Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You wake up.

You don't think you were supposed to.

Heart pounding against your rib cage, you blink away the remnants of a sleep you can't remember. The stars lose their blurred edges. Giant's Deep glows a deep red as it crests and begins to inch out of sight. It's the beginning of the loop, and yet, the cannon is still intact. There is no purple light tracing its unpredictable path across the vast, vanishing night sky.

You've seen this a million times before.

After all this time, not seeing it is what baffles you.

You push yourself up. Across the camp, bent over their knees and poking at the fire, is Slate. They look up at you, and you try to seem a little more normal, but it’s been quite a few years since the last time you cared what people thought of you. If Slate thinks your staring is weird, you don’t know what they’d think if they ever hopped in your ship and learned a little something about the universe. 

You stand. Slate turns back to the fire. They never address you first, not even on those days you think your mood is clear enough that it warrants a quick, ‘You alright over there?’

Waiting. That’s all you’re good for, and you finally thought you ended it, and yet here you are. Still kicking away, and for what?

There are three or four sentences you have on replay every time you speak to Slate. You step forward, consider pulling out a stick and a marshmallow, then say, “You know the ship is a death-trap, right?”

Slate looks at you, and without hesitation says, “Well yeah, it’s a death-trap, but a really powerful death-trap. What, you suddenly care about safety now?”

You smile and shake your head, because no, you can’t bring yourself to care about safety, especially when you’re supposed to be dead. Your eyes travel until they rest on Giant’s Deep. You wonder if Gabbro is having as many thoughts about this as you are. You consider going there, but something else itches at the back of your mind.

Feldspar. You found them still sitting in Dark Bramble, alone. They have no idea that you chose to kill them and everyone else. You look up at the Orbital Probe Cannon and ponder the meaning behind its failure to fire. Somehow, in the process of collapsing the possibilities, you managed to avoid destroying the universe. But how? Why are you here?

You don’t know if this is real. If not, this is a remarkably detailed hallucination.

Deciding to ask Gabbro if they’re as confused as you are, you head to the elevator and punch in the launch codes. You’re pretty sure Slate calls and asks where you got them, but you don’t respond. You hop into your ship, buckle up, and take off along one of your favorite routes.

Halfway to Giant’s Deep, you pause. You feel a pull, a sense that you’re going the wrong way. You turn your ship as the fully intact probe cannon circles around, and you lock your sights on Dark Bramble.

You don’t know what’s happening, but Feldspar and Dark Bramble occupy every neural pathway in your mind until you have no choice but to turn back. You'll have to leave Gabbro for later.

You hate every second of it. You're not yet adapted to the adrenaline rush that comes from flying directly into the heart of Dark Bramble. You turn on your signalscope to locate Feldspar’s harmonica, and you fly toward it with determination and a healthy dose of anxiety.

One node down. There are three signals for you to choose from, and as in all the previous loops, you choose the signal on the far left. Sometimes it’s correct; sometimes it isn’t. You have a good feeling that this is the right one.

It turns out it wasn’t, but you don’t let that dampen your mood. The last thing you need is unsteady hands. One wrong move could be the difference between seeing Feldspar and seeing the inside of an angler fish's digestive tract, and you can't afford to waste time. You navigate to the middle node and jump through.

You find the husked out angler fish with no further setbacks. It’s been a long time. Although you don’t like it, you know this journey like the back of your hand. (Admittedly, you haven't seen much of your own skin since this journey began.) Landing the ship still takes a bit of finesse, but soon enough you hop out and head into Feldspar’s little camp.

The fog must have concealed you at first, because Feldspar doesn't notice you until you step up and begin packing away their sleeping bag. They sit there, baffled, watching as you hook their sleeping bag over your shoulder and gather up all the remaining cans of food you can find. You wince as you realize none of these creatures are salt fish, and that some of them are still moving…

“Uh,” Feldspar finally says, but you ignore their confusion and focus on taking everything back to your ship. You use the Nomai elevator to settle the supplies and return to grab more.

As you gather their emergency tree seeds and an unlabeled box, you decide to speak, as though you’ve spoken to each other a million times before and not just once. “We’re heading home. Hurry—we don't have much time to waste.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Feldspar appears next to you, and you hold still as they peer curiously into your faceplate. A moment passes as their expression shifts from confusion to realization. “Rheniite? Did they finally make an astronaut out of my lil’ rock?”

You've heard that line a million times and don't care to hear it again, so you shove the box into Feldspar's hands, your lip curling as they stumble. “Gossan misses you. Hurry before they come to get you themself.”

The idea of Gossan coming into this wretched place is enough to get Feldspar moving. They don't question you and gather everything, moving swiftly and quietly, as though they sense they’re running out of time without fully understanding why. They hesitate over the moving things in the can before putting out their fire and walking away. You're relieved you won't have to deal with whatever those things are crawling around in your ship.

It's been eight years since Feldspar has seen or spoken to another living person, and they’re handling it surprisingly well. You expected some resistance or disbelief, but Feldspar had always said they enjoyed the quiet and would wait for you to return home to send someone else.

Looking back, it's silly. Why make the trip home to tell Hornfels when you could have picked them up yourself?

As you let the last of their camp supplies float up into your ship, you acknowledge the futility of it all—Feldspar will just end up right back where they started. You wonder why you bothered packing up their things in the first place.

Maybe it’s to make you feel better, or to make Feldspar feel better. Taking all this stuff with you gives the illusion of permanence.

You settle down in the pilot’s seat while Feldspar settles near your ship logs. You take off, heading away from any potential exit, and hover close to Feldspar’s sparking ship. The damage is extensive, but it's nothing Slate and Esker haven’t handled before. 

You grab a rope and tethers. Feldspar watches you out of the viewport of your ship as you tie the rope first to your ship and then to Feldspar’s. The rope should hold. This was part of your training, after all. It's not uncommon for ships to get lost or stranded due to the astronauts' tendency to forget refueling schedules and routine maintenance. 

You return to the pilot’s seat and take care to avoid slamming Feldspar’s ship into any of the brambles. You watch for sleeping anglerfish at every turn. You want to avoid repeating this journey if you can.

Finally, you see the night sky.

Feldspar sucks in a breath and holds it. They stumble to their feet and lean forward to take it all in. You watch them. A tear slips from Feldspar’s eye, and you swallow hard, turning away.

You make it back in one piece. Before you even touch down, Slate is already waiting on the landing pad. Their windblown clothes flap as they rush forward. You motion for Feldspar to go ahead, and they look at you, lost in a daze.

Go on, Slate’s excited to see you,” you say, and Feldspar chuckles mirthlessly as they hop out of the hatch. You wait for Slate’s reaction. They let out a confused, guttural sound, and then it becomes a litany of, “Oh, my stars. Oh, my stars.”

You watch from your position over the hatch as Slate grabs Feldspar and pulls them in, holding them and gently rocking them from side to side. You smile and then turn your gaze to the sun. 

The sun is still yellow, unchanged even after you spent the better part of your twenty-two minutes inside Dark Bramble.

You swallow a flicker of panicked excitement.

Slate runs off with Feldspar without so much as a glance back at you. It makes sense—you never really left. A quick trip to Dark Bramble doesn't warrant the same kind of welcome for you as it does for them.

While the village gathers to see the face they thought long dead, you unhook Feldspar's ship from yours and take off toward Giant’s Deep.

Chapter Text

When you arrive, Gabbro is already waiting for you. Their hammock is down, and the fire isn't lit. You land and walk forward until you meet them halfway.

"Hey, buddy," you say, and for some reason, you feel a bit like crying. Despite Gabbro's past insistence that they don't need it, they step right up and wrap their arms around you.

They ask, “Why are we alive?”

You have no answer, so you hug them back and try to breathe. The loop should be over, yet the cannon remains intact. 

“I brought Feldspar home,” you say, and Gabbro pulls away to look at you.

“We don’t have a lot of time left. Was it even worth the trip?” they ask, and you look up at the sky but remember the sun is hidden from you on this dark, cloud-covered planet. 

“The sun is still yellow, and the probe cannon never fired.” 

Gabbro goes stiff, and you want to reach out to steady them, but you hold back. Instead, you wait for them to process everything before adding, "You didn't see the purple flash. That's why."

"So, what does this mean?" 

You hesitate to say it out loud because saying it might jinx it. You need this to be real.

But Gabbro doesn't share your reservations. In a barely audible whisper, they ask, "Are we going to… survive?"

"I don't know," you admit, "but if something does kill us in a few minutes, it won't be the sun."

Gabbro wheezes, their entire body bending forward. This time, you step forward to steady them, and they hold onto your arm as though you're the only tangible thing they can grasp. You hold on in return, because what else can you do?

You should be dead, yet you're still alive.

The sun isn’t red. The cannon didn’t fire.

You and Gabbro find yourselves locked in another hug, swaying side to side, both of you trembling and holding back tears. After enduring over seventy thousand loops; three years of your life, the one constant was Gabbro's memory of you. They never once looked at you as though you were the person who died on Giant's Deep the very first loop.

They want this to be over just as much as you do. You're terrified of being trapped in a limbo that could still come crashing down. Rather than dwelling on it, you let Gabbro squeeze you so tightly that it feels like the moment you were crushed against the ceilings of the Sunless City. You try to hold them just as tightly in return.

Do you want to go home?" you whisper. It has been three years since Gabbro last set foot on soil other than that of Giant’s Deep, and you can't imagine how it must feel. You hold them and give them time, even as their body goes slack and they mumble toward the cyclones, as if expecting them to respond.

“Yeah,” they finally say, their voice cracking. “Yeah, I want to go home.” 

You lead them back to your ship, leaving behind most of Gabbro’s supplies. They say they’ll return, and you aren't sure if they mean willingly or because of the Ash Twin Project, but you don't argue.

Gabbro settles down on the ledge near the gravity crystal, taking their time to survey the surroundings as they get comfortable. This is their first time on your ship while it's fully intact, and they seem impressed. You watch as they trail a finger over the crystal, their gaze drifting around the cabin until it lands on your ship logs.

“You can read them if you want,” you say, and Gabbro hums as they stand. They spend a good amount of time poring over your Giant’s Deep entries before moving on to Feldspar’s camp logs. You smile; you're still alive. “Hey, can I warn you about something?”

Gabbro turns to look at you.

You continue, speaking more cautiously. “Talking to the villagers is... how do I put this? It's really hard. It's honestly kind of awful; like, the worst. They don't remember any of it, so they still treat you as if you're Gabbro investigating the statues, just like they see me as Rheniite taking off on their first solo launch. It might not sound so bad in theory, but in practice, it's pretty rough.”

Gabbro settles back down on the ledge, their arms crossed over their lap. “I expected something like that, but I wasn’t sure how it would feel. You’d know, I guess?”

“Unfortunately,” you reply. “Hal saw me yesterday. I haven't seen them in a year.”

Gabbro nods. "Well, might as well rip off the band-aid, right?"

You smile and turn back to your control panel. As you break through the cloud cover, you're unsure what you'll find. The sun could be miles from the Ash Twins' outer atmosphere, its hue a deep, fiery red. Your hope might have been for nothing. But then, the clouds clear, and the sun remains a reassuring yellow. For the second time today, you witness someone seeing the stars for the first time in years.

You make it back to Timber Hearth in no time, and this time you do get quite a welcome party. Gossan comes up to you, spluttering nonsense, and then you end up with a solid slap to your head and their arms wrapped around you. They whisper, over and over until their voice dies, “Thank you.”

You let them go because you don’t feel you've done anything to deserve it. You’re not who they think you are. You aren't a rookie astronaut who embarked on their first voyage to save Feldspar despite the danger.

But they wouldn’t believe you, so you hold back and simply nod.

Hornfels is crying when you and Gabbro step into Feldspar and Gossan’s cabin. They embrace you like a hatchling, patting your back and checking you over for injuries. “I don’t even know how you got the codes; that was very, very reckless of you. You found Feldspar!” they exclaim.

“Yes, I did,” you reply. 

Hornfels turns their attention to Gabbro, wiping their face before asking, “Oh, did you get the other statue by chance?”

Gabbro rolls their eyes, and you chuckle at their expense.

“Not quite,” Gabbro responds, and Hornfels nods.

“Make sure you get that, okay?”

“Sure,” Gabbro agrees.

With that, Hornfels bursts into tears again and heads back to Feldspar and Gossan's room.

“Told you,” you say, knocking your elbow into Gabbro’s side. They cross their arms and lean back, and you like to think the only thing keeping them from toppling over is your hand on their back.

“Figures,” Gabbro responds. “Always an option, never a priority.”

Gabbro stalks off toward the common room in the center of the cabin, leaving Feldspar and Gossan’s room a wide berth. You don’t blame them; it's hard for you too, though you’ve seen most of these faces over the last couple of years. 

You shuffle your way into the room, finding a place to settle by the window so you can stay out of the way and relatively unnoticed. 

Day one is the easiest because, despite all of Feldspar’s smoke and mirrors, they crashed the moment their body touched the bed.

You stay close after that. Everyone treats you like Rheniite, the hatchling, fussing over your nonexistent injuries and scolding you as though you’ve never stepped outside on your own. Gossan and Hornfels are furious with you; neither of them can comprehend why you would fly directly into Dark Bramble without saying a word.

Even returning with Feldspar hasn’t calmed them down. Gossan finds it difficult to be around you for too long, while Hornfels still cries whenever they come by to check that you haven’t run off again.

Gabbro understands. When everyone’s doubt and disappointment becomes too much, you leave your spot by the window for a seat beside them on the armrest in the common room. They tap melodies into your knee cap; words can be fleeting and hard to come by at times like these. Both of you understand music, even when you can’t always understand each other.

You return to the room only when Gabbro falls asleep.

When you're not with Gabbro, you occupy an open spot on the windowsill. Gossan hasn’t left Feldspar's side, not even for a glass of water. The chair rocks gently with their small movements—forward and back. The arm resting over Feldspar's chest bends and straightens but never slips away.

Gossan barely blinks. Every few minutes, they check Feldspar's pulse by holding a finger to their neck, then place the back of their hand up to their nose to make sure they're still breathing. Once they’re convinced all is well, Gossan resumes rocking aimlessly until the cycle starts again.

Gneiss and Tektite fuss over Feldspar. They’re so far gone that no amount of shifting, shuffling, talking, or yelling will rouse them. Their breathing becomes labored, pained, and slow. You face Feldspar and count their breaths: one, two, three... sixty-one, sixty-two. 

You shake yourself, trying to push back a thought that has surfaced and won't go away. It occurs to you that if you hadn’t gone, even without knowing whether your safeguard was still behind you, you might have been counting down Feldspar's breaths instead of counting them up.

Twenty-two minutes have long passed. You’re still alive.

You try not to get too excited. Now the world is real again, and all the old rules are back in play. You think about how long you’ve been doing this and wonder how long it will take before you forget and intentionally jump off a cliff to end a loop that no longer exists.

Gneiss whispers to themself as they work, listing old injuries: long-healed femur fractures, wrist fractures, an orbital fracture, slipped discs, arthritic joints, and a malnourished body. You don’t want to admit it, but hearing it all scares you.  

“Did they walk okay, hatchling?” Tektite breaks the silence. You try to remember, but realize you hadn't paid much attention. You were so focused on escaping in time that you overlooked the details.

“We didn’t do a lot of walking,” you respond. Tektite nods.

The first time Feldspar wakes up is harrowing, even for you. Their eyes flicker open, distant and lost. Gossan sits up straight, gently cupping Feldspar’s uninjured cheek. At first, it's hard to discern what's going through Feldspar’s mind—if anything at all. They blink sluggishly, their body still heavy and glued to the mattress. It's not until you notice a small, nearly insignificant tear slipping from their eye that you realize there's far more beneath the surface than you ever wished to uncover back on Dark Bramble.

Sure, they got angry. Sure, they got frustrated. Who wouldn’t, after spending eight years alone in a foggy deathtrap, with your only friends a haunting echo? Never before had Feldspar laid so still, their face as blank as a white sheet of paper, tears falling without a single word spoken.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Gossan whispers. “You’re safe. Go back to sleep, Felds.”

Feldspar blinks. “Where am I?”

“You’re home. You’re safe.”

And at first, Feldspar doesn't seem to believe it. They don't meet Gossan's gaze, nor do they glance at you. Their eyes fixate on the ceiling, the same one they slept beneath for the better part of twenty years, as they utter, “I’m home?”

“Yeah.” Gossan swallows, their pain obvious in the twist of their lips. “You’re home now.”

“The angler fish–”

“I’ve got you,” Gossan interrupts, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Feldspar’s cheek. It makes your stomach hurt. “You’re with me now. There are no more angler fish. You’re safe.”

Dizzy, confused, yet trusting Gossan’s words implicitly, Feldspar's eyes flutter closed as they slip back into sleep. Unsure of what to do, you watch as Gossan nuzzles their nose against Feldspar’s scarred cheek, their bloodshot eye, the dip of a broken, now healed collarbone. Without a word, you quietly slip back out into the common room.

Slate comes to visit, but they steer clear of the room on account of Gossan's steady presence. At the kitchen table, tapping a screwdriver against the cracked wood, they stare off into space for an hour. Maybe two. Gabbro takes the time to talk to them. They discuss Tektite and Gneiss's treatment plans, the injuries they'd found, the hope that Feldspar will wake up next with as much adrenaline as they'd had when they arrived. 

Gossan never knows Slate was there, but you do. It leaves you with a sour pit in the depths of your stomach to see Slate stand like the walking dead, with eye bags and shaky limbs, stumbling out without ever getting the chance to count Feldspar's breaths.

A part of you wants to follow Slate. Between them and Gossan, they'd missed Feldspar enough for the entire village combined. But Slate isn't the type to be receptive to comfort, and it feels like it would be a waste of your breath.

At least, believing that makes you feel less guilty as you flop down next to Gabbro on the couch for your first night's sleep since the world ended.

Chapter Text

The second day is harder. 

Feldspar awakens to the quiet chirp of bugs outside the window. You watch their eyes blink open, unseeing and distant. They stare listlessly at the ceiling, quiet and contemplative. You think they may have forgotten where they are, but you don’t want to startle them. You keep quiet, watching and waiting.

They wrap an arm around Gossan’s lax body, still laying over theirs. Throughout the whole night, Gossan has never stopped hitching in their sleep. The instant Feldspar’s arm settles, Gossan does too. 

Their eyes travel until they land on you, and their lips curl slightly at the edges. Feldspar takes in a deep breath of fresh air and begins to speak. “When it all started, I thought, hey, it'll be a few days, but they'll find me. I'll play every day; that'll keep me going.

''But then months went by, and then years, and I figured at some point I went from playing for fun to playing my own funeral song. And then you, never having flown that ship in your life, crash your way in just as I'm about to pack it all up for good. You did well for yourself, little rock.”

You keep your face neutral. Feldspar doesn't need to see your inner turmoil at a time like this. How many times over the course of your adventures have you been ready to pack it up and be done with it all?

That feeling is bleak and inescapable, and it's unsettling to think that even someone like Feldspar—The Best That Ever Was—could feel that way. 

You don't think Feldspar would believe you if you told them, but you like to think a part of them remembers. Maybe that's why they confide in you.

You can't forget the days you spent in that decrepit, decayed anglerfish, listening to Feldspar's stories. Nor can you forget how, when you shared your own tales, Feldspar would lean forward over their bent knees, completely enraptured by every word you had to say.

Feldspar looked at you as if you had something important to say. Every time. Without fail, Feldspar was the most captive audience you’ve ever had. Growing up listening to the stories of this legendary astronaut, you felt deeply honored to have their undivided attention.

After all this time, you forget that Feldspar is a legend—a story, a figurehead for Outer Wilds Ventures, and the main reason for the newly instated safety checkpoints and automatic braking systems. Chert is Chert, Riebeck is Riebeck. Everyone knows this, yet you alone seem to recognize that Feldspar is simply Feldspar.

Watching Feldspar go glassy-eyed, staring at the cracks in the wood of their own room, feels all too familiar. You've seen it happen before, and there's a certain unsettling normalcy to it. 

It's strange when you think about it. You used to have tact, knowing what to say, when to say it, and why. But as time went on and you lost track of how many times you'd died and woken up only to die again, the intricacies of conversation slipped away. It didn't bother you to sit down and casually ask Feldspar if they'd finally lost their mind

You'd justified the question quite simply. There was no way Feldspar could have been okay with being trapped in Dark Bramble, living off moving centipedes coated in oil and stale marshmallows. 

Feldspar always laughed you off at first, but you would double down. You kicked, poked, and dug until Feldspar could do nothing but bare it all to you, unleashing years of pent-up rage. How could no one have thought to follow their music? They had played and played until their lips were raw and frozen, cracked and bloody.

Feldspar enjoyed those first few months, but then reality set in. They ran out of food, and the anglerfish started to grow bolder.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Feldspar would ask, and you would sit there in silence. It was exactly what you had wanted, as awful as that may sound.

You needed a real answer. When you discovered how to stop the sun from going supernova, you had to decide whether to save Feldspar or leave them alone. Ultimately, you couldn't stop the supernova, but you may have destroyed the universe instead. 

Despite it all, you and everyone else are still here.

You know Feldspar better than you know Chert or Riebeck, perhaps even better than you know Gabbro.

You think of Gabbro, awake but staring at the walls with a blank gaze. You want to hop into their brain and pick it apart, just as you've done with Feldspar. You wish you could push Gabbro's buttons the way you push Feldspar's because you're beginning to believe that's the only way you'll ever get a straight answer out of them.

Later, you watch as Feldspar takes their first bite of real food. They throw it right back up. Gneiss and Gossan startle so badly they end up with grain all over their pants. You grab a towel and dampen it, then return to settle it in Feldspar's outstretched hand. Gossan tries to take it from them, but Feldspar waves them off and carefully cleans everything on their own, their hands shaky but determined. 

A small act of self-sufficiency, but it feels significant after so long unable to do anything but sit around and wait to die. 

Everything is mostly back together when Feldspar brings that soiled rag to their face and tenses. They gag, throw up the rest of that singular bite, and use the clean edges to wipe their lips. You take it and toss it unceremoniously into the dirty laundry. 

Gneiss and Gossan fuss. You sit back and wait. 

You’re good at waiting. There were stretches of time, loop after loop, that you’d stay in your sleeping bag and wait. You counted. Twenty-two loops for eight hours of sleep. Poetic, in retrospect. Twenty-two minutes, twenty-two loops to get one single night’s rest. 

When they’re both gone, off to find something a bit more palatable to someone who hasn’t eaten real food in years, you shift. Feldspar looks at you. 

You say, without a hint of sarcasm, “Want me to gather up some centipedes and bring them back?”

“Might be the only thing I can stomach,” Feldspar replies. They laugh, but it sounds hollow. Somehow, they look closer to death like this than when they were asleep. 

You push yourself up as Feldspar gags into an open hand again. Nothing comes up, there’s nothing to come up, but you still hand them another clean towel. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask.

“Can’t say it doesn’t,” Feldspar says with the air of someone untouchable. But that's all it is—an air, a façade. Feldspar may be the greatest astronaut to ever live, but that doesn't make them invincible.

"Okay. I'll be back soon." You head for the door.

"Wait, you were being serious?" Feldspar looks at you in that way they used to when you were just the hatchling with unfathomable stories, as if they can't believe you're real.

"Yes? Do you want to eat or not?" you ask. Feldspar's mouth opens and closes.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," Feldspar says, laying back down. You glance at the bones sticking out of their elbows and think they surely look hungry.

There are caveats to everything in life. You've lived for years as an immortal, but that came with only getting infinitesimal chunks of time to do anything. Feldspar curated the image of a superior being, like the Eye was to the Nomai, and now they have to uphold it.

You understand because, as much as you want to be yourself, no one would accept it. Everyone still thinks they saw you yesterday, green and young and fresh, never having touched your ship in your life, ready to see the world for the first time.

You've already heard the whispers.

"Gabbro, stop arguing. They'd never left this planet, and yet their first thought was to go blasting into Dark Bramble! What if they had died?"

“Feldspar will be fine. You know nothing gets to them. They’ll be right as rain tomorrow morning!” 

In both cases, no one acknowledges the years the two of you spent becoming someone unrecognizable. You struggle to remember the you that Hal, Hornfels, Slate, Gossan, and Gneiss remember. Tephra still looks at you like you hung the stars, the same way you used to look at Feldspar.

Does Feldspar even remember the person you looked up to? You wonder if they can still remember the awe you once had for them, the admiration that drove you to follow in their footsteps. It's difficult to reconcile the image of your favorite astronaut with the vulnerable figure lying before you now.

You wanted to be just like them. Every step had to match theirs. Every inflection of your voice, every word out of your lips. Feldspar was the most important person in your life. You studied them with such intensity that you knew their mannerisms by heart, the cadence of their speech, the way their presence filled a room. They were your idol, your mentor, and your guide to the stars.

And yet, the day you stood as their equal, they had already been lost to the same stars they guided you toward. 

You see them in glimpses. You wonder if they will ever be more than that, now. 

In the end, you stick around a little longer. Gossan finally feels some relief when Feldspar manages to hold liquids down for a while, but eventually it all comes back up and seeps into the wooden floorboards. You take care of the mess, scrubbing the floor clean and wiping everything down. Gossan cleans Feldspar’s face and chest with gentle, worried hands. You can’t bring yourself to watch for long; it makes your heart ache.

As the day slowly ebbs away, you push yourself up and step out into the common area. Gabbro is asleep again, with notes and charts scattered on the floor around them. You take a few steps toward them, and it's clear they had been working until they nodded off.

You gather the papers into a neat pile and place them on the table, then do the same with the pencils and wooden ruler. You’re careful as you take the book on water pathogens out of Gabbro’s barely clenched fist. The cover is worn—bent around the edges and almost completely sunbleached. You think you can read a name scribbled on the corner of the book. Maybe two. Iolite, and… you can’t make out the other. 

You settle back on your haunches and let out an audible sigh. Gabbro is still holding a pencil and another ruler, so you gently wiggle those out of their grip as well. You grab the blanket from the top of the couch and wrap your arms around their back and legs, carefully shifting them into a more comfortable position. They sniffle and whine a little, and their hand flies up to their face to wipe their eyes.  

“Sorry,” you whisper, but Gabbro doesn't respond. You unfold the blanket and carefully cover them, ensuring all their limbs are fully wrapped and warm. You gaze at their peaceful, smooth face as they sleep. You can't help but gently press your finger over what may have been a scar on their cheek.

You feel a twinge of guilt as you slip your shoes on and head out the door. Although Gabbro may be your best friend and the most important person in your life, you still can't bring yourself to be completely honest with them about how you're feeling. The distance weighs on you as you quietly slip out the door. 

Chapter Text

You fly to Ember Twin as the ash fully returns to Ash Twin. Landing your ship on the cliff edge in front of the gravity cannon, you hop out and begin scouting for the break in the red rock. Spotting the beige amidst the red, you jump.

You navigate your way back into the Sunless City. Although you're aware of the risk of dying, you came to terms with that two days ago and haven't wavered since. You're still unsure if any of this is real. As you jump, you engage your jetpack thrusters just before making contact with the ground. The sound of your oxygen tank hissing follows you as you stumble into the trees.

You look up at Idaea and Pye’s conversation and wonder if it's fair that you're still here to read them, while they're no longer here to write them. If they had found the Eye back then, would they have woken up on the other side, free to live their lives?

This place doesn't feel like home, but it does feel familiar, and sometimes that's all that matters.

Feldspar would have loved it here. They've never had the chance to meet any of the Nomai, not in the way you have. You think they would have gotten along well with Avens and Mallow.

Perhaps Cassava and Chert would have gotten along well. Solanum and Riebeck. Gabbro would have probably found common ground with any one of them. You wish you could sit down with Idaea and trade stories of wasted potential and stupid mistakes.

Laughing at yourself is easy. You won, didn’t you? You found the best possible outcome, and yet you’re still here, feeling sorry for yourself. 

You’re so disconnected from the world around you that it’s hard to see it clearly. Your initial goal was to save it, but when that proved impossible, you sought to understand it instead. You wanted to read every piece of writing, hear every recording, and uncover every secret buried beneath the ruins of a once-thriving civilization. You did it—you learned everything there was to know.

And here you are. 

You want to understand, but you can't, and the Nomai can't hold your hand anymore. 

You think back on Filix, Annona, Thatch, Plume, Melorae, and Coleus—their confusion, their suffering. Despite everything, they were determined to rebuild and do it well. A thriving civilization, led by the bravest among them. 

You haven’t lost anything except your meaning. Your purpose.

Despite having nothing but the clothes on their backs, the Nomai kept going. They never questioned whether survival was worth it; survival was the only non negotiable. Everything else came with time and effort. 

There's crackling over your radio. You hold your breath, hoping the transmission isn't meant for you.

“Rheniite, Feldspar to communication line five.”

Feldspar?

“Rheniite copies. Shouldn't you be sleeping?” you ask. There's a soft chuckle. A cough. A wheeze. 

"I was. I was surprised to see you'd left. Just so you know, Hornfels and Gossan are looking for you. Gabbro and I did our best, but I think Gossan might take the ship Riebeck just landed."

“They won’t find me.” 

"You think you're slick like me, huh? Let me give you some advice, hatchling: turn off your navigation system if you don't want to be found."

Damn. You slap yourself; you'd never had to do that before. In those twenty-two minutes, no one had ever come looking for you. You'd be surprised if anyone other than Slate even noticed you were gone.

You don't tell Feldspar that you're far from your ship. Deep down, you think they'd be a bit concerned if they knew you'd holed up next to a Nomai skeleton and some cacti for company. 

Besides, everything will reset in a few minutes, so it won't matter anyway. 

You catch up with yourself quickly, but not quickly enough. Before you can stop yourself, you say too much, and Feldspar falls silent on the other end. You watch the sand begin to fall. This time, you really have to leave before it fills up. No more meditating until you're done being crushed.

“Rhen, maybe you should keep your navigation systems on,” Feldspar responds. You snort and shake your head, leaning back against the cool rock behind you.

“Go back to sleep. You need it,” you say.

“Come back with Gossan, and I will.”

“I'll probably hop over to Giant's Deep, maybe Brittle Hollow.” 

You're lying. You're going to stay right here and watch the sand rise until you're forced to crawl out of your hiding spot. Then you'll wait, and do it all over again.

“I’m serious. I think it’s best if you come back.”

“You guys just don’t understand.”

“What do I not understand? You and Gabbro–what is it?”

The mention of Gabbro startles you, but you don't dwell on it. Instead, you respond without much thought, “All of you treat me like I'm still... that person. I'm not a hatchling anymore. You can trust me to be out past dark, I promise.”

Feldspar takes a breath. “You drank sap wine a month ago.”

This time, you laugh, throwing your head between your legs. Month, day, hour—what meaning do those words hold for you anymore?

“It’s been years, Feldspar. Years. And how would you know, anyway?”

“Did you hit your head or something?”

They sound serious. It's not sarcastic like when Slate would ask if you're an idiot or call you mentally unstable. 

“Goodnight, Feldspar,” you say, reaching halfway to your helmet when they speak again.

“Wait! Wait, just wait. Where are you? Gossan said your ship is there, but there’s no you with it.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“You’ll be back today.”

“Maybe.”

Hypothesis: it would be easier to have the time loops, because you can’t shut your own mouth.  

Day three is worse.

You navigate through the sand to reach your exit. Using your jetpack boosters, you expertly land on the rock ledges, then use them again to land beside your ship. Gossan is there, head in their hands. They look exhausted and anxious, as if they're one word away from snapping. 

“Why are you still here?” 

“I—!” Gossan whips their gaze to you. “I—I can’t believe…You and Feldspar...!”

You wait for Gossan to find their words.

Finally, they say, “You're both going to get yourselves killed, and then what? What am I supposed to do then? I finally get Feldspar back after years of thinking they were dead, and now you're out here, running off without telling anyone, going to the most dangerous places without an instrument, a tracker, or anything that could help us find you! What if you got trapped? What if you got lost? What do you expect me to do then?”

You don't know what to say, because the person Gossan is worried about died years ago. The Rheniite who took off on their first solo launch was swallowed up by a supernova. The particles that made them up are now gone, scattered and dispersed.

“What—“

You glance up to see what caught Gossan's attention. For a moment, you think it must be the sun, but then you spot the familiar silhouette of Chert's ship.

It lands, and instead of Chert, Feldspar jumps out. 

“Oh, for the love of... what are you doing here?' Gossan sounds quite hysterical, in your opinion. Feldspar is limping heavily, holding an arm protectively around their abdomen. A textbook example of the difference between an adrenaline spike and an adrenaline crash.

“I was worried you'd get trapped,” Feldspar says, breathless. They collapse halfway to you, their face contorted in pain, and the only thing holding them up is Gossan's hand on their chest.

“You think you're going to save me like that?” you ask.

“Die trying,” Feldspar laughs.

Gossan buries their face in their hands again. 

Day four is better.

Day five is worse again. 

Day six…

You settle down on the wet sand next to Gabbro's hammock. They tap you on the back of your helmet with their flute.

“Are we telling them?” they ask.

You gaze at the cyclones in the distance and ponder the question. You consider the consequences of sharing something so bleak, so inescapable with the village, and yet...

“We can't,” you finally say. 

“Why not?”

“They wouldn’t understand.”

Gabbro hums and twirls their flute twice. “Do you think it's any easier for them to watch us try to exist as though we're not completely different people?”

“We have each other. We don’t need anyone else to understand us.” You trace circles in the sand. “Why? Does it bother you?” 

You turn to look at Gabbro, surprised to see that they've set their flute down. They stare off into the distance, hands fidgeting. You want to reach out to them, but you don't. 

“You’ve really imprinted on Feldspar, haven’t you?”

You scoff, staring at Gabbro as though they've grown another head. “Absolutely not. That’s something hatchlings do, and they grow out of it.”

“As far as biology is concerned, you drank sap wine a month ago.”

“Whatever. No, if anything, they won’t leave me alone.”

It's really Gossan who won't leave you alone, but Feldspar tends to tag along. You've noticed them watching you, making sure you eat, tend to your injuries, and don't stay alone for too long.

You look at Gabbro and swallow before asking, “Why are they...?”

You don't need to finish your question. Gabbro replies, “They're worried you're going to kick the bucket. On purpose.”

“Is there a particular reason?”

“Probably the whole nothing-matters, it'll-all-be-over-soon spiel you gave them when you were hiding with your friends on Ember Twin.”

You were hoping you hadn’t actually said that out loud. 

“Guess I should probably fix that mess.” You stand up and brush the sand off your pants. Gabbro pats you on the back in consolation. “Why is no one ever worried about you?”

“Because I've always been this way.”

You can't argue with that. Gabbro has always been the type to run off and do things on their own. Whether in their grove, out in space, or locked up in their room back home, they’re content to do things on their own time at their own pace. 

You hold out your hand, and Gabbro takes it. You pretend to shake their hand, and they laugh, trying to pull away, but you don't let them go. Not until they pull out their flute and tap you on the helmet again.

Unwilling to part but knowing you must, you say, "I'll see you later, okay? Are you sure you don't want me to take you back to Timber Hearth?”

“Nah, I'm good right here. Thanks, buddy.”

Gabbro leans in first, and you wrap your arms around them so tightly they grunt. Everything about them is both familiar and yet abstract. Holding them like this, letting them hold you, feels like a balm to the ever-present unease around your heart. Everything—the sun, the cyclones, Feldspar, Gossan, you—everything is okay.

Until you pull away, and the tension replaces the warmth of Gabbro's body against yours. You don't yet know how to breathe through it, but you remember seventy thousand loops ago when Gabbro sat you down and taught you how to meditate through anything.

You say another quick goodbye and set your sights back on home. You turn on your signal scope and try to locate Feldspar's harmonica, but you can't hear it. You turn around a couple of times, prepare to do a flip, and are surprised to find the signal coming from Brittle Hollow instead.

Chapter Text

You set your autopilot and sit back. The flight isn't long, but you run through all the things you should say when you arrive. After all, you know how Feldspar will react to just about everything, since you've said it all before. 

I don’t want to wake up tomorrow. 

I’m tired.  

I can’t do this anymore.  

Feldspar might be hard to faze, but every time you said something along those lines without laughing afterward, you caught a glimpse of true fear in their eyes.

You land and slide down the hole in the ice. Jumping and hitting the ground with each leap, you find Feldspar in the school district, playing their harmonica next to Lami's essay on festivals. You settle down beside them and stare off, ignoring the broken mentor lying in pieces next to you.

“What's up?” Feldspar asks, lowering their harmonica.

“I'm not going to kill myself.”

It's not a tactful statement, but it's been six days, and you're still not sure how to talk to people. Feldspar flinches and looks directly at you. They ask, “Did you talk to Slate?”

“Gabbro.” 

“Figures,” Feldspar leans back against the wall. They're still too thin, living off broths, grain, and centipedes they find on the outer rims of Dark Bramble. You're not supposed to know, but you don't really care. Eventually, after the silence lingers too long, they ask, “Are you telling me the truth?”

“You don't trust me?” You don't intend for it to sound sarcastic, but it does.

They press their hand against their helmet and say, “I'm worried about you. Believe it or not.”

“The great Feldspar is worried?” you tease. Feldspar laughs, but their tone is bitter and resigned.

“You know how you hate being called a hatchling? That’s how I feel when you say stuff like that.” 

You flinch. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s been…years, right? For both of us.”

“Hm.”

You trail off. There's a crash above you, and the packed snow shakes, creating a beautiful moment where it looks like it's snowing. You both watch as the flakes fall, catching them in outstretched hands.

Sometimes, the hardest lesson is learning to find beauty in the remnants of destruction. 

You hold a handful of snow and say, “They missed you.”

Feldspar hands over their snowflakes and responds, “I missed them, too.”

There's a moment of silence.

Feldspar breaks it just as Hollow's Lantern circles back around. “I missed you, too, you know? You used to follow me around like you'd get lost if you weren't on my heels. I always thought you'd prefer Gossan or Slate to me, but I guess I always had the best stories.”

“You were my favorite person.” 

“Were?”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Are.”

“There you go,” Feldspar nudges your shoulders together. “You promise? That you won’t…?” 

“I promise.” 

Feldspar nods. The trust they show throws you almost as much as Hollow's Lantern throws around dangling icicles. “Okay.”

“You don't have to answer this, and I won't press the issue. But when you... you know, failed your great escape from the angler fish,” you trail off. Feldspar shuffles, brushing imaginary dirt off their pants. “Were you scared?'"

There’s the marks of their time spent on Dark Bramble spattered over their body. A scar from their temple to the edge of their lips, a divot in their collarbone where a broken bone set wrong, a discolored splotch in their top right eye–now fire red instead of their natural yellow. Feldspar’s right wrist doesn’t bend, their left leg appears shorter when they’re sitting like this, sprawled out and relaxed. There’s a gash in their cheek from where their helmet shattered and sliced it open, left alone to heal over the plastic shards until they were ripped out later, when it was already too late to make a difference. 

Sprawled legs and straight backed, tense as if they’re in pain and they can’t stand to say it because then the illusion falls apart. A smirk plays on their lips as they twirl a finger around the lip of their glove. “And if I was,” they say, not meeting your gaze. “What difference does it make?”

You touch your neck, recalling all the times you snapped it on impact while carving your way through Giant's Deep. You touch the top of your head, remembering the pressure as Ember Twin's caves pressed down upon it. You touch your abdomen, remembering the remnants of your ship piercing you as you crash-landed on Brittle Hollow. Over and over and over again. 

“I feel like we might have something in common, then. If you were.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Then you weren’t.”

Feldspar swallows, tying and untying their boot repeatedly until something clicks and they decide it's right. “I didn't think it would be more than a couple of days.” You avoid staring at them, fearing they might remember who you are and stop talking, just as they always did during the loops. “I thought I was dreaming at first, you know? I woke up with no idea where I was, but Gossan was in my ear, telling me to wear a seatbelt and to radio back every day. My ship doesn't even have a seatbelt…”

Bright white sparks danced at the periphery of their vision, leaping from the console to their faceplate and exploding into tiny particles that burned out as they fell. The ship's warning lights turned the interior from a mellow orange to a bloodshot red. Fog clouded their senses, masking everything else. It was all they could see, all they could smell—musty and chemical, with a hint of burning wood beneath the thick scent of copper. 

Blinking made their head feel light, as if it could grow wings and fly away. They looked down at their lap, trying to remember why they were in their ship. Hadn't they been on Giant's Deep, recording a message on the island with the frozen jellyfish? The plan had been to attempt Dark Bramble, but they’d waited until the cyclones passed before...before... They couldn't remember what happened next. 

It was hard to breathe. Every inhale was punctuated by a high-pitched wheeze, and every exhale brought a persistent urge to cough. Lifting their right hand was impossible, so they tried their left. They pressed the palm of their left hand to their chest, flinching as a shock of throbbing, hot pain shot from their sternum to the back of their neck. 

They were going to black out. Everything blurred, dark and faded around the edges. Static like that of a broken scout filled the rest of their vision. Their breath matched the pounding of their heart, racing too fast to calm down. It was all too much at once, threatening to pull them back into the same dreamscape they had just escaped. They couldn’t remember what the dream had been, but they thought maybe they should’ve told Slate and Gossan where they were going before setting out.

When they woke again, their mind felt clearer. The pain, however, wasn’t confined to their chest; it had spread, branching out into their arms, legs, back, and head. Every movement was like being struck with a hammer, and every breath felt as heavy as a boulder in their lungs. 

They unbuckled themself with their left hand, then collapsed to the floor with a groan. The world spun around them, and for a moment they feared they'd sent their entire ship into a spiral. But everything leveled out after some time lying still. Reaching to their left side, they unclipped their harmonica and shuffled out of their smashed helmet. The sharp copper smell diluted in the air until they could hardly smell it at all.

One note was enough to send them back to the floor. Time was irrelevant in a place like Dark Bramble, but Feldspar looked at the fog and wondered if it had been long enough that someone had realized something was wrong. 

They left the recording on Giant's Deep. Someone would find it, and then they’d know where to look. It wouldn’t take long—a day or two, and a ship would arrive to bring them home. Feldspar would never hear the end of it. It took years for Hornfels to stop mentioning the time they jumped into the geysers to see if they could reach the Attlerock. They had been wearing a jetpack; they hadn't meant to break the Observatory windows. Besides, no one got hurt. Not like...

No matter how reckless Feldspar had been in the past, they had never suffered as much as they did after their crash. Maybe a broken ankle here, a cut on the face there. If there was a single unbroken bone left in their body, Feldspar would count themselves lucky. That would be their one-liner, ready for anyone who came at them with a lecture: I didn’t break every bone. Look, this one still works!

On the opposite side of their ship were cans of water and a first-aid kit. The first-aid kit rarely got refilled unless Gossan did their pre-flight checklist, but since Feldspar left before Gossan got out of bed, only a handful of bandages and minor painkillers remained. Feldspar's throat hurt, and their stomach ached. Even though downing an entire can of water at once could later mean the difference between surviving an extra hour and drying out like a fish in the late summer sun, Feldspar drank the water and crushed the can, tossing it carelessly behind them.

It was quiet except for the sound of their teeth chattering. Feldspar rolled onto their back, pressing a hand to their forehead. It was cold—colder than the poles of Brittle Hollow—yet their temperature gauge registered in the orange. They should have been warm, almost too hot, still wearing their entire suit, but their body shook harder than if they’d been stripped naked and buried under a mound of snow.

Drinking the water had been a bad idea, but throwing it all back up didn’t deter them from trying again. If they were going to die, it wasn't going to be from dehydration. They drank the second can more slowly, sipping instead of gulping. It didn't make the lightheadedness go away, nor did it lessen it, but they managed not to throw up again. Over time, their double vision gradually merged into one blurry view of the wooden floor of their ship.

They shouldn't have laughed, but the whole situation was so absurd that they couldn't help it. Memories began to resurface, reminding them of their grand plan to outrun the beasties and their absolute certainty that they wouldn't need to tell anyone where they were going because they'd be back before anyone noticed their absence. And even if someone did notice they were gone, it wasn't the first time they'd slipped off the radar. They always came back.

Gossan would laugh too. They'd always said that one day Feldspar would need rescuing and no one would know where to find them. 'Feldspar being Feldspar,' they’d say. But that wasn't going to happen because Feldspar left the voice recording on Giant's Deep. Someone would find it, then find them, and everything would be fine. 

"I was wrong about it taking a couple of days, but I was right that someone would find me, even if it was a bit late."

You smirk. "I bet you didn't recognize me, did you?"

"Not at first, little rock. But you're not someone I can forget easily."

The nickname carves out a piece of your heart that hasn't felt quite right since Feldspar left. Swallowing the pain, you say, “You should say that to Gabbro. Both of us—” Your words trail off, leaving an awkward silence where your thoughts spill out, useless and redundant, like a puddle on the floor. You've never known anyone who can derail a conversation quite like you. “Never mind.”

Feldspar leans their head against the wall. “How did you know where I was? You didn't have time to go to Giant's Deep and find the recording.”

Finding the recording is so deep in your memories that you can't tell what happened first. Between the recording, the harmonica, and the bramble seed in the crater, everything pointed to Feldspar like a flashing beacon. They were impossible to miss.

Maybe Gabbro remembers. Even if there was a time they were forgetting what their own faces looked like, one of them must remember what it felt like to find Feldspar alive for the first time. 

"I could hear your harmonica. It created a feedback loop in the brambles. Even when you weren't playing, the signal scope could pick up the sound."

"No kidding," Feldspar says, closing their eyes. "After all this time, it was you who found me."

Everyone thought it was just an echo, and no one wanted to find Feldspar's dead body with their harmonica music echoing around them. Except you—because not knowing would have been worse.

Besides, you never once thought Feldspar could be dead.

"It was only fair," you say. "I always did want to be just like you. Who else would have gone to Dark Bramble and not turned around the second they heard breathing?"

"Looks like we have something in common, then."

A lot more than Feldspar realizes, but now isn't the time to unload all that on them. When their gaze returns and gravity stops losing its grip on them, you’ll sit with them again and tell them all the things you have in common. 

"What now?" you ask, grabbing your helmet. Feldspar watches you, a mysterious twist to their lips.

"Don't know. Guess I'll pick up where I left off. The world changed, so now I have to catch up."

And yet, everything feels the same. "Sounds like a plan."

"What about you?"

You glance at the flashing red light on your comms, knowing the voice behind it without having to answer. "I have someone I need to visit, and then I'll do the same as you."

