Cinder tackles him and they crash to the floor as the knife clicks away. She’s squeezing him as tightly as she can. It’s as much to stop him from jumping as it is to prevent him harming her further.

His trembling arms hug her back. But it isn’t a hug. His forearms wrap around her body with a crushing force and he begins to lift her.

He lifts her to toss her from the ledge.

Thorne screams in frustration! No sound makes it past his lips.

Hell on earth is brutalizing your loved ones with no way to stop it.

To punch and stab and kick out bodily. To bruise skin you want to stroke. To strike lips you want to kiss. To watch your own hands reach out in violence for the first woman you’ve ever really loved.

He’s known for weeks now. He’s even admitted it to Iko. The truth still sends his gut lurching.

Love.

It’s a weird little word with suffocating consequences.

It’s an exclusive word.

It promises fidelity and monogamy and an end. (When used in the context of a man’s feelings for a woman. Nothing about his affection for Cinder is familial.)

But he can’t take it back.

Doesn’t want to.

He’s forced to look out and watch his body as a puppet might if it was aware of its master yet unable to break the strings.

Her pained grimaces and yelps bring him physical pain.

It’s agony when his fist makes contact with her gut.

She jabs him in the side.

He scrambles back, back, away from her.

But his hands find the gun.

They aim with steady accuracy at Cinder’s skull.

No.

No.

No.

Please no.

Blinding pain and he screams. The gun drops in slow motion from his wrecked fingers. The agony is bright and loud. 

“I’m sorry!” Cress yells. She’s on the floor from the kickback but her gun is still aimed high and directly at his heart.

She jumps to shaking legs and runs for the throne toward Levana.

He’s yelling.

Cress is yelling.

Cinder is yelling.

And then the knife plunges into Cress’s stomach. It’s worse. It’s terrible.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

He would throw up if it weren’t for Levana’s iron grip on his mind.

And Cinder is firing shots in quick succession at the queen. They all miss.

His knife in her side doesn’t.

Hell on earth.

This is the worst day of Thorne’s entire life.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He’s sobbing and he can’t stop. He can’t stop. Nothing can tear Levana’s hold: not Cress sinking her teeth into his wrist, not the blazing pain in his mutilated hand.

The world descends into chaos as Scarlet and Wolf join the fray.

Levana and Cinder disappear behind the dais.

Thorne collapses to the ground as the queen’s control snaps. He lays in a heap on the chilly stone floor. He stares up in a daze.

The ceiling is nice.

The whole world is awash with specks of black and blue. His vision swims in and out of focus with the pulsing of his blood bleeding out.

And the ceiling is nice.

Cinder screams. He knows her voice the instant it pierces his eardrums. And she screams again. Then, the gun goes off.

The sound in the world flicks off like a light switch. All he can hear is the reverberating echo of the gunshot.

It goes around and around in his brain. 

Dead? No.

Dead? She can’t be.

She isn’t.

The anguished wailing belongs to Cinder and Cinder alone.

He sits in the infirmary waiting room.

Kai does too.

They stare at opposite walls.

They don’t exchange words.

His hands shake. They tremble. He knots his fingers into a fist and presses them into his thigh to stop the tremors. If Iko was here, she would say something silly—something comforting—and maybe he wouldn’t be so terrified.

His bandaged hand throbs.

They’ve given him medication for the pain but not nearly as much as he wants. He’s too clear-headed for comfort.

Cress is moved straight from surgery to a suspension tank.

Iko joins them soon after. The worst damage to her body cannot be fixed with the supplies available on Luna. She’s covered in bandages. She manages, somehow, to look heroic all wrapped up as she is.

She really is a hero.

Thorne feels the farthest from greatness that he ever has. He can still feel Cress’s blood coating his hands. He can still taste the splatters on his tongue.

Iko sits in silence too. She settles down beside him, their knees together, and takes his hand. She squeezes. Squeezes. Squeezes. 

Like Cinder did only a few hours ago.

She tucks her chin into the curve of his shoulder and bounces her knee.

And they wait.

Chapter Text

And they wait.

Access to Cinder’s hospital room is granted 6 hours later.

Kai and Thorne sit in her room. They watch her unconscious form in silence. 

Her usually tan skin is ashen, even against the white sheets. Her face is slack, eyes closed and mouth slightly open.

She looks dead.

It’s such a horrific thought.

“How ya holding up there, your Highness?”

“Thorne. Now isn’t the time for jokes. I can barely stand that title on a normal day when my girlfriend wasn’t in emergency surgery after I’ve been forced to watch literal war crimes.”

Ah. Yeah. Girlfriend. That’s right.