“Hal?” Feldspar asks. You tap your fist against the floor, trying not to let that name weigh on your mind.

“Nah.”

Feldspar nods, not pressing further but clearly curious. You slip your helmet over your head, signaling that the conversation is over. Standing up in one smooth motion, you catch Feldspar watching you with a hint of envy.

They ask, “Where can I find you if I need an accomplice?”

You chuckle. “Anywhere. I'll be on Giant's Deep for a little while.”

“Giant's Deep, huh? I didn't know you and Gabbro were that close.”

“When have we ever not gotten along?” you ask.

Feldspar shrugs. “When was the last time you two had a conversation?”

“This morning, yesterday, the day before that..." you trail off. "Maybe I've found a new appreciation for late nights telling stories drunk off my ass."

"Then it sounds like you and Gabbro will get along swimmingly," Feldspar says.

You smirk. “You should head back before Gossan gets worried.”

Feldspar nods, picking up their repaired helmet and flicking the visor. “You don't need to see me off. I'll leave when I'm ready.”

“If you say so.”

You don’t answer the call until you’re buckled into your pilot’s chair. Gabbro is humming, quiet and melodic. You hold your tongue, knowing Gabbro's voice is never used as an instrument—so in tune with their flute that it's unnecessary. You can appreciate this rare moment.  

“Hey,” you say, barely above a whisper.

Gabbro's humming trails off. “Thought you were never going to answer.”

You smile. “I'm on my way. Don't be rude, or I won't bring food.”

“Okay, apex.”

Chapter Text

Hanging out with Gabbro feels like spending time alone. Between the feel of rain on your face and the distant claps of thunder, you zone out quickly. Each time Gabbro shifts, it startles you. They greeted you when you stumbled into the construction yard, showed you some of the maps they're working on, and then immersed themself in their work. Meanwhile, you settled onto the concrete near the construction crew’s conversation, idly staring at the ceiling.

It’s been a long time since you’ve last been treated to a drunken ramble from Gabbro. A couple hundred years, but you don't remember those, so they don't count. There was snow on the ground, and Galena was still sucking their thumb and clinging to Gneiss's gown. You hadn't appreciated it then, too busy joking with Marl about Spinel's sparkling eyes to catch a word Gabbro said. It seems to be a universal law that Gabbro only strings together more than one sentence in front of a crowd when they've had too much of Porphy's wine.

You try not to linger too long, but your mind is caught somewhere between the fifth loop and the five-hundredth. In those scant moments where you still remembered everything—from the way Chert ate with their face pressed into their star charts, to how Riebeck would pull on their ear when nervous, and even how Feldspar never simply walked through the village—they always had someplace to be right now. They would use training as an excuse. No one ever said anything, even if they should have.

Back then, you could remember Gabbro's appearance with striking clarity. The way their eyes were always too big for their face and how their mouth naturally fell open when they were concentrating. Their slim waist and gangly height made it seem like a single breeze could snap them in two.

Gabbro leans over their bent knees, one hand holding their notepad while the other taps a pencil against their bottom lip. It's a running joke that while Gabbro's head might not be too big for their shoulders to carry, their eyes make up for it. One look from them and you're done for. They don't even have to try to make you feel bad for denying them something—they just smile and blink, and your heart does a painful, defeated somersault. Whatever Gabbro wants, Gabbro gets. Unless it's a nice plaque in the museum commending them for their efforts.

Hornfels won't fall for it. Nor will Gneiss, Gossan, Riebeck, or Chert—especially Chert. Rutile humors nothing that doesn't involve more safety equipment for the travelers, particularly fireproofing. But Spinel has a soft spot for Gabbro's starry eyes, which is more than enough to make the village sick and push you right to death's door.

But seeing Gabbro's face again after so long reminds you of a loop somewhere between the thirty-thousandth and the sixty-thousandth, when your deaths had stacked up until all you remembered was the sight of your own blood on metal and the darkness of the sky before the sun exploded. People turned into circles of glowing purple writing, and voices became echoes on old recorders with subtitles you could never read fast enough to keep up with. Gabbro, Riebeck, and Chert were the only living voices that reached your ears. Even then, when was the last time you spoke to any of them without searching for an answer, your next step, or your reason for doing this at all?

That loop when Gabbro slipped off their helmet, and you saw their eyes for the first time in two, maybe three years, you had to face the fact that Gabbro still looked like Gabbro, even though nothing about them was the same.

It was around that time you wondered if you should resent them. A few years is a long time to bear the weight of the universe alone. More often than you care to admit, you'd land on their island, suit up, and stand with your hand on the latch. You'd laugh at yourself, because Hal was always right about Gabbro from the start. It's better to find answers on your own rather than trying to pry something worthwhile out of their mouth.

Gabbro had never been clueless, unhelpful, or rude. You just couldn't understand why, after you told them everything, their response was to brush you off as if it didn't matter. Life is life, everyone dies; at least they were comfortable in that Eye-forsaken hammock every single loop.

You'd been to every planet, every astral body, every broken piece of Brittle Hollow, and into the very core of Giant's Deep. You'd spoken to Feldspar so many times there were no more conversations to be had. Chert was often catatonic, unable to stop themselves from dwelling on the inevitable end that seemed always just a breath away.

And Gabbro is Gabbro, so they never faced it with you. It was Chert or Riebeck who shared your fear, even when you'd lived it so many times that being scared felt redundant. Gabbro simply wiped the blood off their face and, with striking clarity and force, said, “See you soon.”

You'd uncovered all the clues you could find, the echoes of long-gone conversations. You'd made friends with the Nomai just as you drifted away from the Hearthians. You thought you and Gabbro could be different.

But this is it, isn't it? Sitting side by side in silence as Gabbro focuses on their work and you on yours, with nothing between you but three years of memories and an itch in your chest you can't scratch.

It got easier to stay in your sleeping bag until the sun went supernova and the Ash Twin Project called you back. Again, and again, and again, until you could pretend you’d had eight hours of sleep.

Slate never bothered you, but you can't place blame on their shoulders when there wasn't enough time for Slate to realize you were awake, let alone that you'd given up on your so-called 'first launch.' You wished for help, but never asked. Slate wasn't the one to turn to for comfort, anyway. They were always there, watching over you and the fire in equal measure, but they were the type to slap you on the back and tell you to buck up before offering a shoulder to cry on. For once, you wanted someone to give you comfort, not answers.

After the eight-hour mark, you stood up, feeling the weight deep in your bones. You couldn’t imagine doing it forever, and yet you had no choice. You ignored Slate's question about the launch codes, climbed up to your ship, and settled into your seat as if the gravity of your chair was stronger than that on Giant's Deep.

You smile at the darkening sky as red lightning illuminates the clouds. You always flew straight to Giant’s Deep after your modified night's rest. Gabbro may not have explicitly said so, but they understood, and even if they didn't fully grasp your reasons, they remembered. If nothing else, you could sit down on the sand and listen to them play their flute with the scratch of pencil on paper providing a soft drone behind the gentle spattering of rain.

You don't resent Gabbro, and you never did, though you think maybe you should.

Lightning flashes in your memories and your present. Electricity used to hurt when you could still count your deaths on one hand. Now it feels like a distant dream.

Gabbro shifts, letting one leg drop off the edge of the bench. Their face twists as the toe of their boot scrapes against the floor while they stretch.

Gabbro remembered, yet they didn't help.

Gabbro remembered, yet they never left.

You swallow. Gabbro does what Gabbro does, and if they didn't see a purpose in joining you on your quest to solve an impossible problem, then they simply wouldn't. They didn't. Perhaps Gabbro had faith in you, or maybe they believed the effort was futile. While Gabbro spent years lounging in that hammock, you had to struggle for a moment of rest.

Can Gabbro still count on one hand how many times they’ve died without the influence of the supernova? Do they even know that you can’t?

Chapter Text

You landed on Gabbro's island with the practiced ease of someone who had been doing this for far too long. You suited up, fixed your gaze on the cyclones as if they were taunting you, and then stepped out of the hatch. The Nomai gravity elevator carried you safely down, and you touched the sand. 

Gabbro continued playing when you arrived. It had been days since you last saw each other; roughly one hundred and thirty loops. You’re stuck on whether you resent Gabbro, but maybe it’s Gabbro that resents you for leaving them alone all that time. They didn't have a ship to track you down, so if Gabbro ever had something to say to you, you had to find them first. You didn't spend enough time with Chert, Riebeck, or Hornfels to receive any messages from them.

As you settled down in the wet sand beside Gabbro’s hammock, you wished their fire was closer. The chill in the air seeped through your suit, and the warmth of the fire seemed inviting. You never understood why Gabbro chose to build their relaxation station so far from their camp.  

"Come to chat?" Gabbro asked. So much time had passed that the cyclones had completed their revolutions around the planet, their velocity synced with your movements. You didn’t say anything—too tired, too out of practice. How could you talk to someone when your only real interactions had been with worn recordings and conversations etched into crumbling walls?

You were more familiar with the inflections of Cassava’s voice than with Hal's, despite Hal being your best friend. If you landed on the Construction Yard and saw Hal and Cassava standing side by side, you’d be more confident speaking to Cassava, even though Hal was once the person you knew better than anyone.

That was a long time ago. 

Gabbro twirled their flute as you watched. You wanted to speak, but the words caught in your throat; Gabbro would remember too much, and you couldn't let them remember the things you wanted to say.

“Your atmosphere is all off,” Gabbro mumbled, barely audible beneath the roar of the cyclones. “I can sense the bad thoughts seeping into the air, and there’s not much of it around here. We can't afford you contaminating it. Should I be worried?”

You smiled behind your helmet, out of view, and shook your head. There was no use in worrying. Gabbro could fix your so-called atmosphere as easily as you could prevent the sun from going supernova.

Hypothesis: death would be infinitely easier than infinite life. 

You planned to visit Slate on your next loop, or maybe Gossan. You needed someone to share your dark humor with, someone who wouldn't freak out and worry, potentially ruining all your progress. If Gabbro found out what you truly wanted to say, you'd have to spend multiple loops convincing them you wouldn't off yourself at the first opportunity.

Even though you weren't entirely sure that was true.

You hadn't seen beneath Gabbro's helmet since they showed up during your second-to-last training session with Gossan. They had peeked over the edge of the crater leading to the satellite and asked if they could take one of the extra oxygen tanks. They had broken theirs after attempting to retrieve something from Giant's Deep. Now you know what they were trying to get.

You still don't know if you wish Gossan had told them no. You would still have been together in the end, even if neither of you had been drawn into the greater scheme the Nomai laid out for you.

Your memories of the travelers slowly faded over time. Feldspar's face became a distant memory, clouded in fog and as slippery as ice. There were still pictures of the founders, so even after spending most of a loop trying to coax answers out of Feldspar, you could lie in your sleeping bag and look at them, trying to pretend the pictures did any of the founders justice.

In those pictures lived a caricature of the person who used to lift you onto their shoulders to show you how vast the world could be. 

There were no photos of Gabbro, Riebeck, or Chert. Chert was just a helmet with a body, while Riebeck was easier to picture because you had lived in the hatchling cabin together. Though it wasn't as long as you had lived with Gabbro, it was still enough time to make a difference.

You could remember Riebeck's face and the photos of Feldspar, yet you struggled to remember Gabbro even as they sat right in front of you.

Gabbro would’ve looked different if time had passed normally. Not a lot different, but they’d have lost the last dregs of hatchling in their face. They’d already grown into their limbs, reaching their full height, but Gabbro had always looked young to you. If one of the Nomai were to see the two of you side by side, they’d think you were the exact same age. 

You stare at them, trying to remember what they looked like that day they bent over the edge of the crater. You don’t think they’ve changed at all, but at the same time, this person could be someone else entirely. Their mouth is thin and flat, their eyes dull, gaze far away. Their hands tap rhythms into the stone beneath them when their writing slows. They’re talking, but not to you, and none of it makes any sense. Words, maybe, garbled and strung together in a way that makes it sound like they’re speaking a language they made up all on their own. You point your translator tool at them, hitting the button. Looks like you have your work cut out for you with this one. 

Gabbro shifts, and you’re back there again, with the Gabbro hidden behind a helmet you hadn’t seen under in far too long. They stood beside you, and then they settled down in the sand and wrapped their arms around their knees. 

“This isn’t my thing. It’s more Gossan’s,” They started, and you wanted to stop them but you also wanted to hear them out. It was the first time you’d seen them stand since…who knows when. “But we’re friends, right? Beyond the whole time stuff.”

You wanted to say yes, but you said nothing.

Gabbro cocked their head side to side, stretching their neck. They cleared their throat, and it’s the most outward sign of discomfort you’ve heard from them since you were hatchlings. “I don’t go with you because I don’t have a ship, and I don’t want to waste your time. Having to come back and get me doesn’t exactly leave you a lot of time. I know you’re out there trying to piece this all together, and I know you probably have already and I’m just ten steps behind you. You don’t need me slowing you down. I’m better off here, and you know you can always stop by if you want to. Or if you need to. Not like I actually own the place.”

You copied Gabbro’s posture, burying your faceplate to your knees. It’s not like you didn’t know all of that. You’d thought about it early on, before that year mark hit and you saw the number on the tracking module go from fifty to twenty-three thousand. 

It took you a few months to go through each planet, and having to fly there and find everything again made the process tedious. You’d never been able to get through a whole floor of the Hanging City in one go, especially when you weren’t aware of the shortcuts and had to spend half of the loop on a trek from the Gravity Cannon to the city. 

It got easier when you found your shortcuts. You stopped getting crushed so much in the Sunless City, stopped falling into the black hole on Brittle Hollow, stopped getting thrown and unceremoniously dropped by cyclones on Giant’s Deep. Truthfully, you didn’t know how long it had been. Most of your loops didn’t amount to twenty-two minutes. The majority of them, in fact, weren’t even half of that. 

Gabbro turned to you, dropping their arm in frustration. You don’t know if Gabbro had been trying to speak to you. You turned your attention back to them and startled when you realized Gabbro had removed their helmet. You stared without meaning to, but it had been so long since you’d seen their face and that’s what it looked like. They hadn’t changed. They still had eyes that made you feel like your stomach was upside down. 

You took your helmet off, but you didn't look at them. You didn’t know how to feel. It was vulnerable, somehow. You still looked like a hatchling. You weren’t graced with the extra couple years Gabbro had to let it all fall off. 

Gabbro tilted their head, catching your eyes unbidden. They smiled, and your heart skipped a beat. “I had almost forgotten what you look like.”

“You and me both,” You whispered, trying to catch your breath. 

“So, make up a story about what’s wrong. I’ll listen, and then I’ll give you fake advice for your fake problem, and then you can go.” Gabbro was trying to give you an out, but you didn’t want to take it. The potential sat heavy in your chest. For once, you could tell someone how you feel and they’d remember it. You opened your mouth, but the sound got trapped in your throat. Gabbro shifted, looking up at the sky as the wind whipped and the cyclones loomed over you. They didn’t used to be scared of the cyclones, but you wondered how many times you could get tossed and dropped before being the brave one is foolish. 

Squinting against the rain, they said, “Remember when Feldspar disappeared and I taught you how to build a hammock?”

“And we laid there until Gneiss and Rutile found us?” 

They smiled. “We’re going to have to do that again if you don’t want me hounding Slate after we get splattered all over the sand in a second.”

You looked up just as the cyclone grabbed the island and sent it up. Gabbro grabbed you and your helmet and slammed it back over your head, barely managing to get their own back on in time. They grabbed their hammock and settled with their back to it, pulling you over until your body was hovering inches above theirs. Your hands gripped the fabric on either side of their shoulders, while their arms wrapped their way around your waist. 

The island crashed down, submerging you in water so deep you would’ve floated off had Gabbro not been holding onto you. The wind was knocked from your lungs as yours and Gabbro’s bodies slammed into each other, a scream punched out of Gabbro’s throat. When the water settled and the cyclone became nothing more than background noise, they turned, accidentally throwing you off, before falling to the ground. They held their chest with one hand and themself with the other. 

You scrambled up and over to them so fast you slipped on the sand, creating a hole as big as your leg. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

Gabbro wheezed, shaking their head. “Not–” Their inhale trilled. “Your fault.”

It all came out in a flurry after that. Your pent up feelings–the rage, the confusion, the emptiness, the sorrow. As Gabbro held their broken ribs with a broken wrist, you told them that you felt like the only person left in the entire solar system. That the Nomai, despite being hundreds of thousands of years removed from you, felt more like your people than the Hearthians. That you’d been everywhere you could possibly imagine, and yet nothing made sense and you still couldn’t fix anything. You couldn’t even end it. You were trapped. Both of you. 

You exploded on the one person who would never forget. 

“And, and you–” You trailed off, pointing at Gabbro. Their face was startled, eyes wide and nearly completely blank. You took a breath and looked away, because if you kept staring at them you would lose your fire and you couldn’t let it go so easily. But they were Gabbro, they’d always been Gabbro, and that’s why when you finally finished that thought it was just to say, “I wish you had a ship.”

“I…” Gabbro trailed off. You held your breath. “I wish I had known before this all happened. I never would’ve let my ship get carried away.” 

You smirked, chuckling bitterly. There’s nothing Gabbro could do to change their circumstances, just like there’s nothing you could’ve done, and nothing the Nomai could’ve done. 

“I wish there was something left. What now? Do we just sit here, loop after loop, for the rest of eternity?” You looked at the sky, knowing it was about time. Gabbro shuffled until they were close enough their breath fanned across your face, warm still in the humid atmosphere. You laid your head on their shoulder, wondering why it was so hard to cry even when you felt the tears building painfully behind your eyes.

The Nomai called your species hardy. You could survive anything. You’d believed them, at first. You’d reveled in it, in fact. 

Now, you feel like they’d be disappointed in you. 

“Hornfels found something, right before I came to Giant’s Deep and started investigating the statue near the workshop. It was nothing, but I left a note out at the Deep Space Satellite if you want to check it out. Just to have something to do.”

You didn’t sit on it. It had been so long since the last time you’d been that close to another person. Being raised in a community like yours left you little time on your own. Between the elder Hearthians and your friends, you had never been without someone to cling to. 

“Gabbro?” You said, just as the sky turned dark. Gabbro shuttered. 

“Hmm?”

“I missed you.”

They turned to face you, and you took the opening to wrap your arms around their shoulders. You closed your eyes, breathing them in and holding them as tight as you could without hurting them. You didn’t think Gabbro would push you away. The supernova was going to destroy the planet in a few seconds anyway, and once that happened, Gabbro had no way of contacting you once you left the campfire. 

Just as you felt the heat start searing your body, Gabbro’s arms wrapped around you. They’d always been strong, but their hold was suffocating. They held onto you like they were just as afraid of this ending as you, but that was silly to think. Gabbro’s never scared, even when they have blood running down their jaw and a punctured lung. 

“Be careful,” Gabbro whispered. There was fire on your back. Neither of you let go.

You held the back of their head in the palm of your hand. “Find me if you can, but don’t get yourself killed trying.”

Your memory fades, and you wipe tears off your cheeks before they can mingle with the rain. You could’ve had that every loop. Proof that Gabbro really was walking the same thin line as you. You wrap your arms around your chest, pretending to stretch but really trying to remember what it felt like to have Gabbro hold you like they were scared to let you go.

Chapter Text

“Are you cold?”

Gabbro is watching you, their notebook flopping off their lap. You double down, wrapping your arms tighter around your chest, pretending to shiver. “A little.”

They stand, not caring that the maps they’d been working on are now soaked. They slip off their flannel and lay it over your chest, tucking it under your shoulders where your hands were still peeking out. You can smell them all over it—salt and cedar, the ocean air of Giant’s Deep and the shavings off their pencil. 

When Gabbro walks away, convinced you have nothing to say, you call for them. “Gabbro.”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you remember when you told me about the Deep Space Satellite?”

Their face changes color. A light blush colors their cheeks, and they turn so fast you can hear their neck crack. “Uh, yeah. What about it?”

“Think I might finally go and check it out.”

They let out a curious sigh of relief. A hand over their forehead, down to brush over their chest. The collar of their shirt hangs down too far, nearly falling off their shoulder. You don’t remember that shirt being too big before. “I’m sure it’s still there. Did you go to the—?”

“Not yet, but Slate and Hornfels just finished adding onto that coming soon exhibit at the museum. Maybe I’ll go see that. Make a trip out of it.”

Gabbro smiles. “You should.”

You watch them, not sure what it is about them that makes you feel like something is wrong. They’re not acting differently, even if the shirt that fit them a week ago is now as big on them as it would be on Tephra. Gabbro has always been quiet. They’ve always been laser focused on what interests them, and if these maps have captured their attention, it makes sense that you can’t get it back. 

“You know, you can always—” You trail off. As if Gabbro would ever want to come with you when they never did before. “Nevermind.”

“Oh,” Gabbro seems startled. Their head shakes, eyes blinking rapid fire. They chuckle a little under their breath, knocking their thigh with their fist as if trying to wake it up. “Okay, then. Good talk, time buddy.” 

The cyclones are getting closer—you can hardly hear a word out of Gabbro’s mouth over the roars of Fury, or Stormbringer, or whatever other names Gabbro’s come up with in their time lazing around here. It’s silly, but both of you smirk and bolt to the same exact gravity well just as the thunder booms around you and the island lifts out of the water. 

It’s hard to be upset with them when you’re pressed chest to chest, their heart beating so fast you can feel it through the flannel you have flung over your shoulder. After all this time, you can’t believe they’re still fazed by this. 

Their breath is in your ear, their hand knocking against yours. You flick them, and they roll their eyes and knock your hands together. The island falls and the purple light flickers and falls away, both of you getting soaked to your necks by the water as it all rushes back. 

“Should’ve been expecting that,” You say, wringing out Gabbro’s flannel. Your mouth crinkles as you hand it back. 

“It’s fine, not like the rest of me isn’t just as wet.”

You cringe as they slip the flannel back on. “You’re insane, I’m going to space. Don’t call me until you understand why putting that on was the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

“To you? It’s not like I put it on you,” They chuckle. You ignore them, tossing your suit on and heading right back to your ship. They follow behind as far as they can, only to slap you with their wet sleeve. “Be careful.”

You close your eyes, on the last step between your ship and the yard. “Find me if you want, but don’t get yourself killed trying.”

You don’t look for recognition. You step up to the warp elevator and let it carry you up, the hatch slamming closed behind you. 

Chapter Text

You go straight to Timber Hearth. There’s no room on the landing pad for your ship, so you land off one of the cliff faces near the Observatory and hop onto one of the wooden slats wrapping around the roof. By the time you jump down, Hal is already there, watching you as you fumble and nearly face plant when you clip your landing. 

“Smooth,” Hal says, reaching out to help you back to your feet. You brush the dirt off your gloves and onto your suit. 

“Thanks, been practicing.”

They follow you into the museum, going so far as to carry your helmet for you when you slip it off to get a taste of fresh air. There’s something nostalgic about the smell of the museum—somewhere between sap and chemical that reminds you every third day of the month is a deep clean for the village. It might as well be a holiday. Even Slate, who only cleans when they can’t find their screwdriver, helps out without any fuss. You think it’s an attempt to pacify Gossan, but it’s been two years and it hasn’t helped. Maybe it’s just become a habit. 

“We just redid the plaques,” Hal says, pointing at the glorified piece of paper serving as a plaque beneath the statue. You stare at it and its open eyes, daring it to look at you. “At least, we got paper that’s not sun bleached and the handwriting is a little better. It’s too bad Gabbro never wants to grace us with their presence. They have decent handwriting. Better than Marl’s, at least.”

You snort. “Does anyone have worse handwriting than Marl?”

“Tephra, maybe.”

“Give them a few years. Marl will remain the only Hearthian in history to have illegible handwriting.”

You read the paper as if it’ll be any different from the thousands of times you’ve read it before. The handwriting is a little better this time around, a welcome change from Hornfels' usual frenzied scrawl. You remember how they had written the last one in a fit of frenzy, too excited to take their time and make sure to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. A nostalgic pang hits you as you recall the chaotic energy of those moments. Pulling your gloves a little tighter around your wrists, you can't help but wonder, “Do you still have the old ones, or did those get chucked?”

Hal widens their top eyes. “Uh, they’re in the firewood pile, I assume. Not really anything worth saving, you know?”

“Hm.” You step into the museum proper, zeroing in on the new exhibit. Hal stays one step behind you at all times, so close you can feel the heat off their body. 

“Chert and Hornfels finished it up yesterday. They added a few finishing touches at least. Cool, isn’t it?”

“Heck yeah,” You say, trying to sound like you mean it. 

Hal lets you look it over without saying anything else. The exhibit is small, but it tells the story well enough. Hanging off the ceiling is a replica of the Deep Space Satellite, down to the red light you can see blinking off and on if you happen to look up at the right time. On the left of the paper slash plaque is a picture of the Radio Tower, and to the right is a rasterization of the orbits of the solar system’s celestial bodies around the sun. 

The paper, already folding at the edges, says: The radio tower here on Timber Hearth was built to receive transmissions from our deep space satellite, and to this day still houses the first-ever photos taken of the entire solar system. These photos were made possible by the deep space satellite’s unusual vertical orbit that carries it high above (and below) the plane of the solar system. Thanks to a recent upgrade, the deep space satellite is now responsible for generating the real-time solar system map used by our newest astronauts. 

“Still trips me out that Gabbro and I are the only ones with these fancy maps,” You say, pointing at the photo. 

Hal knocks your shoulders together. “Of course, you’ve gotta get something good out of being Slate’s newest test subject. What was that about your ship not having an avoidance system, again?”

“I think we’ve gone over that enough,” You chuckle. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m responsible enough to not go flying into the sun?”

Hal looks at you, and you lock the metaphorical door to all of the memories of you flying directly into the sun because you’d been too busy reading your ship logs to pay any attention. Hal is scary, they can read your mind without the translator tool. 

“You’re right, I’m wrong.” Hal holds their hands up, but you roll your eyes. Hal would never admit to being wrong if they actually believed it. “Anyway, how has it been? You were so excited you couldn’t sleep. Figured you’d come back and not be able to stop talking for weeks. Not all it was cracked up to be?”

That’s an impossible question to answer. It was both everything you’d ever dreamed of and all of your nightmares come to life. If you were asked to trade all those memories for a sap candy, you’d hand them all over with a hint of remorse, and then you’d bargain two sap candies for them back once you’d eaten the first. How can you give up on all of the things you learned about the Nomai? Giving away that time would be like abandoning the only friends you had. When you wanted Gabbro to hold your hand and guide you through a problem, it was Cassava, and Idaea, and Pye who took it first. 

You swallow, taking your helmet back from Hal. “I think I’m just processing everything. It’s tradition to go to the Attlerock first, and there’s not that much to see there.”

“So what is there to process?” They ask. Your stomach flips. Why does Hal always have to push and poke and shove until you don’t want to talk to them? No matter what, Hal will never take anything at face value. Everything has to have some sort of deep meaning, or solvable problem.

Hal, sometimes things just suck, and I really don’t need you calling me out for avoiding problems I haven’t even had a chance to think about yet. 

“I think I’m going to go out to the radio tower. I’ve never spent much time there, especially not with these new upgrades.”

Hal’s lips purse, and they straighten themself to their full height. You beg them to let it go, but Hal has always been your best friend, and the last thing they would do is let you go off by yourself if they thought something was wrong. “There’s some prints of the photos the satellite has taken. Hornfels said something about there being a problem with it, though. Like, there’s a dead spot somewhere in its orbit.”

“A dead spot?” 

“Yeah. At some point in its cycle, the photos come back with a blank spot. Hornfels sent Gabbro to check it out, but we know Gabbro and their standards for what is and isn’t an issue.”

“Uh huh, yeah,” You say, thinking back to Gabbro’s explanation when they’d first brought it up. The satellite didn’t seem to have anything wrong with it, but if the photos show a dead spot, there must be something off, right? Gabbro is smart, but they’re not overly thorough unless they want to be. It’s not a stretch to think they saw nothing wrong with the physical satellite and chalked it up to a bad batch of photos. Maybe this is your next big thing. It might not be as big as learning about the history of a long gone species, but fixing such a crucial part of your navigation systems will be a huge boon to your career as an astronaut. “The photos are there? With the dead spot and everything?”

“Yeah, but—“

You take off before they can finish, grabbing your helmet out of their clenched fist. You hit your thrusters as you step out into the grotto with Gabbro’s quantum shard, landing with practiced ease on the eaves of the Observatory. Suddenly, you feel as if you have a time limit, a clock ticking on your back. You have to get to your ship, because you’ve already wasted too much time chatting and you don’t want to have to start all over again. You don’t buckle up before you take off, beelining it in the general direction you think the radio tower might be. 

It takes a few revolutions, but you catch sight of the radio tower to your right. Landing with no finesse and all speed, you hop out of the hatch before the landing gear has time to stop rattling. Your signalscope tells you there’s an unidentified signal nearby, so you pull it out and turn it on. It’s set to the unknown frequency, a haunting noise that echoes through your ears. When pointing up at the source isn’t enough, you hop up onto the roof until your hub beeps and you see: Signal identified, Radio Tower. New frequency detected, Deep Space Radio. 

There’s a camp within a thicket of trees, but you ignore it in favor of stepping into the radio tower. The first thing you see is a barrel with a familiar recording device in the center. On every wall are photos, all labeled with the angle at which the satellite was turned when the photo was taken. 

On your left is satellite angle two-hundred-and-forty-eight degrees. It looks normal enough to you. The sun is the center of the image with all of the planets in varying positions around it. You pay a special amount of attention to Giant’s Deep and Brittle Hollow in the top right. Breaking your eyes away, you step up to satellite angle three-hundred-and-fifty degrees. In this one, all of the planets are in a straight line with the sun, Timber Hearth eclipsing a spot near the top left. You don’t think this is the dead spot Hal had been talking about. Gabbro wouldn’t have stepped foot off the planet for something like this. They’d have simply stood in front of the photo, pointing at each celestial body until their dramatic Timber Hearth would’ve hit the nail on the head. 

You step up to satellite angle forty degrees next. This time, there is a solid black circle covering the outer right edge of the sun. You count all of the planets and celestial bodies, coming up with one extra when including the mysterious spot. It doesn’t look like a mistake on the part of the camera. If there was something wrong with the lens, wouldn’t this anomaly have shown up on every photo, not just this one?

There’s one more photo on the back wall. You startle when you see an upside down Gabbro is the object eclipsing the sun this time. You turn your head until Gabbro is almost right side up and wave hello. It figures that the only picture of Gabbro in the entire village would be something silly like this. You wonder how long it took Hornfels to decide to hang it up.

“When I told you to find me, I didn’t mean like this. It’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”

The picture doesn’t respond to you, but you’re aware of image-Gabbro’s eyes on your back as you turn to the recorder. You hit play and lean back against the barrel, arms crossed over your chest. …Aaand we’re recording! Ahem. It’s been two days since the launch of the deep space satellite, and I’m about to view the first batch of photos. Let the record show that on this historic day, Outer Wilds Ventures has—Aaaah! They’re printing, they’re printing! Here they come! …Stars above, will you look at that. There’s Brittle Hollow. And look, look there, that’s Hollow’s Lantern! And there’s Giant’s Deep, and… and the Quantum Moon! I’m speechless, completely speechless.

Not speechless enough.

Every single astral body in our magnificent solar system, looking stunning from every angle in each of these three images. And in color, no less! Now this is art. I could stare at these photos forever. Doesn’t Timber Hearth look tiny from… Hold on. What is that? That can’t be right. That’s… I mean, that’s not even possible. Am I interpreting this photo correctly? What’s even stranger is it doesn’t show up on either of the other photos. Just this one… Well, there must have been an equipment malfunction, I suppose. Only sensible explanation for it. I’ll radio Gabbro and ask them to go examine the satellite’s lens for defects. 

That’s that, then. It’s not even that Gabbro didn’t look too closely, there wasn’t anything to look for. If all Hornfels wanted was a quick check of the lens, that’s what they got. And they got a new art piece to boot. 

“See ya, time buddy.” You smack image-Gabbro on the face plate as you step back out. It’s dark now, stars spattering across the sky. It’s been so long since you’ve seen a night full of stars. After all their catatonic panic, you hope Chert is happy. 

You follow the wooden pathway to the campfire. The fire is still smoldering. Someone was just here, but there’s no sign of who it could’ve been. Hal and Hornfels are too busy obsessing over the statue, Slate and Mica were working on the new ship they started building the day after you were all supposed to die, Porphy is making wine. You’re pretty sure Riebeck is still in the Hanging City, and Chert never leaves Ember Twin unless they have to. Gabbro doesn’t have a ship to get back, and you like to believe they’d tell you if they were on planet at the same time. 

Relighting the fire is as easy as tossing a match into it. You settle down on your hunches, slipping off your helmet and gloves and settling them down near a still swaying rocking chair. It’s not cold, but it’s breezy, and the fire feels good on your hands after your dip in Giant’s Deep’s ice water. 

The anomaly shows up at forty degrees. If Gabbro didn’t find something wrong with the lens, then there’s nothing wrong with the lens. That means something is causing it organically. There’s an object that isn’t a known celestial body eclipsing the sun. How can you prove it, though?

Chapter Text

You hit your comms, “Gabbro, Rheniite to communication line two.”

“Gabbro copies,” They respond. 

“When you were checking out the deep space satellite, did you stay for an entire cycle?”

“Negative, I just checked on the lens and the body and headed out. Why?”

You settle down on your bottom, leaning back. You watch as Giant’s Deep crests the sky. “I don’t think there’s something wrong with the satellite. I think there’s something actually eclipsing the sun around the four zero degree mark.”

“I didn’t see anything when I was out there, and I’ve never stumbled on something that massive when flying around. Besides, all of the other images were normal. Why would it only show up then?”

“The same reason we can only see Ember Twin when Ash Twin isn’t right in front of it.”

Gabbro hums. “Okay, so what do you think it could be?”

“No idea, that’s why I’m going to go check it out. You said you left a recording out there, right?”

“Affirmative. If you miss my voice too much while you’re gone, I give you full permission to play it as many times as you want.”

“Ha, ha,” You say. “I’m headed out now. Don’t miss me too much.” Gabbro doesn’t respond. You shake your head. “Miss me a lot.”

They respond, “Copy.” 

Insufferable. Why are you so worried about them not tagging along, again?

You stand, stretching out your tired limbs. It’s been about twenty-one hours since you last slept, but it’s not like you haven’t gone longer. Just as you’re about to leave, a piece of paper catches your eye. You step up to it, tilting it toward the fire so you can better read it. 

It says: Despite my checking on them at least a thousand times over, the images are STILL not ready to print over in the radio tower. Well, it’s like they say—a watched satellite never transmits data! (Haha, that’s a little joke for you, journal. No one says that.)

You skim the note to try and find a name. Only Gabbro would say something like that with a straight face. 

Someday, I’ll have to study the mechanics of how time manages to slow to a syrupy crawl whenever I’m anticipating something. In the meantime, I’ve turned to Gabbro, our resident expert in leisurely whiling away the hours, who recommends the following:

GABBRO’S THREE FOOLPROOF STEPS FOR DOZING OFF

1. Light a nice, cozy campfire and get comfortable. 
2. Gaze deeply into the serene warmth.
3. Let time begin to slip away as you allow the flames to lull you into a peaceful slumber. 

(If Gabbro knew I’d taken notes, they’d probably think I’d finally cracked, but I refuse to accept sass from an astronaut who deliberately burns their marshmallows.)

Well, definitely not Gabbro, then. The handwriting wasn’t good enough, anyway. Probably another Hornfels thing. It’s funny that they of all people seriously took notes on how Gabbro likes to relax as if they’re not the first one to call them out for sitting too long. 

In any case, the note does absolutely nothing for you at this point. You’ve already seen the images, so clearly watching the pot boil didn’t stunt the process permanently. 

The flight to the deep space satellite isn’t long by any means, but somewhere between buckling into your seat and hitting your thrust, the yawns started and wouldn’t stop. At this rate, you’re liable to break your jaw if it keeps happening. 

You pass by Brittle Hollow and Hollow’s Lantern, necessitating a little more of your attention than you’re awake enough to give. You almost smash right into a volcanic rock more than once, but you manage to swindle your way out of needing the Ash Twin Project to save your ass by the skin of your teeth. It doesn’t take longer than two full length Feldspar stories to get to the satellite after that. You lock onto it and match your velocity so your ship doesn’t go careening off into the night before you have the chance to figure out what’s going on. 

Dropping out of your ship into deep space is an uncanny feeling. You don’t have the sensation of falling, but watching the satellite slip away from you sends your heart into overdrive. You lock onto it, matching your velocity once again, before thrusting up to where you see the recorder hovering to the right of the satellite. You hit play, and already you can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Gabbro here, checking in on the deep space satellite per ground control’s request to check out a possible equipment problem. See, Hornfels? I do too work!

Digging their own grave, as always.

You know, I wouldn’t mind being a satellite. It’s peaceful out here, among the distant stars and the soft, velvety darkness… Bet it’s (yawn) awfully nice for naps, too…

One day you’re going to start sprinkling iron into Gabbro’s food to see if they’ll be able to stay awake for longer than five hours at a time.

…Oh, right. The lens. 

Stars above.

Alright, little satellite, let’s see what the trouble is. 

…Huh. Everything looks a-okay, ground control. No dust or scratches on the lens, and no evidence of sparking or violent explosions. Guess that rules out an equipment malfunction, after all. Hear that, pal? You’re in great shape. Keep up the great work out here! 

You smile, stopping the recording and rewinding the tape. It’s been so long since you’ve last heard Gabbro so…lively? The voice coming from the speaker is near unrecognizable to the person you’d just spent the better part of a few hours sitting with back on Giant’s Deep. This Gabbro speaks slow but high-pitched, smooth and mellow like the draw of their flute. The Gabbro you left behind on Giant’s Deep speaks faster, as if they don’t have enough time to say all of the words they need to say before something crawls up their back and steals them right out of their mouth. 

You swallow, hitting your comms. “Gabbro, Rheniite to communication line two.”

“Gabbro copies.”

“I checked out your satellite. You sounded like you were having fun out here.”

They hum. “I guess you could say that. Do you see anything off with it?”

“No sparks, no cracks. Everything looks fine to me, but it’s still at one zero degrees, so I have a little time before I figure out if I wasted a trip out here.”

“Let me know how it goes. It’s lonely without you here. What am I supposed to do until you get back?”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be drawing maps of the islands for Hornfels?”

“Oh, would you look at the time…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” You chuckle. “I’m just pulling your locomotive limb. Keep me a little company until this thing hits forty degrees?”

“Forty? Who trained you on communications, Gossan? Hornfels would be hurt.”

You flip backwards, tucking your legs to your chest. You spin, over and over and over, until you’re dizzy and you can’t tell where your ship is relative to the satellite. “Hornfels has a lot of opinions on things.”

“Did you just read my mind? I think you just read my mind.”

As you talk, you can pretend this voice is similar to the one you heard on the recording. When the conversation lulls, you return and hit play again, comparing the voice from hundreds of years ago to the one twenty-six kilometers from you, shrouded beneath green clouds and red lightning. “Gabbro?”

“Hm?” 

“Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you’re still there.”

They laugh, but it’s breathless. “Of course I am. I would never be so rude as to not say goodbye to my time buddy.”

You wonder what that phrase sounded like seventy-thousand loops ago, when being time buddies was still something fun and not a death sentence. It feels less like a casual form of address and more like an acknowledgement. As if Gabbro’s eyes have caught yours and they refuse to blink until you remember your place. With them. Against the universe together. 

Except…

Nah. It’s not worth it right now.

“How many holes are in a straw?” You ask. 

“Is this a real question? Two, obviously.”

You smile. There’s only one way you know to get Gabbro to the same level of enthusiasm. Ask them a hypothetical question, and then answer it incorrectly. “What? Obviously? It’s one. I thought you were smart or something.”

“One? What flavor sap wine do you have that you couldn’t share before you left?”

“Grape, and I have a straw. One hole, two openings.”

“That’s the holes! Stars above, where’s my ship? I’m coming to get you. You’re done for, buddy.”

“Chill, chill. I don’t need you getting lost at sea, how am I…Talk to you later.”

Chapter Text

You don’t wait for Gabbro to respond before you shut off your comms. In the photo it looked like there was a black spot on the top right of the sun. In real life, it looks like there’s a circular chunk taken out of it. You can see stars along the periphery of the shadow, even deep into the edges of the sun where you shouldn’t be able to see anything behind it. 

You race back to your ship, not bothering to buckle in. You floor it, heading straight for that circular anomaly. It gets bigger as you go, until the space where the sun should be is eclipsed by black sky and that strange spattering of stars. 

And then the stars go away, and all you see is darkness, and in that split second you wonder if you’ve just screwed up and found a way of killing yourself without the Ash Twin Project to save you. Before you can start mourning yourself, fluorescent lights replace the missing stars. Circular and seemingly randomly arranged, you try and find your footing in this new area but struggle to get a sense of direction. There’s no up, or down, or forward–just the lights and the darkness and you, somehow in the midst of it. 

You turn on your headlights. They don’t help a ton, but it’s better than trying to navigate in the pitch dark. You turn to your right and nearly slam into a large metallic beam with several of the lights embedded in it, and to avoid it you go up where you clip yet another. Slipping through the beams leads you to an area with what seems to be a walkway–bright and reflective. You fly down, slowing before hitting ground, but then you phase right through. More lights. Fantastic. It’s too bad none of them are actually helping you see where you need to go. 

Clearing the beam reveals that what had appeared to be a reflection wasn’t one at all. You slow, matching your velocity. Directly in front of you is what appears to be a hangar. There’s three disc-like ships hanging from the ceiling by large, rusted chains. In the back is an empty spot for another ship, but you don’t see any wreckage or parts that suggest the ship is out of commission or otherwise here at all. A shiver crawls up your spine. What if that ship is out in your solar system, and none of you have noticed yet?

You land on the illuminated walkway, hopping out of your seat and dropping out of the hatch. The ground looks like rock–wet and shiny, with dips and cracks covering its surface. It looks like whoever made these ships didn’t care much for keeping the floors nice. Where there aren’t cracks, there’s scratches, and where there’s not scratches, there’s rust. You bend down in front of a pile of steel boxes, attempting to open the one closest to you on the floor. The lock doesn’t budge, and based on the level of wear and decay on the lock, you don’t think it would even if you had a key. 

You hit your jetpack thrusters until you can get a good look at the ships. The first thing you think of when looking at the glass viewport is Chert’s helmet. The two aren’t especially similar, but it’s more fun to think of Chert than the Observatory roof, or your own ship but turned on its side. While all of Slate’s designs have been predominated by wood, these ships are made almost completely of metal. You slide down the side, slipping underneath to take in the belly of the ship. It’s covered in what appear to be stars. These astronauts have an eye for decoration, unlike someone you know. 

Having gotten your fill of looking around already, you head toward the stairs leading up to an open archway. If you were still in the time loops, you’d have already been shot back at least two or three times, and you’ve barely made it past the front door. 

Up another set of rusted stairs, and you pause, taking in glowing green writing on the panel dividing the entrance. You hold your translator tool up to it out of curiosity, and it shoots a red error: unknown language back at you. 

Oh, this is getting good, and you can spend all the time you want digging into it. After metaphorically sticking it to the sun, you step into a circular room with a totem in the middle. You can’t see at all. You drop your flashlight the first time, and it takes an embarrassingly long time to find it on the pitch black floor. Once you do, you waste no time flicking it on. You’re very glad no one is here to witness the ridiculous squeak you let out when the walls start moving. 

You watch as the white panels spin around you. There’s breaks in the panels, and every few revolutions the breaks match up. You let them cycle a few more times before shutting off your flashlight. A lock engages and a door flies open on the other side of the room. Good to know you haven’t lost all your brain cells after the Eye. You’ve still got it.

You shake your head and step through the door and into yet another pitch black room. The occupants of this place really like darkness. You, on the other hand, very much dislike it. You turn on your flashlight again and have a minor heart attack when two orbs begin glowing green. 

“As if that was worse than a volcanic rock falling on your head. Get a grip, Rheniite,” you whisper, a hand on your heart. You step into the circle of glowing orbs and step up to what looks like a control panel with a wheel sticking out of it. Against your better judgment (and the whole reason you decide to go through with it), you spin the wheel. 

The floor drops beneath your feet and you’re falling. There’s not enough time for you to panic, because in the next breath you’re slamming to your knees and being splashed with a faceplate full of water. 

Water…Oh, stars above. 

Your jaw drops. You’ve landed in a river surrounded by cliff edges, a spattering of leafless trees directly ahead of you. The river curves as it goes, and you trace it with your eyes, and that’s when you realize it keeps going, and going, and going– all the way around until it reaches a dam at the metaphorical end. 

“Stars, look at that!” You call, staring at the ceiling as the water cascades around in an infinite dance, waterfalling out the mouth of the dam just to start the cycle all over again. This couldn’t have been made by the Nomai. Not only is the language written on the walls different, but the Nomai always built with nature. Whoever made this…they built nature! 

You stand just as your raft gets picked up by rusted chains similar to those in the hangar. By the time you’ve stepped onto the wooden platform, you’ve already made this your new life mission. 

Figure out who made this, and why.

Chapter Text

GABBRO

Gabbro’s plan until Rheniite bumbles their way back to Giant’s Deep had been to sleep, but considering sleeping for three months is frowned upon in the society they’re apart of without their consent, they instead opt to actually do something about those maps Hornfels had asked for the second Gabbro got their life back. 

Maybe it’s presumptuous to think it’ll take Rheniite three months to figure out what’s wrong with the satellite that isn’t broken, but they’ve been gone longer before and for far less reward. Knowing them, they probably hung up because they remembered a blip of a conversation in the depths of Ember Twin, and they had just enough time to make it back before the sand filled it up and they’d actually have to wait.

Gabbro’s not bitter, they’re just bored. And they don’t want to make these stupid maps while Rheniite gets to dance around the solar system the same as they have for the past three years. 

“You know, you can always…”

Always what? 

Gabbro leans back against the stone benches. Not much they can do when their ship is still treading water. Not that it’s Rheniite’s fault Gabbro didn’t fish out their ship when they had the chance, but at this point…Yeah, Gabbro’s not ready to try that again. 

It was their choice to stay on Giant’s Deep. It’s not quiet by any means, but it’s not the worst planet they’ve ever stepped foot on. At the very least, it’s familiar. They tried the whole Timber Hearth thing, and everyone looked the same and talked the same and acted the same, but Gabbro felt more like a Nomai than a Hearthian and that, they think, is a negative seven on the Gabbro Relaxation Scale. Rheniite might know the Nomai better than their own foot, but all Gabbro knows for sure is everyone thinks they’re the same person who flew out to the deep space satellite, then immediately flew to get the statue, then immediately flew back to get the other statue, and now they have to draw maps. Of the islands. On Giant’s Deep. Whoopdee-freaking-doo. 

They made a mistake. They acted like they wanted to do things, and now people think they want to do things. At this point in their career (which is slowly inching towards being on par with Chert, as terrifying as that is), they’d rather pull up a rocking chair with Esker and learn the ins and outs of fixing Feldspar’s ship. At least then they’d be busy, but not the kind of busy that necessitates one: getting in their ship and flying thirty kilometers this way, then thirty kilometers that way, then thirty kilometers the opposite direction, and two: sitting and waiting for an island to float by so they can add a thorn to a bramble on the map Hornfels will probably stick in a drawer and forget about the second Gabbro hands it over.

Gabbro’s been bored to tears before. Not recently, considering all of the universe ending and waking up after being sure they’d snapped their neck for the final time stuff. But around the hundredth loop, Gabbro kicked sand and climbed rocks and spun in so many circles it made them dizzy. Lazing is awesome when it’s not the only thing you can do. If someone tied them to their hammock and said, “stay here for three years straight, we’ll come get you when it’s over,” they’d probably burst a blood vessel from screaming. That’s kinda what it was like in the end. 

Even dying got boring. Or at least frustrating. Around loop twenty-thousand, the act of rebuilding their hammock every twenty-two minutes was enough to make them want to bury their head in the sand and suffocate. At least then they would get a five second reprieve before the next loop and they had to do it all over again. 

But hey, it all works out in the end. Clearly. No point in getting all up in their head when there’s nothing explicitly wrong with their life. They could be Chert, sitting on that fire planet while doing math all day. Or Porphy, staring in silence at a bubbling pot of wine. Actually, that sounds like a great way to zone out…

Something breaks the atmosphere. Gabbro looks up, dropping their pencil and not bothering to catch it before it rolls off the floor and directly into the water. It won’t go that far, yet. Besides, exercise is important, even if they hate it. Catch the pencil is just about the only movement they’ve had since…well, it’s not important. 

The ship is initially one that Gabbro doesn’t recognize. It’s not Rheniite’s, or Chert’s, or Riebeck’s, which pretty much just leaves Gossan…

Gabbro stands, slips their helmet on, and takes the stairs up to the gravity well two at a time. It winds them. Yikes. If they don’t stop staring at the ceiling they’re going to be stuck to their hammock again, and they’ll have no one to blame but themself. 

Having assumed the pilot to be Gossan, Gabbro falls right into their tried and true excuses. “I didn’t think it would get stuck in the ocean. I thought I’d be able to pull it back out, and everything would be fine and dandy. Look, I can fix it myself, you don’t even–”

“Quit yabbering, why would I care if your ship is broken or not? Join the club, hatchling.”

Gabbro’s mouth drops. “Feldspar?”

“You act like I’ve been dead for half your life or something,” Feldspar chuckles, wrapping an arm around Gabbro’s shoulders. “I heard your other half was off galavanting across the universe without you. Need some company?”

“Not really, but–”

“I mean, I can take the food Gossan made for you back with me…”

“Wait,” Gabbro rolls their eyes, grabbing Feldspar’s suit. “Come on, I’m just working on the maps for Hornfels.”

Feldspar settles down on the bench with papers falling off the sides. “What did you do to piss them off this time?”

“Existed.” Gabbro flops down onto the floor, crossing their arms behind their head. At least it’s Feldspar. If it had really been Gossan, this day might have spiraled right down to the core of this planet and never found its way back out. “So, Gossan made me food, or?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Feldspar hands over a wooden bowl with a lid covering it. Gabbro takes it and slips the lid off, the smell wafting toward them and mixing with salt air. They bend back, staring at the sky to keep from being overwhelmed by the nostalgia that’s somehow stronger than the scent of fish and vegetables. “Still hot, or at least warm. They threw it into my hands the second it was done and told me to bring it.”

“Thanks,” Gabbro swallows, settling the bowl down without eating any of it. Feldspar watches the movement from start to finish. 

“Out of curiosity,” Feldspar says, crossing their legs. “When was the last time you ate?”

“This?”

“Anything.”

Gabbro grabs the wooden spoon from Feldspar and takes a large bite of fish, swallowing it down without chewing any of it. “Right now.”

It’s impossible to read the expression on Feldspar’s face. Caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, exasperation and resignation. Their mouth is open but their lips are turned up, their hand is frozen where Gabbro swiped the spoon from them. They lean back and stare, but Gabbro doesn’t take another bite. The one they already took is swirling uncomfortably in their stomach, waiting for the perfect moment to fly right back up. 

“I’m going to give you advice because this is painful for me.” Feldspar settles down beside Gabbro, taking the spoon and using it to smash all the fish and vegetables into smaller pieces. They lift the spoon with nothing but broth and hold it up to Gabbro’s mouth. “When you haven’t eaten for a really long time, you need to take it slow or you’ll never eat again. Take it from me, got it?”

Gabbro takes the spoon and knocks the soup back. It’s hard to swallow. It feels like it gets caught in their throat, but Feldspar flicks them in the chest and it all goes down. “Thanks.”

“Don’t eat it that fast. You’ll puke all over yourself and I’m not helping you clean it up. Take it slow. No one’s going to take it from you.”

The thing is, it tastes good, but it tastes too much like a life they remember in fragments and memories and it hurts going down. They eat until the bowl is only half full, and then they drop the spoon and try not to show how close they are to chucking it all back up. “I’m full. If you leave the rest, I’ll finish it and then I’ll give Gossan the bowl back the next time I see them.”

“What if I take the rest and bring you something fresh tomorrow?” 

Gabbro closes their eyes. “I don’t want you to have to make the trips. You’re not a service.”

“Nah, but I don’t like sitting still.” Feldspar knocks their shoulders together. Gabbro chuckles. 

“Too bad I didn’t have Rhen leave me a book or two. Even I’m starting to get a little bored out here.”

“You? Bored? You running a fever?” Feldspar smacks their gloved hand right to Gabbro’s forehead. “I can get you some books. Or you can come back with me. Or hey, maybe you can come out with me.”

“Out, like–?”

“Like, out. You ever seen the Hanging City before?”

“Uh,” Gabbro trails off. “No. I haven’t. But…”

“Listen, you don’t have to, don’t let your head explode. It was just if you wanted to.”

Gabbro looks up at the green clouds and imagines seeing the only ship they could recognize from the sound of its thrusters alone. “Maybe when Rheniite gets back we can all go together?”

Feldspar smiles. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

The thunder claps, and Feldspar fixes the sleeve falling off Gabbro’s shoulder. 

“Are you busy?” Gabbro asks.

“Busy with you. Why?”

Gabbro clears their throat. “No reason. I just–I just had a, uh…”

When did Gabbro become someone who stutters like Riebeck?

“Did you decide you want company after all?” Feldspar asks. Gabbro knocks their hand to their thigh and nods. “Then company you shall have. And the best company, might I add. Who has better stories than you and I?”

They know of one person, but that person is off making more stories without them and for once, Gabbro doesn’t want to think about it. 

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

You’re remiss you didn't find this ship back when the Ash Twin Project was backing you. This place is the worst to get through. 

The rapids are rough, the wood creaks and groans, threatening to give out. Doors slam in your face if you forget to turn your flashlight off, stairs become slick as the water laps relentlessly against them. You can’t count on one hand how many times you’ve taken a step and ended up half submerged in murky river water.

You’ve found a few things. Burned out slide reels, old houses with busted picture frames, paintings in towers that spell out a little more of the story you’re intent on chasing. There’s something here, locked up and chained away. You want to know what and why.

The owners of this vast ship aren’t Nomaiian or Hearthian. The first building you stumbled into in the river lowlands had a photo of what looked to be a creature with feathers and horns, their two eyes bright white. It’s as if every species that occupies this solar system loses an eye. Or, if you’re correct and this species is even older than the Nomai, maybe you gain an eye per species. 

You leave the slide reel but take the lantern with you, not feeling like having to spend another fifteen minutes searching for another one when you inevitably need it. While the entire ship has felt eerie, there’s nothing that tops the towers you’ve seen in both the lowlands and the isles. You’d spent a sizable amount of time studying the images in the first, but by the time you made it to the second, the feeling of someone watching you was so intense you grabbed the lantern and ran without looking back.

It took you a few loops to get used to Ember Twin, and even more to get used to Giant’s Deep, and more than that to get used to the dark, empty portions of the Attlerock. It stands to reason you need some time to not feel screaming every time something creaks. At least there’s no breathing, unlike Dark Bramble. Maybe if one of the other travelers were here…

No, you’re self-sufficient and don’t need someone to hold your hand just because you’re a little creeped out. If Riebeck can get in their ship and fly to Brittle Hollow, you can handle grabbing a lantern out of a creepy tower. There’s no anglerfish waiting for you, no falling volcanic rocks, no sand tower that comes out of nowhere. There’s no cyclones, no lack of gravity that means one hop is enough to send you into orbit. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

You push the raft back into the water and hit your thrusters. The water is rough, and it carries the raft far faster than you’d anticipated. You’re already not paying enough attention, and this change is enough to have you clipping the landing and slamming right down into the water. 

There’s no up or down, but your hand is still gripping the raft and you use it to reorient yourself. It takes too long for you to pull yourself back up. By the time you’ve grappled your way back into the raft, you’re careening toward a large boulder sticking up out of the ground and there’s no chance of grabbing your flashlight fast enough to make a difference. 

You hit the boulder at speed, and the raft splinters and cracks as you go flying. You hit the top of the boulder, slide over the top, and then crash down into the water below. 

You’re still moving, your body getting thrust down the river at speeds you don’t think you could hit with your jetpack helping you. Your oxygen tank is depleting quickly, but you have no idea which way is up toward the surface and which will have you digging at the sandy riverbed. There’s no raft to help you figure it out this time. 

You slam into another rock hard enough your quick descent is instantly stopped. Your hub screams, beeping and flashing vitals critical, the entirety of your silhouette a deep red. You push on the rock and suck in a breath as your ribs and head throb with the movement. You are very aware of the river smell getting ten-times easier to make out, and the taste of water sits on your tongue. 

You manage to make it to the surface just as your helmet begins to fill. You take a startled breath in before ripping your helmet off so the water can drain. You hold your breath and shove it back on, but the crack in the faceplate makes the air leak out too fast. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. 

You push yourself off the rock and your vision dims. Everything hurts. It feels eerily like the time you were staring at the Quantum Moon and slipped off the launch pad before getting your suit. That had been a crappy way to die. You still wonder how Slate felt watching it happen. 

You manage to get a foothold as you flow down. You crawl your way up the sandy bank, going as far as you can before your body can’t go any further. Your oxygen tank hisses as it refills. Taking that as a good sign, you remove your helmet and let the waterfall come spilling out. 

You roll over onto your back and take stock. A sharp stabbing just to the right of your eyes makes you dizzy, your vision blurring around the periphery. Your ribs scrape against each other as you inhale, and scrape again as you exhale. Your wrist might be broken, but you can’t tell without taking your glove off and getting a good look at it. Your lower back feels worse than when you clocked it on the Eye signal locator on the Attlerock. You blink, your vision blacking out. You reach your hand up to your head, and when you pull it away it’s covered in blood. 

Not great. Not great at all. You lay still, trying to breathe without shuffling your ribs around until they puncture a lung. Eventually the Ash Twin Project will call you back, and you can try this all again. 

Except, you realize, the Ash Twin Project won’t be calling you back. You are completely on your own. You push yourself up and immediately fall back down. Maybe you should’ve pressed Gabbro to come with you after all. 

It’s too late to start pondering what-ifs. You have two options. Lay here and hope you feel better, or get up and try to get back to your ship. You have medicine in your first-aid kit. Something that would at least clear the fog and let you get far enough away from this ship that you could send out a distress signal. 

You make up your mind. You spend a couple more minutes gathering yourself before you push yourself up to sitting. You groan, nauseous and one misplaced inhale away from throwing up all over yourself. You manage to make it to your feet, shoving your helmet back on with your not messed up hand. One, two, three steps. You’re never going to make it. 

You’ve never had to deal with this before. You were always so sure it would be over at some point, taken care of by the loops looming ahead of you. You feel abandoned - by both the Nomai and the Ash Twin Project. 

The Nomai didn’t get immortality, so neither do you.

You take the steps one at a time. You don’t cry often, and you’re surely not going to cry now, but the burn behind your eyes is persistent regardless. There’s lead on your back, pulling you down, down, down. You shake as you lower yourself to the stairs and close your eyes.

Chapter Text

GABBRO

Gabbro would’ve never labeled themself as a loner had others not done it for them. 

They like solitude. There’s not a lot of it on Timber Hearth, and one of the most inviting aspects about space is that they can, well–have some space. They don’t mind Riebeck’s company, but while Riebeck may also enjoy their alone time to a degree rivaled only by Slate or Chert, they still tended to hang out in the living room, or in the kitchen, or other places Gabbro would be required to converse with them to make traversing their own house not as awkward. 

They built the thing together. It made sense. Travelers living with travelers. Chert had considered living with them once, but that all went out the door the second they launched and decided if worst comes to worst they’d steal the couch. Otherwise, Chert doesn’t spend much time on planet, and Gabbro understands why. 

There’s a small subset of interests Gabbro has, and very few Hearthians take those interests with anything more than a grain of salt. They enjoy writing, drawing, and playing their flute. 

Back when it was just them and Riebeck, sitting on opposite sides of the couch after thirteen straight hours of Gossan talking their ears off, they found a keen interest in things that involved working with their hands. Sometimes when Slate had leftover rope or string from a project, they’d pawn it off on other people for different projects. Gabbro would take whatever they could and spend the night tying the pieces together into different shapes. Riebeck might still have one of them in their ship. There’s for sure one dangling on the inside of their front door. It was supposed to be a firefly, but it ended up looking more like a blob with eyes. 

Marl was always the first to say something. It never bothered Gabbro, especially considering it felt more like an offhand comment than something that should matter. Marl has one interest, and it’s taking down the tree housing the launchpad. If they come up with anything else to care about, Gabbro wants to be the first to know about it.

The point – which Gabbro can never keep track of even in their own head, is that they don’t have a lot to talk about, but when someone shares even a tiny inkling of interest in something Gabbro also cares about, they can go on and on and on. It’s been about half an hour, and they’re not sure how many words Feldspar’s actually managed to get in, but it’s their fault for bringing up Hornfels, which reminded Gabbro of their conversation on dreams and whether they have any meaning, and then Feldspar made the mistake of saying, “hmm, maybe certain dreams have meaning.”

Two hours later, when they’ve explained the difference between dreams about death and dreams about losing teeth, Feldspar flops back against the sand and lets out a groan. This gets Gabbro to pause for the first time since they got going. 

“Do you want to play together?” Feldspar asks. 

Gabbro grabs their flute from behind them. “Sure, been a while since I’ve played with another person.”

“You and me both.”

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

When you open your eyes, you have no way of telling how much time has passed. You whine miserably in the back of your throat. Lying here has not made any of your injuries feel any better. Somehow, you feel worse than before you passed out. 

You push yourself back up. You take the stairs one at a time.

Finally, you make it back to the hangar. You have to lay down again, and this time you aren’t sure if you actually lose consciousness. Back up, back to your ship. You pop two tablets in your mouth and swallow them dry before slamming down into the pilot’s seat, waiting for them to take effect. 

The blood has dried on your face, and when you wipe your hand across it, it flakes down into your lap and the wound opens again. You grab the first thing you can find – an old shirt you haven’t worn since before your launch, and press it to your head. It nearly knocks you back out, but you hold onto consciousness by the skin of your teeth. 

When the bleeding becomes manageable, you hit the thrusters and fly straight until the ship disappears and you’re back in familiar territory. You lock your autopilot on Giant’s Deep without thinking. Your signalscope is still all in one piece, so you pull it out and lock it on. Gabbro’s flute and Feldspar’s harmonica both come from Giant’s Deep. You turn your radio on. 

“Hey,” You say. You meant to say more, but you feel dangerously tired and it’s hard to move your mouth. 

“Hey?” It’s Feldspar. You want to speak. You can’t. “Who is this?”

“It’s Rheniite,” Gabbro says. “You find whatever you were looking for, buddy?” Your autopilot begins slowing down. 

“I forgot,” You manage to say. There’s whispering you can’t decipher.

Feldspar says, “What did you forget, hatchling?”

You’re panicking. You don’t know why. 

“Gabbro?” 

“I’m here. What did you forget?”

Your head lolls forward. “No Ash Twin Project.”

Gabbro hisses, and they’re not speaking to you when they say, “Are you good to fly?” 

Feldspar interrupts, “What? I mean, yeah. What does that have to do with the Ash Twin Project or whatever they just said?”

“Doesn’t matter, just–”

“I’m almost there,” You say. Gabbro instantly shuts up, the shuffling over the line settling. “Almost there.”

“Okay. Are you hurt bad or just bad?” 

They’re so calm. How are they so calm? You whisper, “Bad. Like, no hammock splatter bad.” 

“Alright. Okay, I’ll see you when you get here. We’re at the Construction Yard. You know where to find me.”

You shift in your seat, crying out when your back pulls. There’s a cough over the line, and Gabbro says, “Be careful. Please.” 

You land to the right of Feldspar’s ship on the Construction Yard. You stay in your ship for a moment, trying to take deep enough breaths that you don’t instantly pass out again. There’s a knock on your hatch, and you groan as you slowly pull yourself out of your chair to open it. 

“Heya, hatchling,” Feldspar says as they pull themself up. You sway, once, twice, three times, before your legs give out and the only thing stopping you from hitting the ground is Feldspar throwing themself behind you. Gabbro is kneeling in front of you by the time you blink your eyes back open, searching. You’re not sure what they’re looking for, but you’re pretty sure you left it back on that ship.

“Gab–” You can’t finish. Your vision turns to static. 

“Their pupils are different sizes. We need to get them back.” Gabbro throws themself up and grabs your radio. A guttural sound leaves your mouth, your hand flying out toward them without your conscious influence. You try to follow them, to keep them in your line of sight, but Feldspar is laying you down onto their lap and you can’t move far enough to see. “Slate, I’m heading back with Feldspar and Rheniite. We’re going to need medical attention.”

“What did Feldspar do this time?” You hear Slate ask. 

You’re still trying to get Gabbro back in your line of sight, but you can’t see them. You can’t see them, and their voice is gone, and you’re starting to forget how you got here. It’s like the loops all over again, when you crashed on the wrong island and you’d call for them but they couldn’t hear you. And even if they could, they couldn’t get to you, so all you had was their disembodied voice in your ear as you died with metal sticking out of your abdomen because you accidentally floored it instead of turning off the autopilot. 

“Gabbro,” You call, but it’s not loud enough. “Gabbro.”

“Shh.” 

Feldspar is being surprisingly gentle. You feel distantly as their fingers trace the uninjured part of your face and glide over one ear. Your head tingles, distracting you momentarily from the throbbing pain. Your eyes get heavier and heavier, and Feldspar gets as close to you as possible. You can finally make out their facial features. You’d forgotten how deep and vast Feldspar’s freckles are. 

“They’re still here. Gabbro’s right there, okay?” Feldspar says. “They didn’t leave. We’re going to take you back home so you can get the good stuff from Gneiss.” 

You shuffle. You don’t know what you’re looking for, or why it’s so important. “Feldspar.”

“I’m here.”

“Where–” 

“Right there. Look,” Feldspar shuffles your positions, giving you a better vantage point of the cockpit of your ship. Despite it only being one design off from their own, Gabbro is having trouble figuring out the controls. Slate is talking them through it over the line, but you can’t make out any of the words. All you know is Gabbro is still there. They didn’t leave. They’re not all the way across the planet, on another island, where you’ll never find them before you die again and wake up so you can pretend it never happened and everything is fine. 

Your eyelids droop. Gabbro’s here. Feldspar’s here. Everything is okay now. Except, there’s something in your chest, something intangible and unreal, that tells you there’s someone missing…

“If you sleep, promise me you’ll wake up?” Feldspar whispers. You think it sounds vulnerable, raw like an open wound. You look at Gabbro and then back at Feldspar, and you lift your uninjured hand to pat a few times at the deepest freckles on Feldspar’s face. They grab your hand and squeeze. 

You’ve made it this far, and you’ve gone through far worse. You’d accepted your death long ago, and have faced it even longer. If you were to not wake up again, you wouldn’t be upset. At least this time you won’t be alone, trapped in the Sunless City or suffocating in deep space. If you were to die for real, this is how you’d want to go. 

“My little rock, promise me you’ll wake up,” Feldspar repeats. 

And you don’t know why it comes to your mind, or what possesses you to say it, but you squeeze Feldspar’s hand back and say, “You were gone so long.”

Feldspar’s face changes. You know it wasn’t their fault, but there’s still the little hatchling inside of you that can’t help but put blame where it shouldn’t fall. Feldspar had been your favorite person, and they got up and left you before you could run without falling over yourself. Slate had always teased you, pulling your ear and telling you now you had to look at the world with your eyes instead of Feldspar’s. 

Gabbro had only been a few years older than you, Riebeck only a little older than Gabbro. Chert was Chert, and they never really were one for hanging around with the hatchlings. They were busy among the stars. You had never been able to look up to them like you had Feldspar, or Slate, or Gossan. Even then, Slate’s playful bullying had put you off, and Gossan missed Feldspar. If they weren’t off planet searching, they were locked in their workshop until they had to leave to train with Riebeck and Gabbro. 

Feldspar told the best stories. Feldspar lifted you up on their shoulders and taught you how to climb trees. Feldspar let you play on their ship before their first intentional launch into space. Feldspar was the coolest person you’d ever met, and then one day, they were gone. 

“You’ve really imprinted on Feldspar, haven’t you?”

“No way. That’s something hatchlings do, and they grow out of it.”

You don’t cry. You haven't cried since Rutile sat you down and told you that Feldspar was going on a long journey and wouldn’t be back for a long time. You hadn’t realized it then. You thought a long time was a week, or a month. Back then, time had as little meaning as it does now. After living so long with just twenty-two minutes at your disposal, an hour feels like forever. 

You’d run away, leaving Rutile behind. You’d cried until the sunset, looking at the planets cresting the sky and wondering which one Feldspar thought was more important than you. You wanted to know what they could’ve found that was so crucial, they hadn’t even said goodbye. 

Gabbro found you, curled up inside of a hollowed out tree stump. They’d sat down outside of it, a pillow and blanket in their hands. They spoke to themself, humming between sentences, “Looks like I’m all alone out here. In this big, big grove. Just me and my blankets and pillows. Looks like forts are just for Gabbro today.”

You’d crawled out and Gabbro pretended to be startled. It made you laugh, even when tears were still dry on your cheeks. They taught you how to tie the blanket between two trees to make a hammock, and even if you didn’t feel like doing it, you followed their every instruction to the letter. When you were done, and by done you mean the two of you could lay on it and not bend the tree almost ninety-degrees, you laid together while Gabbro pointed at the sun and explained what hydrogen was. 

You’d curled up into Gabbro’s side, always just the slightest bit smaller than them. You felt so young around Gabbro even if you’d already been older than Tephra. Maybe even Mica and Moraine. All you know is Gabbro may not have been your best friend, but they’re the one that found you and made a hammock with you and taught you about the sun, even when you could see the tear tracks on their face and the red in their eyes. 

You don’t cry, but you close your eyes and a tear slips down your cheek anyway. 

Gabbro wasn’t your best friend, maybe they still aren’t, but every worst day of your life has a common center star. It’s always Gabbro that finds you before anyone else can. 

Your ship takes off, the green clouds vanishing as you break through. Gabbro has to fly around the planet once, and it takes them a couple tries to figure out how to lock your autopilot onto Timber Hearth. They don’t know yet there’s no avoidance system, so the second the autopilot is set, they get up out of the chair and kneel right in front of you. 

You reach your hand out for them, and they take it like they’d been waiting this whole time. “Hi.”

“Hi,” They chuckle. “You’re going to give me wrinkles.”

“You’d still look good.”

“I know.” Gabbro leans their head on your shoulder, their breath hot against your neck. They’re shaking. You don’t know how to help them. 

Your ship begins to slow far too quickly. Gabbro gets up, leaving your line of sight, and you try not to make a mountain out of a molehill. They’re still here. Everything is okay. You feel the jolt of a landing, and when you look up at Feldspar, you notice they’re still watching you. 

“I’m sorry,” They whisper, brushing their fingers across your forehead. 

You don’t want them to feel guilty. It’s not their fault. Your vision is already dark, your eyes slipping closed, when you say, “I missed you.”

Chapter Text

You only remember Gabbro losing their cool one time, and remember is a golden shimmer sprinkled over the reality of those fractured, cloudy memories. If you must, you can still hear the sound of them calling your name. The feel of their hand on your chest. The stuttered way in which they sucked in air and then let it scream back out. 

The broken record. The no, no, I don’t want to anymore, that has left your mind only because the Ash Twin Project was graceful enough to you, if not anyone else, to pull you back before you could listen to your time buddy fall apart for good. 

It had been a stupid mistake on your part. A momentary lapse in judgment, although, to be fair to your past self, there wasn’t a lot of reason to think before acting. Nothing changes, nothing sticks. It’s just one revolving door of bad decisions getting washed away by purple light. 

If anything, it’s a little embarrassing looking back. Trying to land your ship by backflipping was perhaps the stupidest stunt you tried in recent memory, but that’s probably overdramatized by the whole every day feeling the same thing plus the Gabbro being genuinely devastated thing. It’s plainly obvious which was worse, but admitting that out loud is something you’ll do standing on your own grave, not even in your own dreams. 

There was a hole in your chest. A pretty sizable one, if your version of events can be believed, what with the whole hole in the chest thing. Gabbro had stumbled their way to you, stopping just shy of touching your thigh with the tips of their boots. A stutter, a sway, and then they were on their knees, their hands pressed so hard on your chest you’d originally assumed they were going to try getting your sluggishly beating heart going again. Except, as time passed, and your consciousness waned, you realized that they were trying to stop the inevitable. Yet again, you were on your deathbed. Yet again, you were on your return trip to the campfire beneath the launchpad, and no one would be the wiser. 

A single sentence floated through your mind back then. Had you been more aware, you’d have said to them, “Next time I visit, I promise I won’t destroy your campsite.”

You weren’t lucid enough to look them in the eyes, let alone say something as crass as simply saying, oopsie, better luck next time! It’s Gabbro, though, and even if you struggle to recognize yourself, you like to believe that some part of you at least knows Gabbro well enough to judge their potential response. On a normal day, they’d probably have agreed with you. Built it up into this grand idea of playing stupid games, winning stupid prizes, then trying again tomorrow but this time letting off the breaks a bit sooner. But that requires not being in the midst of whatever had happened to Gabbro that loop. 

Whatever you did to them that loop.

Somewhere in the jumbled mess of images, you remember them pulling their hands off your chest and pressing them to their faceplate, coating it in bright blood that dripped down and stained the brown of their pants. They were shaking, but you don’t remember hearing them cry at this point. That happened later, when they’d dragged your body back to the only part of their camp with breathable oxygen and they’d ripped their helmet off, a sob blanketing the air around you as the cyclones roared their warning and the lightning reaffirmed it. 

“I can’t do it,” They’d said, a thousand pounds of weight weighing their words down, as heavy, or perhaps heavier, than the force of Giant’s Deep’s gravity. Harsher than the waves, more impassable than the current. “I can’t, I don’t want to, I–I…”

When you open your eyes you’re still in your ship, but there’s a heavy weight over your chest. You can’t see, but you’d know those arms in your sleep. The scent of wood, graphite, and sea-salt air wrapping around you just as tight as their arms holding you aloft over Feldspar’s lap. Your chest pressed to theirs, their ear on the pounding of your heart. It’s cold, the tips of your fingers frozen, and you shiver as Feldspar shifting creates the most insignificant breeze over the bare expanse of your neck. Gabbro holds you closer, their thumb tracing circles over your shoulder, down your arms until they can hold your hand and bring it to them, holding it tight against their body.

“They’re on their way,” Feldspar says, but it sounds far away. A call from kilometers away, a voice echoing off Dark Bramble, bouncing between the Interloper, Brittle Hollow, the Attlerock, Giant’s Deep, before finally making it back to your ears. That voice is so familiar, so warming. Even as you start to slip back out, you hold onto the cadence of their speech, the inflections in their tone, the way they dip and sway between words as if they haven’t used them in so long it’s hard to remember how language works at all. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Gabbro whispers, and Feldspar’s arm appears over Gabbro’s side, pulling both of them close. 

“They’ll wake up. You don’t need to do anything.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Since when do you give up so easily?”

And maybe that’s all it takes. A moment, a reminder, a split second of believing that the people they are and the people they were are still the same. Instead of wallowing, instead of voicing more what-ifs, Gabbro wipes their face and nods, though they don’t pull away. Not until the hatch opens and for a moment, you think you might cry with them. 

You want to call out to this new, yet achingly familiar person. Say their name. Run and grip them and beg them to listen to your stories. To wrap you up like you’re still a hatchling and they’re the only person you’ve ever trusted to make every ail go away. But you can’t, because the moment they kneel down in front of you, your eyes have already slipped closed and once again, you’re lost.

This time, it’s Feldspar’s turn to sit at your bedside. You open your eyes slowly, happy to see your vision fully returned. There’s a weight on your left arm, and it takes a second for your stiff neck to respond to your commands. Gabbro is fast asleep, their head pressed to your shoulder and your upper arm in a loose grip in their hand. You sigh, relief oozing out of you like sap out of a tree. They didn’t leave you. You didn’t get sent back to the campfire. 

You look to your right. Feldspar is there, still awake, picking at the scales around their knuckles. You reach out and tap their hand. 

“Heya, little rock,” They say.

You stretch, wincing as your lower back pulls uncomfortably. “Hey.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Way better than I did. How long was I out?” You ask, not really wanting the answer. 

“Couple days,” Feldspar responds. They lean back, letting out a deep breath. You’ve never seen Feldspar this relieved. “You never did promise me you’d wake up, so I was starting to worry.”

“The Great Feldspar, worried?” You poke. Feldspar levels you with a stare that is liable to cause third degree burns. “Sorry, sorry.”

“I’m sure,” They roll their eyes. “Can you never do that again? I’m getting older, you know. I can’t take a lot of stress. And you almost killed that one. I’ve never seen them so pale.” 

You shuffle and pretend to think. “Sure, if you promise to never get trapped somewhere for years again.”

“Gossan’s made me swear an oath about thirty-five times, so no worries. I promise,” Feldspar chuckles. You smile and turn toward Gabbro. Still asleep. You hiss as you shift your arm, letting them fully lay atop of it. “Hatchling…”

“It’s okay. We don’t need to talk about it. I know it wasn’t your fault, and if you had the choice you wouldn’t have left like you did,” You say. You remember Feldspar saying they’d wanted to stay. That they needed a break from being the best that ever was. You’re giving Feldspar an out, and as much as you’d like an honest answer, sometimes it’s just not the right time for one. 

“Okay,” Feldspar says. They don’t elaborate, nor do they reveal their old desire to stay in Dark Bramble just for solitude. Both of you look down as Gabbro shuffles, shaking as their eyes blink open. Neither of you say anything, and before you know it, Gabbro’s eyes have slipped back closed and they’re asleep again. “They were really worried about you. They wouldn’t say it out loud, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the phrase, why are you panicking? – about seven times an hour for two days straight.”

“And I assume they were the one panicking?”

“I was just flipping through a book and they swooped in out of nowhere talking about taking things as they come, not giving into panic, and utilizing this great trick they learned called meditating . I, personally, thought we should slip them a sleeping drought, but Gossan said that’s morally incorrect.”

You snort. “And is this sleep of theirs influenced by said morally incorrect sleeping drought?” 

“I would never. Who do you think I am, Hornfels?”

“Never know,” You say.

“Speaking of. I think Hornfels will be here to check on you soon. Fair warning, they haven’t stopped crying since they saw you.”

“Oh, lovely.”

The two of you trail off. You’re exhausted, but for some reason you can’t slip back to sleep. There’s a lingering itch in the back of your mind, something telling you that this isn’t quite where you want to be. Feldspar is here, Gabbro is here… That’s enough, isn’t it? 

You look around the room, eyes catching on an empty chair in the back right corner. If someone else had been sitting there, who would it have been? Feldspar notices your wandering gaze and says, “They’ll be back soon.” 

Who will be back? Hal? Marl? Tektite?

A whirl of longing hits you like an anvil. “Has… has Gossan come visit me?”

And Feldspar’s face twists into something sad and yet painfully relieved. “They’ve been here the whole time. You just had to wake up when they stepped out to get some air.”

Memories fracture and coalesce in front of your eyes. Needles, a sprained wrist, thunder and lightning, the sort of storm that rips the roofs off homes and leaves the village scrambling for weeks to put it all back together. In the center of those memories is Gossan. Young, with four eyes instead of three, their body toned and slim from their years of work on the Ventures. Little hands on their unscarred face, a smile so soft you can still feel it in your chest.

It’s hard to picture it all. The images slip and fall away, leaving you scrambling to hold onto even one of them for long enough to appreciate it. Back when Gossan would carry you even when you could walk. The days it felt like there was nothing more special than being held to the chest of the only person you wanted when you were hurt.

“Feldspar?” You whisper. They look at you, and you say, “Do you remember when I tripped and scraped my knee?”

“Oh, you’re going to have to be way more specific,” Feldspar chuckles. “The time you were trying to see if you could fly? The time you tried to run from me so I wouldn’t steal your best friend Beetle? Maybe the time you stole Chert’s drums and made it a few steps before you tripped over your untied shoe…”

“I get it, I get it,” you smile. “No. I don’t really remember too well, but I was outside collecting acorns, and then something happened, and my knees were all scraped up. I think you tried to pick me up, or maybe Slate—and I punched you until Gossan got there.”

Feldspar snorts. “That was the time Marl tripped you because you were collecting more acorns than them. I can’t believe you remember that. You were barely one.”

So it did happen. Your heart pounds so hard it makes you cough. Feldspar reaches out, their hand pressed to your chest. 

“I just was remembering…” you trail off.

Feldspar seems to know what you want to say. When they’re sure your heart isn’t going to give out, they remove their hand and say, “You only wanted Gossan when you were scared. I might as well have been a bowl of jellyfish.”

“Disgusting.”

“Doesn’t that make you feel bad? You made your—your most beloved pilot feel like a bowl of jellyfish.”

You shrug. “I made up for it. I saved you from eating centipedes the rest of your life.”

A wistful look crosses Feldspar’s face. You want to ask, but by the time you’ve worked up the courage it’s already too late. Feldspar says, “I don’t know. Those things are powerful. Maybe we should find a way to use them as an anesthetic.” 

There’s the creak of wood, and then the door slips open. Gossan steps inside, their head covered by the hood of their jacket so they haven’t seen you’re awake yet. A soft, yet miserable sounding sigh falls from their lips. Feldspar looks at you, and a thousand pounds of guilt settle deep in your abdomen as Gossan wipes at their face, refusing to turn around. Before you can say anything, Feldspar lifts themself out of the chair, patting you twice on the leg. They wrap their left arm around Gossan’s waist, the other brushing away what must be tears on their cheeks. 

You can’t hear too well, but you think Feldspar says, “Hey, you know, you have the world’s worst timing for these sorts of things.”

And Gossan slaps Feldspar so hard it nearly echoes before leaning fully into their embrace. “What now?”

“Do you see this?” Feldspar says, pointing at Gossan’s head. “They beat me up and then hug me. What am I even supposed to think of that?”

Gossan doesn’t care about anything Feldspar said, just that they’re saying it to someone else. They turn, mouth dropping when they see you awake and staring back at them. It’s like a whirlwind, the way they wipe all the evidence of tears off their face before stealing Feldspar’s seat beside you, their hand hesitating over your shoulder. It’s hard to speak, so you nod, and Gossan settles that hand down and squeezes. For the first time since your accident, you feel all of your anxiety wash out. Gossan is here now. Feldspar. Gabbro. You’re finally okay.

Chapter Text

“How are you?” Gossan asks. 

There’s something about the question, about them, that sits and lingers and makes it impossible to find a way to tell them. Not good. Everything hurts. It’s all your fault you’re in this predicament, isn’t it? And yet, it doesn’t scare you. Death, pain, harrowing encounters… they mean nothing to you. A blip, a mistake. Something that can be washed away. Isn’t that sort of what happened? You fell asleep, and you woke up, and even if it hurts, it won’t kill you. You’re still here. Still kicking. 

I’ve died more times than I could ever count. I’ll be fine. Is what you would say if the thought of Gossan’s confusion, their disbelief, didn’t make you feel like pieces of your ship are sticking clean out of your abdomen. Seeing Gossan brush you off, tell you you’ve finally lost it, that all you experienced was a figment of your imagination, would send you into a grave so deep you’d never be able to crawl your way back out. 

So, instead of saying that, you say, “My ribs hurt. A lot.”

Gossan’s eyes trail down to your chest, their lips pursed, brow furrowed. “Would ice help? I could get you a warmer blanket. When was their last pain med dose?”

Feldspar’s hand on Gossan’s shoulder is all that stops them from continuing on. “Tektite gave them more medicine while you were out. It should kick in soon.”

It throws you, Gossan’s worry, their presence. The way they fidget over your blankets, over the bandages wrapped around your chest, the splint on your wrist. For a moment they go as far as to put their hand on your forehead, feeling for any change in your temperature, and then they peel back the bandage covering the deepest wound on your right shoulder, nodding to themself at what they see. It should make you feel better, Gossan’s sudden calm, but all you can think about is that it’s Gossan that’s here. Gossan that’s checking you over. Gossan, who only requested you give them a moment of your time before taking off to the unknown of the solar system, and no matter how many times you visited them, how many times you fixed their broken satellite, how many times you sat down and leaned against the rock wall of the zero gravity cave, asking Gossan for stories of their first few launches, none of those things ever really happened. 

To the Gossan beside you, the one who takes the cup of water from Feldspar’s hand, sees the reddish tint to it, and immediately asks if there’s berries in it, you’d never said goodbye. You’d never fixed their satellite. By all means, you shouldn’t know their stories, or their feelings, or why they chose to shelf their ship and build up their career as a flight-coach. Hornfels could never stop you. Could never stop Feldspar, or Slate. In all actuality, they never could’ve stopped Gossan, either, and yet here they are, still wearing the suit that hasn’t tasted the stale sort of nothingness that comes with deep space travel in who knows how long.

And Feldspar, who looks at Gossan like they’re half their world and half their universe, rolls their eyes and flicks them on their still unscarred ear and says, “You think I’d really try to kill them again after they already did this much of a number on themself?”

It’s quiet as Gossan holds the glass out to you, but you don’t take it. There’s something caught in your throat, and if you tried to drink now, you’d choke on it. Gossan’s face, despite still looking the same as when you were young, belays the years that they’ve lived. Wrinkles around their eyes, the corners of their lips, the crease of their forehead. It’s not as much as some of the other founders – even Feldspar looks more like their forty-odd years than Gossan. It’s not a bad sort of aging. It only makes your heart stumble because after all this time, you really hadn’t thought too much about anyone getting older. 

Existentialism is something that deserted you years ago. What was death when you’d faced it a thousand times? Aging ceased to exist, permanency with it, and no matter what happened, how much time slipped through your fingers, who didn’t make it to the end of a loop, in the blink of an eye, all of it was back how you started with no one but you and Gabbro to bear the burden. Esker’s loneliness never festered, Chert’s anxiety never had the time to slowly get worse, Riebeck never had to leave their safe haven, Slate… 

Slate never got the chance to upgrade their ships. Mica never got the chance to train in the space program. You never got the chance to return and prove to Tephra that you weren’t a liar. You would return, just as Feldspar would. Even then, that very first loop, you’d never given up hope that Feldspar’s boots would touch Hearthian soil again. 

In the end, or at least, in the interim, Feldspar came home. So did you. Slate is off working on their new ship, Esker is getting more and more forceful with their requests for company, Chert, if you’d seen them more than once in the past few months, would’ve told you they noticed an unsubstantial increase in the percent of stars going supernova. You wouldn’t have wanted to know, anyway. There’s nothing you’re missing. 

Gossan, despite still having a broken satellite, is here, their freckles deeper and their stress showing on their face. Never had their default expression been this deepset frown. At least, you don’t think it has. Maybe that all changed when Feldspar disappeared. Their inherent resting mad face turning to something eerily similar to Gabbro’s resting sad face. A breath, a word, a mere sentiment away from everything cracking and spilling at their feet. Pent up emotions and tears forming a moat where there used to be a mountain. 

Instead of taking the water from them, you reach and poke at the deepest of their laugh lines. You miss them, and yet, you have nothing you can say, because everything you want to offer, everything you want them to hold like a thousand pounds of lit dynamite would do nothing but tear them the rest of the way down. And even if it didn’t, even if they didn’t believe you, brushed you off, told you you’ve finally lost it, what would there be left of you?

“I’m sorry,” You say instead of everything you need, and Gossan’s bottom lip twitches, their eyes turning red, and all you know is that somehow you’ve become the worst student, the worst friend, that Gossan has ever had. “Don’t be upset because of me. It’s my fault.”

“Stars, you–” Gossan shakes their head, pressing their eyes to the sleeve of their suit. When they look back up, all the traces of their tears are gone. “You’re just like… It’s okay, hatchling. It’s fine. I’m not upset because of you. I just wish I could help.”

Perhaps, in another life, one where you’re not so scared of losing them that it renders you silent, Gossan would have been able to help you. In this life, you merely look them in the eye and say, “It’s good enough you came to visit me.”

You’ve already been awake longer than you have been since it happened. Exhaustion washes over you, your eyes starting to close despite your fight to keep them open. 

“Sleep, hatchling,” Gossan smiles. “We’re not going anywhere, little–”

Before you can hear the end of their sentence, you’re already asleep.

Chapter Text

When you wake up the second time, the room is dark. You shift, trying to feel out your injuries. Nothing is as bad as it had been on the Stranger. You can lift your arm without throwing up, at least. That’s enough improvement for a couple days. 

Gabbro is awake. They’re sitting on the windowsill, one leg dangling and their arms crossed over their chest. You haven’t seen them in a shirt other than their flannel in a long time. Seeing them here, in a green jacket with the sleeves rolled up to their elbows throws you. It matches that scarf they haven’t taken off since they were…well, you can’t remember when Gabbro got that scarf. It’s been part of them as long as you’ve been alive, as far as you’re concerned. 

“Hey,” You say. Gabbro turns to you. Their wide eyes soften when they catch yours.

“Hey, pebble.” They hop off the ledge and settle down on the edge of your bed. “I’m glad you’re awake. How’s the everything?”

“Better,” You chuckle. “Could be better, but better.”

They nod. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah. I could use some water, though.”

You wouldn’t have minded getting it by yourself. It’s not like you didn’t walk all the way back to your ship and then fly it to boot. Gabbro shoots up before you can say as much. By the time you’ve managed to sit up, they’re back with a glass pitcher of water and a small cup. 

“What are you doing?” They ask, settling the pitcher and cup down. Their hand is on your back and another beneath your knees, and they boost you up the rest of the way so you can settle against the wall. 

You would say something to the effect of, I can sit up on my own, but you’re winded and your back is killing you. A hiss is all that comes out of your mouth. Gabbro moves the pitcher and cup closer, then helps you lean forward. They slip between you and the wall, leaning your body against their chest. They ask, “Is this okay?”

More than okay. “Yeah.”

They hold the cup as you drink. It’s hard to not chug it all in one big gulp, but Gabbro pulls the cup back after every couple sips. When you’ve finished, they set the cup down. It hurts when they move, and keeping quiet is more for their benefit than yours. You don’t want them to leave, and you don’t want them to feel guilty. Gabbro holds you as they shuck their boots off, the soles clattering against the wooden floor. They ask, “How are you the most comfortable?”

Your mind is starting to feel hazy. This is the longest you’ve been awake in two days, as far as you know. 

Gabbro moves as if they’re going to stand. You say, before they can go, “With you.”

Both of you freeze. It makes your side ache and your arm throb, but you’ve already said it and you can’t take it back. 

“I–” Gabbro’s sentence dies before it can leave their lips.

You clench your eyes shut, leaning forward. “Help me scoot over. You’re going to break your neck if you keep sleeping in that chair.”

Gabbro short circuits. They move their arm one way, and their head the other, and somewhere in between they make sounds more than words. You’re shaking, a moment away from not being able to hold yourself up anymore when they finally brace their knee on the bed and help you shuffle toward the right of the bed. 

It’s a tight fit for one of you, let alone both of you. You make it work. Gabbro wraps their arm around your back, leaving their vanishing bicep as a bony pillow. Their left leg hooks over your right, and you try not to focus too hard on where your leg ends up in this configuration. Smushed together like dough. Just like when you were hatchlings on the hammock. 

“Gabbro?” Your voice is muffled by their hood. 

“Hm?”

“Tell me about the stars again.”

Gabbro holds you closer, their eyes squeezed shut. You’re scared they’re going to cry. Neither of you have talked a lot about what happened, or what it means now that it’s all over. Every day, every hour, minute, second – one at a time. You think Gabbro is forgetting to eat. You can’t imagine another reason that this hug feels so much more fragile than all of your others. 

“I–” They stutter. 

It’s all that time with Riebeck, you want to say. What you actually say is, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet,” They respond. 

“Then let’s forget about it for a loop or two. How does hydrogen work?”

Gabbro’s heart skips. You can feel it against your ear. 

“The reason stars shine is there’s hydrogen burning in their cores.”

You listen to them talk until the sun rises, still as yellow as it was when you last fell asleep. It scares you – like a monster under the bed. You want it to go away. You want the sun to stop shining, stop burning hydrogen, stop mocking you. 

You want Gabbro to want to talk about it. You squeeze their shoulder and bury your face into their hood. Pencil shavings and salt. 

If you let them go, will they still be here? If I look away, will they vanish like the quantum moon?

The last time you held each other like this was the loop before you left to find out if Feldspar’s ghost was taunting you. Gabbro had a hundred broken bones and couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. You held them until you woke up at the campfire. You don’t remember how you died. 