It’s not like Thorne had forgotten, but he is always taken aback by the status of their relationship. Not to mention it’s weird for an emperor to have a girlfriend.

Kai holds her hand and Thorne watches.

Thorne quite literally debates throwing something.

Kai lays his head besides her shoulder. “She’s fantastic.” He sighs.

The emperor is so morose you’d think Cinder was dead and this was her wake, not her hospital room.

Thorne wants to break something expensive. He’s already gotten a bath so his list of needs is pretty short at this point. The most prominent item is destruction of personal property. Preferably royal Lunar keepsakes.

He wants to hold her hand. Boyfriends be damned. He wants to break down crying and demand comfort.

“Hey man. She’s also tougher than nails—titanium nails. She’s gonna be okay.”

Kai looks up, his eyes are wet. He doesn’t bother to hide it. “She was stabbed in the heart Carswell. Stabbed. Tell me that’s something that can be solved with stubbornness.”

“If anyone can recover from pure spite, Cinder is your man.”

“Can we play the silence game?”

“I’m trying to make you feel better!”

“Well it’s not working!”

They stare at each other.

He says something really stupid. “Oh give me a break. You’re not the only person who cares about her.”

Kai breathes out a long breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Thorne says hotly. “She’s important to us all.”

“But she’s important to you.”

They sit in a pained silence after that.

“She’s gonna make it Kai. She has to.” Thorne says quietly.

Thorne isn’t there when she wakes. He’s off checking on Cress. She looks deathly pale in her suspension tank. He wishes there was anything he could do but of course, he’s useless. He sits next to the tank and watches. He traces shapes into his knee.

When he finally arrives to visit Cinder, he finds her awake. That’s about as nice a comment as he can give her.

She stands out on the balcony with her arms crossed tightly and her eyes closed. Her dark hair is unbound and falls across stiff shoulders.

She’s in a thin white hospital robe. He swallows thickly. He can see the color of her skin underneath the material.

He clears his throat audibly and she startles from her reverie.

She turns and, when she sees him, straightens. Her arms drop to her sides. He makes a conscious effort to look at her face.

“You’re healed?” He asks.

She pauses. There’s something in the air between them. It’s unspoken but mutual. Like they’ve chosen to ignore it—whatever it is—like there’s a careful script they’ve agreed on before this to follow.

She breaks the silence, “The scarring on my chest is bad. But,” she grimaces and looks away. “But my body has always been screwed up. I’ve had scars longer than I’ve had memories.” She crosses her arms over her chest again.

He’s thankful for the movement. It obscures some of her skin.

He clenches his fists, knuckling his thigh. It smarts.

He imagines kissing her. He knows he can’t. Would she taste like the warm herbs she smells of? Would her mouth be soft? The out of reach fantasy taunts him.

He swallows again. “You’re not screwed up Cinder.”

“Burns and skin grafting really say top notch don’t they.” She snorts. She can’t meet his eyes.

He wants to reach out and touch her; to stroke her cheek. He wants to press his fingers into her skin and confirm the pulse flowing just beneath. He wants to know without a doubt that she is alive.

Thorne knows he must resist. He must. He must.

It’s agony itself.

“You are top notch. From your patchwork brain to your metal toes. Everything Cinder, it’s all incredible.” He says this half teasing but that’s only to dull the complement. He wants her to accept it. He needs her to know a shred of the adoration he feels even if it’s disguised as a joke.

She lifts her hands to examine them. One flesh and one cyborg. There’s a gleam of emotion in her eyes he can’t identify.

It’s similar to fear. It’s too similar to loathing.

“Levana really did a piece of work on me.”

“She’s left her mark on us all now.” He steps forward out into the open air of the balcony.

His hand twitches and he grimaces. It’s still a strange sensation to be missing the fingers. The pain is there to remind him.

“I thought you were going to die. I thought Levana was going to kill you.” She says.

“I thought I was going to kill you !”

They stare at each other and he can see the terror fresh in her eyes. It’s fresh in his own. He can see it all again and he wonders if he’s going to have PTSD or something. At least nightmares—that he’s certain of.

No tears come for Cinder but he can feel them prickling behind his own eyes. They blur his vision. He blinks and a single drop of water falls.

“I’m so thankful you’re alive.” He tells her.

He’s unprepared for the hug. She throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing.

“I’m thankful you’re still here too.”

He isn’t prepared for the genuineness of her words either.

He’ll compromise. This might be even better than a kiss. Maybe.

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and carefully, oh so carefully, hugs her back. Her warmth bleeds into him and sets the middle of his chest aglow. It’s such a comforting sensation. He wants to drown in it.