You pull back until you can see their face. You smile. With your still working arm, you lift it until you can take the corner of their lips and pull them up. When you take your finger away, they’re still smiling at you. You tap the tip of their nose, trace your finger over their top lip, flick the jut of their chin. They roll their eyes. 

“Aren’t you tired?” They ask.

You shake your head. “I could do a few pull-ups.”

Gabbro widens their eyes and looks at your wrapped wrist. “I’d cautiously advise against that.”

“Fine, you do my exercise for me and maybe I won’t lose all of my muscle.”

The laugh that comes out of them is high-pitched. Mocking, sure, but it wasn’t like you actually expected Gabbro to exercise if they could find a way to avoid it. They’re fast, flexible, and dextrous, but you’ve never seen them train a day out of flight school. Maybe it’s natural talent. Or the fact they’re just a tree with a brain. 

You decide to let it go. The questions, the answers. Gabbro’s arm is probably asleep, and they haven’t moved you in the slightest. They could’ve patted your head and told you to get some rest like everyone else, but instead, they’re here. You wish you’d had this sooner, but you’re glad you have it now. 

“When I count to three, we go to sleep,” You say. Gabbro purses their lips.

“Huh?”

“Just humor me.”

“Okay,” They shrug. 

“One,” You start. Gabbro is watching you, their eyes brighter than you’ve seen them in weeks. “Two. Three.”

Both of you slam your eyes closed at once. Gabbro even goes so far as to fake a snore. You keep your eyes closed, trying not to laugh. They blow a breath in your face, suck one back in, and then blow out another. You use your good hand and cover their mouth with it. 

When you wake up next, Gabbro’s still holding you. And again, and again, until you wake up one day and Gneiss is telling you it's time to start moving again. 

It’s not the worst. Your legs were spared, albeit your back gives you a bit of problems. Gabbro is still hanging around even if you have told them several times they can go do their own thing. Between Hornfels wanting that second statue and Gabbro wanting to lay in an actual bed and rot for three years to make up for lost time, it’s been an interesting tug of war to witness. Gabbro does eventually take the plunge to go retrieve the statue, albeit with substantial complaining. By the time they’re gone, you’re happy for the quiet time.

The window is open, a warm breeze wafting in and hitting your face. It smells like it’s going to rain, but there’s only a handful of dark clouds in the sky. It’s been a long time since you’ve witnessed a Hearthian thunderstorm. You mentally coax the clouds into giving it up so you can feel the warm rain turn the air humid as you try to relearn how to bend over enough to put your own shoes on.

Both hands braced against the window frame, you bend at your waist until the pain spikes and you’re forced to stand up again. There’s no significant improvement from the last twelve times you’ve done this, but you refuse to believe you’re going to need help putting shoes on for the rest of your life. Putting your pants on by bending your knees and tilting sideways to grab one side at a time is ridiculous enough.

“Rhen?”

You stand up straight, leaning over the windowsill as if you were taking in the weather. Hal is walking along the bridge, a muddy ax over their shoulder. You raise your hand and say, “Hey! What’s up?”

Chapter Text

“Sky. Stars. The usual,” Hal says, slowing to a stop just outside the window. You could flick their forehead if you wanted to. “Gneiss said you were cleared to come back home. What’s the problem? Still afraid of Marl forgetting to do the laundry on time?”

“You know as well as I do how bad their clothes stink.”

Hal chuckles, shaking their head. “I’ve got the stuff to make bread. Not a lot of it, but you know how it is. We could put carrots in it this time since you think fruit is out for your blood.”

“They are. The last time I ate strawberries I couldn’t breathe right for weeks!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Your tongue was the size of a ball.”

You cringe at the memory. 

It’s hard to explain how you’re feeling. You know you could’ve gone back to your own room, with your own bed and your own clothes and your own books last week. But to Hal and Marl, you’d just been there. To you, it’s been years. You can’t remember what your bed feels like. You can’t remember what books are on your shelf, or when the last time you did your laundry was, or what sort of state your closet was in before you left. You like to believe you did a quick clean before your first launch, but knowing you, you probably figured it’d be forever before you came back so leaving a mess was a future you problem.

Well, future you. Nice to finally meet.

“I’m procrastinating on having to wash my bedsheets,” You say. 

Hal’s mouth drops. “Chert washed them for you when Gneiss said you were free to come back. They also put all your clothes away, and dusted, and soaked the plate you forgot in water for an hour.”

“Oh, well, that was very nice of them…” You scratch the back of your neck. “Gabbro’s probably going to need help with the statue, though.”

“From you? Your wrist do a magical healing trick I didn’t know about?”

“Well, not necessarily…”

Hal nods. “I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, but this has been the thing since you launched. You and Gabbro and Feldspar. I didn’t think you’d acclimate that fast, you know? I figured you’d at least still come around and let me know what you found.”

“It’s not that,” You swallow. “I just haven’t found anything to share. What, you want to hear about how Riebeck tripped and fell down the gravity wall on Brittle Hollow?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’d love that, actually.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best example of useless information. “Well, that’s it, isn’t it? They fell. And now they’re making their way through the Hanging City.”

“And what is the Hanging City?” Hal asks. They hold their hip, capturing your gaze and not letting it go. You feel like you’re going to freak out if they don’t stop trying to read your mind like that. 

“A city. That hangs. In Brittle Hollow.”

Hal puts their head in their hand. You want to bury yourself in a hole and rot.

“That sounds so great, Rhen. A city that hangs. Wild stuff.”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of ice.”

“Riveting.”

You close your eyes. “Listen, what do you want me to say? I don’t know anything about it, it’s not like I can tell you how it was built, or why, or what the meaning behind it all is and why it’s so important. All I’ve done is get Feldspar and bother Gabbro.”

“And yet somehow you’ve talked to Riebeck and know they’re visiting this Hanging City?”

This is why you can’t talk to Hal. They see right through you, and they don’t let anything go. “What are you doing with the ax?”

Hal knocks said ax into the dirt. It severs a flower at its stem. Gabbro would find some way to make it poetic, but you’re a second away from flying out of your skin and you have no interest in words, let alone pretty ones. “Trying to hack up a problem plant in the crater. I take it you know about that, too, even though Tektite hasn’t heard from you since your launch?”

You school your features. “Oh, no, I didn’t know anything about that. How did a bramble seed get there anyway?”

Hal levels you with an unimpressed frown.

“Slate told me?”

“Slate doesn’t know anything about it.”

You smash your head into the wood. “Whatever. Is it gone?”

“No,” They chuckle, rolling their eyes like you’re leaking brain cells with every word. “The stupid thing has branches bigger than all three of us combined. Our axes can get chips off of it before they break or the thing regrows itself. It’s gnarly. I don’t think we’re getting it out, but Marl is insistent they are making progress. I’m exhausted and I’m not breaking another ax today.”

You think back to your conversation with Feldspar the first time you found them. 

“...That’s bad business, hatchling. As Chert will tell you if you so much as glance in Dark Bramble’s direction, there used to be a fifth planet where the Bramble is now. This infernal plant appeared at the center and kept growing, and growing, and growing, until it shattered the planet and scattered its pieces across space. If we don’t get that seed you found sorted real quicklike, I suspect Timber Hearth will be heading toward the same fate. And I tell you what, we Hearthians have overcome far too much to be done in by some worthless seed.”

How does one go about sorting out an interdimensional beast plant? “Have you tried…burning it?”

“Yes, Rheniite. We have.”

You’re not stupid, but Hal has no shame in making you feel like it. “Okay. Well, Feldspar said it’s a problem and it needs to be sorted out quickly. I don’t have as much treekeeping expertise as you.”

Hal opens and closes their mouth a few times before saying, “Barring the fact Feldspar also doesn’t know anything about it…You’re right. It is a big problem, and it does need to be sorted quickly, but by the time we realized it the thing had already burrowed its roots so deep we’d need to take chunks out of the planet to get rid of it. Marl thinks as long as we get the flower looking thing disconnected from the roots it’ll be fine, but what if it just regrows itself?”

“That’s…not something I ever considered.”

“In any case, it can wait for tomorrow. I need to wash this gunk off me and resharpen this.”

You nod. No one really knows how long it took for Dark Bramble to succumb to the bramble seed, but Chert makes it sound like it took some time. If Hal thinks it can wait, it can wait. They may not trust you implicitly, but you trust them and their expertise. 

They swing the ax back over their shoulder. “Come home tonight? I promise, no fruit. Ever again.”

You smirk. “If Gabbro doesn’t come back tonight, I will.”

Hal’s face levels out. They stomp their foot and twist their boot into the dirt. There’s thunder in the distance, and a drop of rain hits your cheek. They nod to themself and smile, but it doesn’t reach their eyes. “See ya, Rhen.”

You try to breathe as Hal walks away. The rain starts falling in earnest, and you let the humid air wrap around you. On the end table is one of your radios. You grab it and settle down on the window ledge, letting the rain soak through your clothes. “Gabbro, Rheniite to communication line three.”

“Gabbro copies.”

“Hey,” You whisper.

“Are you okay?”

You pretend the tears on your cheeks are raindrops. “I’m a lot better than I was. It’s storming.”

“Same here,” They chuckle. “Riebeck is having a field day. As in, they’ve been sitting in the gravity wells since we got here.” 

“Sounds like my method of choice.”

You can see Gabbro roll their eyes from twenty-seven kilometers away. They ask, “Why did you call? Miss me that much?”

“Maybe,” You say. “Are you going to be back tonight?”

They sigh, and your heart drops. “I don’t think so. Hornfels wanted me to look around and see if I could find any more statues to bring back. Or at least any other artifacts for the museum.”

“There’s some in a workshop beneath statue island. There’s scrolls with writing down there, too. Don’t drown if you try to get them, please.” 

“You’re really an expert now, huh?”

“That’s one way to put it.” You lean back against the wall, the radio to your mouth. “You should come back tonight.”

They’re silent for a breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Me? Never better,” Your words choke. You cough through it. “Just bored. Not much to do when you have to ask for help putting on a jacket.”

“I’ll hurry back so you don’t have to ask.”

You smile. “You? Hurry?”

“Don’t start.”

A tear slips down your cheek. Why couldn’t you have this during the time loops? “I don’t get it.”

“Huh?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m just thinking out loud.”

Maybe it would’ve made it too hard to do what you had to do. How could you have ever ended the universe when you had this, had them, on the other side of a communications line?

“Hey, Gabbro?”

“Hmm?”

You swallow. “Are you okay?”

Having not expected a real answer from the start, it doesn’t hurt at all when they laugh and say, “I’d be a lot more okay if I wasn’t working.”

“I guess I should let you go so you can finish,” You say. 

You hear shuffling on the other side of the line. “Don’t hurt yourself again. You kick in your sleep, I don’t know how much longer I can sleep in that tiny bed.”

“Only if you promise to not snap your neck. Those gravity wells are there for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabbro’s voice gets farther away. “I can’t wait to see you again, be careful, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“No dishes, got it.”

Gabbro snorts. “I…I’ll see you soon.”

“Kay. Be careful.”

“Gabbro copies.”

The blinking red light goes dark as lightning flashes outside the window. You hold your hand out and let the rain splash against your open palm. Getting Gabbro to be honest with you is like catching a cloud full of raindrops. A small puddle in your hand, a huge puddle on the ground. You hope you catch enough of them before they run dry.

The rain blows sideways, tossing the leaves on trees older than all of the living Hearthians combined into a circular frenzy. In faded memories, you remember when you and Hal would run down this path, chasing imaginary monsters and very real Hearthians. Sticks were fantastic weapons, your boots could propel you a million kilometers into the sky. Feldspar may have needed a ship to get to the moon, but all you needed was a little momentum. 

You met aliens from other worlds, saved the universe from scary creatures that took forms of giant mealworms, replenished dry, cracking soil with fresh water. You were magical. It was never a question of if you could do something, but how much noise you could make in the process. 

Little Hal and Rheniite would’ve taken Tektite’s ax off their front porch and escaped to the crater. They’d have taunted the bramble as if it would shirk away like Riebeck or Gabbro after a joking jab. What was a silly little seed against Rheniite-and-Hal, even if their heads were barely on the same level as Porphy’s kneecaps?

The world was so big back then. Feldspar was like a deity, something you could never be and always reached for. They’d come flying off of a tree limb, dropping right into little Rheniite-and-Hal’s path, and they’d scream, delighted, as Feldspar played the part of the scary monster trying to steal Chert’s drums. 

But they weren’t Chert’s drums. They were something priceless – as priceless as the skeleton curled up in a glass display in the museum. The Great Feldspar wasn’t The Great Feldspar. They were a scary tree with a face and arms and legs, swiping at the backs of their legs as they ran circles around the village, clutching Chert’s drums until Chert would stomp their feet and cry to Gneiss; this is why I don’t play with them! 

The light is on in Hal and Marl’s home. You can see both of their work boots, covered in dried mud and wood chippings, outside the door. Hal’s are set upright against the door frame. One of Marl’s is laying on its side, almost falling off the stairs.

If Marl is back, Tektite likely followed not too far behind. No one wants to work in the rain, especially when there’s no actual progress being made. 

You drink water straight from the pitcher, not feeling like getting up to track down a cup. Besides, you don’t want Gneiss to know you’re still here. Explaining yourself to Hal is impossible, explaining yourself to Gneiss won’t be any easier. 

When did the world start feeling so small? 

You drop your leg, letting it dangle. Gabbro won’t be back tonight. Gneiss won’t expect you here. Hal and Marl won’t be surprised if you don’t turn up. 

It’s been a long time since you snuck out of the village and actually faced some consequences.

You stand, grabbing your coat off the bed. Slipping your boots on is easy, tying them not so much. You don’t bother. You put your coat on bad arm first, using your teeth to pull it the rest of the way up your shoulder. It takes a couple tries, but you manage to get the other arm on without losing your head in the process. You zip it up, pull the hood over your head. Your bag is on the ground, and you have to kneel to pick it up and put it on. It’s a killer on the spine, but you can’t leave it here. 

An ear to the bedroom door, you listen for any sounds. There’s the clink of glass, the creak of a floorboard.

You smirk. You’d really been hoping you’d have an excuse to do this.

Chapter Text

You swing one leg over the side of the window ledge, then the other. It’s not a far drop, but you clench and unclench your jaw. You take a breath in, blow it all the way out, and slip right off the ledge and into the shrubbery below. Your knees give out, your back screaming. Not the best idea you’ve ever had, but you’ve done stupider things and won stupider prizes. 

Waiting for the pain to pass would be a surefire way of getting caught. You stand, shaking off the leaves and pulling thorns out of your jacket as you walk. The rain has already soaked through to your skin. It feels amazing. You spin around so the rain is hitting you directly, closing your eyes against the onslaught. 

Once, you could’ve walked backwards through the entire village and not tripped up a single time. Now, you’re forced to turn back around to avoid a collision with Porphy’s wine cauldron. 

Everyone is inside, but you’re still careful to act as if you’re heading back to your place. Your footsteps slow as you pass by, but you don’t stop. You press on, up the bridges and around past the hatchling’s cabin. You’re limping, the pain from your back radiating down to your right hip.

So focused are you on the pain that you don’t know someone is outside with you until they tap you on the back. The squeak you let out should be more embarrassing than it is. “Stars! Galena, what are you doing out here?”

“Playing in the puddles,” They say, pointing at the large puddle right outside their door. 

You nod, a hand to your heart. “That sounds fun. Don’t stay out too long, you’ll get sick.”

They look at you but don’t say anything else. You take that as your cue to go. The steep walk to the zero G cave and ghost matter pocket about wipes you out. By the time you make it to level ground again, you’re gasping like a fish out of water. 

“What’s success without a little pain?” You mumble, finally making it to the cliff face. There’s a rope ladder still connected to the very top jump. Marl would’ve only left it if they were waiting for someone else to come back after them, but Tektite’s been known to leave it up even if everyone is accounted for in the village. You step up to the first of many jumps. “This is going to suck.”

You jump, using your good arm and bad elbow to try and hoist yourself onto the ledge. Your back pulls, and you fall back down. Okay, maybe you should’ve brought a step stool or something. You could’ve gone to get your suit, but that doesn’t lend much to the pretending you’re escaping from the village like younger Rheniite would’ve thing. 

When your back settles down, you try again. You fall again. Maybe Hornfels will let you use the Nomai pottery for a second. Just long enough to hoist yourself up…

“Hey.”

You turn, pressing your back against the cliff. You have a thousand excuses on your lips before they all die in one huge swoop. It’s Galena, holding a wooden block. 

“Where did you get that?” You ask, watching as they set the block down right in front of the ledge.

“My room.”

You scratch behind your ear. “Well, thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

As much as you adore Galena, you still have trouble thinking of what to say to them. Instead of saying anything, you step up onto the block and use it to hoist yourself up onto the ledge. Something croaks when the block settles. “Uh…”

“It’s a frog.” They lift the box and show you the opposite side. There is, in fact, a frog inside of it. It looks decidedly unhappy to have been stepped on. “Its name is Cricket.”

“Cricket, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s the sound it makes.”

Close enough. You smile, wiping some of the rain out of your eyes. “Go eat some soup, okay? It’s cold out here.”

“You eat soup, too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your mouth. “Will do, hatchling.”

They jump through the puddles as they head back to the cabin, kicking water off the wooden bridge and back into the waterfall. You wait until they’re out of sight before continuing on – the next few ledges far easier to traverse than the first. You make it all the way to the rope ladder, and you use your elbow in place of your hand to make it to the top. 

There’s a patch of grass covered in white flowers, the petals bending and swaying with the wind. You step over them, looking out over the curve of your planet. It’s hard to figure out where everything is without your suit telling you which direction to walk. The radio tower should be around here somewhere, the crater the same direction but slightly to the left. 

Walking forward has never failed you in the past. Except that one time on Brittle Hollow when you got jump scared by a cliff edge you hadn’t seen and fell right into the black hole. 

There’s so much empty space. Grass plains in every direction, a thicket of trees to your right. You can remember the days as a hatchling when you’d run these plains with Gossan on your heels, yelling faster, faster, faster as if they were the Volcanic Moon and you were the poor sucker acting as its target. 

It’s been a month since your accident. Long enough, you think. You start at a light jog, feeling for any discomfort in your ribs. It should take three or four weeks for these to heal, but that wrist could take three or four months if you’re not careful.

You pick up speed. You splash through puddles, kicking up mud and dirt in your wake. In the distance you can see the smoke coming out of the crater, and you veer in that direction. The cold air suffusing your lungs, you run like you’re running out of time. 

Clambering up the side of the crater isn’t as easy as it used to be. You’ve managed to screw your hip up beautifully, but it was worth it. Still buzzing, you lean over the edge and are shocked to see Tektite still hacking away on one of the smaller roots. 

If it’s hard to kill weeds, it only makes sense this thing would put up a fight. 

With no intention of trying to clamber down there without your suit, you walk the perimeter of the crater until you get to the dip in the outer wall. You can see the seed better like this. It’s just as huge as you remember; just as imposing. Tektite’s mouth is pulled down, their fingers cracking and violet. Are they bleeding?

They hit the seed again, sap bleeding from the indent left behind. It solidifies in an instant, a hard outer shell protecting the cracks. You watch as Tektite tries to break through the sap casing, but nothing happens. The ax clangs with each hit, until eventually Tektite drops it. They settle on their bottom, facing the bramble root, their face impassive and empty. 

“And I tell you what, we Hearthians have overcome far too much to be done in by some worthless seed.”

You don’t understand. Feldspar damaged a bramble with their ship and it didn’t try to repair itself. It didn’t regrow. 

The bramble is alive. A parasite. Maybe it, like everything else, learns to adapt. 

“Hey, Tuff,” Tektite says into the radio clipped to their shoulder straps. 

“Copy,” Tuff’s voice replies.

“Think you could bring some weed killer and some rubbing alcohol? Some razors would be nice, too. This thing has tough sap, and it really likes the cold. Solidifies almost instantly.”

“Sure, you want it now?”

“That’d be nice. I would’ve asked Hal and Marl, but they’ve been working for a week straight on this and they deserve some time off.”

“Got it,” Tuff says. “I’ll be there soon. You want a new coat while I’m at it?”

“It’ll get wet just the same. The alcohol and weed killer will be fine.”

“If you say so. See you soon.”

“See ya,” Tektite says, turning off their radio. 

That’s your cue. You shove your hands into your pockets, bent over as the rain gets worse. You hadn’t anticipated a trip to the radio tower, but it’s about the only shelter you can find without climbing back down the cliffs and eating your own shoe in front of Hal and Marl. 

You drop your coat into a wet clump near the door, setting your bag down beside it. It takes you a minute to find the light, and when you do you’re shocked to see that two of the images have been taken down and annotated. It’s Hornfels’s handwriting. You run your eyes over the notes, but nothing strikes you as worrisome. The last thing you need is for Hornfels to figure out there’s an unidentified spacecraft in their photos and send Gabbro out to investigate. 

The sleeping bag from the campsite is rolled up underneath a bench in the corner of the room, and you take it out and unfold it on the opposite side of Gabbro’s photo. Sitting without something to hold onto is impossible, but if you kneel and then collapse backwards, it’s almost as if nothing’s wrong at all.

When you’re settled, you reach to your belt for your radio. It’s been a hot second since you’ve bothered Gabbro, and if they don’t plan on gracing you with their presence tonight, then…

You don’t have your radio. 

You shoot up, using the barrel to stand. You pilfer through your bag twice, dumping everything out and onto the floor. It’s not there. You left your radio back in the med bay. Fantastic. 

Back to the ways of the time loops, then. You have to wait and hope Gabbro doesn’t forget about you until you have the time to find them. This is going to be a seriously boring night. Maybe you should just go grovel…

Nah. You can handle a night without your radio. Or a book. Or something to do with your hands. You can’t believe there’s not even a single string of yarn in your bag. What was the point in bringing it if there was nothing useful in it? Dried food is great, but you can’t pass the time with food. 

This would be the first night in recent memory you’re not exhausted. You keep your eyes closed, trying to nod off, but you still feel as awake as you do after roasting coffee beans with Chert. That sounds nice right about now. You’re pretty sure Chert has jars of coffee beans in their kitchen cabinets. You probably wouldn’t even have to persuade them to pull them out. Give it a couple days, and coffee is a necessary evil for just about everyone except Rutile. They hate the stuff. They insist it smells like burnt wood, which they get enough of on the daily.

You hold your hand up to the ceiling, reminiscing on the memories of making finger puppets with Riebeck when you lived in the hatchling cabin together. You chuckle. You’d always been so jealous of their extra fingers. Their animals had always looked so much more realistic than yours. 

What would they do if you just took your ship and left? Technically, Hornfels and Gossan never grounded you. It was unspoken, maybe, but if you want to get super technical, in this…loop, universe, whatever it is, Hornfels never cleared you to fly in the first place. 

Would they try to stop you? Even if they do, could they stop you?

You could outrun Hornfels. And Gossan. You don’t know about Slate, but that’s because you’ve never seen them run before.

It’s a question for future you to answer. Right now, you just want to watch your hand as it bends and carves through the stagnant air. Two months ago, a month ago, two-thousand-fifteen loops ago, three-thousand-sixty-five loops ago – you hadn’t seen your skin for longer than a minute at a time in years. Now you can look at your own hand, take in the freckles on the back, the scar on the palm. You don’t think that scar was there before you crashed, but you could be wrong.

Chapter Text

GABBRO

“I’m going to kick them across the planet.”

Riebeck looks at them, their fingers tapping rhythmically against each other. “Uhm. That sounds…a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

Gabbro drops their radio. “No.”

“Maybe they’re asleep?” Riebeck offers, securing the statue to their ship with a final tug on the rope. It hasn’t even been a full eight hours and Rheniite has already scampered off without their radio. “Besides, Gneiss did say that they’re free to go home.”

“Do you really think they’d just go back home?”

“Uh,” Riebeck holds their arms up. “Yeah?”

Gabbro forgets that no one else knows about Rheniite’s propensity to get stir crazy after sitting still longer than five minutes. It’s the only fathomable reason Gabbro can come up with for why they would never visit Giant’s Deep twice in a row. 

“Rheniite said there’s more statues and some scrolls down below the island. The door to the workshop is broken, so we’ll be swimming if you want to tag along.”

“Maybe I could just make sure this statue is secure…”

Gabbro chuckles. “Sure, if that’s what you want to do.”

It’s not the first time Gabbro’s let their boots get submerged by this murky water. A hundred times, a thousand. Millions. Who knows? They don’t like it now, and they never liked it then. It’s a haunting memory, lingering on the edge of their consciousness and the tip of their tongue. They want to tell Rheniite all about it; every time they tried to brave these waters and get something worthwhile out of the experience.

Someone’s traversed the same waters and ended up with a well of knowledge. It sure enough wasn’t them.

They settle down, their legs soaked as they sit on the bank. There’s no other way of getting to the workshop. Riebeck won’t go for them, Rheniite doesn’t have their radio, Chert is still off mapping stars. It won’t be like last time. Or the time before that. Or the hundreds before that. 

They didn’t put their hammock up the first time. 

There was no way of telling what number loop it was. They knew it had to be somewhere around the thirty thousand mark, maybe a little less or a little more. It didn’t really matter. Life would continue the same way for the rest of eternity, and getting used to it was something Gabbro had been learning to perfect since day one. 

Truthfully, it was easier before. Back when the whole thing was new and Gabbro still remembered what it meant to be alive versus dead. It had been a couple years, they think, but they died thirty thousand times in between. At some point everything started blurring around the edges, and then everything went numb, and then nothing had any meaning and there was nothing to get used to. 

Life was sitting around, waiting to die again. 

There is a small piece of Gabbro that resents Rheniite for getting the solar system, while all they got was an island they never intended to stay on forever. If they had chosen somewhere to stay for the rest of eternity, it would’ve been somewhere like Dark Bramble, or the Attlerock, or back home, in their quantum grove, writing poems instead of wrecking their hearing for sport. 

At least in Dark Bramble they would’ve had Feldspar to talk to. On the Attlerock they’d have their own rocking chair right next to Esker. 

Rheniite is something of a close friend that is too close to call a friend. Sometimes Gabbro wants to hit them, and sometimes they want to kiss them, and there’s nothing in between. They’d grown up together until Gabbro got all old and left the hatchling cabin to start training for the space program. They’d graduated the year Rheniite started. They’d left the village that same day. 

And yet, Gabbro ponders, Rheniite’s first stop had been to come and visit them. They’d spent ten consecutive loops together, pondering the meaning of their circumstances and what they could do to stop it. Ten loops felt like a lot back then. It still does. It makes that final seventy thousand sound a lot scarier. 

Months would go by and Gabbro wouldn’t see them. They were trying to piece the story together, make something out of hundreds of thousands of years of old writing and recordings. They were going to stop the supernova—at least, they thought they were. Gabbro wasn’t so sure. It’s a shame they turned out to be right. 

Maybe it was because Gabbro didn’t actually know anything about it. They got rambles after Rheniite finished digging through a planet. Something about old settlements and distress beacons and a broken vessel. Then there was the construction yard, and the statue workshop, all those things Gabbro actually knows about and has seen before. 

Gabbro doesn’t admit to things like this easily, but they thought the world was ending, and trying to stop it was fruitless.

Gabbro isn’t a fighter. They’re not desperate for anything. They needed to find the answer to the sun going supernova as much as they needed one-hundred percent nitrogen to breathe. As in, not at all.

There are things Gabbro wanted. They wanted to go back home to their quantum grove. They wanted to spend night after night there, blinking away rocks and trees and the poems they wrote. They wanted to drag their ship out of the water and take it to that quantum moon. They wanted to find Feldspar and actually see them alive with their own eyes. They’d spent so long looking, and yet the payoff was given to someone else.

They wanted to tell Rheniite that they missed them when they were gone. They wanted to ask them not to go away for so long. To remember them, even though they were stuck and no one understood it but them. 

Gabbro would’ve helped from the start if their ship hadn’t been nowhere to be found at the beginning of each loop. They didn’t have any sort of vantage point to see it, and it wasn’t like they could swim out to it with the cyclones looming anyway. They were effectively a sitting duck, no better than a lump of wet sand. 

Those same cyclones loom in the distance. If they don’t move now, the island will leave them behind.

Gabbro is an expert at waiting out the bad stuff in life. Their shoulders are slick and weightless, every misfortune sliding right off.

When Feldspar disappeared, Gabbro stole the training jetpack and the ship made for Esker and helped Gossan and Chert search. It was their first year as a trainee, nowhere near long enough to be doing something as outlandish as tracking down fading signals and echoing harmonica music. When they didn’t find anything, and Gossan forced Gabbro to turn around and go back home, they did. No complaints lodged. The worst part about the whole experience was snapping off the landing gear and getting an earful from Slate about proper care and maintenance.

Luckily, Esker was already well established as the resident mechanic for Outer Wilds Ventures. They took one look at their ship, then one look at the sky, and decided it wasn’t worth scolding Gabbro. Instead, they took their toolbox and got to work. 

Gabbro kicked rocks up the hills on their way back to the trainee’s cabin. They’d veered off, going to their grove where no one could bother them with answers they didn’t want. That’s when they found Rheniite, practically bent in half, sobbing into their knees inside of a hollowed out tree.

There’s a few glaring differences between Gabbro and Rheniite. One of which is that Gabbro has always been too touchy for their own good, while Rheniite runs from physical affection like it is Tektite’s fish stew. That’s why it surprised Gabbro so much when Rheniite had, with no prompting, rolled over in their makeshift hammock and curled up against Gabbro’s side. They were so close, so much closer than Gabbro had ever been to anyone else their age. Rheniite was still this little, tiny thing, with eyes as big as their face and no grace in their movements. Gabbro wanted to protect them, and from that moment on Gabbro made a promise.

Rheniite had been smaller than Galena and Tephra then. Still basically a baby in their eyes, just with a mouth that ran and feet that outran their mouth. Except, Gabbro had never realized it then, but Rheniite had always just been small for their age. It’s funny now, looking back, because Rheniite towers over just about everyone in the village. 

The point of it all is that Gabbro doesn’t dwell. They don’t take the bad things in life personally. It’s not their fault that Gossan was injured, or that Feldspar disappeared, or that Rheniite was blindsided. It may be their fault for drinking Porphy’s sap wine as a hatchling, but that isn’t the point.  

It’s not their fault that the sun was exploding, and it wasn’t their fault that nothing could be done to stop it. Their friends, their family, would all die at the end of every twenty-two minute cycle, and that’s just how it was. 

Anger bubbles up Gabbro’s chest. They swallow it and look down at the wet sand. Lightning flashes, illuminating the water red. 

Rheniite doesn’t owe them companionship, or honesty, or accountability. But for once Gabbro wanted someone to see past all their smoke and mirrors. They’d thought, after all this time, that Rheniite might be able to. 

Gabbro puts their hands in the pockets of their tattered suit and watches as the cyclones come for them. How lonely does someone have to be to give their tormentors a name?

They’ve died seventy thousand times. What is one more?

What is ten more?

Or a thousand?

Back then, they’d wanted to go home. They wanted to eat Tektite’s fish stew, and listen to Feldspar’s stories, and listen to Riebeck practice on their banjo. They wanted Slate to chew them out for not washing the windows on their ship, they wanted Gneiss and Hornfels to hit them upside the head for not radioing back enough. 

They wanted to go home.   

They sobbed on the inside, the longing cutting through every last string that held them together. They couldn’t take it anymore. Being alone was worse than dying.

If only the Gabbro before it all started had given enough of a damn to go fish their ship out while they still had time. 

But that Gabbro didn’t know, and they can’t blame someone who didn’t know. 

They’d written a poem in the sand, something about longing and loneliness. They can’t remember it now. They’d cried, they think. It had been a long while since the last time they shed more than a couple tears. 

Rheniite told them once that Esker is lonely up on the Attlerock. That they feel abandoned, forgotten. That they begged Rheniite not to go every loop, after every sentence. Sometimes Rheniite felt so sorry for them that they spent entire loops just sitting with Esker, letting them tell stories and posit new theories. Sometimes they gossiped, usually about Gossan and Porphy and how hopefully it’ll be enough to pull Gossan out of the trenches of their grief.

Esker had been up on the Attlerock, to their unknowing mind, a total of five years. It had been three for Gabbro, and they’d already lost their mind. 

And then there was Feldspar. How long had they been living in that husked out anglerfish, all alone with nothing for company but their own harmonica playing?

They wonder distantly if they were really doing as well as they portrayed to Rheniite all those loops ago. 

How many had it been since they last heard Feldspar’s name out of someone else’s mouth? A thousand? Two thousand?

But they tried to remember. Even with all of their new found pessimism, there was still an undeniable truth in it all. Everyone that felt lonely and lost and abandoned had been found. Even if they didn’t remember, there was someone in this solar system that remembered them. That threw themself into the mouth of a beast just to be with them. 

Lightning flashes. Riebeck is kicking their boot on the stone, anxious. 

The cyclone is getting closer. They smile. Rheniite may have made friends with the Nomai, but Gabbro’s made friends with a small selection of the inhabitants on this planet. 

They didn’t really need a ship to get to the core. That was their plan from that moment on. They could track down the elusive counterclockwise cyclone, and swim their way right into it. They could handle it. Far worse had happened to them on this planet. 

Rheniite forgot them that loop. And the loop after that. And so many more, that Gabbro can’t remember how many passed before they heard a voice that wasn’t in their own head. 

They thought about trying to get to their ship. What was the worst that could happen?

The scream of the cyclones are loud in Gabbro’s ears. Riebeck grabs them by the collar of their suit, yanking them back into the gravity well just as the island is grabbed and thrown into the expanse of space. They climb into Riebeck’s ship, the hatch slamming closed behind them. 

Chapter Text

“What was that?” Riebeck’s voice is firm. Gabbro flinches. “That was insane. Do you have any idea how close you were to getting chucked right into space without anything to catch you?” 

It’s happened before. The same loop. The first one Rheniite forgot them. The island was grabbed and thrown into the expanse of space. There was nothing for Gabbro to grab onto. Nothing to stop them from ending up a Hearthian pancake on the same sand they tell their darkest stories to.

In the far distance, a speck in the darkness, was Timber Hearth. Gabbro held their hand out, and as they began their descent they closed their eyes. They imagined being home, writing the lines of their poem on chopped up wood with old paint Slate left out to dry. 

It was surprisingly easy. One moment they were falling, and the next they were gasping in a breath on the shore. Water lapped at their boots, in and out.

Gabbro blinks, their vision swimming. Riebeck reaches out and holds them by the shoulder.

They thought about it, swimming out and finding their ship, or maybe going underneath the current to find the tracking module. 

Instead, Gabbro grabbed their hammock and shook it out, hanging it up in the habitual way they’d long perfected. They hopped up, grabbed their flute and wiped off the sand. They brought it to their lips and played one long drawn out note, then another, and another. 

If they left that spot then Rheniite wouldn’t know where to find them. Gabbro made a promise. If Rheniite needed them, they’d be there. No questions asked, no hesitation. It was easier, better, to play their role as a quick stop to get advice before they took off again on their journey. 

“Sorry,” Gabbro whispers. They don’t think it’s enough. Riebeck is still breathing heavily, their chest heaving with each inhale. Gabbro can’t see Riebeck’s face through their faceplate, but they can imagine the emotions flitting like flashes of lightning over them. 

“I just–” Riebeck stutters. “I just can’t believe how reckless that was. You…You’ve been to this planet how many times, and you…you just sat there, and watched a–watched a cyclone come right for you! You could have died!”

Dying isn’t that special. It’s easy, if they think about it. Relaxing, at its best. For a moment, everything is dark. There’s no sound, no feelings, no smells or tastes. A blissful void between caring too much and not having to care at all. And then there was purple, and their memories flashed before their eyes, and they woke up with their boots in the shallow edge of infinite unknown, back to where they started. 

Rheniite doesn’t care if they die. They don’t care how it makes Gabbro feel to see them busted up and broken, all because they treated whatever they found with the same brash recklessness they treated everything within the time loops. They don’t care that Gabbro stayed up all night, just to make sure they were still breathing. That every time they quote-unquote, slept, it was a ruse to keep them from worrying. They don’t care that Gabbro didn’t want to leave to get this stupid statue. They don’t care that they wanted to help. They don’t care that Gabbro spent seventy-thousand loops talking to themself until they heard a voice responding back to them. 

Why does it matter what Gabbro does or doesn’t do? Rheniite can’t even bring their radio with them after they leave the medical bay and vanish. What if they left the village? What if they fell climbing the cliff face? What if they got lost, or if the rain got them sick, or if they got struck by lightning?

Riebeck puts a hand on Gabbro’s shoulder, and Gabbro flinches so violently they knock their head on Riebeck’s helmet rack. They hiss, mumbling, “Did I just break my helmet?”

“No,” Riebeck answers, patting them on the back. “Hey, Gabbro?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m–I say this with genuine concern,” Riebeck trails off. Gabbro looks at them, waiting for them to continue. “You seem…how do I say this nicely…? Constipated? But in an emotional way.”

Gabbro widens their eyes. “Huh?”

“We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Uh, yeah. We have.” Gabbro has no idea where this is going, and they’re afraid to find out.

“And I know how your face looks.” They pause long enough to pull their helmet off. “Usually, you look something like this.” Riebeck pulls their face up into an impassive, wide-eyed stare. It looks like they’re surprised. Gabbro doesn’t think they look like that ever, but if Riebeck says they do, it’s probably not that far off. “This is how you look right now.” They clench their teeth, their jaw muscles tensing up. Their eyes become lidded, gaze hard and unwavering. They’re not blinking. Gabbro scratches behind their neck and clears their throat. They have to look away.

“And? What about it?”

Riebeck sighs. “What’s wrong, Gabbro? You…well, you used to tell me everything. Now I feel like you look like this more often than not.” 

Gabbro doesn’t look at the eerily accurate rendition of their own expression. They try to relax their jaw, the joint popping as their top row of teeth separate from the bottom for the first time today. They don’t know how to explain what’s wrong. It’s not like Riebeck would be able to understand, and even if they did, it would probably send them into an existential crisis Gabbro wouldn’t know how to fix. It happened, but it’s over now. Why are you crying?

It makes Gabbro laugh. They’re imagining asking Riebeck why they’re crying when they’re the one that feels like crying. 

“I’m fine,” Gabbro says. Riebeck opens their mouth but Gabbro cuts them off. “I’m fine. Not great, not good. Fine. I’m…managing. Is that not good enough?”

“Stop snapping at me.” Riebeck straightens. “I’m worried about you.”

“I didn’t ask you to be worried about me.”

Riebeck’s eyes redden. Damn. Great. That’s just what they wanted, to actually go and make Riebeck cry. It’s enough to make a tear slip, and Gabbro wipes it away so fast the slap of their hand on their cheek echoes throughout the ship. “I’m fine.”

“I–” Riebeck trails off. The hand on Gabbro’s shoulder wraps around their back. Their lips quiver, their vision blurring. “You’re my friend. Even if you’re just fine. If you don’t…If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t make you.”

Gabbro leans until they can rest their head on Riebeck’s shoulder. “I’m, uh. Just…I’m worried?” Riebeck waits. Gabbro sucks in a shaky breath. “Rheniite. They didn’t bring their radio. And…what happens if they get hurt, and I’m not there? What if they can’t…can’t get to their ship this time, and you know. They’re alone. And I’m here.”

“There’s not a lot of places they could run off to without their ship and jetpack. Someone would find them.”

“But–” Gabbro wipes their face and laughs at the absurdity. “But if they don’t?”

“You–” Riebeck shakes their head. “I want to throw whoever made you feel this…this scared into the volcanic moon.”

Gabbro startles, their laugh genuine. “What? You, commit violence?”

“I’ve never heard you this afraid of what-ifs. You’re the one that always told me to stop crying over milk that hasn’t spilled yet.”

Gabbro’s face falls. “Yeah. Well, the milk hasn’t just spilled this time. It’s spoiled.”

“And the milk is Rhen getting hurt?”

“It is what it is, I guess.”

Riebeck shakes their head. “Your heart hardens faster than tree sap.”

They sit in silence. Finally, Riebeck continues, “It’s okay to be worried about someone you love, you know?”

Gabbro tenses. “Love?”

“Yeah. You know, love. Something you like very much. Something you have a lot of affection for.”

“I…I don’t love Rhen.”

Riebeck smiles. “Okay. It’s okay to be worried about someone you feel passively about.”

“Stop hanging out with Chert.”

Riebeck ignores them, “I didn’t know you two got along, but I must’ve missed something. The Nomai talk about love a lot, you know? Oh, I’m sorry. Passiveness towards others of their own species.” Gabbro smacks them. “Sometimes when you feel passively about someone, you feel protective of them. As if their pain is yours.”

“I just want…” Gabbro blinks, fighting away the memory of Rheniite’s hand reaching out for them as they screamed. “I want them to be okay. Is that too much to ask?”

“I think it’s only fair.”

Gabbro stares out of the cockpit. They’ve been talking so long the cyclones have circled around again. “Even if I…feel passively about them, they don’t feel the same about me.”

“How do you know?” Riebeck asks. 

“All I ever wanted was for them to find me, but they found everything else first.”

A tear slips out of Riebeck’s bottom eye. They don’t have a clue what Gabbro is talking about, but it still hits them just as hard as it hits Gabbro. 

“Then maybe they’re not worth your passiveness.”

The heel of Gabbro’s boot hits the wood of Riebeck’s ship as the island gets tossed a second time. “Maybe I still want to…maybe I don’t care if it’s worth it or not.”

“Then…it sounds like you’re pretty hopeless,” Riebeck smiles. “And that’s pretty cool. At least in my opinion.”

“It’s cool that I’m hopeless?” Gabbro widens their eyes. 

“Totally. It could be worse. Your life goal could be to chop down a tree because it wronged you as a hatchling.”

Gabbro snorts. “True.”

They wait for the island to drop, water rushing up and splashing against the cockpit window. Both of them stand, brushing imaginary sand off their pants. “What if…you know, we could pretend there were no more artifacts?”

“And wait for Hornfels to realize there are and send me back out here? No, I’d rather get it done and over with.”

Riebeck sighs. “What if I make sure the statue is secure?”

Gabbro rolls their eyes and waves, hopping out of the hatch. This time they actually intend to get farther than the shore. 

Chapter Text

FELDSPAR

“You’re staring again.”

Gossan startles, turning back to where they’d been cleaning their helmet. Feldspar blinks, a bitter smile on their face. They would stare a lot if Gossan up and vanished for years, too. 

“Sorry,” Gossan whispers. Feldspar lifts themself up until they’re sitting on Gossan’s workbench. Their hands are still, gaze locked on the diagrams of the solar system pasted to their wall. Feldspar grabs them by the chin, turning their face toward them. They’re missing an eye. And half an ear. Feldspar swallows, running their thumb over the outer edge of Gossan’s scarred skin. 

“What happened?” Feldspar doesn’t want to know. It’s been over a month since they’ve returned, and they’ve never asked. It was a busy month, anyway. Considering half of it was spent with them in a bed, and the other half was spent with Rheniite in a bed. Technically they should still be in a bed, but Feldspar saw them sneak off to the waterfall after the storm started. If they don’t come back by morning, they’ll go and search them out. Otherwise, sometimes it’s best to leave the adventurous types to their adventuring. 

Gossan purses their lips. “Slate. It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“You wore off on the astronauts you trained, you know?”

“What?” Gossan spins a pencil until it drops on the floor. Neither of them move to pick it up.

“They say the same tired excuse.”

“And you don’t?” 

Feldspar snorts, leaning back against the wall. “I’d say I’m a bleeding heart romantic. I say everything I think. For instance, did you know you’re still cute when you’re mad?” Gossan hits Feldspar so hard they almost fall off the workbench.

“You’re so aggravating.” Gossan rips the towel off the table and starts actually cleaning their helmet. 

Feldspar smiles. “I want to dance with you. What do you think? Put the work away for five minutes and have a little fun?”

Their hand drops. “We don’t have any music.”

Feldspar bends over, hanging off the side of the workbench. They smirk when they feel Gossan grab them by the belt loops. They use Gossan’s hold to pull themself back up, their signalscope in hand. “I bet either Chert or Riebeck are playing.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, before I have to dig Rheniite out of a hole they fell in or something.”

Gossan hides their face behind their hand, and Feldspar takes it until they can see that bashful look in its full glory. Feldspar hops off the workbench and pulls Gossan with them until they’re both standing. It’s been so long since they’ve last been this close. A lifetime, it feels like. Feldspar nuzzles their face into the skin where Gossan’s eye used to be, and their chest hitches with their breath. 

“Will you ever tell me?” Feldspar asks. Gossan hooks their finger around the collar of Feldspar’s shirt, pulling it down until they can see the dip where their clavicle healed wrong. They press their nose to it, their lips cold and chapped against Feldspar’s chest. 

“If you ever tell me.”

Looks like another day of wondering will come to pass. Feldspar takes Gossan’s hand and uses it to twirl them around and away from the old injury. Dark Bramble is just a story, a far gone nightmare. They’re here now, with Gossan's fingers intertwined with theirs as they spin in long strided circles around a workshop Feldspar knows like the back of their hand. They always knew they’d have this again. It was as non negotiable as surviving. 

They could ask Slate, but there’s no telling how Feldspar will react if they find out Slate is the reason Gossan got injured like this. It already makes their blood simmer. Slate is one of their best friends. The three of them were an unbreakable trio growing up. Now, Gossan has nothing to say about Slate, and Slate has nothing to say about Gossan. The last time Feldspar saw them in the same room was the day Feldspar left to scope out Giant’s Deep, and back then, they’d been bent over the same flight suit model, Gossan trying to explain why retrorockets were dangerous while Slate ignored every word they said. 

Everyone gets injured at some point. Tektite loses a leg here, Gossan an eye there. It’s the nature of the sort of work they do. What are the odds of it being Slate’s fault, and not just Slate being involved?

They want to tell Gossan everything. Out of everyone in the village, Gossan should’ve been the first they told. But Rheniite was there, and there’s something untouchable about them. Like if Feldspar were to stick their hand out and try to pat them on the shoulder, their hand would phase through. It’s a puzzle; the same sort of seemingly unsolvable mystery that led Feldspar to try and conquer the current on Giant’s Deep. Rheniite isn’t telling them something, and it’s not something as simple as the fact they enjoy sneaking out of the village. 

When Feldspar said they felt trapped, Rheniite looked at them with a knowing they’ve never felt from anyone else. An unfathomable amount of years trapped in Dark Bramble. How could Rheniite ever comprehend how that feels? And why does Feldspar think they could?

Gossan’s face gets so close to Feldspar’s they can feel their breath ghost across their chin. They say, a hand brushing over the scar on Feldspar’s cheek, “You pulled me away from my work to dance, and now you’re thinking about something else?”

“Just trying to solve a few loose ends.” Feldspar wraps their arms around Gossan’s waist, the only sound that of their boots on wood. 

“I never could keep you around for long, could I?” Gossan chuckles, their lips brushing over Feldspar’s own. It sounds resigned, but Feldspar doesn’t take it personally. They’ve known each other forever. How silly would it be if Feldspar was still hurt by Gossan pointing out the fact they’re a bit up in the air? “Where are you going next?”

“After I find Rheniite, or…?”

“Yeah.”

Feldspar ponders for a moment. “Ember Twin, probably. Rheniite told me about this cave blocked off by rocks from floor to ceiling. Figured I’d take some of Tektite’s explosives and see if I can get through.”

Gossan’s eyes flutter closed. “Stars, you just never do things by halves, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Stepping away is harder than Feldspar thought it would be, but the sun is about to rise and they haven’t seen Rheniite crawl their way back yet. The rain has slowed to a trickle, but the lightning still flashes every couple minutes. The storm might circle around again, it might not. Getting a move on now will at least guarantee they’ll keep their clothes dry for the start of their walk.

“Please don’t get yourself killed,” Gossan says, crossing their arms behind their back. “That would be really unfortunate for my work load.”

“Oh?” Feldspar leans back against the wall.

“Yeah. Who is going to fix my satellites if you’re dead?” 

“Isn’t that a job you pawn off on the trainees?” 

Gossan shrugs. “Not going to be one of those for a hot second. It’s all on you now.”

“Yipee!” Feldspar stands, twirling their finger around in a circle. “Well, I’m going to go somewhere that is not here. Away from your satellites. If you need me, don’t.”

Gossan flops back down into their chair. “Communication line three, got it!”

Feldspar totally doesn’t set their radio to communication line three the moment the door closes behind them. 

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

You feel disgusting when you wake up. 

Barring the fact your clothes are stuck to every patch of skin on your body, the humidity you’d been hoping for is now here in full force. A good trip around Brittle Hollow’s equators would feel worlds better than this. 

Peeling yourself out of the sleeping bag is horrific. Your clothes are in that in-between state where you’re not sure if they’re wet or dry, but they’re still heavy and tacky. Arms up, your legs spread apart, you take a breath and try to not have a meltdown because your pants keep getting stuck to your thighs. 

You roll up the sleeping bag and shove it back under the desk. When you don’t feel like you’re going to carve your own skin off, you’ll come back and wash it. You slip your bag over your shoulder, grab your coat from its sloppy pile on the floor…and run face first into Feldspar’s chest. 

“Morning, little rock,” Feldspar says, dropping a pile of dry clothes into your hands. You drop most of it, but you manage to keep hold of what looks like one of Gabbro’s old shirts. 

“Uh, morning?” You kneel down. A pair of tight pants, maybe-Gabbro’s shirt, socks and a jacket you haven’t seen since the last time you slept in your own room. You brush a finger over the material. It’s rough, but Gneiss and Rutile only have so much to work with when it comes to new clothing fabrics. 

“Chert had this laying out for you. Marl tossed them at me from your window.”

You purse your lips. “That was nice of them.”

“Get dressed. You look like you’re about to cry or something.”

You can’t find a good place to change. Either you’re too close to the door, or you’re too close to the photo of Gabbro. On the table is a roll of tape and the annotated photos. You take the closest one and tape it over top of Gabbro’s beautiful behelmeted face so you can finally shuck these disgusting clothes off and put on the ones Chert picked out for you.

Where you got Gabbro’s dark-blue short sleeve shirt you will never know. It’s too small for you. The sleeves are tight, the chest is tight, the waist is tight. When was the last time Gabbro could fit in this? It has to be something that came from the hatchling cabin. You slip on the new jacket overtop, zipping it up so Feldspar doesn’t make fun of you for wearing something three sizes too small. 

They’re gone by the time you step outside. The only sign that they haven’t left is the smoke wafting off the fire in the campsite. 

“Take a seat, little rock,” Feldspar says, patting the rocking chair. They pulled it forward until the toes of your boots would be nearly inside the fire if you sat down. You scoot it back a hair. “Need some help?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Feldspar stands, letting you brace against them as you sit. Lying down sucks, sitting sucks, all of it sucks. The only thing that makes you feel any better is standing and walking, but you doubt Feldspar would want you pacing the perimeter of the camp while they try to relax and roast marshmallows. 

They hold a stick out to you and you take it. They shove two marshmallows on your stick, then one on their own. Feldspar has never been a huge fan of roasted marshmallows, but they seem to dislike them even more now. They tap the fire a few times, pull the stick back and stare at the thing like it’s covered in mealworms. 

“It’s just sugar, Feldspar.” You stick yours in the fire until they’re flaming. Then, when you’re sure they’re burnt just enough, you pull them back, blowing out the fire in one big huff. 

Feldspar hums and takes a small bite. “Yum.”

“Yeah, it’s because you’re eating them raw.” You hold your marshmallows out for Feldspar. “Try it.”

“They’re black.”

“Only partially. Have you seen how Gabbro makes theirs?”

Feldspar takes the stick out of your hands. You chuckle, leaning back in the chair to watch them. They take a tentative bite, but the inside is gooey and drips all over their shirt. “This is so–”

“Eat the whole thing in one bite!”

You’ve never seen Feldspar pray, but you’re pretty sure that’s what they do before sticking the entire marshmallow in their mouth. So much drama over nothing. They barely chew, swallowing the whole thing in one giant gulp. They hand you the stick back. With tears in their eyes, they say, “Yum.”

“Whatever, more for me,” You say, looking Feldspar in the eye as you eat the second marshmallow. They turn away from you, eating their still raw marshmallow one miniscule bite at a time. “Why are you out here? I assume it’s not just to sit around with me.”

“Oh, no. If you hadn’t snuck off, I’d be on Ember Twin dealing with your rock cave.”

“Then it’s a good thing I snuck off. There are other ways of getting in there, you know?”

Feldspar leans back, crossing their arms behind their head. “When will be a good time to ask you what happened when you launched?”

You freeze. You set your stick down, and it rolls off the logs and into the dirt. “What do you mean? You know what happened. You were there.”

“I mean what happened before that. Or after. Whatever happened that made you…you know. Understand what I told you on Brittle Hollow.”

“It’s not that hard to empathize with someone, Feldspar.”

Feldspar cocks their head to the side. “Oh? I seem to recall a hatchling that looks a lot like you telling me it’s impossible to understand why Riebeck cries when they hear sad stories.”

“That’s different.”

“Or why Marl still cares about that tree when they broke their arm fifteen years ago.”

“It was nineteen–”

“Or why Gabbro runs off whenever they get overwhelmed.”

“Okay, okay,” You wave them off so they’ll hopefully stop talking. “I get it. Seriously though, every sad story? And it’s not like the tree whacked Marl off of it. And Gabbro…” You stumble. 

“Gabbro…?” Feldspar leads. 

You cross your legs, cradling your hands in your lap. “It’s easier for me to understand why someone would be different after spending so many years trapped in a place like Dark Bramble than it is for me to pretend someone kissing in the rain is worth crying over.”

“Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?”

“Well, no–”

“Then how do you know if it’s worth crying over?”

You want to throw yourself into the sun. “I guess I don’t.”

Feldspar didn’t let you finish. You were going to say not really, not straight up no. Because even if you’ve never kissed someone, there’s distinct, clear memories of you and Gabbro with your faces a little too close for comfort during the later loops. It was hard to hear over the cyclones. It was especially hard for Gabbro to hear when the sun busted their eardrums at the end of every loop. 

Your lips might not have touched, but the feeling of their hands on your face and their body against yours was overwhelming. You still don’t think it was worth crying over, but it lit you up from your toes to the top of your head. When you woke up at the campfire, you had to spend half a loop readjusting to them not being with you. 

A bitter laugh breaks the silence. You could’ve had them with you the whole time, but no. Their hammock, their relaxation scale, was more important. 

You say, “Maybe I should travel around on my own for a while.”

Feldspar sits up straight at this. “Why?”

It’s hard to explain, and you don’t feel like hearing Feldspar’s opinion. It’s easier. You don’t have to see Gabbro’s face, and hear their voice, and feel their heartbeat as they hold you before saying goodbye. Again. You’re sick of saying goodbye. “I haven’t really had the chance to visit Esker. Isn’t that tradition?”

“I think you’ve long broken tradition, hatchling,” Feldspar says. “Which, might I say, good for you.”

Gabbro won’t be back until later today. That gives you a few hours at most to pack up and go without having to explain yourself to them. You use the rocking chair to boost your momentum, standing without help. Walking off is easy. No one will remember. It won’t hurt anyone’s feelings if you cut someone off in the middle of a sentence to chase an idea that just popped into your head. 

You make it a hundred steps before Feldspar slides in front of you. You try to slide around them, but they meet you one for one, forcing you to stop. “Why are you in my way?”

“Excuse me?” Feldspar scoffs. “So you just get up and walk off in the middle of a conversation and I’m the bad guy?” 

“I have something I need to do.” You try to walk around them, but they put a hand on your chest.

“And it can wait.”

It really can’t. If you don’t get off this planet before Gabbro gets back, you’re going to have to go through the process of separating yourself from them all over again. It seems to be the way of the universe. Both of you can remember the time loops, both of you live the same nightmare, and yet you can never be together longer than a moment. Might as well cut the cord yourself. 

You look into Feldspar’s eyes, your heart in your throat. “I just want to go. Please?” 

“Hornfels never cleared you.”

“And?” You ask. 

Feldspar brushes a hand over the top of their head. They choke over their words, take a breath, and then finally say, “I’ll take the fall. Go.”

You widen your eyes. “Wait, seriously? You’re just letting me go?”

“What am I going to do about it? No one could ever stop me from doing what I wanted. You think I’m going to try and stop you?”

“I was hoping not.”

Feldspar chuckles. “I want one thing in return.”

“Okay.”

A hand on your shoulder, a hand guiding your face until you’re looking into eyes you haven’t seen since your only job was playing hide and seek. “I want you to explain to me what happened to you. Not now. Whenever you’re done locking it up in your fancy little brain box. Got it?”

You want to say no, but Feldspar is letting you leave and you can’t risk it. “Okay.”

They step aside. You take a tentative step forward, but they don’t try to stop you. You take another step, and another, and then you’re running. 

Your ship isn’t on the launch pad. There wasn’t enough room for your ship, Riebeck’s, Feldspar’s, and Chert’s to all be there at the same time. That means that you don’t have to go back through the village and risk getting stopped by someone else. You can run the perimeter of the village, your ship in sight…

Riebeck’s ship is there. Why is Riebeck’s ship there? You slow. There’s no way Gabbro’s back already. They were supposed to be bringing not just one statue back, but multiple. They would’ve needed an extra hour or two just to find the workshop. You round the last corner, trying not to make any noise. 

It doesn’t seem like anyone is here. The ropes are on the ground, still tied to the ship but without anything to hold onto. They must’ve taken the statue down. You’re good. You still made it. You sigh, turning toward the gravity elevator. Your heart comes flying out of your mouth when you see Gabbro leaning against the landing gear of your ship. 

They pretend to flick dirt out of their nail. “Hey, time buddy. Long time no talk.”

“Yeah. About that…”

They hold their hand up. “Save it.” You snap your mouth shut. “You can do your little disappearing act on Hal and Marl all you want. Did you not think I would worry when you left your radio and what? Went off exploring with a broken wrist and back and ribs and what else am I missing?”

“The ribs are fine now, according to Gneiss.”

“Shoot, my bad,” Gabbro scoffs. “Let’s just sit on the broken wrist and back for a bit, then.”

Suddenly you remember why you avoided Gabbro’s island every time you did something that might be perceived as dangerous. If you gave them a couple loops, they’d usually just be happy to see you and they wouldn’t want to waste the visit on chewing you out. 

Gabbro blinks, crossing their arms over their chest. They look up at the sky. The clouds have all gone, leaving behind a picture perfect view of Giant’s Deep. “So, you were just going to leave and not tell me?”

They sound like they’re holding back tears. You try to salvage this. “It’s not that I was just going to leave and not tell you. I was going to leave…and then tell you.”

When they laugh, it’s unfamiliar. It’s somewhere between monotone and hoarse, a sound unlike any you’ve heard them make. They look at you when they say, “You just never change, do you? Am I always going to be your afterthought? Oh, damn, I’m in the middle of the Interloper. Better tell Gabbro after the fact.”

Your mouth drops. “I’m sorry, are you always going to be my afterthought? When did you ever once try to find me during the loops?”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

Your voice levels. “It has everything to do with this.”

Gabbro shakes their head, kicking themself up to standing. They grab the ropes off the ground, rolling them back up and tossing them into the wooden boxes on the back of Riebeck’s ship. “Fine. Have fun. Tell me about it when you feel like it.”

Before you can stop them, Gabbro’s already jumped the ledge of the cliff, their foot barely touching the Observatory eaves before they’re hitting their jetpack a second time, landing with practiced ease on the village pathway. You watch them as they turn to head into the museum, and your stomach drops as your eyes catch. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Gabbro’s eyes that red.

Chapter Text

You don’t talk to them for two weeks. It’s not even close to the longest stretch of time you’ve gone without hearing each other’s voices. From the moment Gabbro walked away, you’ve been trying to come up with an excuse to see them again. You can’t go crawling back. But you can’t accept that your friendship is over, either. 

You’d been so sure this was the easy route. If you sever the tie, you could forget all about them and live your life. What does it matter what Gabbro does or doesn’t do? You have places to be, even if you’ve already been to those places a thousand times. Getting something different out of every piece of writing is easy when you have nothing better to do. 

Except, that’s not what happened. From the instant Gabbro stepped inside the museum, all you could think about was their face. And how you’re the reason it looked like it did. 

You’d thought Gabbro wouldn’t care. It’s dramatic, and you knew it was ridiculous from the get go, but the worst case scenario is always a little louder nowadays. Could anything have been worse than Gabbro finding out you're gone and actually feeling relief?

It was the only outcome you couldn’t face, so you tried to run before you had to. And now you’re here, with your back to the wall of the White Hole Station, wondering what in the stars is wrong with you. 

Saying goodbye hurts, but saying goodbye and never seeing them again is excruciating. It feels claustrophobic. All you want is for Gabbro to come knocking on the walls of the station because as much as you can’t stand being away from them, they can’t stand being away from you. But the only sound is your own breathing. They wouldn’t even know where to find you. Your ship is still twenty-nine kilometers away on Brittle Hollow. 

Your days of doing stupid things and not facing any consequences are over. This is exhibit number one. 

There’s nothing to do, so you decide to go back to the Hanging City. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen anyone, not just Gabbro. The red light on your dash blinks with an incoming call, but you ignore it. Feldspar and Gossan have been on your tail since you left. After the first day you stopped answering the calls. You get it. Gossan thinks you’re being a hatchling. Feldspar wants to know when you’re going to come back to Ember Twin so they don’t scar you by destroying your caves right in front of you. 

It’s quiet. Hollow’s Lantern is orbiting the opposite side of the planet, giving you a small window of time to slip into your shortcut within the ice without volcanic rock exploding in your face every few seconds. It takes a second for you to find it. Once you do, you head into the school district without an aim. 

You could reread Lami’s essay on festivals. Or Ilex’s on the vessel. But you’ve read them so many times you can recite them word for word. You don’t think there’s anything new to see there, so you trudge on in the hopes of stumbling across something you missed. 

Firing off your scout launcher on Brittle Hollow is a habit more than a necessity. Even during the loops the Hanging City remained at a steadfast one-hundred-percent stability despite some random moments certain pieces could slip down to ninety-nine. It’s no different now, but you still check every floor just to be sure. The Eye Shrine is the same as always. A hundred percent stable, with the same writings written in the same scrawls as the past million times you’ve read it. In the beds are the parents and beside them are their children. Tiny little bones with big, giant dreams. 

Tephra wanted you to come back. And you did, but so far there hasn’t been much to radio home about. 

You’re so stupid it makes you sick. How could you leave without saying goodbye? It’s not worth it to be the one doing the abandoning. How petty can you be? All because what? Gabbro left to do their job? Gabbro didn’t have a ship to find you with during the loops? Gabbro hasn’t called you once since you left, and probably doesn’t want to call you, either?

If you’d sucked it up for ten more minutes, you’d probably be sitting by a campfire with Gabbro burning marshmallows into embers. Instead, you’re here, wandering around a graveyard because you have a mouth and a brain that you can’t control.

Finding your way back to Riebeck’s camp is easier this time. There’s no giant gaps between one side of the bridge and the next. Except, even if you can make it where Riebeck’s camp had been during the loops, Riebeck’s supplies are packed up and gone. The only sign they were ever here at all is the dead fire and an oxygen tank leaning against the tree. 

You didn’t want to see Riebeck anyway. Might as well go back to the city. Or maybe the old settlement. It’s been a while since you’ve been there. 

There’s a strange feeling creeping up your back as you make your way back to the Hanging City. It feels like someone’s breath is ghosting across your neck. There’s no living beings to be breathing on you within twenty-some kilometers, so you brush it off as paranoia and scope out the gravity wall that’ll take you to the settlement. 

Halfway there, you hear something fall. You turn, but you don’t see anything. It sounded like…nah, you’re hearing things. It happens. Gabbro isn’t the only one that was alone so long they started hearing voices. 

You make it to the point you have to jump to the opposite wall. You make it easily, treating the change as nothing more than a ledge on Timber Hearth. A few more steps, and you hear it again. An oof! – followed by the smack of fabric. This time you’re a little less sure you’re hearing things. It doesn’t feel like you’re hanging upside down, but that is wholly dependent on your vantage point. If you turn around now, your brain will remember that it is suspended over a black hole and this process will be far less simple. 

Ignoring the sound of boots on stone behind you is a test of resilience. Making it to the end of the wall without turning around is worthy of an accolade. When your boots touch solid ground, the first thing you do is look up. 

“Riebeck?” You call. 

Riebeck startles so bad they trip, rolling right off and hitting the vertical wall with a loud smack. You watch as they tumble down, smacking their head, then legs, then head again on the gravity crystals before they land with a plop on the ground. “Ouch.”

“Uh, you okay?” You pull them up. Riebeck gives you a thumbs up and brushes a hand over their helmet. 

“Not the first time I’ve done that. Or the second, honestly…”

You nod. “Why were you following me?”

“I wasn’t following you! I was just…going in the same direction as you. Because you happened to be going the same way as me.” 

“Okay, so, I’ll see you around?”

“Well, now that you’re here, we might as well stick together, right? It’s been a while since anyone’s seen you. It’s like I’m looking at a really detailed ghost.”

“Ha, ha,” You mumble. “Yeah. Well, if you want to tag along you can. I just want to check this place out.”

“Do you know what it is?” Riebeck asks, falling into step with you. Looks like you’re really not losing them. 

“A Nomai settlement.”

It was the wrong answer. Riebeck does that thing they do when they can tell someone is lying to them. They knock their head back and scoff at the ceiling. It doesn’t bleed into their tone. “It is. It’s a surprise it’s still standing. Really makes you appreciate living somewhere like Timber Hearth.”

“Yeah,” You swallow. “Somewhere that isn’t constantly being bombarded by meteors and stuff.”

Riebeck stumbles but you keep walking. You’re on a time limit whether they know it or not. You can’t waste a single second. They end up trailing right behind you. There has got to be something you can say that gets them off your tail. 

Before you can try, they say, “So. How’s it been? All alone out in space…”

“Riebeck–”

“You and Gabbro got into a fight.”

Straight to the point, it seems. “We didn’t get into a fight. We had a disagreement. They left to finish their part of the statue job. I left to do my own thing.”

“Oh?” Riebeck tightens their gloves and rolls their shoulders back. “Actually, Gabbro said they weren’t feeling good so Hornfels sent them home. We put the statue in Hornfels’s workshop without Gabbro’s help. They really did seem sick. Their eyes were red, they were shaky…”

You hit your jetpack and jump to the next platform. “I get it, okay?” 

“Do you?” Riebeck lands beside you. You forget sometimes that Riebeck trained to be out here the same as you. “Because I don’t think you get it at all.”

“What do you know? You’ve been out here for years. When was the last time we even sat down and had a conversation?”

“I don’t know,” Riebeck says, grabbing you by the arm before you can walk away. “But it seems like we’ve had more than I remember.”

“That’s silly.” You try to shake them off. They let you go, but they follow you step for step. 

“Rhen, stop running.”

You ignore them. Riebeck has no right to lecture you. What do they even know? They’ve been out here almost as long as Chert. What had they said that first loop you met up with them? Oh, it’s you! Guess that means I’ve been out here a while. You hit your jetpack again. And again. Until you’re staring at Plume’s writing, asking for someone named Keek to return. 

They didn’t return. And you can’t stand being reminded. 

Riebeck catches up before you can make your next jump. “Rhen. Stop.”

“Riebeck, this isn’t your problem. Leave me alone. If you want to hang out, then hang out. I’m not talking about this.”

“I thought it was just a disagreement?”

You’re about to jump into the black hole. You edge to the end of the walkway and Riebeck grabs you again. Their voice is pure gravel when they say, “Rheniite.”

“It’s not like Gabbro cares!” You shove them away. “Oh, so they go running right to you when we get into a fight? Cool! Great! Go be friends without me, that’s how it always was before.”

Riebeck is seething. Their chest rises and falls so violently you feel like now is the perfect time to dive right off the ledge. Maybe you can get far enough away to avoid whatever explosion you just set into motion. They take a step toward you, and you take one back. They reach out and pull you away from the ledge, and you lose your balance as your foot catches the carvings in the floor. By the time you’ve righted yourself Riebeck is in your space again. 

“Do you want to die? Why are you…why are you doing that?”

And you don’t understand until it finally clicks. Riebeck doesn’t know about the white hole station. Why would they? They think you’re about to chuck yourself off the planet and into the black hole over a petty argument. 

“I–” You don’t know what to say.

“Fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll…I’ll just let it go. But–but what were you…You told Feldspar you’re not going to–to…”

“I’m not.”

They yell, “Then what was that?”

You throw your hands up to your head. “It doesn’t matter! If you fall, you just fall out of the white hole. The Nomai created a station for you to warp back to Brittle Hollow just in case. I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“And if you hit something on the way down?”

“Then I’ll just wait it out and the loops will–” You slam your mouth closed. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“And who are you to tell me that?”

“Your superior, Rheniite. You just launched. I have every right to report you to Hornfels.”

You stumble. This is getting so out of hand. Why can’t you ever just stop while you’re ahead? “Fine. Report me. Who cares?” It sounds a lot less intimidating when your voice wobbles like you’re about to cry. 

“Would you–” They shake their hands at their side. “Would you please just listen? I won’t report you. I just want you to hear me out.”

“Fine,” You say, leaning back against the wall with your arms and legs crossed. 

Riebeck stands right in front of you. “Gabbro does care. They care a lot.”

You chuckle. “Oh, yeah? Is that why they haven't tried to reach out to me a single time since I left?”

“A…what?” Riebeck shakes their head. “What do you mean they haven’t tried to reach out to you? They’ve called you every single day! For two weeks straight!” 

You open your mouth but only your breath leaves. Suddenly, all those unanswered blinking red lights take on a whole different meaning. “They…what?”

“Yeah. Two weeks straight. Once every couple hours the first few days. Now they call you once a day. In fact, I think they tried to call an hour ago.”

Damn. “I…I thought…”

“You thought?”

“I thought it was Feldspar and Gossan.”

Riebeck exhales. “Maybe once. The rest were Gabbro.”

“But, why? I left. I was going to leave without telling them. I–”

“They’re worried about you. Even if you’re mad at them, the only thing they care about is that you’re safe.”

You feel sick to your stomach. You can hardly think. Blood rushes from your heart to your ears, drowning out anything else Riebeck tries to say. Not only has Gabbro been trying to reach you, but they’ve been trying every single day. How long would you have tried before you gave up?

You already have that answer, and it makes you feel worse. “I’m not mad at them.”

“You should tell them that.”

“How can I just go back after all of this?” You wish there were trees here. You really want to wipe your face. 

“Rhen,” Riebeck puts their hand on your shoulder. “Nothing is forever. Nothing is ever as broken as you think it is. If Slate can fix Feldspar’s ship every time they crash it, this really is nothing!” 

“Have they, uh–” You stutter. “Have they been, you know. Sleeping okay? And eating?”

Riebeck sighs. “Honestly, Rhen? They asked Chert to take them back to Giant’s Deep before Chert knew what was up and I haven’t seen them in person since.”

“Then how did you know–”

“I answered my comms.”

You nod. Of course they did. “What about Feldspar?”

“They might have seen them.”

Looks like you’re getting your own answers. It’s only fair. Riebeck shouldn’t have to be your liaison between Gabbro and Feldspar, even if it would be far easier for you. “And you think I have any hope of getting them to talk to me again?”

Riebeck chuckles. “I’m pretty sure if you showed up right now they’d start praising the stars as deities.”

You push yourself off the wall. Six hundred meters between you and your ship. It shouldn’t be a problem to get back. “Thank you.”

“Be careful. Black hole,” Riebeck says, pointing to said black hole as if you’ve never seen it before.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“I know you do.”

Leaving that there, you turn and make your way up the pathways until you can begin your trek to the Hanging City. This time, you don’t feel anyone’s gaze on your back. 

Chapter Text

You land on Giant’s Deep two hours later. No one tries to contact you in the meantime, and no one is there to greet you upon your arrival. The lightning blinds you. The thunder deafens you. Rain splatters in long rivulets down your cockpit window. Your foot is braced on the edge of your chair, your chin pressed to the bend of your knee. Just enough pressure to keep your mind here and not thousands of kilometers away, in a whole other universe where Gabbro would be laying in their hammock, their flute pressed to their lips as they waited to see if they’d last an entire loop or not. 

If Gabbro cared about you so much back then, and if they care so much about you now, you don’t understand why they never asked to come with you. Even without a ship, even if it took a little time between Timber Hearth to here, here to wherever you were going. It would’ve been worth it. At least, it would’ve been worth it to you. 

But you’ve beaten that dead fish until it’s paste, so you might as well suck it up and forget about ever getting an answer. Gabbro has always done whatever they feel is right. Or easy. Or whatever else it is that goes through their head when making a decision. 

They’re not on their island. They haven’t been since the whole thing blew up. The cyclones are less frequent as the seasons change, but this is the first time you’ve been able to see it with your own eyes. At any time, there’s only three active cyclones and the huge one in the center. Looks like it’s true that winter is the rough season. You take back off before Gabbro’s island can get sent up. 

It takes a few revolutions to find the construction yard, but once you do, landing is simple and none of the cyclones are on this side of the planet. You take a moment to collect yourself before suiting back up. Throwing up in your helmet would be worse than groveling in front of Marl, so hopefully you keep your nerves safely settled in your stomach where they belong.

Every step feels like lead. In the past you would’ve jumped these stairs and headed straight for a gravity well. There was never enough time for a leisurely stroll on this planet. Everything was go, go, go before you end up as a pancake on the rocks. The thunder doesn’t get closer, and the rain never turns to more than a sprinkle. You keep taking your steps one at a time until there’s no more steps to take. 

Gabbro is here. They’re laying on top of their sleeping bag, still fully clothed with their suit pieces beside them. Their eyes are closed but their breathing is erratic. You can’t tell if they’re asleep or they’re just trying to pretend. When you make it five steps away, you finally see it. In their hand, pressed to their chest, is their radio. On their face are dried tear tracks. On their hands are violet spots from where they’d been picking at their scales. 

You don’t know what to do. You want to phase into the wind and cease to exist. You want to lay down beside them and wipe their face and eat every word you’ve ever said to them. You want to go back in time, to that very first loop, and tell them from the start how you really feel. 

When you can’t find it in yourself to do any of it, you walk around until you can’t see their face and settle down on the floor. You take off your helmet, gloves, and the jacket of your suit. When you lay down, you stare at the ceiling. Your hand moves until you feel the rough, fraying edges of Gabbro’s sleeping bag. You won’t touch them, but at least this is enough you know they’re not gone.

“I–” You whisper. It feels like razors in your throat. “I was…wrong. To ignore the calls.” Gabbro’s body shakes. You can hear them sniffle. “I thought…well, I thought it was Gossan. Or Feldspar. I didn’t…you know. Didn’t want them telling me I’m an idiot. Even if I was being one. I didn’t think that you’d–I didn’t think you’d even want to hear from me. Honestly. If we’re being honest. Are we?”

Gabbro’s arm moves. You think they’re wiping their face. 

You keep going, because you don’t know what else to do. “I thought…maybe you’d be relieved. You could do your relaxation stuff in the grove, and we could forget this ever happened. Life would go–go back to how it was. We weren’t…well, we weren’t close before. Why should I expect, you know. Anything different now?”

It’s quiet. It’s so quiet it makes your brain whistle. “Gabbro. I–I can’t stand saying goodbye to you. When you’re not around it’s like…I can’t really think about anything else. And that’s not, you know, how things should be. You should be able to work without…without me, uh. Panicking, and getting all in my head, and thinking it’s best to hop in my ship before you get back so I don’t have to say bye again.”

You turn, your front to their back but still too far to reach them. “But it did happen, right? So, pretending it didn’t would be a little silly. A lot. I, uh–I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to leave, so I left first. And…and it was really stupid.” You wipe your face as the sprinkles turn to rain. “I want to see you everyday. But that’s too much. I–I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just…sometimes wish we had been travel buddies. Not just time buddies. There’s so much I wanted to show you. And I never got to.”

Gabbro turns until they’re on their back. Their gaze is stuck on the ceiling. You say, “I would’ve wasted so much time just to pick you up.”

Their eyes flutter closed, their chest heaving. You scoot forward, reaching out until the tip of your finger can brush the tears off their cheek. 

“I–” They stutter. You shut your mouth and wait. “You’re such an ass.”

“I know.”

“You’re such an ass. It’s one thing to leave and cool off and come back. But you…you ignored me. For weeks.”

“I didn’t–” You take a breath. “I did.”

“What if you were dead?” They swing around until they can look at you. “What if you were dead, and I was still calling like an idiot? You think I can forget the loops? And, what? Go back to how it was before? Well, newsflash, buddy, I still remember all the times you didn’t even make it off this planet, let alone…”

They trail off. You wait until you’re sure they have nothing else to say. “What can I do to fix this?”

“I don’t know!” Gabbro shoots up to their feet. They pace around, both hands pressed over their eyes. “The last I saw you, you were still bedridden. You still have a splint on your wrist. You laid in your ship and cried for me! You were bleeding out of your ears! I thought you were done for! And then you get in your ship and take off and leave me there! Alone!”

You stand. “Gabbro–”

“You promised me!” They whirl on you so fast it startles you. “You promised me you’d be there when I came back! That I could go get that damn statue and you’d be fine. Why do you…why do you keep lying to me? Who am I to you that you can look at me and say you’ll be fine and then run off and vanish like that? Not even a month after you almost offed yourself somewhere I still don’t even know about?”

“I–”

“And Feldspar! They took the fall for you! So, what? Do I not mean anything to any of you? Am I just some throwaway afterthought to everyone?”

“Gabbro, stop–”

“I was alone for three years! I can’t take it anymore!” Gabbro’s panting, their hand over their chest. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to lose my mind again. I just want people to tell me where they’re going. I just…”

You reach out and pull them to you. They stop breathing. Stop talking. You wrap your arms around them and say, “You’re the only…the only one. Okay? I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“I was scared,” Gabbro whispers into the crook of your neck. “You can’t come back this time.”

You push them by the shoulders until you can look each other in the eyes. “I’ll always come back.”

They nod and lean their head back on your shoulder. You can feel their breath as they inhale, deep and shaky. As they exhale, quick and final, it feels like relief. 

“Rhen?”

“Hm?” You wrap your arm around and cup the back of their neck. For a moment, you think you feel the ghost of their nose beneath your ear. 

“Can you show me? All of the things you would’ve during the loops.”

Your smile is so wide it’s painful. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

Helping Gabbro pack up their sleeping bag is surreal. For a second, you can’t believe it. You’ve imagined it for years. The moment when Gabbro finally looks at you and says, “show me the universe” and you say yes without a moment’s hesitation.

They help you put your suit back on. Not that you need it, anymore. But it helps with the wrist and the longing and everything else. Their hands stay a moment longer than needed after tightening your gloves, and for some reason your heart flutters, even long after they’ve stepped away to suit up themself. 

Once everything is packed away in your ship, you close the hatch and settle down in your chair. Gabbro seems like they don’t know where to sit. You point at the ledge with the gravity crystal. “So you don’t go flying away if we hit some turbulence.” 

They settle down. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” You smile, breaking the atmosphere just as the cyclones circle around. You’re not going far, but you’re going somewhere Gabbro’s never been before and that’s enough. 

You hover over the dark shadow on Giant’s Deep’s pole and head back down. They hum and ask, “Did you forget something?”

It makes it all that much better when you break the cloud surface and the Tower of Quantum Trials comes into view. Gabbro jumps right off the ledge and comes to stand beside you. Their eyes are wide behind their faceplate. You reach out and pat them on the arm. “What do you think?”

“This was here the entire time?”

“Yep. And it’s right up your alley, buddy.”

Gabbro lets you go first. They’re tentative, taking in their surroundings as if they’ve never seen anything quite like it. As far as you know, they haven’t. Weren’t Feldspar and Riebeck the only ones to have seen the Tower of Quantum Knowledge? And of anything, what else could possibly compare?

It was probably a little dumb to bring them here when they don’t know any of the quantum rules, but who says you have to get through everything today? As long as they’re curious, and they have things they want to answer, they won’t get bored and want to go back to their hammock on Giant’s Deep.

The first thing they do is step up to the edge of the shore, their head slowly mapping the inner walls of the massive cyclone. You wait for them, leaning back against one of the broken pillars. When they turn back around, they catch you instantly, as if they already knew where you’d be. “This is insane.”

“I know, right?”

They take notice of the pathway, but instead they kneel in front of the pool of water first. They stick their hand in it, trace patterns into the broken surface of the water. When they’re done, they shake their glove dry and come to stand beside you. “I don’t see anything alive in there.”

“No jellyfish this time.” You smile, pushing them toward the pathway. “No chance of us getting booted into the exosphere, either.” 

You’re forced to walk single file as the path narrows. Gabbro stays a step behind you, trusting that you know where to go. It’s not as if there’s several different paths to take, but you’ve been here a hundred times more than any other Hearthian. It feels good to show the way for someone else, for once. 

The thunder is loud as you traverse the corridor. Gabbro startles, their footsteps faltering behind you. Reaching back, Gabbro grabs onto your sleeve for a moment before instantly letting go. You turn around just as the ceiling breaks away again. “Nothing can catch us here. I promise.”

Gabbro nods. “Okay.”

Around the last corner is the entrance to the tower. You lead Gabbro up to the writing, pulling them close to your side so they can read everything themself. Their eyes travel quickly over every word, and you struggle to keep up with whether they’re still reading it the first time or whether they’ve hit the point of repetitive rereads. 

“Quantum journey?”

“Yeah, you know your fancy rock friends?”

Gabbro widens their eyes, “Uh, yeah?”

“Well, there’s a lot of science that goes into that, but this was closer and I didn’t want you getting bored. This is where all of the Nomai went to learn how to land on the quantum moon.” 

“And this was sitting in my backyard the whole entire time.”

You nod. It would be so nice to see Gabbro’s face right now. It’s been too long since you’ve last seen them in awe of something. “We don’t have to see everything today. It’s complicated to get through it, so if you get stuck I can always finish it for us and–”

“Oh? You think I’m not up for a challenge?” Gabbro steps back until they’re one step away from the elevator. “Why don’t you try keeping up with me?”

You hold up your translator tool. “What are you going to do without this?”

“Uh, use my brain?” Gabbro waves. “See ya, sucker.”

Stars, they’re so insufferable. You watch them go and give them a bit of a head start. They’ll be there when you get up, you’re sure. It took you a solid few minutes to figure out where to start, after all. 

Except, when you do finally land in the first room, they’re gone. You scoff. Out of all of the travelers, you thought only you and Feldspar were dumb enough to jump into random holes and hope for the best. You don’t need to read the writing. You already know what it says, and you’ve already broken the rule. You know how to mitigate having two people here anyway. As long as one of you isn’t looking at all, the other can still get the full experience. 

By the time you make it to the first arch puzzle, Gabbro is already staring and slowly making their way up the steps. They wave at you, and you wave at them, but you’re not sure if they saw you or not. They step up to the hole beneath the archway and give you a thumbs up. “See? Who needs your fancy translator tool?”

“Wait until you get to an actual hard puzzle.”

“Copy.” 

You think they wink at you, but you can’t tell. Before you can make fun of them for it, they’ve already hopped down.

“Weirdo.”

It’s not very fun to piggyback off of Gabbro’s work, so you blink and let the archway move a few times before hopping back down. By the time you get to the island shard, Gabbro is gone again. You jump down and meet them in the next room. This time you keep your eyes closed the instant your feet touch the ground. 

“How’s it going?” You ask, holding your hand out so you can find a wall to lean against. Someone takes your hand and leads you to sit on a set of stairs. 

“Why are your eyes closed?”

“Because I’ll mess up the game if I keep them open, obviously.”

“So it really does have to do with keeping an eye on it…” Gabbro hums. Their footsteps get further away. “But the gravity is too strong to get up onto the ledge, and you can’t see things through walls.”

“Sounds like you’re on a good path.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see a solution.”

You hum and hold up your translator tool. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“Yeah, no. You keep that fancy piece of machinery away from me. Only wimps need hints.”

Gabbro may not be perceived by the village as the smartest of the astronauts. Or the general populace, really – but after all this time, you’ve started to understand them a little better. They’re good at things they care about, and when they don’t care about things, they don’t put any effort into them. Not only that, they’re competitive. Like, really, really competitive. Marl levels of competitive, if given enough time. They’d rather not play a game at all than play a game and lose. 

That meant that Gabbro never played games with them growing up. They never played tag, or sticks, or Chase Riebeck Around The Village Until They Were Crying Clinging To Tektite’s Leg. For a long time you thought Gabbro just didn’t like any of you. Then you thought they were boring. Then you, like everyone else, just thought they were lazy. But then, out of nowhere, Gabbro sat down with you and played a game of marbles, and you’re pretty sure they treated that game of marbles like it was life or death. You lost, and you can’t remember if it was intentional or not. Either way, you vowed to never play another game with Gabbro ever again. Not even if it really was life or death. 

It looks like Gabbro never grew out of it. You lean back against the stairs and cross your arms behind your head. You might be here for a while. 

Except, not a minute later, you hear the sound of their scout launcher firing. You peek your eyes open. If they got it right, whether you watch or not doesn’t matter anymore. They click the image a couple times before rounding the corner. You close your eyes. You’d rather hear their success than see it. Watching makes it feel a little like cheating. 

“Ha! I told you I didn’t need your fancy gadget! See you later, my time pebble.”

They jump down just as you open your eyes. “Don’t forget to recall your scout!”

Their scout vanishes. You laugh so hard it makes your stomach hurt. 

Gabbro seems well and truly stuck on the next one, but even reading the writing didn’t help you the first time around. About now is when you got booted back to Timber Hearth by the Ash Twin Project, so you’d ended up skipping out on trying to finish the puzzle off for several hundred loops. By the time you remembered this place existed, you think you’d already managed to land on the Quantum Moon at least once. (Admittedly, it might have been an accident.)

“So, I understand the crystal is what gets you to the top of the platform, right?” Gabbro says. “And you use the scout to keep track of the archway. But the crystal is never on the same wall.”

“Wow, you really don’t need my fancy gadget. Go on. Keep talking.”

“Well, the gravity is too strong to get from one archway to the other. So…what now?”

“Do you want me to tell you or–”

“No, that ruins it.”

You nod and motion them along. Keeping your eyes closed, you listen as they fire off their scout a couple more times, then as their boots smack the ground as they jump off different platforms. Once, they even jump right over your head and fall directly in front of you. You reach out and grab them by the neckline of their suit to keep them from face planting. “You want your visor to look like Feldspar’s?”

“Would it make me look cooler?”

“It would make you look reckless.”

They chuckle. “I finally get to be part of the group.”

All you ever had to do was ask, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. 

After a couple more tries, you hear them scoff. “Oh, duh.”

You never realized how silly you must’ve looked walking up the wall backwards, but Gabbro makes it to the top and down into the next room before you can take your time and appreciate it. They don’t recall their scout right away. You wait to see how long it takes them. 

“It’s like they have the memory of a fish,” You chuckle. Finally, three or four minutes later, their scout vanishes. “About time. Didn’t think it would ever be my turn.”

The last trial is perhaps your least favorite out of all of them. It’s not that it’s complicated, it’s that you also have the memory of a fish and you have to rework your brain every time you get here. What do you take the picture of? What do you just have to stare at and hope for the best? You don’t know, Gabbro doesn’t know, Bell and Solanum probably didn’t know. Avens surely didn’t know. But they all made it through regardless, the same way you did. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. (Or at least a large pool of water, but that’s for later.)

Gabbro looks at you with their arms wide. “I have fallen off this wall at least seven times now.”

“Is it my turn to try, then?”

“Absolutely not.” 

You creep up on them, and they watch you with their eyes wide. You jump, landing on the wall where the gravity crystal is still kindly allowing you to not smash your face on the floor. Gabbro guffaws, reaching out and grabbing at you to try and pull you back down. You say, backing just out of reach, “Nuh uh. If you’d read the plaque at the beginning, you’d know we’re not supposed to do this with friends. Close your eyes and turn around.”

Gabbro hops up onto the wall with you. “No way. Get down!”

You don’t. You hold your arms up and back up, leaving your scout launcher hooked to your belt. You don’t think you’re making it any higher, but baiting Gabbro into a game you’ve never played with each other is worth the inevitable end to the stand down. They swipe out at you, and you back up and lose the hold of the gravity crystal. You slip down the wall, Gabbro crashing down right beside you. 

“Ouch,” They mumble. You reach out and flick them on the shoulder before jumping up and out of the way of their swiping hand. They stare at you curiously, as if they have no idea what you could possibly be doing. You knock your head side to side, goading them forward. Finally, it clicks, and they laugh at the ground and clamber back to their feet. “You really think you can win?”

“I can always try,” You say, skipping backwards with the help of your jetpack. They chase you, and just like when you were hatchlings, you let them win without ever even trying. They grab you around the waist and lift you off the ground, turning you around until you’re being walked to the other side of the room. “You know, this is totally not cool.”

“Don’t worry, no one’s here to see.” 

They plop you down and take off, jumping right onto the wall. They fire their scout and point it at the first of the crystals, and you watch as they spin in circles just to mess with them a little. You close your eyes when you start to hear them grumble, and that’s when you hear the scout recall, launch, and Gabbro crumble to the floor again.

“I do not understand.”

“I do, but I’ll let you figure it out since you want to be all badass and independent.”

You don’t have to open your eyes to feel Gabbro’s glare. After a couple more tries, you hear the scout launch and you don’t hear them fall. The scout returns, relaunches, and they make it to the top of the wall with a loud whoop. “I told you!”

“You told me,” You say, lifting yourself off the ground. “Don’t run off without me this time! I want to finish it with you.”

“Didn’t you say we weren’t supposed to be here with friends?”

You smile, finishing the puzzle in moments. “Just the trials. The trials are over now.”

“We did it?” Gabbro asks. 

You pat their shoulder. “You sure did, buddy.” They smile at you so gently it makes you sick. “Go on. You first. I’ll be right behind you.”

They jump, and you jump right behind them. They’re waiting for you just outside of the elevator. You wave them forward and step up in front of the last bit of writing. They lean over your shoulder to read. 

We offer our congratulations! You’ve learned the rule of quantum imaging. Take this knowledge with you on the remainder of your quantum pilgrimage. 

Remember, the other quantum shards have other lessons to teach.

Our curiosity goes with you on your journey. You walk in the footsteps of those who came before you, and your path guides those who will follow later.

“Quantum pilgrimage. What does that mean?” Gabbro asks. 

“Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to find out yourself?”

Gabbro opens their mouth and closes it. They rock on the heels of their boots, tap a few times on their hip. “Maybe I want to figure it out on my own.”

“Maybe?” You step up to the last drop. Gabbro meets you. 

“Maybe.”

You shake your head and reach out for them. Gabbro looks between your face and your hand with wide eyes. “Well?” 

Their hand slips into yours. 

“Ready?” You ask. 

“If I say no will it matter?”

“Nope.”

“Then ready as I’ll ever be.”

You take a couple steps back, bringing Gabbro with you. “On one, ready?” 

Gabbro looks decidedly not ready, but they count down with you regardless.

“Three,” You say.

“Two?” Gabbro mumbles.

“One.”

You jump. Gabbro’s hand stays in yours until both of you slam into the water, sinking to the very bottom of the pool. You turn your gaze around until you see them already looking at you. With your arm around their waist, you boost with your jetpack until you break the surface. It takes a little trial and error, but eventually both of you manage to crawl your way up onto the bank. Gabbro flops onto their back, a hand on their heaving chest – and even if you’re not currently having a heart attack, you still lay back with them. 

They start laughing out of nowhere, and you laugh because it’s been so long since you’ve heard such a carefree sound out of them. They scream, wipe water off their visor, and then look at you. “That was insane.”

“Did you like it?”

Their laughter dies, but their smile doesn’t. “Yeah. I did.”

“Was the drop too much?”

They shake their head. “Nah. I’m glad you…you know. Held my hand. I think I might’ve drowned otherwise.”

“Nah. I’ll never let you drown.”

The lightning flashes, thunder roars. Gabbro rolls to their feet and you follow one step behind them. By the time you make it back to your ship, your suit is almost completely dry. You say, afraid of the answer, “So. What now?”

If they say they want to go back to the construction yard, you might freak out. But they don’t. They lean against the landing gear and say, “Well, are we not seeing the rest of this pilgrimage?” 

Of course. How could you have forgotten? “Alright. Start ‘em up, I’ll be up in a second. Just gotta fix something real quick.”

Gabbro gives you a thumbs up and heads into the ship. You take your time alone to bend over at the waist and scream silently into your hands.

Chapter Text

Every day that passes is a little different. It’s been a month since your trip to the Tower of Quantum Trials, and even if Gabbro still hasn’t asked to go to the Quantum Moon, they’ve seen everything you can get to without it falling conveniently into the black hole. Every shard, every rock, every piece of writing left behind by Solanum on her journey. You’ve avoided showing them Solanum’s ship. You want them to have the full experience if you ever do end up showing them the Quantum Moon. 

You’re nearly finished showing them the Hanging City. After this, you think it would be interesting to show them the black hole forge, but that requires being on time for the sand on Ash Twin giving you an opening, and the way things are going, you might miss your chance if you don’t book it right this second. Gabbro seems just fine taking things day by day, even if that’s never been your style. They seem to like learning about the Nomai and their culture. Or at least, they enjoy the quiet. Either way, you’re just happy they’re here at all. 

The argument you had on Giant’s Deep hadn’t been the last of them, but you’ve been careful to not set off any more landmines. Gabbro doesn’t like being kept in the dark about anything. They want to know where you’re going, how long it will be, and whether there’s any chance of you returning with a limb hanging off. It’s not as if you’ve gone anywhere especially dangerous. Most of the time you need a second to cool off, and Gabbro’s otherwise occupied anyway. Riebeck is still on Brittle Hollow, and they have no problem showing Gabbro the difference between clay used for pottery and clay used for bed frames. 

Only once did you leave the planet without telling them, and that was to check on the progress of the Bramble seed back on Timber Hearth. When you realized there was no progress, you turned around and left. It’s not like there’s anything you can do that treekeepers can’t. 

As soon as you finish showing them the Eye shrine, or the black hole forge if you can make it there, you’ll have to find something else to keep them occupied so they don’t want to go back to Giant’s Deep, or to their grove. You’re terrified that once you stop being interesting, or once the things you’re showing them become boring, they’ll have no reason to talk to you anymore. 

Riebeck thinks you’re dramatic, which is rich coming from them. Feldspar also thinks you’re being dramatic, and even if they’re not one for calculated risk taking (just risk taking), they’re still not exactly up in their head about emotional matters. They’re not going to wallow in self pity unless it's deserved. And not even then. So maybe you are being quick to the draw, but it’s not like you’ve had the luxury of taking things days at a time since you were actually twenty-two. 

You really like Gabbro being around, and you really want them to stay. If that means planning out every move like you’re hosting a never ending tour across the Outer Wilds, then it is what it is. 

Maybe…no. That’s stupid.

But is it?

You make it back to Riebeck’s camp with Gabbro on your heel. They settle down by the fire and Riebeck wastes no time tossing them a cup. There’s tea boiling in a pot over the fire, steam billowing out of the spout and making the camp smell like flora and berries. Looks like you’re not drinking any of that. Gabbro smells it, too. They jump up and grab another pot and a packet of loose leaves, sprinkling them in and dumping a full can of water over them. Since there’s nowhere else to hang the pot, they hold it over the fire. 

“You don’t have to do that,” You say, but Gabbro waves you off.

“It’s a good way to zone out.”

You smile. “Like roasting coffee beans, right?”

“Exactly! See, you get me.”

You do. At least, it’s getting easier. Gabbro’s gaze trails off as the water heats up in the kettle. Their pupils get smaller, then wider. You wonder what they’re thinking about. Maybe they’re going through their day, or maybe they’re not thinking about anything at all. No matter what it is, you hope it’s something good. 

The berry tea whistles, and Riebeck pulls it off the hook to pour into their own cup. They motion for Gabbro’s, and Gabbro leans over the fire so Riebeck can pour them half tea, half sugar cane syrup. It makes you sick, but Gabbro loves sweet things. You watch their face as they take a sip. There’s a twinge to their lip, but they still nod their thanks to Riebeck. Too much or too little. You’ll have to figure out which. 

“So, what are your plans?” Riebeck asks, still blowing on their tea. It’ll be an hour before they take a single sip if they wait for it to completely cool off. “Switching planets, or are you still going to try and get to the forge?”

You look out at the vast expanse of space. You have an idea, but you don’t think it’s very wise. Going back there doesn’t appeal to what’s left of your survival instinct, but maybe with others, there will be less of a chance you’ll go careening into another rock. Or at least, if you do, someone will be there to fish you out of the water. 

But it’s new. And you still have so many unanswered questions. There’s still something locked up on that ship. There’s still a language you can’t hope to understand, written by beings that share no relation to your species or the Nomai. Isn’t it worth it to go back even if it’s just to satiate your curiosity? 

The tea Gabbro made for you whistles, and before you realize there’s a warm cup in your hands. Gabbro sticks the tip of a clean wooden spoon in the bowl of sugarcane syrup and stirs it in your cup. They push it forward, asking you to try it. It’s still hot, so you blow on it a few times before taking a cautious sip. It burns your lip, but it’s perfect. “Thank you.”

“No need,” They say, licking the rest of the syrup off the spoon. You roll your eyes. 

“I have an idea of where to go next,” You say, staring at your reflection in the tea. “It might be a group excursion, though. At least, I’d like for it to be.”

“Oh?” Riebeck scratches at the back of their neck. “Does that include me?”

“Only if you want it to,” You answer. 

“Does it involve a lot of flying?”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty uncharted territory.”

Riebeck clears their throat and finally takes a sip of their drink to avoid saying anything else. Their left eyes flinch closed as the tea burns their mouth. 

“Anyway,” Gabbro chuckles. “What do you have in mind, pebble?”

You grab a stick from the pile beside you and hand it to Gabbro. They take it and one of the marshmallows out of the open can to their left, and they look you right in the eyes as they stick the whole thing directly into the center of the fire. You say, “I think it’s…evaporated.”

“Two more seconds.”

You wait, and then Gabbro pulls charcoal out of the fire, blows on it a couple times, and swallows it right down. You swallow with them, just to keep from gagging. “Hope that was worth it.”

“Always. Now, where are we going?”

Where are we going? You press beneath your bottom right eye and take a breath. “You remember that glitch in the deep space satellite? And the whole, you know, broken everything thing?”

“Unfortunately,” Gabbro says, taking a large gulp of their tea. They pointedly look away from your still splinted wrist.

“Well, barring the whole hitting a rock at mach speed thing, it was a really cool place and it’s completely uncharted territory. What do you think? You, me, and not Riebeck go check it out? We can even trick Feldspar into it so they stop blowing up the caves on Ember Twin.”

Gabbro is quiet for a moment. You’re about to take it back when they say, “Okay. On one condition.”

“Hit me.”

“I get the sleeping bag with actual padding left this time.”

You scoff. “It’s not my fault you don’t take care of your supplies!”

They pout their lip. “Fine, I’ll stay here with Riebeck…”

“Oh, cut it out. As if that’ll work on me.”

It might, but you’re not going to say it out loud. Clearly there’s something about your tone that suggests it regardless, because they slam down another stick of glorified ashes with a smile. You reach out and knock them upside the head. They pretend to bite your hand. All is well in the universe.

Riebeck doesn’t leave with you. You hadn’t expected them to, but parting is bitter sweet. You still haven’t talked much since they called you out right in front of Plume’s writing, and no matter how much you want to apologize, you don’t think you have it in you to be the one to initiate the conversation. If Riebeck is fine letting bygones be bygones, then you’ll have to be fine with it, too. 

“We going to get Feldspar first?” Gabbro asks. You step into the elevator first, instantly moving to rid yourself of your suit pieces. Gabbro gently deposits themself on the floor behind you, spins themself around, and plops right onto the ledge that holds the gravity crystal. A perfected dance, if you say so yourself.

“Yeah, figure if we tried to call they’d pretend they’re too busy. I’ve already told them they’re not moving those rocks. I can’t imagine why they’re still so insistent.” You toss your gloves into a heap on the floor and drop bonelessly into your chair. 

“You think they can sit still until they’ve discovered something you haven’t?” Gabbro smirks, crossing their legs. They lean back, pillowing their head on their arm.

“Yeah, well, I wish them a lot of luck with that one.”

Gabbro laughs this time. It makes your chest warm. There’s very little that you enjoy more than hearing Gabbro laugh and mean it.

“So,” Gabbro says. You hear them shuffling around behind you. If you were to look back, you know you’d see them making themself at home in your hatch, legs up and boots kicking at your suit pieces, head pillowed in the bend of their elbow. You need to stitch them a pillow. Or at least swipe one from your old room on Timber Hearth. “What even is behind those rocks that’s so important?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I think it’s a different way into the anglerfish cave, but I could be wrong.”

“And you told Feldspar you could be wrong, or that it’s for sure a way into this anglerfish cave?”

You sigh. “If I had told them I was a hundred percent positive, would we be having this conversation right now?”

“I guess not.”

With your autopilot set on Ember Twin, it gives you the freedom to stand and stretch out your spine. While your ribs have fully healed, your back is still giving you trouble. According to Tektite it’s a lifetime commitment once you’ve knocked your spine out of alignment, but you’re hoping they’re just old and being dramatic. It would figure the first injury you get outside of the time loops would be one that sticks to you like dried sap.  

“When was the last time you think Feldspar’s been home?” Gabbro asks, knocking their boot into yours. You kick them back. 

“According to Gossan? A couple days ago. According to everyone else? They haven’t been home since their ship was repaired.”

“That’s bold,” They say. You hear their stomach growl, but they ignore it. “You really think Feldspar wouldn’t have a thousand and two things to say about their time on Dark Bramble to anyone with ears?”

You step over Gabbro’s bent wacky form. On the top shelf is your can of marshmallows, and to get to it, you have to climb up the bottom shelves like some sort of makeshift ladder. Gabbro watches all of this with poorly hidden amusement. You grab the can and hop down. Gabbro is still watching you, and yet they still fumble when you toss the can to them. 

“Thanks?”

“No problem.” 

Gabbro takes their time opening the can. You hop over them this time, landing back in your chair just in time. You can already see the red haze as you skim right past the sun’s horizon. Once you’re out of the sun’s gravitational pull, you respond to their previous statement, “I don’t think so. I mean, have we been telling elaborate campfire stories?”

They hold a marshmallow up above their head, grimacing. “My story isn’t as exciting as yours. What would I even have to say?”

Gee, wouldn’t you like to know. If Gabbro were to settle down in front of the campfire at home, three cups of wine down and Spinel salivating at their feet, you’d be the first to shove them out of the way so you can hear everything the instant the words leave Gabbro’s lips. To have traveled together like this for months, to have slept in the same bed every night for yet a month before that, to have shared the time loops and the burden of the Ash Twin Project for years before even that…Why does it feel like you’re still the only person who looks at Gabbro and sees a mix between a solid Hearthian and a ghost?

“You know,” You say, and you know it’s lighting a match. You’ve already thrown it before you can even think of blowing out the flame. “It would be nice to get a straight story out of you. What did happen with you during the loops?”

Gabbro’s face changes instantly. You’re forced to look away as your autopilot slows, but you can still see them in the reflection of your cockpit window. Their smirk is scathing, leaning on mocking. Yeah. How dare you ask for some answers after all this time pretending you don’t need any?

“And when do you plan on telling me more than just the fancy, guess what I found? – bits, oh pot?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know, oh kettle. When do you plan on telling me anything?”

Except, oh right. There’s nothing to tell. Because they got to hang out in their hammock, and you had to piece together the end of the universe. You’d forgotten that bit for a second there.

Chapter Text

 Gabbro exhales, and so do you. They throw a marshmallow at your head and you catch it just before it can hit the ground. It’s not worth it. Answers or not, you need them around. You always have. From the day Feldspar disappeared and they found you, Gabbro has been your center. Without them, you’re like a supernova. Waiting for everything to get heavy enough you collapse in on yourself. 

You can live without them, maybe. You just don’t want to. 

You land just beside the escape pod. You see Chert’s fire in the distance, still burning away even so long after this whole thing was…fixed? You aren’t sure if fixed is the right word. You’re still not even sure if this is real or just some elaborate dream concocted by the Eye. You look at Gabbro, still laying in the hatch, and you think they assuredly look real. 

You get up and kick them in the hip. It looks like you’re telling them to move, but you just wanted to make sure they’re solid.

“Rude,” They grumble, crossing their arms over their chest.

“It was that or letting you drop. Which would you prefer?” You ask, grabbing your suit and throwing the pieces on. Gabbro looks you dead in the eyes, puts their helmet back on, and hits the button for the hatch. You watch, absolutely tickled, as the elevator slowly settles them down onto the planet’s surface. They cross their arms above their head and their legs to boot, meaning you now have to wait for them to move so the elevator will reactivate, or you can have fun and just jump down. 

Mindful of the fact your back is giving you a bit of grace, you brace your hand on the wood before hopping out. Gabbro squeaks and rolls as you land right where their stomach had been not a few seconds before. 

“I thought we were buddies?” Gabbro grumbles, covered in red dust. 

“We are. You’re not even going to give me a score for that landing?” You grab Gabbro’s hand and pull them to their feet. You help them smack some of the red dust off their legs, not wanting it to set in and ruin the white patches on their pants. 

You let your hands linger a little too long, forcing yourself to really acknowledge that Gabbro’s leg is solid beneath your hand. That their chest is moving with their breath. That their heart is beating, even after you’ve startled it silly. Gabbro is alive. Gabbro is here. This isn’t a dream. 

“Uh, you okay?” Gabbro is tense now, and you pull your hand away like you’ve been burned. You can’t laugh, but you surely scratch at the neck you can’t reach. 

“Yeah, totally fine! Why? Are you okay?” Smooth. Really, really smooth. 

“Yes…Uh, anyway. Feldspar is, well, I guess you’ll have to tell me.” Gabbro is already walking away, and you feel like digging yourself a very nice hole and burying yourself alive.

“This way.” You walk like you’re trying to outrun an anglerfish. Gabbro has to take longer strides to keep up with you, almost a light jog. You forget sometimes that you’re almost as tall as them now, just a little taller than when this whole thing ended. 

You hit your jetpack’s thrusters, your foot touching the ground just long enough that you can throw yourself off the ledge into the lower floors of the escape pod. You hit the last ledge and push, your feet finally touching down on red dust half covered by ashy sand. 

Gabbro joins you a moment later, sounding out of breath through your short range comms. “Didn’t know we were racing. Warn me next time, okay?”

“How would I leave you in the dust if I warn you?” You flick them on the helmet before walking in the direction of Feldspar’s newest haunt. Gabbro kicks a rock at the back of your boot, and you kick it right back without even looking. 

“Yeah, should’ve figured out you don’t play fair when you and Marl were quote-unquote, playing tag, but really you just ran off and climbed one of those giant trees and hid for an hour.” Gabbro kicks the rock back. You step on it, kick it up once, and then hit it back with the back of your boot. Little things you’ve picked up when the minutes felt like hours. You don’t remember being this coordinated before. 

“And what about you pretending to stretch, but really you were hiding marbles behind your back?” 

“That’s neither here nor there.” Gabbro kicks the rock back. 

“Hmm, I think it is. But regardless, no one ever said you had to be running the whole time.” You kick the rock up, then back to Gabbro. They catch it on the top of their boot. 

“Isn’t it implied?” Back to you.

“If something is implied, doesn’t that leave room for miscommunication?” And back.

“Maybe that’s why things should be said plainly from the start.” 

You smirk. “And if the water is already too murky?” 

“Better get the limestone.” They turn, kicking the rock backwards. You don’t wait for them to face you before kicking it again. They catch it anyway.

“And once the water’s clean?” Back. 

“Maybe I’d leave it alone.” And forth. 

“And why is that?” Back…

“Because some things are obvious and better left unsaid.” Gabbro steps on the rock. You slow your steps until the two of you are looking at each other, the sound of sand smashing the rocks above you the only sound left in the cavern. 

Gabbro is the pot, and you can’t help stirring. 

“You’d be surprised how many things come together when your intentions are clear,” You say. Gabbro’s stance changes minutely, their hands twitching at their sides. 

They say, terse and exasperated, “So, that means you’re going to stop speaking in codes and hypotheticals, then?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” You turn on your heel and walk toward where you last remember the rock wall being. You’re sure if Feldspar was still here they’d have come out to say something, but it’s quiet other than Gabbro’s breathing and the falling sand. 

Gabbro kicks the rock back to you. You stop, look down at it, and roll it under your boot. Gabbro is the most non-confrontational person you’ve ever met. They have to be uncomfortable being confronted like this. Besides, how can you of all people get upset at the idea of someone being pragmatic and dishonest with their words?

Gabbro is the pot, you’re the kettle. 

You kick the rock back. You hear Gabbro sigh. 

The two of you walk several steps away from each other. It’s uncomfortable. The space between you feels more claustrophobic than the sand building up under your feet as you go. You watch as it rises, visions of past loops swirling through your mind. You see them, in bold lines and bright color, all those times you waited a second too long and paid the price. 

You freeze. Gabbro stops those several feet behind you, and that is worse than the memories. Those flashes are long gone, a person you don’t remember the starring character in an oral story passed down and warped and whispered into the wind. Gabbro is here. Gabbro is real. Unless they’re not, and this is all fake, and everyone but you is gone. 

“Rhen?” Gabbro’s hand is on your arm. Solid, warm, real. You grab their wrist and squeeze. Your center. The one person that can still ground you when everything gets too heavy. 

You have got to get a grip. And not on Gabbro, on yourself.

“I’m good.” You let go. 

“When will you stop lying to me?” Gabbro drops their hand and walks away. You stare at their back. You’ll be honest when Giant’s Deep loses its cyclones. The same day Gabbro will be honest with you.

You round a corner and that’s when you hear it. The sound of someone hacking away at rock that’s insistent on never budging. Gabbro slows, but when you’re almost caught up, they speed up. It’s funny. Your back hasn’t hurt this entire time, but a shock of pain travels up your spine and into your head. 

“You know, I did tell you there’s another way to get into that cavern, right?” You say as you see Feldspar’s silhouette in the darkness. They stop axing away at the rock and look up at you.

“Hey! Good to see you. Did you come to help or are you just here to yap?” Feldspar asks, leaning over their ax to stare at you. Their eyes trail curiously over you and Gabbro, their forehead wrinkling in curiosity. You ignore the silent question for your own best interests. 

“In fact, we’re here to kidnap you. Come on, we’re going exploring.” You take the axe and toss it in the corner. “Did you not notice the sand? It’s time to go anyway.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve got it timed to the millisecond, little rock. I got this.” Feldspar does a fantastic show of how much they have this when they turn a little too fast and have to hold their head in their hands. You watch, arms crossed. Gabbro settles against the wall and starts twirling their flute. “Both of you were never very bright. Stop staring. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you’ve never been. Somewhere neither of you have ever been, in fact.” You start leading down the hall back to the entrance. Feldspar walks side by side with you, but Gabbro is still several steps behind. You must have really pissed them off. You’ve never seen Gabbro so insistent to stay far away from you. In fact, it’s usually Gabbro that keeps your proximity so tight. 

“Awesome! I’ll fly, that way the two of you can sit around the fire and melt the Brittle Hollow sized icicle that’s sticking where the sun don’t shine. You two get into a scuffle on the way here?” Feldspar looks back at Gabbro, and then at you, but both of you have perfected the art of looking through any sort of piercing gaze. You’ve gotten a lifetime's worth in the few months you’ve been living in the real world again. 

“No, and you can’t drive. It’s programmed into my ship, that only I’m allowed to fly. You can sit in the corner and think about what you just said.” You stick your tongue out, and Feldspar laughs as you speed walk away. 

“Figures. No one lets me be the pilot nowadays. What happened to me being The Best That Ever Was, ey? I could’ve sworn I heard that out of someone’s mouth not twenty-four hours ago…”

“You told me to stop calling you that,” You say.

“And yet!” Feldspar throws their hands up. You take your jumps to get back up and into the escape pod. You’re out and in your ship before Feldspar and Gabbro can catch up.

The flight is awkward, and that’s putting it mildly. Feldspar tries to keep conversations going, but Gabbro’s silence is so heavy that it’s hard for you to breathe, let alone care about how Feldspar plans to build an explosive powerful enough to break down the rocks. 

“You two seriously rival Gneiss and Hornfels when they argue. Holy stars, what is happening? Do I need to play mediator? I’ve never done it in my life. I tried once, and we all know how Gossan and Slate are doing.” Feldspar lays down on the floor and uses your glove as a pillow. You sigh. If Feldspar could fix whatever is going on in Gabbro’s mind, you’d sign the papers in a heartbeat. 

Instead, Feldspar says nothing, and Gabbro stays in the corner of the ship twirling their flute. 

This is exactly what you meant by implications causing the most problems. Somehow, out of your little rock kicking game, you fell into the trap of your own lesson. You used the exact words coming out of your mouth to distract from the meaning behind what you were saying. You think Gabbro is lying to you, or at least, they’re not being completely honest with you. And yet, at the same time, you think they’re doing it because they believe you know everything because it can be assumed. 

Except, you’ve done your assuming, and you’ve gotten nowhere but to the same old tired excuses. Gabbro didn’t believe in you. They didn’t care. If they thought you could save everyone, they would’ve come with you whether you asked or not. Except, that’s not what happened. They said they were sorry. That it would take too much time. They let you go.

But, Gabbro isn’t a bad person. You know them. They wouldn’t abandon you. They care about you. Why else would they have done nothing but sit at your bedside while you recovered? Why would they have called you every day for two weeks? Why would they have held that radio to their chest with tears dried on their cheeks if they didn’t give a shit?

You’ve spent this time traveling with them wondering what you could’ve done differently to have it all years ago, but maybe you didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe time and circumstance kept you apart, and you got your second chance not just at life, but at fixing this relationship with them. Maybe now you can look them in the eyes and say all the things you think, and they won’t shut them and run away from you.

You just want them to talk to you. Are you any better, though? 

Pot, meet Kettle. Your newest bestest friend.

There are months where you didn’t see Gabbro at all. You have no idea what happened to them. They have no idea what happened to you. 

If you told Gabbro, they would worry. They would be upset, maybe guilty. You don’t want to burden them with those feelings, and you fear that coming clean would be more of a punishment than a relief. But you want to know, need to know, everything about what Gabbro was doing those months you were trying to piece together Feldspar’s harmonica music, the Dark Bramble seed, and then everything that came with it.

What was it that they said? Am I always going to be your afterthought?

Do they think you abandoned them? Do they resent you for it, but not enough to never talk to you again?

You hold your breath. 

You still remember that loop. The first time in months you went to them instead of toward all of your unanswered questions. The one after you found Feldspar, and Escape Pod Three, and the Vessel. Gabbro wasn’t there. Their hammock wasn’t made. Their bag was still there, leaning against a tree. Their flute covered in wet sand beside it. 

You’d looked for them. You flew around the entire planet until the sun went supernova. You’d even crashed into the water, flying around and submerging yourself every time you were kicked back up. You’d flown into the counterclockwise cyclone and looked this time for a body, and not for your friend. 

You’d never found either. No body, no Gabbro. 

They had effectively disappeared that loop. You want to know where they went. 

You look down. On the control panel is the marshmallow Gabbro threw at your head earlier, before you decided it was a good idea to be pragmatic and dense while complaining about people being pragmatic and dense. You pick it up, rip it into two pieces, and hold them in your hands. Your autopilot is beginning to slow, but you get up anyway. 

Feldspar looks at you curiously, but you just purse your lips and settle down on one knee in front of Gabbro. They’re still twirling their flute. They school their face to look a little less upset, but you can see right through it. You hold out half of the marshmallow. 

Gabbro doesn’t move.

Take it. Please, just take it. I can’t do this. It’s already bad enough with everyone else, I can’t do this with you, too.  

Anyone else, just not you.  

Gabbro looks at you. They’re waiting for you to say what you’re thinking, but you can’t.

They still take the marshmallow, and with a curled lip, they knock their half against yours and eat it in one go. You eat yours, and you wait for the inevitable complaint about raw marshmallows, but it never comes. 

“Phew, goodness. You didn’t have to bring me. You could’ve swung around next time,” Feldspar is now buried in your glove. 

“I needed you to help get through some of the darker rooms in this place. They’re awful, I need someone without any survival instinct,” You say. Feldspar rolls over and glares at you.

“Fine, but I expect payment in the form of leaving me alone so I can blow up the rocks when we get back. Deal?”

“Sure, blow yourself up when there’s an easier way.” You flop back into your chair. Feldspar nods as if this is exactly what they’d wanted to hear.

“Between you and Gossan I’ll never get any peace.”

You look back at Feldspar, and then at Gabbro when you hear them snort in the corner. 

“Sounds like Gossan has a lot of sense.” You pull back on your thrusters as the meters melt away and you get closer to falling into the Stranger’s cloaking field. “This is the cool part. Ready?”

“Fire away,” Gabbro says. You push your thrusters forward, and you can see it before the others. The way the periphery of your vision turns completely black, and then everything else fades out with it. 

There’s dual gasps from behind you. Two pairs of arms appear on both sides of your chair as Gabbro and Feldspar lean over you to take in the sight of the hanger.

Chapter Text

You can’t help but look at Gabbro. Their mouth is hanging open, their eyes wide and glowing in the light of the approaching landing area. Feldspar looks excited, like someone who hasn’t had a good adrenaline fix in years and they’re ready to go right this second. 

There’s a thousand questions going through Feldspar’s mind right now, and all they can see is the hanger. Imagine what they’ll think when you actually show them around inside! 

You knew this was a good idea. Petty scuffles or not, Feldspar deserves to be here with you. 

Besides, you and Gabbro are pretty much unbreakable. You could probably get into it better than Gossan and Slate every time they breathe in the same vicinity and still be just fine within a couple loops.

Days, Rheniite. Days. There are no more loops. Get it through your thick skull. 

You’ve barely landed before Feldspar hops right on out. You and Gabbro make eye contact, and for a moment you’re nervous that Gabbro will look away from you, but instead they shake their head fondly and say, “I’m amazed they’ve lived this long.”

“How Feldspar has managed to live to the ripe old age of however old they are is one of life’s greatest mysteries,” You say. Gabbro kicks you in the shin in a similar fashion that you kicked them in the hip. 

“You don’t know how old Feldspar is?” Gabbro asks, hitting the latch to reopen the hatch. 

“Thirty?” You guess. 

“My time pebble. You have so much personality,” Gabbro jumps into the elevator this time, letting it carry them down and onto two upright feet. Alas, the mystery of Feldspar’s age will remain in the deep recesses of your I Don’t Care That Much folder. You follow Gabbro because how they react is something you very much do care about. 

You watch them like it’s one minute until the supernova and you still have a whole wall of Cassava and Avens’ writing to read. Like every line of their face needs to be etched into your memory, the same way every curve and swirl of Cassava’s writing will forever be a part of yours. 

They don’t hop between things like Feldspar. They take their steps slow and calculated, their gaze trailing from the design of the floor to the walls and everything settled among them. For a moment, Gabbro stops. Their hand goes up, barely brushing the contraption on the ceiling before it comes back down again. 

Gabbro is a quantum mechanics feind to their core. You knew that nothing in here would enrapture them like it had Feldspar (and where had Feldspar gone? ), – but seeing them take everything in, cataloging it like the scientist you so rarely see them be is enthralling.

“So, this is the place?” Gabbro asks, finally looking at you. 

“Yep. This is it. The place I clobbered myself on the rocks. Wanna see?” You ask. You’re already halfway up the stairs when you ask. There’s still a little voice in your mind that reminds you of forced distance and half-worded sentences, but before you can get too far, Gabbro is right beside you.

“We should probably get Feldspar out of the wires first,” Gabbro says. They grab your elbow and turn you in the right direction. Sure enough, Feldspar is kneeling down next to the electrical wiring powering the Stranger’s hanger. You’re a little scared that they’re going to end up breaking it, but they’re being surprisingly careful, looking over connections and bent wires and where they all lead to like they’ve ever cared about electrical engineering whatsoever.  

That was more Rutile’s thing, back in the day. You’re pretty sure the only reason your whole village isn’t still using candles to see by is because Rutile had fun playing with sparks and open wires when they were Gabbro’s age. 

“Feldspar, you wanna see the real deal or are you gonna play there all day?” You ask. Feldspar looks at you with disinterest.

“Says the hatchling who thought dirt was more interesting than the toy screwdrivers Slate made you. I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

You lead both Feldspar and Gabbro up the stairs and into the totem room. They both look around, trying to figure it all out. You stand back and let them. 

Feldspar is the first one to flick their flashlight on. You smile, watching as they aim it over the white markings on the wall and then stop as the green orbs catch the light. The white markings begin swirling around the room.

“Awesome,” Feldspar whispers. 

Gabbro steps forward and says, just as the break in the markings inch closer to lining up at the door, “Turn it off.”

Feldspar listens, and the latches all click and the door opens. You almost wish you had taken them out to the deep space satellite. There’s nothing like that first drop down into the river. 

As it is, the two of them just take their steps out onto the sandy bank. 

“Oh, wow!” Feldspar exclaims. 

“This is incredible,” Gabbro says. 

You point up to what should be the ceiling. You wish so badly that you could see their faces so you could get the whole picture of how they feel. 

And yet, you’ve come to know Gabbro so well that you think you can see it even without them taking their helmet off. Wide eyes, large pupils, slightly ajar jaw. Always looking, just quiet in their reverence. They are an observer by trade, someone born to sit still and watch the world change around them. It’s why quantum mechanics comes so naturally to them, and why that grove became so entwined with them that it still speaks their thoughts in the form of old poems. 

You never understood it as a hatchling, or as an adult, really. You see the way Feldspar hops their way right into the raft and sets their sights on the multitude of structures erected around the artificial river, and it makes sense. You understand their tenacity, their need to get going and start digging right away. 

It’s exactly how you operate. Act now, ask questions later. Besides, what questions could you possibly ask without getting your hands dirty?

But Gabbro doesn’t need that. They look around, their boots crunching in the sand as they slowly make their way to the raft. They say, “Where do you think they got the dirt to cultivate such an ecosystem?” And it throws you. Already asking questions, and questions that Tektite would care about, not Gabbro themself. 

“We’ll figure it out as we go. Come on, before the day ends,” Feldspar waves Gabbro along. 

“It’s not like the day ever—“ Gabbro chokes on their words. It’s not like the day ever ends. You don’t give Feldspar a chance to ask, and you don’t draw attention to it yourself. You grab Gabbro’s hand and help them into the raft, and then you jump in behind them.

“Where to first?” You ask Feldspar. 

“Please, I’ll go everywhere. Let’s just find the first stop,” Feldspar says, using their flashlight to guide the raft. It’s getting faster quickly, and you have an itch in the back of your neck, but you swallow your protests. This is for Feldspar and Gabbro. If you go flying off the raft again, at least you’ll know where to aim. 

You spend the next several hours exploring. One area. In painstaking detail. 

You look up at all of the places you’ve still yet to see and lament the fact you are effectively stuck here. As much as you love seeing Feldspar figure out how the slide reels work with Gabbro’s help, and as much as you love hearing their theories about what everything they’re seeing means, you’ve already seen it all. 

You hadn’t expected to see anything relatively new, but you really hadn’t expected to sit in the same run down house for an hour straight either. 

“They have rings on their planet. Chert would lose it,” Feldspar says—again, for the fifth time. You watch as they ponder hooking the slide reel to their suit, but then instantly abandon the idea when it becomes too burdensome to carry around. 

“What do you think they are? Debris? Maybe pieces of old planets that got sucked into its orbit, kind of like Dark Bramble, but more catastrophic and not as expansive,” Gabbro says, taking the slide reel back from Feldspar to go through the slides again. You hop up into one of the giant chairs and try not to look like a hatchling that’s bored out of their mind in astronomy lessons.

“Hatchling, what do you think about this new language? Is it something you and Hal–” Feldspar coughs, covering their sentence with an awkward laugh. “Is it something you could get out here and try to translate?”

You smile, resting your head in your hand. It’s not something you’d been thinking about between the recovering stuff and trying to get Gabbro to not hate you. Maybe in another life you’d have booked it straight back to Timber Hearth, the words vibrating on your tongue long before you could ever make it back to Hal. A new language! A new species! And Slate would’ve stared at you like you lost your last marble and gone back to poking their fire until the sun exploded and you had to acknowledge Hal would never know, no matter how many times you told them. 

Hal might not hate you, but they don’t understand you. They don’t believe you, and that’s a rift you can’t overcome with someone who used to know you like the back of their own hand. Hal could tell what you were thinking just by a shift in your expression. They still can, and that makes everything harder. What are you supposed to tell them when all of your answers lead back to the same old thing? 

You watch as Gabbro takes in the story of the discovery of the Eye. You wonder if they told Riebeck and that’s why they seem to know more than they let on. And if they didn’t, you wonder why Hal can’t let things go as easily. 

A whole new language. Once you and Hal get into linguistics together, you rarely ever leave your house. You could probably have this whole place pieced together in a couple years, if that. 

Except, this isn’t another life. Instead of going home, you went to the crater. Instead of explaining yourself, you argued with Gabbro until they left, and then you spent the better part of two weeks wallowing in self pity for no reason. 

You swallow and hop down off the chair. You can’t think about Hal and Marl and the home that you’d spent so many painstaking months planning before your launch. You can’t think about the hours, the days, the months you and Hal spent in the observatory, leaning over Cassava’s writing just trying to parse some sort of meaning from it all. You can’t think about how that writing, that little echo of someone you’ve never met, feels closer to you now than the person that had been sitting beside you all that time. 

You miss Hal, but you tried to be a good friend and act like everything was normal. If they can’t let it go, then you have to for them. 

“Hey, there’s something I want to check out real quick from last time. Don’t rush, I’ll be right back.” You turn and leave before you can see either of their expressions or hear their questions. 

How can you face Hal when you can’t even face Feldspar? Someone with so little stake in your game. How can you face Hal, when you can’t even face Gabbro? Someone with every stake in your game. 

How can you face any of them, when you can’t even face yourself?

You look back, making sure that you aren’t being followed, before you hop on top of the raft and drop it down into the river. You feel your face twist in amusement despite your mood. You’re going to go find something new. Something you haven’t seen before. Something to make you forget all of your problems, including the one sitting in that room, wondering what it means for a planet to have rings around its axis.

This time, you’re far more careful. You’re more aware of your surroundings, more knowledgeable of the force of these rapids. You click your flashlight off to slow down, and this time you don’t go careening into that giant boulder. You click it back on, then face yourself to the right and hope. It works. You float easily down the side passageway you’d originally be aiming for the first time. 

The structures in this area are built high above your head. You can barely make out what they are, built into these artificial mountains as they are. All wood, settled in the crevices of nature. It reminds you so much of home that it makes your mind drift back to the one place you’re trying so desperately to avoid. 

You dock your raft and figure out the elevator like contraption up to the first level you can access. There’s a house here, as run down as all the others, and another shrine like building just up the stairs. You spend a moment here, wondering what this place means. You take a moment, stepping onto the ledges to look behind for any sort of crack, any sort of clue, but nothing jumps out at you so you move on. 

The Nomai didn’t hide anything from you (not on purpose, at least), but this species seems insistent on making you work for your answers. 

You walk through a few more of the dilapidated houses, then down more stairs and onto a patch of half dead grass. There’s a cave dug out of the rock wall, a fire-like essence depicting its purpose. You step inside and instantly freeze. Ghost crystals litter the way in. You fire your scout launcher, and you flinch when ghost matter erupts at the intrusion. Apparently the cloaking field wasn’t enough to hide from the Interloper after all. 

You ponder what this means as you recall your scout and leave the little cave. How this is unraveling your timeline of events, facing you with the knowledge that this species, this artificial world, must have been here before the Interloper’s core imploded. 

Somehow, you’ve stumbled into the home of a species that is older than the Nomai. 

You step into a room with one of the slide reel players. You double back, grabbing one of the lanterns from the shrine and settling it in the designated spot. It doesn’t take long to find the reels. They’re on the lower floor of one of the houses, half busted but still with a few slides left. You bring them back and settle them in one at a time.

And you realize very quickly that you need to go back to the Lowlands.

Chapter Text

FELDSPAR

Gabbro is about to have a stroke, and Feldspar will not be the one responsible for administering first aid. If Rheniite doesn’t get their flaming behind back within the next ten minutes, they might have to throw Gabbro in the river and hope they float to whatever piece of land Rheniite is wallowing about Hal on. 

“I just don’t understand,” Gabbro says. Again. For the fifteenth time in the last five minutes. “All I ask is that they tell me where they’re going. Is that too much? No, seriously, is it too much to ask for?”

Feldspar holds their hands up. “I might not be the best one to ask.”

“And that’s exactly my point! It’s like you two are the same person.” Gabbro sits down and stands back up. They grab the slideroll, click through it a few times, and then take the lantern out and put it on the table. Then on the floor. Then back on the table. “I don’t think it’s crazy for me to want to know where they’re going on a ship they literally broke their spine on. But, who knows? Maybe I’m being a control freak. Do you tell Gossan where you’re going?”

“Only if I think it’s getting to that point they’d yell at me if I didn’t.”

Gabbro sits back down, their faceplate in their hands. “Stars, you’re all the same.”

Feldspar looks up at the sky and lets out a long suffering sigh. They settle down on the arm of Gabbro’s chair and wrap a cautious arm around their shoulders. “Rhen and I are a lot alike, yes. And that gives me the really awesome superpower to know that this? It’s not malicious. They’re not doing this to hurt you, or to lie to you, or whatever else you might think.”

Gabbro sniffles. It makes Feldspar want to jump in the river themself. Gabbro says, their voice level, “And yet I still have to sit here worried sick because I don’t know where they are. Or why they went there. I’m pretty sure neither of you have any leg to stand on when it comes to oh, it’ll be fine! – I’ll just tell them later.”

“Perhaps,” Feldspar says. Gabbro glares, and they hold a hand up. “Okay, fine. I get it. You have any idea how much like Gossan you are?”

“Sounds like they’re sensible.”

“Sensible and boring. But they care, so I try not to push my luck.”

Gabbro scoffs, their lips upturned. “Yeah, well. That part didn’t rub off on Rheniite.”

“You both are still young. You have quite a few more years before you hit my level of self-actualization. You know, I even spent a sizable chunk of my life in a silent, lonely place where I could meditate for as long as I wanted…”

“And I take it you had so many breakthroughs?”

“At least one,” Feldspar says. “Anglerfish really hate the smell of other fish being cooked.”

Gabbro chuckles. “That’s good to know.”

It’s hard to understand the nuances of Rheniite and Gabbro’s relationship. At least, having known them their whole lives, and then missing out on a sizable chunk of the latter half, there’s something off about them that isn’t about the rest of the hatchlings their age. Riebeck is still just like they remember. Hal and Marl are just as close and just as snarky. 

Gossan is different, but that’s because they’re missing half of their face. At the end of the day, as much as Feldspar loves them, Gossan is still overbearing, still hates unnecessary risk taking, still pawns their work off on anyone clueless enough to agree. Gossan is still Gossan, but Gabbro and Rheniite…Feldspar can’t put their finger on it. The same way Rheniite understands, Gabbro does, too. Maybe more so. It’s the resignation, the way they smile as if nostalgic whenever Feldspar brings up their time on Dark Bramble. 

And then there’s the whole arguing, tied at the hip, arguing, tied at the hip – back and forth, over and over. Gabbro is worried, Rheniite is avoiding something. It’s really none of Feldspar’s business, but if they’re going to keep being swept up in it all, having the full picture would be nice. 

They think back to a conversation they had with Riebeck recently, one that gave them the smallest piece of a massive puzzle. Riebeck had said, with a smile so wide it had to hurt, “Gabbro loves them, and one day Rhen will realize it and stop trying to be the first to cut things off. Did you know? Rheniite thinks Gabbro doesn’t care and would feel relieved if they were out of their space. I think that’s crazier than unnecessary space flight…”

And Feldspar agrees, because Gabbro’s affection, love, care – whatever, should be visible from space to anyone with eyes. No one would pace holes into the floor of a house full of pictures of an unknown species if they didn’t care more about the person than the mystery. Maybe that’s the difference between someone like Feldspar and someone like Gabbro. Feldspar would never give up the chase for someone else, even if they loved them. 

“Have you told them?” Feldspar asks.

Gabbro slams to a stop. “What?”

“That you love them.”

They open and close their mouth like a fish. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard…”

“Oh, yeah? Alright, I take it back then. You don’t love them–”

“I–” Gabbro cuts them off. “I…feel, you know. Passively about them.”

“Passively, huh?”

“Yes?” 

“Are you asking me?” Feldspar smiles.

“No. No…I, just…I’m going to go find them.”

And Gabbro turns on their heel and walks right out the door. Feldspar can’t help laughing a little at their expense. What a long time it’s been since they’ve been in a front row seat experiencing something as fickle as two young idiots in love.

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

You throw yourself up and down the stairs, running like you’re running out of time. You jump off the bridge and hit the thrusters on your jetpack at the last second. Your knees scream at you as you land, and you have to roll to disperse some of the impact, but you don’t care. You just found out what the shrines are hiding and you need to get there. 

You drop the raft and aren’t half as careful as you should be as you flow down the river. You enter another area with more sparse buildings but you skip right on by. There’s another shrine here, up on a hill, but you ignore it in favor of the one in the Lowlands. If you find what you think you’ll find, you want Feldspar and Gabbro to be close enough to call. 

You end up in a large reservoir of water. You momentarily feel your heart drop when you notice the large dam blocking your way back to the Lowlands, but there’s a light just in front and you aim your raft right for it. The chains grab you and pull you all the way over, dropping you back down on the other side. 

You only wait until you’re close enough to shore that you know you won’t be grabbed by the current. You hit your thrusters and jump, landing on the sandbank and pitching into a run. You don’t take the stairs. You fly up, touch down on the railings with one foot, and use the leverage to push yourself back off again. You land just inside the door frame into the Lowlands shrine and lock your eyes on the second to last painting. 

You take a step, your hand up to remove the lanterns, when the sound of boots on wood breaks the silence. 

You turn. 

“Glad to see you didn’t get yourself killed.” 

Gabbro is standing in the doorframe. They look done with you. You’ve never seen them so tense, not even when you’d come to them with your arm half frozen off after a bad case of stupidly walking into a patch of ghost matter on your way out of the Sunless City.

“I know what I’m doing. I told you I needed to check something out. It’s not like I just up and vanished,” You say, turning around. Gabbro grabs you by the shoulder and turns you around to look at them again, and you can see through their helmet the torrent of emotions rolling across their face. 

“What a courtesy. I’m so glad you said you were going somewhere and that you were going to be right back, and then you hop on a raft and take off and don’t come back for what? An hour? Two? Do you have any idea how many times I watched Giant’s Deep orbit?” Gabbro bites, and you back away. You feel an inkling of fury in your own gut, the deep, irrational need to slam back and defend yourself. You’re not a hatchling. You’re not an infant. You can take care of yourself. 

You know what’s about to happen. You acknowledge the roiling in your gut, and what it’ll mean if you let it out, and yet your mouth opens before your brain can catch up. “Oh, now you care all of a sudden?”

And Gabbro shuts right up. They shut up so hard, in fact, that you can hear their jaw click. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Gabbro’s voice has leveled out dangerously. They sound calm, collected, like they’d never come in here with venom in their words at all. (And in your head, the rational part that’s begging you to keep your mouth shut, you know that none of those words were tinged with venom. They’re scared. They’ve told you as much before.)

“Are you being dense on purpose?” You need to shut up. “You know exactly what I mean. Now all the sudden you care when I run off and don’t tell you where I’m going? Now all the sudden you care whether or not I get hurt? Now all the sudden you care enough to come find me, even though I told you I was leaving, and I told you I’d be back?”

Shut up, shut up, shut. up. 

Gabbro’s hands clench by their side. They’re shaking, but it takes a certain vantage point to see it. Thankfully, or perhaps, unfortunately, you have the perfect one. This has to stop here. You can’t stand seeing Gabbro like this, not after everything that happened back on Giant’s Deep. You’ve fixed this. It should be over. 

But Gabbro speaks before you can level your own breathing and catch up to your thoughts. “Yeah, yeah I care now. I cared before, too, if you had ever actually come around enough to hear it.”

And you laugh. You laugh so hard you can barely stay standing. You say, “Oh, yeah? So it was always supposed to be my job to come search you out? Did you ever even try to come find me? Did you ever once offer to help me? Did you ever ask what was going on, or why it had been so long, or anything other than just tell me to take deep breaths and it’ll all go away?” 

“You asked me a question, and now all of a sudden that wasn’t the right thing to say?” Gabbro scoffs. They’re still calm. It’s infuriating. 

“You have no right to get all pissed off that I left when you never cared for three years. Seventy thousand deaths, Gabbro, and you just sat in your hammock and waited for me to find you.” You turn again, your head spinning. You haven’t breathed since you started talking. Your vision is starting to black out, the anger going straight to your lungs. You can’t breathe. You haven’t breathed in how many minutes?

“I tried.” 

You whip around so hard you stumble. “Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yes, I did,” Gabbro says, leaning back against the wall. “Those months you decided you didn’t need my company anymore? I tried getting out to my ship. I got grabbed by the cyclones, or crushed by the islands, or I ran out of oxygen before I could find it. The few times I did manage to catch it, I couldn’t get the hatch open, and the one time I did, I got electrocuted by the flooded circuits when I tried turning the damn thing on. So please, spare me a little. I did try to find you.”

And you slam back into yourself all at once. You take in a breath, deep and stale. “What?”

“I tried. I tried for months. I even tried figuring out if there was anything in the tracking module I could use to fix the circuits and the busted hatch and everything else that was wrong with it. I had twenty-two minutes, what did you think I was going to do with those?”

“I–” You don’t know what to say. Your brain is empty, completely void of any questions, or answers, or thoughts. You’re frozen. As glitched out as your landing cam after smashing into the teeth of the anglerfish skeleton. 

They swallow, tapping the back of their foot back against the wooden baseboards. “After you left…after a couple days, maybe, I really felt like I hit rock bottom.”

Chapter Text

GABBRO

They didn’t put their hammock up. Instead of standing on the shore, they took careful steps out into the water. Their knees submerged, then their hips, and they jumped. They hadn’t swam in Giant’s Deep’s evil water since they arrived, and they quickly remembered why. 

They got beat under by the waves no matter how hard they swam upwards or how long they held their jetpack’s thruster up. The current was strong and nasty, ripping them left and right and up and down all the way out from their little island and into the vast expanse of empty ocean. They didn’t have a destination, nowhere to go but wherever the water took them. 

They didn’t look for their ship. Already out in the middle of the ocean, it was too hard to do anything but fight to stay afloat. The cyclones were spinning their dastardly dance ahead of them, and they watched each one with a calculated gaze. All of them spun in the same direction, denoting the passage of time and not the erasure of it. 

Counter-clockwise, that’s what Rheniite told them all those loops ago. 

All those loops ago, when they remembered that Gabbro existed and desired more company than the screaming in their ears and the rain on their faceplate. 

They didn’t make it, and they never thought they would. The cyclones grabbed them and threw them up, and by Gabbro’s luck they dropped back down and fell just on top of what looked to be the construction yard’s arching walkways. 

They woke up, sucking in a breath so hard they felt momentarily faint. There were already ants crawling through their veins. It made them feel like scratching and pulling and ripping at their scales until all of them bled out and crawled back beneath the sand. 

They wondered if Rheniite lived the last thirty-thousand lifetimes the same. Trapped, feeling adrift and lost with so many goals and no way to reasonably achieve them. 

Gabbro wanted to find the tracking module because they wanted to know how long it had been since they'd last seen another living person’s face. They wanted to find their ship, because at least then they could try busting the hatch and getting inside. They could see what was salvageable and what wasn’t, and if they could manage to get it running, they wouldn't have to sit around and wait, twiddling their thumbs every loop.

They could go. They could fly off of that star's forsaken planet and find Rheniite. They could finally piece together all of the stories they’d been told. All the names of the Nomai they’d never met. All of the meaning behind places like the Sun Station, and the Ash Twin Project, and the Vessel. 

They could stop them from dying these excruciating deaths. They could finally be someone useful. Maybe, just maybe, if they had been there sooner, Rheniite wouldn’t know what it feels like to be crushed like berries against the cavern ceilings of Ember Twin, or burned alive by stomach acid inside Dark Bramble, or electrocuted by jellyfish on Giant’s Deep. 

They would’ve been the extra eyes and ears. Someone who paid attention to the ticking time clock while Rheniite Feldspar’d their way through the piles and piles of clues sitting inches from their face at every turn. They could’ve been the one to watch for falling rocks, or for rising sand, or bad structural integrity. They could’ve helped. At the time, they believed they could fix everything. 

All they needed was their ship. 

Gabbro dove right into the water. They didn’t find it any easier to swim, but they had a more clear purpose. With it, their resolve hardened. They stayed underwater, kicking and pulling and hitting their thrusters as they looked for any sign of their ship.

The odds of them finding it that way were slim to none. They should’ve climbed up to the top of one of the islands and looked around. Even then, there was no telling where the ship would end up by the time they made it down to the water to chase it. It could’ve gone one way, and the current could’ve taken them in a completely different direction. Might as well just put on their hard hat and big kid pants and keep swimming. 

They swam for so long their three minutes of oxygen remaining alarm went off. They kept going. Sixty seconds. They kept going. 

Suffocating was not their favorite way to die. It was uncomfortable, in the brain exploding from lack of oxygen sort of way. They were still not sure if that’s actually what happened, but it was surely how it felt at the time. 

Gabbro tried the whole looking around from a higher vantage point trick, but all that happened was Fury the Cyclone came by, ripped them up and out of the atmosphere, and dropped them back so hard in the water they didn’t even have time to process the fact they died. 

They tried it again, and the result was the same. Mostly. They chose to forget how long it took them to actually die after they unceremoniously, and quite ungracefully, slammed into several rocks in quick succession on their way back down. They ended up with half of their body submerged in water, and they had to wait for their helmet to fill so they could drown in peace. No one told them how cold Giant’s Deep’s water was, but it would’ve been nice to know before getting stuck there for eternity. 

They went back to swimming the next loop. 

Three things happened the next uncountable amount of times Gabbro did this. One: They’d run out of oxygen before they could find anything. Two: They’d get full body slammed in the back by the islands on their descent and get absolutely obliterated in the meantime. Three: They’d actually manage to catch sight of their ship, but one or two stops them from getting there.

They changed it up on loop number who knows. They were going to try the tracking module again, because they needed to know how long it had been. 

They stood on the shore of their island, boots already submerged. The cyclones were coming closer, just enough that Gabbro could see clearly which ones moved one way and which one moved the other. 

When Gabbro caught sight of it, they dove in.

It was a lot harder to get to one specific cyclone than they expected. The stupid things absolutely ripped through the water, spinning the current and creating rips that sucked Gabbro in and slammed them under water in the worst possible ways. They got flung out a few times, a couple of those ending with them actually surviving, but it ended up taking a quarter of their lifespan to actually get into that counter-clockwise cyclone. 

Getting thrust down below the curtain hurt. It was so heavy down there, the pressure making their ears pop and their eyes ache. The jellyfish were much closer, sparking their way up and down through the mass of purple lightning that served as the planet’s core.

Rheniite explained this to them. How you had to hitch a ride with the jellyfish to get into the core. They tried to swim down, but their change in position was just enough to get grabbed by the current and thrust upwards again. They broke the surface of the water with a frustrated scream.

They should’ve used their jetpack. Why didn’t they use their jetpack?

It took them three more loops to get back to the cyclone. 

It was, quite miserably, a much not needed trip. 

One minute Gabbro was aiming for the elusive counter-clockwise cyclone, and the next they were blinking their eyes open, face inches away from the sparking flesh of a jellyfish. 

They screamed, limbs flailing as they tried to both get away from the thing and also figure out why it was there in the first place. The jellyfish never came this close to the surface. What was happening?

They looked around but everything was blurry and black at the edges. Their oxygen tank was already mostly depleted despite it being filled not mere seconds prior, and their vitals were critically low. They would have guessed that from the pounding headache and the boxed out vision, but the confirmation was fine in any case. Their suit had their back. 

It took them an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the jellyfish was not on the surface, but they had been pushed down below the current. 

It was too bad they hadn’t realized sooner. Their ticket into the core swam away from them, leaving them completely adrift with nowhere to go. 

They spun themself once, trying to find up despite the futility of the effort. 

And that was when they saw it. There, just above, was the landing gear of their ship. 

They kicked up and used the last of their jet fuel to make it. The current grabbed them and pulled them the rest of the way up. Gabbro flailed, wrapping the tips of their fingers around their ship and pulling until they were flush against it. 

They had to hold onto whatever they could to keep from going back under. They tried the hatch, pushing on the locking mechanism. It was stuck, completely rusted out and bent at all different angles. Three minutes of oxygen remaining. 

They tried hitting it open with their one free hand. It budged, but all that happened was the water that lapped at them slipped through the new crack and into the cockpit. They tried their shoulders, their hips. Nothing. 

Gabbro grabbed onto the ladder anchor with both hands. They swung, slamming their boots into the hatch. It didn’t give. 

Sixty seconds of oxygen remaining. 

They swung, kicking and kicking and kicking and nothing changed. The hatch wouldn’t open. It was stuck, completely, and there was nothing they could do out in the middle of the ocean with seconds of oxygen left.

They’d have to try again next time. 

They caught their ship once every twenty or so loops. Once per twenty loops, they’d think they were getting somewhere with getting the hatch open. The rest of them were spent watching the stars from their anti-gravity vantage point, or splattered on the sand, or floating without oxygen in the depths of the ocean after failing once again to get to the tracking module. 

It was loop number who really cares, and there was nowhere to go but up. 

They ended up back down in the ocean depths. They used their jetpack’s thrusters to push themself down until they were eye level with one of the jellyfish. They were not on an island crushing induced time limit this time around, and their oxygen tank was still half full. There was a chance, and they were going to make it. 

They swum under the jellyfish’s tentacles and up. They settled with their boots on the ledge of the thing’s…head? – Whatever it is, they used it with their jetpack thrusters to keep themself from falling right out and into the electrical current below. All that was left was to wait, just like Rheniite told them, for the flash of purple lightning that signified their descent into the core. Once it passed, they thrusted down and out into the deep black waters.

There was a wave of excitement that rushed through them for the first time since they started this. For once, they’d actually made some progress. They tried not to get too relaxed, especially considering the dark waters revealed nothing of the location of the module, but simply getting there was a feat in itself and Gabbro was going to give themself credit where it was due. 

They found a lot of branches, if that’s what the giant structures they kept slamming into were. They used them as an anchor as they caught their breath and tried to readjust, but without a working flashlight or any sort of idea of what they were looking for they ended up reorienting themself more than actually looking. 

They ran out of oxygen. They shouldn’t have been as upset as they were. 

They ended up back down in the core after an uncountable amount of loops. They didn’t stop to rest or figure out where up and down were that time. There was no point, they’d learned. In the core there was no up or down. There was just the branches (if they really were branches), the lightning, the jellyfish, and the tracking module that had eluded them. 

They traced their hand over each structure as they hit it. Their suit blared to them that they had three minutes of oxygen remaining, and they used half of it just to suck in a breath and scream into the lonely waters. 

They were just about to give up when they felt it. A break in the structure wall. It felt like a pattern, like squares cut out of metal. Metal. They found metal!

They grabbed onto the structure and used the cut out pieces to pull themself down. There had to be an entrance somewhere. Rheniite said that to get inside of a Nomai structure, you had to look for the glowing purple ball embedded in the stone. Find the locking mechanism, unlock it, and get inside. They hoped there would be some sort of oxygen supply. 

Sixty seconds. They pulled themself faster. 

They found it, deep in the piece of metal they’d been using to string themself along. They didn’t waste anymore time. They pulled the metal and used the jetpack’s thrust to throw themself forward, their body colliding with the stone hatch keeping them out. They grunted, their suit screaming at them. It didn't matter. They were going to run out of oxygen and they’d finally found the entrance. They couldn’t die yet. 

They traced the path with the orb as the oxygen thinned and their vision began to black out.

The hatch opened. Air rushed into their lungs. They gasped, breathing it all in one huge, desperate inhale. They let their body fall forward, their feet grasping onto the gravity flooring below them. 

They took a moment to get their breath back. Once they did, they looked up. They couldn’t help but gape at what they saw.

All this time, all those stories, and Gabbro never truly understood the magnitude of the Nomai and their ability to create such incredible structures. From the gravity floors down to the metal casings housing the glowing purple orb, to the projection pool and the stones, to the trees in the corner and the tiny desks where they’d sit. It felt like somewhere alive, like the Nomai’s essence still infused the very air in Gabbro’s lungs. 

It wasn't haunting like they had expected. There was no sadness or melancholy in their steps as they traced their way around the perimeter, taking everything in. They took one of the projection stones and settled it in its reader, and they wished that Rheniite was there so they could use that incredible work of technology they had made so Gabbro could have even a glimpse at who this was they were meeting for the first time.

They walked their way back to the glowing purple orb. They stared, hearing the way it sang out to them in acknowledgement, and they traced the metal housing until it dropped into the very first connection point to the pool.

They knew they wouldn’t be able to read anything, but there was one thing that Rheniite had taught them over the course of the earlier loops.

“So, the Nomai have a different numbering system than we do. It’s not super complicated, but it looks like when you want to create bigger numbers you have to sort of swirl them together like this, if you know what I mean. So, this is one, this is two, three, but if you want to create twenty-three, it looks like this.”

They wouldn’t have remembered it all, but sometimes when they got so lonely they started hearing the sand speak back, they’d write Nomai numbers in the sand and pretend that they were doing something meaningful. They had no idea back then how important those repetitions were going to be for them.

It was hard. Between the size of the writing, the way it was woven together with other words and the arguably much better handwriting, Gabbro struggled to make out whether or not there even were numbers in this text at all. They moved on to the next one. Then the next.

They ended up hopping back and forth between every single one of them, trying to remember the numbers that Rheniite had so painstakingly taught them. They knew them, deep in the recesses of their mind. They just needed one thing to tip them off, that first number that they could recognize, and then it should be easy from there.

It was their very last time reading that they finally caught it. The nine woven in with all of the other words. They latched onto it, pressing their finger to the familiar character so they didn’t lose it again. They pulled their finger over to look at the next stroke of writing. A…Was that a three? No, that was a five. No. Oh, stars.

They thought back on what Rheniite had shown them, how the numbers changed as they were weaved through into bigger ones.

So, it was a three? Nine, three, zero…one. That was a one. Nine, three, one, eight, zero, five, four. 

Nine million, three hundred eighteen thousand, fifty four.

That was the number Rheniite had told them, back when they’d still wanted to know how long they’d been unaware of the loops passing them by.

Feeling more confident, they traced their eyes up until they caught the next number. The first two numbers were the same, but that was it. Nine, three. The next number was a five, then a zero, then another five, a one, and a nine.

Nine million, three hundred fifty thousand, five hundred and nineteen. 

If they did the math, that came out to be around thirty-two thousand, four hundred and sixty-five loops they’d been aware of. About a year plus a quarter.

The last time they had seen Rheniite, it had just dipped into the thirty-thousand mark.

Thirty-seven days since they last saw Rheniite.

Stars, that wasn’t even that long. How did it feel like years when it had barely been over a month?

They settled down on the ground and stared at the numbers as they spun. That may have been just over a month of not seeing them, but that was still two thousand plus deaths as well. As much as they had accepted their current predicament, that didn’t mean they had gotten used to it (despite their best efforts). Every death felt like a chunk of life, a sizable boulder stacked on their shoulders. One was heavy, two was crushing, and yet somehow Gabbro and Rheniite were expected to carry thousands all on their own.

They could help them. They could help them carry some of that weight, even if it killed them. It couldn’t be any worse than what had already happened to them, and it wasn’t like when they died they stayed dead. Gabbro was effectively immortal—a walking, talking abomination to the stars. There were no rules for someone like them, not even the integral laws of the universe could stop them from keeping the only person in this solar system who truly, genuinely needed them from suffering this fate worse than death all on their own.

For the first time since they had trodden that evil water, looking for something they still hadn’t found, they died with the sun.

Chapter Text

When they woke, they climbed the rocks until they stood at the highest vantage point they could have. The cyclones were farther this time, giving them a little reprieve. The wind whipped at them, their suit sleeves fluttered, and the top of their helmet swayed back and forth with it. They took a step to their right, and the rocks cracked and broke off as they went. There, more than a hundred meters out, was their ship.

They hit their jetpack before they had time to think it through. The water was harsh on them when they landed, ripping them down and tossing them back up all in one consecutive motion. They couldn’t figure out which way was up and which was down, until they saw the landing gear and they broke right for it.

They grabbed onto it and pulled themself forward until they could see the busted latch. Water rushed them as they pulled and kicked and tried to bend the metal back into place. It wiggled, so insistent on staying shut while also giving them a glimpse of false hope. Gabbro kicked at the lock with the sole of their boot, pleading with the stars to listen to them. Just one break. Something had to give. But maybe they had run out of luck when they made it to the tracking module. They were grabbed by a cyclone’s current and tossed up into the atmosphere. There was a moment in which they resolved themself to their death. It was just how things were.

They didn’t want to die again, not without making any progress. They couldn’t keep dying without making progress. How were they meant to help Rheniite when they couldn’t even survive more than five minutes into each loop?

They fell, and they felt their bones shatter as they hit the water. It took them a minute to die. Just long enough they stared at the swirling cloud cover and begged, internally, for someone to help them. 

They kept going. They didn’t stop, not even for a breath.

Their hammock stayed in its pack, leaning against the trees with their flute covered in sand.

They hadn’t sat down since they were in the tracking module. They couldn’t even remember what it felt like to die by the supernova. 

They learned as they went. How to stay treading water, how to make their oxygen last them an extra few seconds, how to land in a way that killed them instantly instead of leaving them adrift until they suffocated or bled out.

After their hundredth time getting slammed down under the current by one of the islands, still alive with just enough brain power to know they existed, they realized that all they had to do was reach out and touch one of the jellyfish to end it. It wasn’t as painful as waiting for their busted faceplate to fill with water, or waiting until the oxygen ran out, or for their heart to simply give out.

They went back to the tracking module with their head bleeding and one of their eyes swollen shut. They looked at the number through spinning, vortex-like vision.

Nine, three, five, six, five, seven, one.

Just over six thousand loops since they had last been there.

They couldn’t keep doing this.

They made it to their ship with one last idea in mind. They were going to knock the lock off altogether.

They were halfway below the current by the time they made it to their ship. They pulled their bag off their shoulder with one hand and grabbed the rock they had loaded into it for the trip. They held the ladder anchor, braced their foot in the dip of the hatch, and they beat the lock like it was the cause of every plight Gabbro had ever suffered in their life.

The lock and its anchor came off within a few hits, but Gabbro kept going. They didn’t stop until the hatch itself cracked and the water started rushing in. They could barely breathe. They dropped the rock and let it float away, then they pulled the hatch open and nearly got sent flying by the force of it.

They pulled themself inside and weren’t nearly as surprised as they should have been by the lack of structural damage. Everything was still mostly in its place, even with the water slowly seeping in. Gabbro kneeled down and pulled the hatch closed, but it wouldn’t stay without the lock. Luckily, the force of the current kept battering it back in place whenever it opened itself back up.

They took their steps one at a time. They felt like they were going to fall, or faint. They lost their footing, and they ended up on the ground, and they had no idea if time passed at all as they lay there. 

When they came to, they pushed themself up just enough they could crawl into the pilot’s chair. They turned the key, and when nothing happened, they tried not to focus too hard on it. This thing had been there longer than Gabbro had been in the time loop. They had always thought they could get Slate to bring it back, and they’d fix it up, and everything would be fine. But now there wasn’t enough time for Slate to get to them, let alone for Slate to come all the way out and fix it.

Without turning the ship on they had no way of knowing the extent of the damage. They could assume based on general observation, but even if they could fix the sparking controls and broken landing gear and cracked viewport, they still had no idea whether or not the thrusters still worked, or if the reactor would go off the second power was restored, or if there was even any fuel left.

Wouldn’t that have been rich? Gabbro managed to fix everything, just to find out they had run out of fuel.

They steered clear of the electrical aspect for the time being. They’d rather not get electrocuted now that they had finally made it inside. It had been a long time since they had met up with their old pal Nova, and they would like to see them again if at all possible.

The cracked viewport was perhaps the least of their issues. There wouldn’t be any oxygen in the cabin, but with their suit they didn’t really need it. Besides, with the hatch hanging open there really wouldn’t be much of anything anyway.

The slamming of the hatch was starting to make them feel like ripping their ears off. They looked around, eyes catching on the roll of duct tape lying in the corner of one of their usually full shelves. They grabbed it, turned on their heels, and taped the hatch shut.

The landing gear was another issue, but they were more worried about getting off the ground at this point in time. Landing was a problem for future Gabbro, if they ever made it that far. So that just left… ah, the electrical aspect.

Looks like they wouldn’t be seeing their good friend Nova after all.

They settled themself down and pulled the panels off the control console. Water damage was pretty gnarly on the ships, and what they saw wasn’t promising.

The console was flooded. There were still sparks from some of the busted wires and a couple buttons that had managed to stay in place, but Gabbro didn’t go sticking their hands into it like Slate would have to see what was causing it.

Instead, they pulled out the only towels that weren’t already soaked and any clothes they had laying around and got to work.

They touched the water once with their finger to see how likely it was they were going to be fried back to their island before the supernova could greet them, but nothing happened so they felt confident moving forward. They scooped out water handful by handful, dropping it down onto the floor.

Once there was nothing left to scoop out, they used the towels to dry off the inner portion and the wires. They got shocked a couple times, and even though it was decidedly not pleasant, it didn’t kill them. They actually managed to dry everything off to a pretty good degree even without any sort of heat source to finish the job, all without losing any fingers or precious time.

Could they do this every loop? Probably not, but since they knew they wouldn’t get insta-killed, they didn’t have to be as cautious. 

They took a look at the sparking elements of the console and sighed. There was really nothing they could do without Slate or Esker’s toolkits. Maybe they could figure out a way to make an explosion big enough to signal Esker on the Attlerock or Chert on Ember Twin when the orbits got a little tighter. All they needed was a couple of tools, some rubber casings, and the promise that all of their efforts actually culminated into something worthwhile. They went to grab one of the wires to take a look, and that’s when all the shocks and burns caught up.

It started in their fingertips and shot through their body in a mere blink. They couldn’t move, every muscle locking up and spasming in quick succession. They felt as sounds bubbled up and out of their mouth without their influence, the way something foamed up and leaked through their lips and down their chin. They couldn’t let go. They were stuck, their hands tight and gripping on the console.

There was a flash of light over their ship, and their brain didn’t catch up to the source.

They didn’t know when they died, but they did know that they were done.

They couldn’t do it anymore.

They lay down on the sand and wrapped their arms around their stomach, pressing their lips thin to keep from crying. Everything they did, all that time, was a waste. They were still stuck there without a ship, without any way of contacting anyone, without any way of keeping Rheniite from shouldering the burden of a dying universe all on their own.

They were so useless. Rheniite deserved better.

They got up and grabbed their bag, shaking out their hammock with arms full of lead. It took them a few tries to hang it up, and a few more to get it to hold their weight. Even then, they didn’t really feel like laying down. They should have been out there, trying again, but the fire in their veins was still hot and they couldn’t die like that again so soon.

They looked up at the sky, at the swirling mass of green clouds, and they screamed.

“Let me out!”

They cried, their voice choking.

“I want to go home.”

They quieted, their chest aching.

“I’m sorry.”

They calmed down after a while. They shook it off, just as they always had. Laying back in their hammock, their flute pressed to their lips, they blew out one long, drawn-out note. It was a lament, but to anyone who heard them, it was just another day.

They wondered, idly, if anyone would have noticed their absence had those months passed the same for anyone else. They wondered, painfully, if Rheniite ever noticed their lack of playing as they shot around the system.

Gabbro jumped up, ready to try all of this again until somehow they could pretend to be worthy of the knowledge they had been given. The companionship waiting for them across the stars, doing their utmost to save all those voices that Gabbro missed and wanted so badly to hear just one last time.

They put one foot on the ground, and as they did, a ship broke through the cloud cover…

“And that’s when you showed up,” Gabbro says. Rheniite’s face is ashen. The blood has drained out of them, leaving them pale and shaky. Them and Gabbro both. Their hands haven’t stopped trembling since they started talking. 

“You…all of that–”

“It’s whatever. It didn’t work, so what’s the point in dwelling over it?”

Rheniite holds their head in their hand. “When I got there. You were off. I couldn’t figure it out at the time, but now…”

Back then, Gabbro threw themself back into their hammock and picked up their flute, portraying the picture of apathetic dissonance that they had perfected. Rheniite landed and practically flew out of their ship, hitting their thrusters with every step as if that would take them anywhere but right back down. Gabbro played their drawn-out song, waiting. They must have had something to tell them.

Rheniite still wanted to tell them things. Thank the stars.

“Gabbro!” They called, and Gabbro set down their flute to turn their head in a long, drawn-out, lazy fashion.

“If it isn’t my time buddy. How is space treating you this loop?”

It sounded dead to their ears. They’d hoped it didn’t come off that way to Rheniite. 

Rheniite slowed, kicking up sand around them. They were breathing hard and heavy, and for a moment they leaned over themself with their hand settled over their heart. Gabbro started to feel an inkling of worry, but before it could settle, they stood back to their full height. They said, breathless, “I’m so glad to see you.”

And Gabbro didn’t know why they said it, or what prompted it, but it made their stomach sick regardless. They missed them so much it physically pained them. They missed them so much it killed them. Over and over and over.

But they could never know how hard Gabbro had really tried to find them because if the disappointment was crushing to Gabbro, they couldn’t even fathom how it would feel to Rheniite. They had never known the possibility, so there was nothing there to be missed. This, for once, was Gabbro’s burden to bear, and they would hold it for both of them.

“Do–” Gabbro had to stop speaking. They were choking, the close proximity to another living person so overwhelming they couldn’t breathe. They wanted to get up and throw their arms around Rheniite. They didn’t even want to talk to them. They wanted Rheniite to tell them everything, to hear someone else speak over the sound of screaming cyclones. They missed them. They missed them so much they thought they might throw up.

“Are you okay?” Rheniite was by Gabbro’s side in a blink. Their hand came up, and Gabbro nearly flinched away. It was too much. It had been too long.

“I’m great. I want to hear about you. Tell me, what have you found?” 

And Rheniite didn’t speak for a long time. Gabbro didn’t know how to feign anything anymore. It had been too long since they’d had to.

Then, out of nowhere, Rheniite settled with their back to Gabbro, their head pillowed on the edge of Gabbro’s hammock, and they started to speak.

Where were you supposed to go when there was nowhere left to run?

Gabbro didn’t think about that. They put their hand out and grabbed the shoulder pads of Rheniite’s suit. There was a hand in theirs, squeezing in comfort, and Gabbro let the draw of Rheniite’s voice lull them to sleep. When they opened their eyes, the only thought that greeted them was the blind hope that Rheniite wouldn’t wait as long this time.

They didn’t wait as long, but nothing ever changed, either. 

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

You stumble, settling down until you’re sitting on the ledge with the two lanterns you’d come in here to move. Gabbro won’t speak, and you have nothing to say. 

You have so many things to say. 

So while you were getting eaten by anglerfish, and crushed by Brittle Hollow’s falling pieces, and getting your arms and legs burned off by the Interloper’s plethora of ghost matter, Gabbro was out in the wild oceans of Giant’s Deep, trying to get to you.

You can’t do this. 

Your voice is wet when you ask, “You wanted to find me?” 

“Yes. I promise you, I tried. And I did care.” 

You get up. Gabbro watches your movements, but you turn until you can’t see them. You take one of the lanterns and set it far away. You return, picking up the last lantern, and you settle it down. You hear latches click and you feel the small flicker of satisfaction that comes from your hypothesis being correct. Gabbro gets up and stands right next to you as you walk up to the black wall that once housed the second to last painting.

Gabbro’s right. You’re such an ass. 

“I–Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

They step up onto the ledge and drop down into the hidden stairway. You follow behind them at a careful distance. They say, so quiet you can hardly hear them, “Because what’s the point in telling you when it’s not going to change anything?”

You’re about to say something, but then Gabbro flinches and stumbles back so suddenly that every word dies on your lips. You jump the rest of the way down, grabbing Gabbro by the arm and shoving them behind you, but nothing comes jumping out at you. What you do see is not any more comforting. 

There’s a ring of skeletons around a glowing green fire. In their hands are metal artifacts, burning small, muted green mimics of the fiercely glowing fire in the center. They’re quite possibly the most intimidating creatures you’ve ever seen in your life. Double your height, with long horns and wide open mouths. They’re the creatures in the paintings. Long gone, and yet the fire in their hands is still burning. 

You and Gabbro look at each other. One step, then another, and Gabbro slides out from behind you as the toes of your boots stop inches away from the fire. 

“This place is freaky,” Gabbro says. You nod in agreement. You’re ready to go, but they settle down in front of the fire. You’re not sure what they’re doing, but you sit a comfortable distance away from them. Close enough you can reach out and grab them if need be, but far enough it doesn’t feel like you’re encroaching on their space. 

They take a deep breath in, laying their hands over their knees. You copy them, letting your eyes slip closed. Maybe this is what you need. A quiet moment together to let everything settle.

A moment later, you feel a strange swooping sensation in your stomach. Your eyes flutter open, and instead of sitting up by the fire, you’re laying on the ground. In your hand is the same artifact the skeletons were holding, a glowing green fire in the center. 

“Please say you’re here,” You call out. There’s shuffling to your left. 

“I’m here.”

You sigh in relief, pushing yourself back up to sitting. The skeletons are gone, the space dark as if you’d fallen asleep and woken up half a day later. You feel lighter than when you’d settled down, and one glance at Gabbro reveals that both of you are missing your suits. 

“Did Feldspar strip us as some sort of a joke?” Gabbro asks, looking around as if the pieces of their suit will magically appear if they look in the right spot. “And…did they take the skeletons while they were at it?”

“I’m going to choose to believe Feldspar isn’t that crazy.” You respond. 

“Gossan would argue that in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, well, Gossan can argue with a brick wall.”

You lift up the artifact and watch as it illuminates the space in front of you. The staircase is pitch black, somehow darker than when you’d first come down. You wonder if there really is a night and day in this synthetic world, and you’d just missed the turning of the clock on both of your trips. 

That doesn’t account for your missing suit or the missing skeletons, though. 

You and Gabbro climb your way back up the stairs. It’s pitch black outside, like all of the artificial lighting was turned off completely. You hear as Gabbro slides closer to you, and you in turn fill in the remaining gap. 

“Get Feldspar and get out of here?” You ask.

“I’m not leaving without my suit!” Gabbro whisper-yells at you. You kick them in the back of the ankle. 

“I have a feeling that if we stick around long enough to find our suits, we might also find the mystery of the missing skeletons, and I’m not feeling that sort of game right now.”

“Are you scared of the dark?” Gabbro hops the last two steps and spins, staring at you with a teasing smirk. They’re holding one of the artifacts in their hand, the green glow making their skin look pale and sickly. 

“Ha, ha,” You respond. 

“Ooo, the moth man is going to come get you.” Gabbro wiggles their fingers at you, light undertones of held back laughter in their voice. Your deadpan has improved with time, because Gabbro drops their hands and glares at you instead of continuing. “Feldspar would’ve fallen over themself.”

“Good to know I have standards.” You slide past Gabbro and hop down the stairs to the dead grass. They join you moments later, still grumbling to themself. 

You fumble with the controls on the artifact for a moment. One seems to make the light coming from the fire condense, shining a similar beam to your flashlight that you realize you no longer have, while the other…

“Stop! Turn it back on, don’t do that,” Gabbro says, slapping your shoulder so hard that you take your finger off the button without thinking. 

You smirk. “Who is afraid of the dark again? Enlighten me?”

“Shut. Up.” Gabbro says. You can’t stop smiling. 

You’re almost back to the house you’d left Feldspar in when Gabbro suddenly stops walking. You slow, your heart seizing. You don’t want to have any more of these conversations today. You’ve argued enough for the rest of the year. 

Gabbro sucks in a breath and says, “Who…What, I mean…Look. You really think I just didn’t care about you that whole time? That I just…sat there, and laid around, and never thought about you?”

And you have no idea what to answer, because all of that is true. 

But instead of saying the truth, you default back to one of your new skills. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Who do you take me for?”

You close your eyes. “Gabbro, we have got to stop this.”

“No. Because it’s obviously time for it to all come clean. Answer me.”

You take the four strides needed to erase the space between you and Gabbro, and you say, “You’re my friend. We’re time buddies. You are…you’re the most important person in my life.”

“And you feel that even though you thought I left you alone to fight a dying universe by yourself?” Gabbro whispers. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand.”

“I do!” Gabbro yells, and it startles you enough you step back just an inch. It’s enough to calm Gabbro right down. “I just…why is it so hard to talk to you? It’s never been this hard to talk to you.”

“Maybe it’s because we never said anything that actually needed to be said.”

Gabbro nods. You watch them, and you swallow thick when you say, “I just wanted you there when the universe ended. I couldn’t do it alone.”

“But you did.”

“No. I didn’t. You were there. Everyone was there. I figured it was just a figment of my imagination, but I got to pretend for a second that you’d found me, and that I’d found Feldspar, and we were all back together again. Esker…Esker was so happy. Just playing music around the fire again.”

“I don’t know if you believe me. I know that I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve told you. I didn’t want you to be upset or feel guilty or like you lost something. If you never knew I’d tried, you couldn’t be disappointed that I failed.” Gabbro kicks at the dirt under their feet. 

You kick it back like it’s the rock in the Ember Twin caves. “I missed you when you weren’t around. I just got lonely.”

“I missed you. I think…” Gabbro trails off, and you kick them in the foot to get them to finish. “I think I snapped a little there. Around the time I was trying to fix my ship.”

“I wish I had known. I could’ve helped you.”

“I didn’t want you dragged into my problems.”

“Sounds like we have too much in common.” You smile, and Gabbro gives you a cautious lip curl in return. “And…you know? You were never an afterthought. Ever. I can’t ever seem to stop thinking about you, in fact. It’s like, everytime I found something new, every time I got stuck on a problem, every time I just wanted a moment of peace…I thought of you. Only you.”

Gabbro stops breathing, their eyes red-rimmed and wet. You take a step forward, fully intent on wrapping your arms around their shoulders, when you see it.

You take your steps slower. You lean your head on Gabbro’s shoulder, and they tense in confusion. You hush them. Wrapping one arm around their back and bringing the artifact up with the other. If those pinpricks of light are intelligent, you don’t want them to think they’ve been spotted. 

You condense your light, and suddenly you know where the skeletons went. 

“I’m going to take three steps back. On the third step, run. Don’t try to follow me. Just run as far and fast as you can. Understand?” You take your first step back and shut the light off. Gabbro’s breath seizes. 

“What are you—“

“Listen to me. Just run.” Second step. 

“Rheniite, what—“

“Keep your light off.” Third. 

You run. 

Chapter Text

It’s explosive. You run one way, and Gabbro runs in a similar direction but ultimately away from you all the same. You can hear footsteps following, and there’s a flash of green that keeps getting closer and closer despite your mere flashes of light to see where you’re going. 

You crash through bushes and slam into trees, but you push yourself off and keep going. You don’t know where to run. You don’t have any sort of vantage point, any higher ground. No familiar spots. There’s no big tree to climb to win the game of tag you’re playing right now. 

You turn your light on just in time to see that you’re coming up on a rock face. You jump, using all of your arm strength to pull yourself up one rock at a time. You’re really hoping that the creature tailing you isn’t much faster at climbing than you are. 

You officially like the Nomai better.

You manage to find level ground again and you don’t waste time before you bolt. You run, your heart pounding right up and out of your mouth. You look down, eyes trailing over the vast dark expanse of the Lowlands. You see a flash of green and then nothing. A few steps, another flash of green, a change in direction, and then there’s two flashes and the direction changes in a more violent manner. 

You turn. You’re still being followed. There’s more than one, and the other one has already found Gabbro. 

You turn your light on just in time to keep from taking flying steps off the cliff. You run to your right, find a steep incline, and slide yourself down. The impact is painful and jarring, ripping up your knees and through your spine, but you can’t stop. 

You don’t want to die, and you’re pretty sure this creature isn’t chasing you to have a nice chat. 

You’re just about to round another corner when you’re forced to slam to a stop. You kick up dirt all around you, distracting momentarily from the white pinpricks staring back at you. 

There’s green fire behind you, and green fire in front of you.

This is so not fair. You knew you should’ve gone to the black hole forge instead.

You move to turn, but the creature has already lunged. It screams, arms reaching out.

A body slides in front of you. Your mouth drops. You want to scream. 

The creature grabs Gabbro by the neck. Your mind snaps the instant Gabbro’s spine does. 

You drop your artifact as Gabbro’s body falls. You throw your hands over your mouth. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. 

This is all a dream. This is a simulation. The Eye made this up. You’ve always been dead.

Gabbro did not just die. Gabbro’s been dead. They’ve been dead for months. 

Right? 

The green flames move away from you. 

You scream. 

You throw yourself to the ground, grabbing at Gabbro’s patched up flannel and shaking them violently. You scream, a high pitched wail. “Wake up! Fuck off, you can’t tell me all of that and then die on me! Wake up! Wake up! ”

You shake them until your arms go numb and your body can’t hold itself up anymore. You lay down, pillowing your head on Gabbro’s chest. You press your ear to where their heart is supposed to beat, and you hear nothing. 

You sob into the empty night air. 

You hear footsteps. You grab Gabbro’s body, hauling it over your back. Your spine screams at you, but you don’t care. You’re not leaving them here. You have to go. 

Why do you have to go?

You run, leaving your artifact behind. 

You slide behind a tree and settle Gabbro’s body down beside you. It flops lifeless, the neck at an angle that makes you sick. You watch as the walking green flames come up to the abandoned artifacts.

“I’m so angry,” You whisper to Gabbro’s body. It’s broken by your stilted cries. “You better hope we don’t meet in our next lives. I’ll kill you myself.”

The creature lifts up Gabbro’s artifact and studies it.

“How can you leave me?”

It takes a breath…

“You just told me you missed me.”

It exhales. 

“And now I have to miss you forever.”

The fire goes out.

Gabbro’s body, once pillowed right beside you, vanishes into the night. 

You feel faint. You feel like tearing the antlers off the being’s head. 

It picks up your artifact and you stare without blinking as it blows out your light. 

And you wake up. 

You lift yourself off the ground. There’s a green fire burning in front of you, and around the fire are the skeletons of the beings who’d once inhabited this artificial world. 

You can’t look. You can’t turn your head.

If you look and Gabbro isn’t there you might lose it. 

Except, you don’t have to look. There’s a cautious hand on your shoulder, like the person knows you’re hanging by your very last shred. A familiar suit enters your view. Your vision gets fuzzy, and you can’t help the raw, guttural sound that rips out of your throat. 

“How! Dare! You!” You punctuate each word with a punch to Gabbro’s chest. “Don’t! Ever! Die! For! Me!” 

Gabbro is still holding onto your shoulders. They won’t let go. Not even the hardest punch has shaken them. 

“Don’t do that again! Ever!” You scream. You take a few breaths, then you throw yourself into Gabbro’s arms and sob out loud. Gabbro holds you. They rock you side to side, their hand on the back of your helmet. They’re alive, but you can’t hear their heartbeat. They’re alive, but you can’t hear them breathe. 

You think of the trees outside. You hope. 

You rip your helmet off, and Gabbro screams, but the air is thin and yet enough. You slam your ear to Gabbro’s chest and soak their suit in your tears. There, faint but there , is Gabbro’s heartbeat. 

Gabbro pushes you away and slams your helmet back on. You suck in a deep breath. 

“Idiot. Are you trying to kill yourself?” 

It makes you cry harder. “Don’t die for me ever again. Leave your ship in the ocean. Don’t try to find me. Stay in your hammock.”

“Rhen, breathe.”

You can’t breathe. You just watched Gabbro’s neck get snapped because you were too slow. You got caught, and Gabbro paid the price. 

“With me. Breathe with me. Just like I taught you.”

You feel as Gabbro’s chest presses against yours, and you breathe in mostly against your will. You follow the movements of Gabbro’s chest, and before you know it you’re breathing in sync. In, and out. In, and out. 

There’s boots coming up the stairs. You throw yourself in front of Gabbro like the skeletons have awoken and found you again. 

It’s Feldspar. 

“What happened?” Feldspar falls to their knees beside you. You crumble, and Feldspar catches you. “Hey, my little rock. Just me, yeah? It’s just me.”

“I think we found where the inhabitants of this place are,” Gabbro says. You hold onto Feldspar’s hand so tight you think you might break the bones. You don’t let go, and Feldspar doesn’t push you away. 

“I think we should regroup for now. What do you think?” Feldspar asks. 

“Sunless City,” You say. 

Feldspar lifts you to your feet and starts leading you away, but you pull back just enough to see Gabbro behind you.

“I’m here. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

Gabbro flies your ship back to Ember Twin. The flight is awkward, but you don’t care this time. You lay in Feldspar’s lap and let them gently trace their fingers over the dry scales on your cheek. The whole way there, you watch Gabbro. Every movement. Every breath. You never want to look away from them again. 

They tried to find you. All that time. 

They just…You close your eyes, your lip wobbling. Feldspar sighs and brushes a hand over your forehead. 

You show them your shortcut to the Sunless City. You don’t feel like taking the long way. 

You end up settling with your backs to the trees, just below Idaea and Pye’s writing. You missed them. They’re not even real. You’ve never met them. 

It doesn’t matter. You still miss them. 

“I’m going to go get food and our sleeping bags from the ship. I’ll set them up somewhere we won’t end up crushed by sand,”  Gabbro says, getting up. You grab their hand before they can go, but you won’t look at them. Gabbro leans down and catches your eyes. “I’ll be right back. Trust me. I won’t leave you.”

You let them go. 

Once Gabbro is gone, back out the shortcut entrance, Feldspar turns to you.

“You know, it’s most definitely a bad time. But I said the same thing to Gabbro so I need to say it to you too to make it fair,” Feldspar says. You lay your head in their lap and stare up at them. “They told me in quite colorful words that I’m way off the mark, which I might be, but hear me out.

“It’s rare for us Hearthians to have such, how do I say, delicate relationships. The way that you latched onto Gabbro…you know, it reminds me a little of Gossan and  I—”

“Oh, no, let me stop you,” You say. Feldspar gives you a look. 

“Listen. I’m not saying you have to go get all flirty and be together like that. What I am saying though, is that there’s different kinds of feelings that are just as important as the ones Gossan and I—well, that doesn’t matter right now. But what you and Gabbro have? That’s really rare, and it’s really special, and I’d hate to see you two blow it because of some weird timey wimey space stuff you two experienced and won’t tell anyone else about.

“Little rock, I know a lot happened, and I can’t understand all of it. I know that you’ve lived a thousand lives and I’ve lived one and I can’t hope to understand all the things going on in your head. But, you know what’s really awesome? You have someone that really loves you, and you love them, too, and you don’t even have to do the awkward flirty stuff. Win win!”

“I don’t love Gabbro. That’s—“ You were going to use a word like preposterous, but it’s really not that preposterous if you actually think about it.

What does it mean to love someone? Did Daz look at Cassava and think the world would end if Cassava wasn’t in it? Did Clary look at Yarrow and think there’s no one else she wants beside her except him? Did Avens look at Mallow and think, I want to kiss them, but I also want to hold them as they fall asleep, and I want to make sure they eat well, and fill in those shirts that are too big. 

Does Feldspar ever look at Gossan and know, without a doubt, that what they feel for them is unconditional; everlasting? No matter if the sun went supernova, or the bramble seed on Timber Hearth destroyed the planet, or the universe collapsed and started all over from scratch – Gossan is the one constant. The one thing that matters. 

Gabbro is your center. Your gravity. Does that mean you love them? 

“I don’t want to kiss Gabbro like you want to kiss Gossan–”

Feldspar doesn’t let you finish. They say, “I know, Rhen. Listen, there’s other feelings, just as strong, just as important. Do I have to knock you upside the head so you’ll remember?”

“I think that would just make me forget.”

“Stars, you never were the brightest hatchling, were you?”

You try not to let how you feel show. 

How many times have you heard that phrase out of Feldspar’s mouth? 

“So you know how your friend Cassandra was destined to find the Eye?”

“Cassava.”

“Whatever. Cassava and their friends—“

“His.”

“ His friends were sent here by the all seeing, older than dirt Eye of the Universe. It was written in the stars. That’s you and Gabbro. However you choose to honor it.”

What does it mean to look at someone and see the universe in the way they walk, the way they speak, how their teeth never touch a spoon because their roommate hates the sound? What does it mean to know every food they hate, every food they like, every hobby they think makes time fly and every job they treat like heavy molasses on the soles of their shoes? What does it mean to know that they sleep on their right side, with their head pillowed on their arm unless they’re sleeping with you? And when they’re sleeping with you, they pretend to be asleep until you wrap your arms around them, your nose brushing over the top of their head; only then will their breathing even out, their body going lax. 

Is that love? Or is that different? 

You want to ask Feldspar, but before you can, Gabbro returns with three tins of steaming salt fish. You grab yours, and Feldspar takes theirs, and the three of you eat in silence as you let everything from the day compartmentalize so it doesn’t drive you crazy. 

That’s another thing you’re good at. Filing things away for later. 

You flick a piece of fish at Gabbro when they’re not looking, and they glare at you and dump the rest of the oil right into your can. 

“More fat for me,” You say, dipping your fish into the oil and slurping it right up.

“Brat,” Gabbro smiles. It makes you feel warm, like the crackling of the fire Gabbro for the longest time kept too far from their hammock. 

Do you love them? Is that what it all boils down to?

The three of you clamber back out of the Sunless City as the sand fills the caverns. Gabbro leads the three of you back to your ship, and once you get in, you realize that all of your sleeping bags are smashed together in the corner.

“Had to wait for the hatch to close,” Gabbro says, laying their sleeping bag right over the closed hatch. They slide right in, tossing their suit pieces behind them. Feldspar looks at you and rolls their eyes, settling their sleeping bag closest to your ship logs and laying down. 

You settle to Gabbro’s right, closest to the pilot’s chair. 

Feldspar is already asleep a mere minute later. You think Gabbro is asleep too, but before you can check, Gabbro is shuffling until they’re facing you. 

“Are we okay?” They whisper. 

You turn and face them. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Their eyes turn red again. You reach out, brushing your thumb beneath their bottommost right eye. They inhale, whispering, “We’re okay?”

You scoot closer. You slide your arm beneath Gabbro’s neck, and they roll until their head is laying in their favorite spot – that dip in your shoulder that might as well have their name written on it. 

You nuzzle your face into their temple, brushing your nose beneath their ear. Gabbro shivers, gripping your shirt tight. You say, when you’re sure they’re listening, “If you can find it in yourself to forgive me, we’re okay. You’re…forever. Yeah?”

Gabbro nods. Their hand comes up and rubs at your dry face, their nose ghosting over the corner of your lips. 

Your eyes slip closed, and you fall asleep for the first time believing that tomorrow is a new day.

Chapter Text

HAL

Somewhere between the blistered hands, aching biceps, and at least five different thorns sticking out of various parts of their body, there’s a gaping, massive, gravity-dense black hole where their stomach used to be. 

They would say it’s their heart, but they still care enough about the seed in the crater, and Marl’s long-winded attempts at telling a story. There’s still hope in there somewhere–even if it’s, again, buried beneath everything else they have to contend with on a daily basis. They’d known Rheniite would pack up and leave one day. It’s why they worked so hard on giving them the best shot at doing something amazing once they were out there. Not that they had anyone to contend with, at least in their own opinion. Feldspar is great, but Rheniite is their best friend. There’s no one on Timber Hearth that deserves the title of best astronaut more than them.

Spinel would disagree. As would Gossan. Probably Chert, too, considering they seem to believe they’re the only one hopping around planets for the good of the scientific community. 

Rheniite had been at Porphy’s waist when they started working on the translator tool. Even if they still can’t look Porphy in the eye (and who can, really?), it’s been long enough that they’re taller than Hal, and that was a pretty big deal. Hal had been so excited to see the translator be put to use. They were going to learn so much. Everything was going to change. They just never thought they’d be left behind when it did. 

One day Rheniite is sitting on their bed, looking out the same window they’d built not two years prior. They were going to see everything there was to see, go places no other Hearthian had been. They would surpass Feldspar’s grandeur before anyone could blink. A trip to the Interloper, and a swing around Dark Bramble. 

The next, they’re blasting off in their ship, doing exactly what they promised by bringing Feldspar home as their first accomplishment. 

Who can top that? Spinel likes to pretend that Gabbro’s wine-drunk retelling of the jellyfish story is anywhere close to being a green astronaut finding someone everyone assumed was dead. Gabbro won’t even tell anyone the story to their face. They must know only Spinel would fall for something like that. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they tell everyone? Chert has no problem recounting their time on Ember Twin, and Riebeck may take a minute or two to warm up, but Hal finally knows what the Hanging City is, and it’s not because Rheniite told them when they asked. 

Marl collapses down beside them, tossing their vest onto the ground. A cloud of dust poofs up and lands fully atop the soaked through garment. Hal grimaces. “You’re going to have to clean that for a year before I’d consider it worthy enough to be worn again.”

“Good thing you’re not the one wearing it,” They say, chugging an entire can of water in one long gulp. 

Hal pulls one of the thorns out of their hip with a hiss. Marl glances their direction, chewing thoughtfully on nothing, before grabbing the towel off their shoulder to hand off to Hal.

“Thanks?” Hall smirks, pressing the towel to the slowly bleeding puncture. Marl shrugs, grabbing Tektite’s first-aid kit and rummaging through it. They pull out a tube of aloe. It’s been a while since either of them have had to use the first-aid kit, but considering the sheer gargantuaness of the seed’s roots, they’ve been using it more and more often. Gneiss is having trouble keeping up with the requests for more gel, and even more trouble with droughts for headaches, dehydration, and general pain relief. 

Between the tree-keepers, Feldspar, Rheniite, and Gossan, Gneiss has been too busy to fuss about sweeping the leaves off the pathways. It’s about the only good thing that’s come from this mess.

The tube is almost completely empty, but Marl manages to squeeze enough out onto the tip of their first finger. They wave Hal’s hand away, then carefully apply the gel onto the wound in quick swipes. Hal blinks, trying not to flinch. Marl looks at them with a slight upturn to their lips, but they don’t say anything. 

“How many more do you have?” Marl asks, holding their finger up so they don’t lose the rest of the gel. 

Hal looks themself over. “I think that was the biggest one. The rest are just splinters, it’s fine.”

“Sure?” Marl asks.

“Yeah, I’ll deal with them later. They don’t hurt or anything.”

“This is ridiculous,” Marl sighs, tossing the aloe back into the first-aid kit. They wipe the rest of the gel on their pants. “We’re going to get it. I was so close to getting that root out over on the cliff. The sap doesn’t like the humidity as much. Can’t beat me this time.”

“Pretty sure the plant doesn’t have it out for you.”

“Plants always have it out for me.”

Hal rolls their eyes. It takes a few minutes for them to muster up the courage to pluck the rest of the thorns out. Sure enough, those bleed, too, but they’d rather not fess up and take the rest of the gel from someone who actually needs it. Marl looks at them and opens their mouth to say something, but they shake their head. They know as well as Hal there’s no use in nagging each other. 

“Well,” Marl claps their hands on their knees, standing up. “I’m going back before I break another ax. You can come with if you want. Or you can stay here and be sad by yourself. Either way, I’m eating the leftover vegetable thing Tektite made so I’d go to the garden if you want to eat tonight.”

“That’s nice of you,” Hal snorts. Marl puts a hand over their heart as they bend to grab their soiled vest.

“I knew you’d see reason one day.” They punctuate this by shaking their vest out right in Hal’s face. 

Marl leaves them behind with the first-aid kit and two broken axes. Feeling sorry for themself feels a little too close to giving into Marl’s taunting, so instead they get up. The gel goes back in the kit despite being basically empty, and Hal tosses it near the mouth of the flower where Tektite’s ax and bottles of weed killer are haphazardly laying around. They bring the ax pieces with them. The wood can be used for fire starter, and the blades can be remade. 

Marl may think they’re making progress, but Hal knows they’re not. Especially considering Marl’s version of quote-unquote, making progress, is two slashes on the base of one of the cliff roots. As far as Tektite knows, the roots buried themselves deep in a hurry, and considering how long it’s been since that happened, what are the odds of them digging them out?

Hal climbs their way out of the crater. They shouldn’t be such a defeatist. As if Rheniite has ever cared about what’s possible. Look at where that got them. Now, after all of that training, they’re out in space, learning about things that were wholly out of reach to their species a decade ago. If Rheniite can learn all there is to know about the Nomai, then Hal can cut up a stubborn branch. 

Hal originally plans to go straight to the gardens to scrounge up something they can make for dinner, but they end up veering off path to the museum. Hornfels is leaning against the wall when they get there, writing in a notebook. They reach out and touch the statue, their mouth twisted. More writing. Hal knocks so they don’t startle them, but Hornfels already knew they were there.

“Hey! Good to see you,” Hornfels says, settling their notebook down. They give Hal a quick pat on the shoulder. “How’s that troublesome plant treating you?”

“More like how are we treating it?” Hal scoffs. “Marl thinks we’re making progress.”

“But you think…?”

“That we’re wasting resources, but how else are we going to get the seed out?”

“We don’t need another Dark Bramble.”

“Exactly.” Hal nods, reading over Hornfels’s notes. Looks like they’re trying to figure out the mineral composition of the statue. Ambitious with just the tip of their finger. Surely they’ve got the microscope out upstairs? “Are you going to chip a bit more off this thing and study it?”

“Probably. Think I might make Gabbro come back and do it.”

Hal chuckles. It’s only fair. They did chip the statue on the way back in the first place, might as well have them finish the job. 

There’s a sour feeling in their chest. It’s not like Gabbro’s ever been gone for long chunks of time at any point in their career as an astronaut. If they weren’t on Giant’s Deep, they were on Timber Hearth–even if those visits to Timber Hearth were usually short-lived jaunts to that strange grove and to the museum to give reports to Hornfels. Out of all of the current astronauts, Gabbro returned to the village the most, and yet all the sudden, Hal feels like they’ve never met them. 

When Gabbro launched three, maybe four years ago, they didn’t even say a quick goodbye to most of the village. Slate got a long-winded monologue on how excited Gabbro was to have such a nice ship (even if the fuel lines blew a week later), Gneiss got a demonstration of Gabbro’s flute to make sure it still worked, Hornfels gave them the launch codes, and Rheniite…well, Hal doesn’t know, because Rheniite never did tell Hal what Gabbro said to them before they left. All they know is Rheniite barricaded themself in their room for a day and a half, and then the next they were training with Gossan like nothing ever happened. 

It didn’t bother them so much back then. They were in the midst of translating Cassava and Filix’s writing, and the designs for the translator tool were starting to take shape. It was all paper and conjecture back then, but it was more important to Hal than whether Gabbro was being Gabbro and making a mountain out of a molehill. 

Sometimes it’s best to let Gabbro say words and then figure out what they mean later. If they actually mean anything at all. From the infant den to the day they left the hatchling cabin, Gabbro had a thousand words to say and maybe ten of them would be something of value. There’s a reason Hal will lay awake at night wondering what it means to have thoughts and be aware of them, and all of the blame lays on Gabbro’s haughty shoulders.

Before Rheniite launched, Hal could count the amount of conversations Gabbro and Rheniite had together on one hand. Now? All of a sudden, Gabbro is the only thing Rheniite sees, and Hal is left in the shadows of the one person they’d thought was dead-set on never having a single deep connection with anyone except Riebeck. And even then, that was just proximity’s sake.

Considering how close they’ve become, Hal wonders how much they missed. There’s no way those two went from amicable strangers to seeing the stars in each other’s eyes in a couple weeks. 

Hal startles. Hornfels is inches away, staring right into their eyes. 

“You back?” Hornfels asks. “Or are you still flying?”

“I’m here,” Hal cracks their neck, shaking out their shoulders. “Just thinking about something.”

Hornfels crosses their arms. “Something, or someone?”

“Something,” Hal says, waving them off. Hornfels shrugs, smiling at them. “Do you need help taking notes or anything? I guess I could probably clean up a little. It’s not like Rhen is here to do their part of the chores.”

“Ah, I knew I was right,” Hornfels says. Hal presses their tongue to the inside of their cheek. “You know, they have a radio. And their ship doesn’t explode if it comes within a few kilometers of this planet. You could always call and ask them to come back for a visit?”

“They’re busy with their new friends.” Hal snaps their mouth closed. They take a breath, recycle their thoughts, and then start again. “I want them to get good use out of our translator tool. I don’t want them to miss out on something good because I wanted to talk to them.”

Hornfels hums. “Well…you are right, you know? It was Rhen’s job to sweep the floors…Every astronaut has a job to do.”

“Don’t they usually do those jobs in space?”

“Are you in space, Hal?” 

Hal gapes. “Uh, no?”

“Then why would I give Rheniite a job in space? How else am I going to get them back here for you?” Hornfels taps their temple twice and then points at Hal. They grab their radio off their belt and step into the other room. 

Hal has no idea what’s going on, but suddenly they feel a mix of nervous and excited. Will Rheniite actually come back for something as silly as cleaning the floors of the museum? 

They don’t know, but they grab a bucket of water and a towel just in case. They want to look busy if this somehow works out. 

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

Your neck hurts when you wake up, but Gabbro is still asleep, one arm over your abdomen and another curled up on their chest. You look at them and feel like throwing up. It’s a strange feeling. You don’t really know what to do with it, so you brush a finger over their forehead and nuzzle your nose beneath their ear. They twitch, inhaling deep. They stretch, nearly smacking you in the face, their eyes halfway open. 

“Morning,” You say. Gabbro flops right back down, burrowing themself beneath the sleeping bag. You chuckle, about to move, but they go so far as to take the arm still trapped beneath their body and pull until it wraps around their back. 

“Mn,” They say.

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

You shake your head. 

Feldspar is out. They’re buried beneath the top of their sleeping bag and two threadbare blankets with only their ears poking out. They’re breathing deep and slow, silent but for the shuffle of fabric. Gabbro hums into your armpit, stretching again. They shift until their lips brush your collarbones. 

“Can we sleep for another five hours?” Gabbro asks. 

You flick them. “Did you have good dreams?”

“Yeah. I was sleeping, and then I’d wake up and realize I didn’t have any chores from Hornfels.”

“If we lay here too long, Hornfels will feel a disturbance in the universe and call all three of us back. Come on, get up. Let’s at least eat breakfast.” You shake Gabbro until they roll far enough away you can wiggle your arm free. “Leave Feldspar, we’ll come back and get them when the food’s ready.”

Gabbro’s jaw drops. “Why do I have to get up, then?”

“Because I just love your company.”

Gabbro groans and presses their face into the floor. You chuckle, suiting up and leaning against your chair to wait for Gabbro to get themself together. They take their time, putting each piece of their suit on achingly slow. You tap your foot. Chert’s fire is going, so at least that means you won’t be bothering them. 

Once Gabbro is finally ready, the two of you toss your sleeping bags haphazardly onto the pilot’s chair and step out of the hatch. You bring a bag of dried vegetables with you, and Gabbro has a packet of grain and cans of fish. Feldspar doesn’t like potatoes, Gabbro doesn’t like carrots, you don’t like spices. It’s a trip trying to make food for everyone and not end up with half-empty bowls with different things left behind.

Back when you lived with Hal and Marl, you’d pushed your preferences to the side to make things easier. They liked food that burns from their tongue to their stomach. You liked to be able to take two bites in a row without chugging an entire pitcher of water in between. 

When it comes to Feldspar and Gabbro, neither of them care one way or the other whether the food is physically painful to eat. Food is food. Between all three of you, it’s been a long time since you’ve cared about silly things like what you like and don’t like. That doesn’t change the fact that you want to know, and you want them to like whatever it is you help make. 

Chert has a large steel pot over the fire when you arrive. They hold a hand up in greeting. It’s too early for anyone to say real words. At least, it’s too soon after waking up. There’s a tarp laid out by the fire with Chert’s rations spread out, and you and Gabbro settle your share down on the edge so things don’t get mixed up. 

“String-bean, I swiped these from Slate’s workshop before I left the village a couple days ago,” Chert says, tossing a silver container to Gabbro. They catch it and something rattles as it settles. They pop the top off, their hand flying to their chest.

“Slate is going to kill you.” They slip their helmet off and breathe in the scent of whatever is in the can. You lean over their shoulder to take a peek. It’s just coffee beans. What a let down. 

While Gabbro and Chert start roasting the coffee beans, you pull some potatoes out of the bag and wash them off with a can of water. You wrap one of the normal potatoes, and one of the sweeter ones, then toss them into the fire to start cooking. When that’s done, you settle down in the dusty spot next to Chert’s log and start chopping up the dried carrots into tiny slivers Gabbro won’t be able to taste once they’re cooked in. 

Chert has a handheld millstone, but they’ll want to use it for the coffee beans so you resign yourself to the next couple minutes of hard work. Once you have all the carrots chopped, you let them bake a little longer in the sun before getting up on your knees, taking the bottom of the knife and using it to crush the carrots into a powder. Maybe if Gabbro can eat carrots like this, they’ll get a little more energy and stop sleeping all day.

You smile and shake your head. Gabbro could sleep after injecting the caffeine from their coffee beans right into their veins. 

This would be nice on the poles of Brittle Hollow. While you never used to roast coffee beans with Chert and Gabbro back before Gabbro launched, you started attributing snowy nights to the sound of their voices and the crackle of the fire. You’d watch as Gabbro would stir the beans around as Chert explained how to know when they were done, puffs of white air leaving their lips. The smell changed as time passed–from a grassy, earthy smell, to a sweet, floral smell, to something that might be burnt sugar or bread. According to Chert, once it smells like it’s burning, that means it’s done. Maybe that’s where Gabbro got the whole burnt marshmallow thing…

You take your helmet off so you can smell it. It’s hot–blistering, in fact. It doesn’t give you the same sense of nostalgia as it would if the heat was a blast of snow hitting you in the face, but you remember it. It smells sweet right now. They have to wait for the second pop of the beans before they’ll start smelling burnt, and then they’ll be done. You wonder if Chert will still make Gabbro grind them up, or if just like they’ve graduated from flight school, they’ve graduated from being volunteered for the menial tasks.

Once Gabbro’s moved all of the finished coffee beans to the can, Chert switches out the large pan for a pot. They pour a can of water in and hold their hand out toward you. “Hand me the grains?”

You hand them off. Chert pours the entire bag inside once the water starts boiling, stirring it around a couple times before covering the pot. “You don’t like spices, right?”

“Not particularly,” You shrug. 

“It’ll still taste fine without them.”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Gabbro spends the next five minutes grinding the coffee beans, but it’s easy to see why Gabbro is the one tasked with this. While Gabbro manages to get half of the beans to a powder, Chert ends up with huge chunks of the beans still intact after grinding their half. Gabbro eventually takes the millstone back, dumping all of the grounds back into the top and regrinding them until they’re uniform.

“You’re good at that,” You say to Gabbro, handing Chert the dried vegetables for them to dump into the pot. They shrug, pouring a can of water into the kettle and hanging it on the stick over the fire.

“It’s a good way to zone out.”

“Like holding a tea kettle over the fire?” 

They smile and flick you on the forehead. “Exactly.”

You grab their hand before they can get too far away. Their breath catches in their chest. Chert is focused on the bubbling pot, Feldspar is still asleep. Gabbro’s palm is dry from the heat and the coarseness of the millstone, with tiny indents where the granite wasn’t completely smoothed out along the handle. You run your thumb over them, soothing them until they’ve almost completely disappeared. 

Yesterday is still so fresh in your mind. You almost lost them. You did lose them. If that simulation, or dream, or whatever it was had been real, Gabbro would be gone. You’d have woken up this morning alone in your ship, with Gabbro’s sleeping bag, and Gabbro’s clothes, and enough food for both of you, and they’d never have used any of it again. 

And they would’ve died in the middle of one of the stupidest arguments you’ve ever had with them. You were so wrong about everything, and you don’t know how to make it up to them. It’s been years, and yet here they are, grinding coffee beans and flicking you on the forehead because you’re still insufferable when you don’t mean to be. 

You press your forehead to their wrist, wrapping your hand around their forearm. Your lips brush their palm. They’re shaking, but you don’t want to let them go. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper. They drop down to their knees, guiding your face until you can look them in the eye. 

They chuckle, brushing the knuckle of their first finger beneath your bottom eyes. “We’re still here. We can fix anything together.”

“How do you always have something to say?” You ask. Gabbro leans back on their hunches, twisting their wrist until they’re the one holding your hand. 

“I just don’t think it’s worth it to dwell on things I can’t control. And why would I be upset with you or angry with you when all I wanted was for you to see me?” They swallow. “I care more about us building up from here than trying to pretend we can change anything in the past.”

“But, all of that time–”

“Is over now,” They smile. “It’s done and gone. Today, you’re here, and we’re making breakfast, and then we’re going to explore something new. Or we’re going to build a fire on Brittle Hollow’s equator and stargaze. I think we should do that.”

You shake your head. “You want to get crushed by volcanic rock?”

“What are the odds of us getting hit by it? Come on, you know that sounds nice. No responsibilities, no falling sand, no cyclones, no black hole, no interdimensional warping beast planets. Just us, and the stars, and the snow, and a really nice fire. I’ve been following you around the solar system for weeks! Can’t we do something chill just once?” 

Maybe that’s what you need. To actually take a second to yourself and it not be against your will. “Fine. Make your coffee and we’ll go, okay?”

Gabbro jumps up, grabbing the coffee grounds and dumping them into the pot. Chert glances at you out of the corner of their eyes. They give you a thumbs up behind the log so Gabbro can’t see. 

“Food’s done. Who’s waking up Feldspar?” Chert asks. Gabbro looks at you. Chert looks at you.

“Well, looks like that’s settled,” You say, rolling your eyes. Gabbro makes half a heart with their hand. 

“I’ll give you coffee without sugar for your trouble.” 

“Oh, wow. What would I do without you?”

Gabbro crosses their arms. “Be miserable, probably.”

You give them the other half of that hand heart as you walk away. They’re right, you would be pretty miserable without them. Maybe that’s the whole love thing Feldspar was talking about, or maybe it’s just a byproduct of Gabbro being the only being, living or dead, that can actually make you see the bright side of any situation. 

Feldspar is already awake when you step into your ship. They’re leaned back against your logs, their blankets wrapped around their shoulders. They’re holding their radio to their lips, but they’re not saying anything. You wave, and they hold their hand up in acknowledgement. A minute later, you hear Gossan’s voice say, “I’m going to put rocks in Slate’s shoes.”

You snort, as does Feldspar. They say, voice gravelly with sleep, “All because they took the last of the coffee beans?”

“Yes. Now I have to go harvest more, and I have to pick them out of the cherries, and it’s a whole thing…”

Avoiding Feldspar’s eyes, you grab a few bowls and some cans of water out of your shelves and shove them into a small bag. You mime eating in Feldspar’s direction, and they nod. To Gossan they say, “Tell you what, give me a couple hours and I’ll stop by and we can harvest them together. Besides, it’ll take you forever to get to the grove anyway, might as well take my ship.”

“We can walk.”

“We can, but we won’t. I’ll see you soon.”

Gossan sighs, “See you soon. Be careful, for star’s sake.”

“You know me. I’m always careful.”

“Gossan, out.”

Feldspar settles the radio down and stretches, cracking their back from lumbar to cervical all in one go. They sigh, collapsing back with a heavy thud. “Wow, I’m tired. Did we actually sleep that long or am I just not used to the time change?”

“Not like there’s ever really a night here,” You say. “Come on. Chert made breakfast, and Gabbro made that coffee Gossan is going to kill Slate over. In their defense, Chert is the one that stole it.”

“I figured. Chert has always had sticky hands for pre peeled coffee beans.”

Feldspar packs up their blankets and sleeping bag before hopping out of your ship. You wait for them to put everything back inside their own before the two of you walk to Chert’s camp together. You clear your throat. “Don’t tell Gabbro Gossan’s missing those coffee beans. They’ll feel bad.”

Feldspar ruffles the top of your head. “No worries. I won’t hurt your bestie’s feelings.” 

“Thanks,” You say, ducking until Feldspar’s forced to stop shaking your head around. 

“Besides, I’ll help Gossan get more, and then it’s no one’s problem. Not like Gabbro would even have anything to feel bad about.”

“Yeah, but they’re not like that,” You say. “Even if you get Gossan more, they’d still feel guilty because they used them in the first place. Gossan wouldn’t have had to go harvest if they hadn’t used them.”

There’s buzzing on yours and Feldspar’s radios. Both of you pause.

“Rheniite, Hornfels to communication line two.”

You pull it off your belt and sigh when you see the blinking red light.

“Better take that,” Feldspar says, taking the bag out of your hands. They make it back to Chert’s camp while you step away to take the call. 

“Rheniite copies,” You say, leaning back against a large rock covered in vines. Gabbro is looking at you from Chert’s camp, ignoring Feldspar’s attempt at shoving a bowl in their hands. When they see you looking, they give you a thumbs up. You send them one back.

“How’s space treating you, astronaut?”

“Bit hot today, but otherwise it’s treating me well. Anything I can do for you while I’m out here?”

“Well, not exactly,” Hornfels says. “Actually, I was wondering if you could do something for me on planet?”

You close your eyes. Damn. This is what you get for wanting to take a second to relax. You knew Hornfels would feel a disturbance, you’d just kinda hoped it wouldn’t be you that got picked for random chore assignments. “Sure. What can I do to help?”

“You see, Hal and Marl have been busy recently with the seed in the crater, and I’m busy with…ground control duties…Anyway, Tephra tries to sweep with the broom upside down, and Galena is Galena. Arkose would probably break something…”

Of all the things… “So, you need me to clean something?”

“Exactly. It’s been a long time since the museum got a good wipe down and mop. Think I could trouble you for some extra hands today?”

Looks like you really can’t escape being the hatchling even after you’ve been out on your own for months. “Alright. When do you need me back?”

“If you could come right now that’d be awesome! But if not, at least within a couple hours?”

The museum must be coughing up moth balls for it to be that important. “Sure. Yeah, I can be there in an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. That okay?”

“Perfect! Take care.”

“You, too.”

“Hornfels, out.”

You hit your radio to your helmet and groan. One day you’re going to chuck the stupid thing into the sun. It’s too bad Gabbro wouldn’t be able to call if they need you while you’re off sweeping the museum floor. 

Gabbro’s lips are pursed when you step into Chert’s camp. They hand you the promised coffee without sugar and a bowl of the steaming porridge. “I may have eavesdropped a little.”

“Guess our chill day is getting rescheduled.”

They try valiantly not to look disappointed, but there’s a tilt to their lips and a slowness to their gait that makes you feel awful. You wish they’d just tell you how they feel instead of trying to hide it behind a half-full mug of coffee.

“It’s alright,” They say, flinching a little. They must’ve burned their tongue. “I should probably start figuring out my ship, anyway. Can’t have you lugging me and my stuff around forever.”

You would. Gladly. In fact, you’d forgotten Gabbro even has a ship of their own. “I mean, I don’t mind…”

“I know. But, Slate worked hard on my ship, and so did Esker. I think it’s a little rude of me to let it keep floating uselessly in the ocean.”

That’s a fair point. “How do you plan on getting it out? Do you need me to go with you so we can tether it and pull it to shore?”

“Nah,” Gabbro waves you off. “I’d like for you to go, but Feldspar said they’d help me before they head back to Timber Hearth.”

Feldspar salutes between bites. You swirl your spoon around your bowl, but in the end you settle for taking tentative sips of your coffee instead of eating. It’s floral, not overly strong but still not quite your taste. You hum appreciatively, but Gabbro just smirks and pats you on the back. 

“Okay,” You let Gabbro switch the coffee out with a can of water, smirking as they down what’s left of your coffee in one go. “Will you miss me while I’m gone?”

“I think my heart will stop until you get back,” They say, leaning their head on your shoulder. You want to wrap your arm around their back, but they pull away before you can. “You’ll be a whole new person the next time I see you. The great Museum Sweeper Extraordinaire. You’ll have a whole new skillset and a new place in society. How will I ever compete with Hornfels’s personal museum cleaner?”

“I don’t know, oh Bringer Of The Statues. How ever will you compare to someone who defeats the world’s most imperious enemy: dust? ” 

“I think I’ll just have to bow down at your grandeur.”

You chuckle, smacking their arm as hard as you can without hurting them. They flinch away but they’re laughing, high-pitched and unabashed. Stars, how you love when they laugh like that. 

“Make sure you call me and tell me how it’s going,” They say, scooping a bite out of their bowl and holding it still in their hand. They’re full, but they’ve only taken a couple bites. You scoop a smaller bite out of your own bowl and hold it to their lips. “Uhm…”

“It’s a lot less ambitious than the one you have. Take this, and you can be done.”

Gabbro doesn’t blink as they drag the rice into their mouth by the tips of their teeth. Not enough they touch the spoon, not enough their lips touch, just enough they get the majority of the bite. You clear your throat, pressing the back of your hands to your cheeks. 

Feldspar’s eyes squint, their nose flaring. “Get a room.”

“Preferably one beneath the surface,” Chert says, scraping their bowl clean. 

You focus on eating so you can’t focus on the way Gabbro is still staring at you.

Chapter Text

When you’ve finished the majority of your food, you realize it’s high time for you to get this show on the road. Feldspar takes your bowl and mug from you, adding them to the pile they started collecting beside them. “I’ll wash them. You go, before Hornfels asks one of us to sweep the museum instead.”

“Thanks. Really sticking your neck out for me on that one,” You say. Feldspar nods and gives you an enthusiastic fist bump. “I’ll see you guys later. Be careful.”

“But not too careful,” Feldspar says. 

When you leave, Gabbro follows. They trail one step behind you the whole time, and it drives you insane. One day they’ll learn that their place is beside you, but until then, you let them do what makes them comfortable, even if it makes you want to tug the ears off your head. 

You stop beside your ship, Gabbro halting a few steps away. “Do you want to get your stuff?”

“Nah,” They say. “Not like it’ll be forever. You still owe me that date on Brittle Hollow.”

You choke on your own spit. Gabbro does nothing to save you. “Yep. Yeah. I do. Still owe you that…”

“Date. Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” You say. Succinct and smooth as ever. “I owe you a date on Brittle Hollow. We can leave your ship to dry on Ember Twin?”

Gabbro hums. “Maybe. It’s going to be a long project. When I tried…you know, fixing it before, there was so much wrong with the electrical systems I don’t know if there was even any hope, but I don’t want to give up without trying.”

“And you shouldn’t,” You agree. “I can ask Slate for help while I’m there?”

Gabbro’s face twists. “No. I’m going to fix it myself. I don’t need anyone else’s help.”

You put your hands up and take a step back. “Whoa, okay. No worries, my lips are sealed. What about me, then? Can I help?”

“Depends on the words that leave your mouth next.”

You don’t say anything. There’s one thing you want to do, and one thing you want to say, but actions mean more than words according to everyone except Gossan. And Gabbro. 

You jump them, wrapping your arm around their neck and pulling them to you. You dig your knuckles into the top of their helmet, shaking their head from side to side. You’re smacked in the face by the ridiculously long antenna, but that doesn’t stop you. Not even when Gabbro is on their knees trying to get away from your assault. 

You’re practically laying on top of them at this point, chanting, “Let me help, let me help, let me help–”

“Okay!” Gabbro half-screams, half-laughs, digging in the dirt to try and get away. You wrap your arms around their waist so they can’t go anywhere. “I’ll let you help! I’ll let you help, ahh! No, no, no, don’t–!” 

You shove your fingers into their side and Gabbro screeches. Finally, you relinquish your hold and Gabbro practically flies away from you. Their face is a deep purple, their chest heaving with their breath. They point their finger at you as if angry, but you can see through their faceplate that they’re smiling and they can’t force it away, even when they try. 

“Still going to miss me?” You chuckle, brushing the dirt off your pants. Gabbro drops their hand.

“No. I can’t wait for you to be twenty kilometers away from me,” They say. It’s through a quivering giggle. You can’t take them seriously at all. You raise your hand and they flinch, jogging away. “Quit!”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” You chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’m done, I swear.”

They take a tentative step toward you. You hold your hands up as a peace offering. 

They take another step toward you. “I don’t trust you.”

“Aw, well, I trust you.”

“Unfounded trust. You wait,” They say, pointing a finger at you. You’re not scared. You’re not ticklish at all. They can poke and prod at you all they want and they won’t get anywhere. 

Once Gabbro gets close enough, you wrap your arms around their shoulders and squeeze. They grunt, wiggling until they can properly hug you back. 

“Don’t get too much done without me,” You say. Gabbro hums and lets go.

“Don’t forget me when you become a sweeping superstar.”

“Ha, ha,” You say. “Sure you don’t want any of your stuff?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Your heart pounds. They really do want to stay. “Alright, I’ll take good care of it. Be careful.”

“You, too. And please, this time, call me.”

“Before bed, got it.” You step back. Gabbro reaches out to kick you in the kneecap. You think it would’ve hurt if they weren’t so scared of retaliation that they started running before the kick ever actually connected. “You’re kinda the meanest person I’ve ever met. I hope you know that.”

“If you can’t take it, don’t dish it out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You say. “I’m off on my next journey. Destiny calls. The most important flight of my life is upon me. I’m so glad you’re the one seeing me off.”

“And good riddance to ya!” 

“Spinel, when did you launch?”

Gabbro laughs so hard they wheeze. You seriously want to throw them over your shoulder and take them with you. 

“Bye,” You say.

They smile. “Bye. Miss me a little.”

You take another step back, and then another, and Gabbro waves as the Nomai elevator catches you and brings you up and into your ship. 

When you land, it’s to Slate giving you the look. Wrinkled forehead, wide eyes, twisted lips. You give them something between a smile and a grimace, and they let you go without interrogating you. Hornfels is waiting for you at the entrance of the museum, a broom in hand. 

“There’s our newest astronaut!” They say, patting you on the back and shoving the broom into your hand. “I really appreciate this. I’ve been so busy with various forms of work and I couldn’t pull myself away long enough to do upkeep. You know how it is. I won’t keep you long, I know you must be so busy. Once the main floor is clean, you’re free to go!” 

You follow Hornfels into the main room as they talk. It shouldn’t take that long to clean. The wood looks like it’s been well taken care of. There’s some footprints leading in from the quantum shard exhibit, a couple more on the gravity crystal wall. There’s dust balls underneath the lunar gravity table, and some of the paper plaques are starting to curl up at the edges. Maybe a day of deep cleaning, and then you can head back to Giant’s Deep to help Gabbro with their ship…

“Hey.”

You turn, coming face to face with Hal. They have a bucket of water and a towel in their hand. The towel, which you believe was once orange, is now almost completely black. You grimace. “Hey. Take it we have our work cut out for us?”

Hal exhales, “Yup. This is all just the rails to the gravity crystal wall. Pretty sure Arkose and Tephra have been climbing them.”

“At least they know how to have a good time.”

As you make your way through the main floor, you feel your chest get heavier. Hal hasn’t said a word since, and you don’t know how to break the silence. You could say you’re sorry, but you’re not. You should be, but it’s been a long time since your home has been here. On this planet. With them. 

What would you have told Hal if these last couple months had been the only ones you lived?

You clear your throat. “Riebeck fell down a gravity crystal wall again.”

Hal pauses. They pop their head up from the other side of the lunar gravity exhibit. “And did you laugh?”

You should’ve, but you were occupied with Gabbro and the fact you hadn’t seen them in two weeks. Now that you think back on it, you can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. It was hilarious. I’ve never seen someone roll ass over teakettle like that in my life.”

“Good to know some things never change,” Hal laughs, leaning back down to begin wiping the underside of the gravity table. Your smile tenses, but it doesn’t fully go away. It is nice that at least some of the good things you remember aren’t just faded memories. While Riebeck may not enjoy being clumsy, it’s an exemplary source of entertainment for you. 

“How have you been?” There’s a moth ball on the floor that’s running from you. It takes two trips around the stairwell to finally catch it, and by the time you’ve triumphantly grabbed the stupid thing off the floor, Hal is watching you. There’s dirt on their face, a dark stripe below their eye. You reach out and brush it off. “Trying to inhale the stuff?”

Hal pulls back and uses their sleeve to get the rest. “I’ve been okay. Still working on the seed. Still trying to keep the house clean with Marl living in it.”

“Have you taught them that potatoes take longer than two minutes to boil?”

“You know, after twenty-eight years, that is still a skill they haven’t mastered!” 

The day Marl learns basic housekeeping skills is the day the sun explodes. Maybe not even then. 

“What about just stuff?” You step up onto the gravity crystal wall, using the broom to get most of the foot prints off. “Anything new you’ve been up to? Books? Instruments? Sewing?”

Hal tosses you a bottle of floor cleaner and a rag. You catch it and use it to get the rest of the prints off. They say, “I read a book about water pathogens. Iolite, one of Gossan and Feldspar’s mentors, wrote it. Apparently, back when they were hatchlings there was a really bothersome strain of bacteria in the river water, so everything had to be boiled.”

“What did the bacteria do?” 

“Made you shit a lot, mostly,” Hal shrugs. “Apparently it caused the death of one of the older Hearthians at the time. Their name was Tor, but Gossan doesn’t know who they were so they must’ve died when they were still young.” 

“Huh,” You say, hopping off the wall. Hal takes the rag from you and replaces it with a clean one. “That’s wild. Did it just go away on its own or something?”

“Must’ve? I’ve never gotten sick from swimming in the river.”

Neither have you. “Are you still helping Tuff sew patches or is that a thing of the past now?”

“Depends. Sometimes I have time, sometimes I don’t.” Hal stands, their whole body cracking. You flinch for them. “I usually don’t. We still try to eat at least twice a day, so my hobbies are now cooking and trying to beat dried mud off mine and Marl’s shoes.”

“Sounds riveting,” You say. You’ve almost managed to sweep the entirety of the first floor, but it’s so monotonous that you have to switch to a different task to keep yourself from falling asleep. Taking the rag Hal handed over, you spray it with soap before bounding up to the second floor. Hornfels is at the top of the stairs, engrossed in their maps. You wave as you hop up onto the rail, put the rag soapy side down, and then slide the entire way back to the main floor. 

“So,” Hal says, draping the rag over their shoulder. “What have you and Gabbro been up to?”

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Chapter Text

GABBRO

It takes two hours and about seventeen attempts at anchoring Gabbro’s ship to Feldspar’s, but they end up getting the beauty into the gravity well on the Construction Yard just as it's sent on a trip to the atmosphere. The two of them ride out the antigravity in Feldspar’s ship. Without the perk of a gravity crystal, there’s a harrowing moment where Gabbro has to cling for dear life to Feldspar’s shelves and hope they don’t break a femur on impact. Between the external gravity field and their years of experience, they come out unscathed yet again. 

They hop out once the cyclones dance away from the island. Feldspar hisses, pulling paint off rusted supports and shaking their head at cracks in the metal cockpit. “I don’t know, hatchling. This might not even be a job for just Slate.”

“I can handle it,” Gabbro shrugs, looking at the bent lock. They’d prefer to not bust it off this time, but if they have to there’s plenty of rocks around to use. Asking Esker to fix the hatch is a lot less of an issue than asking them to gut their ship and fix it from the inside out. Besides, Gabbro had a good thing going for them before they didn’t. As long as they completely dry out the wires, everything will be fine. The paint, rust, cracks–nothing a good roll of duct tape can’t fix.

“Gabbro–”

“Seriously,” Gabbro smiles. “I’ve got it. I know my ship best. I’ve never even taken them to Esker or Slate for repairs. Except that one time I snapped the landing gear. But everyone does that, and I was already there to visit Esker anyway, so it’s not like I had to physically drag my ship there. And Slate is busy. They’re making that new ship with Mica. For real, it’s better if I learn how to do repairs on my own. Maybe then Hal will stop acting like I don’t know which way is up and which way is down–”

“Alright!” Feldspar cuts them off, patting them on the back. “That is fantastic. You do you, hatchling. I’m so proud of you becoming an independent adult.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” Gabbro says. They’ve already started trying to bend the lock back in place, but it’s just as stubborn as it was the first time. “You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. Rhen will come get me when they’re done.”

“You sound sure of that,” Feldspar smiles, crossing their arms. Gabbro hums.

“I am. And if they don’t, I’ll chuck them into the black hole.”

“A worthy punishment.”

Feldspar doesn’t leave right away. When it’s clear that Gabbro is about to take a rock to the lock again, they hold their hand up and run back to their ship. They return with a pair of pliers, two portable heaters and a bottle of vinegar. They settle the supplies down near Gabbro’s landing gear, then take the pliers and hold them up. 

“This is a lot less destructive than breaking it off, I promise.”

“Didn’t know you cared about things like that,” Gabbro says.

Feldspar wraps the pliers around the lock and tugs. It takes a little finangling, but to Gabbro’s surprise, the lock busts right open without flying off the ship. “The more tiny things I can fix on my own, the less I have Slate in my ear yelling at me.”

They pull the hatch open and water comes dripping out and onto the ground. Feldspar gives Gabbro a look, but they ignore it. They know what they’re up against. It’s not like a couple more months could’ve significantly changed the prognosis for their ship…they hope. 

Feldspar holds their hand up like the water dripping from the inside of Gabbro’s ship is a pleasant rain shower. “Maybe I should stay…”

“I’m telling you, I’ve got it,” Gabbro says, turning around to push Feldspar back to their own ship. “Thanks for the stuff. I’ll use it. Go harvest cherries with Gossan.”

Feldspar pauses just beneath the hatch of their ship. “You know, there is such a thing as damage even I’d need Slate and Esker’s help to fix, right?”

“The cyclones are coming back around. You better go!” Gabbro hops into their own ship before Feldspar can say anything else. 

It’s…pretty gnarly. It’s worse than they remember. The wood is warped and cracked, bending beneath their steps. There’s puddles of water in every corner, holes eaten out of the flooring and the walls. The cracks in the cockpit don’t go all the way through, but the rust eating away at every scrap of metal from the landing gear to the overhead does. Every step is nerve wracking, especially once the island flung back into the atmosphere. The last thing they need is to fall through the floor.

Their oxygen meter rose the moment the hatch closed. Looks like it’s not a complete loss.

They settle down in their pilot’s chair, trying to buckle themself in. The seatbelts are frayed and the brackets so corroded they look sharp enough to slice through stone. Instead of trying to get them to work, Gabbro holds the belts close and hopes they don’t snap. 

When they’re back on solid ground, Gabbro stands. They don’t know where to begin. 

Back during the loops, the most important thing was getting the thing turned on. Now that they have some time to kill, they can think things through a little better. 

Drying the wood sounds like a good first step. Maybe using that bottle of vinegar to soak some of the rusted metal to see if it can be salvaged. The computer will have to wait. That might just be something they have to do without, but they have a million other things to tackle first before they get upset about it. 

They set up the portable heating lamps over the wood closest to the pilot’s chair. They have towels in the ship, but they’re all soaked through and completely useless. They strip off their suit and toss the pieces into the corner, not bothering to hang them up. They take their outer jacket off, and then the long sleeve shirt below that. They put those in their chair, and then put their suit on all over again. 

While the jacket and the shirt may not be made of the same fabric as their towels, they still work well enough to sop up some of the bigger puddles. Gabbro keeps the hatch open as they work, wringing the shirts out onto the already wet landing pad. 

It would’ve been a lot easier to bring the ship back to Ember Twin and let the sun bake out some of the moisture. Maybe they can call Feldspar back and ask for another ride…

They can’t decide if they want to contend with the control panel now or later. It’s not like letting the water sit will help anything, and they know what happens if they don’t dry it all the way out before trying to mess with it. Dying is a lot more permanent this time around. They’re finally not stuck on this planet. They’d like to enjoy the freedom at least a little longer. 

Scooping out the water is just as unpleasant as it was the first time. It takes just as long, is just as nerve-wracking–it’s cold, smells like mildew and must, and Gabbro tries not to gag as they start pulling out clumps of mold along with the water. Maybe they should’ve fished this thing out a couple months ago after all. 

They were busy. And maybe procrastinated a little…but that doesn’t mean they deserve this. 

Once all the water is out, they look around for anything dry enough to wipe the inside down. They can’t find anything, so they wait for the cyclones to pass again before stripping off their last shirt. While the wood is still soaked, Gabbro takes one of the heating laps and sets it over top of the control panel. It should be enough this time. If they don’t get carried away waiting in the meantime, at least.

While the control panel figures itself out, Gabbro hops back out of the hatch and starts soaking the wet towels in vinegar. They wrap them around the landing gear until they run out, leaving just the back struts uncovered. In a couple hours, they should be able to see if it helped at all. That leaves them with a whole bunch of time to sit around and do nothing. Perfect.

Chapter Text

FELDSPAR

Gossan is quiet. Feldspar isn’t. That usually keeps any silence from becoming awkward, but after switching gravity densities so many times in one day, their bones are starting to ache. 

Giant’s Deep is harsh on the body even when not contending with poorly healed fractures and still troublesome herniated discs. Feldspar remembers back when they were young and they used to make fun of Esker for complaining about the weight of Giant’s Deep’s gravity on their thirty year old bones. As if thirty year old bones were old. 

Feldspar takes it all back. Shit sucks, captain. 

They’ve already filled nearly an entire wicker basket with cherries. Gossan is getting the higher branches, while Feldspar is using the reprieve of normal gravity to sit and soothe the ache in their spine. Not that it doesn’t still feel like they’ve had their ass on an anglerfish tooth for the past hour. 

“Come back to our place,” Gossan says, tossing another handful down into the basket by Feldspar’s left hip. “I’ve got some muscle relaxers. You’re hurting me.”

Feldspar stretches out their sore leg. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Painfully. You’re sitting there painfully.”

“I’m fine! You think a bag of old bones is going to hold me back?” 

Gossan glares, holding their hips. Stars, Feldspar hates when Gossan gives them that look. They’re not broken or fragile or falling apart at the seams. Their back hurts! They’re not going to die from a bit of back pain. What happened to Feldspar, the best that ever was? Not that Gossan ever treated them like they were invincible, but at least…well, okay. Gossan still gave them looks like this back then. They also used to tap their foot. And cross their arms. And tell them to put the fire out, even though they hadn’t had time to appreciate it yet.

They pick a few more cherries and drop all but one of them into the basket. They take the last one and peel the pulp off the seed, then hold it out for Feldspar to take. Cautious of this being a well devised trap, Feldspar doesn’t take the fruit immediately. They look between the pulp and Gossan’s face, their arms glued to their side. 

Realizing Feldspar isn’t going to fall for it, Gossan rolls their eyes and holds the fruit right in front of Feldspar’s closed mouth. “Open your mouth, neutron star.” 

“Are you going to make me answer a question in exchange?” Feldspar asks, taking the fruit right from Gossan’s fingers. It’s sweet and flowery; the same as, or maybe a bit better, than the last time they had one. Gossan had fed them that one, too, but that was twenty-some years ago and in the midst of a downpour that made everything taste and smell like rain. 

“No. But that’s because I know how you’ll answer,” Gossan shrugs. “I’m so cool, and so awesome. Not even a broken bone hurts me. Look, my humerus is chopped in half but that just means I can swirl it around in circles as a party trick.”

Feldspar chucks a handful of grass at Gossan’s legs. “You have no idea how good of a pain killer those centipedes are.” 

“I think I have a vague idea,” Gossan snorts. “You thought the ceiling was crawling when you first came back. It took us twelve hours to convince you that there weren't voices in the walls talking to you.”

Feldspar shrugs. “Hey, I don’t remember any of it, so that means it never happened.”

“I was there. It absolutely did happen.” Gossan feeds them half of a cherry and keeps the other half for themself. That one is just as sweet, if not sweeter. “It was funny, though. You kept saying–” 

Gossan clears their throat and trails off. Feldspar shifts until their other leg is straight. Oh, no. Gossan thinks they can interrogate but not get the same treatment in return? Feldspar nudges Gossan’s leg and asks, “I kept saying?”

“Nothing. Well, you said a lot of things. It’s hard to keep track of them all.”

“Were any of them profound, philosophical thought pieces?”

Gossan snorts. “Oi, Gabbro. I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Been busy,” Feldspar drops their tone, slowing their voice down. “You know, I’ve got the universe to ponder, and poems to write, and a ship to fix. Gotta flirt pitifully while I’m at it.”

“Flirt?” Gossan’s voice cracks. “Who is Gabbro flirting with?”

“Oh, dear. You’ve missed so much. How can I catch you up on everything?”

Gossan plops down, picking up three more cherries to peel. “Spill. I want to know everything.”

“Ah, this is why you’re my favorite,” Feldspar smiles. “Should I start with the talk, or the first time I noticed?”

“You’ve had a talk?” 

“Just one. It went fantastic.”

Gossan shoves cherries into Feldspar’s mouth. “Well? What did you say?”

“I asked them if they’re in love with Rhen.”

“Rhen? Like–” Gossan points between themself and Feldspar. 

“Yep. Rheniite. The one and only.”

“I didn’t even know they got along?” Gossan says, leaning back. Feldspar hums, peeling a cherry and holding it out to Gossan. They rock forward so they can eat it straight from their hand. “When did this all start?”

“Whenever the two of them woke up one day and started acting like there’s monsters stalking them in the grass.”

“I did think they both seemed off…” Gossan taps their finger into the dirt. “I thought I was imagining it. Figured it was first flight jitters. Not like Rhen had the most normal launch day of any of us. Gabbro’s always been…”

“Gabbro?” Feldspar chuckles.

“Yeah,” Gossan nods. “Not in a bad way. They just like to do their own thing. I didn’t think they’d ever want something like that.”

“Yeah, well…” Giant’s Deep crests the sky. Feldspar imagines Rheniite back in the museum sweeping floors while Gabbro is a flight away, drying floorboards. “They do now. Both of them. It’s pitiful, Gossan. You should see them. What if they don’t like me back? But what if they reject me? But what if I don’t know if I’m in love yet? But what if I want to kiss them but I don’t? I tried to help. It's all on them now.”

Gossan groans, holding their hand to their heart. “What poor, poor saps. Ugh.”

“I walked in on them screaming at each other yesterday. I think they worked it out, but it’s probably not for the best that Rhen’s back here with Hal and Gabbro’s up doing repair work on their own. You know how Gabbro gets in their head and doesn’t pay attention.”

“Wow, sounds like someone I know…”

Feldspar throws more grass at them. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted. They’re hopeless. I told Rhen that there’s a million different kinds of love, and they don’t have to do things they don’t want just to fit into a mold, and then I woke up in the middle of the night and they were cuddling. Cuddling, Gossan. It was adorable.”

Gossan flops back and looks up at the stars. “Now I get why Gabbro didn’t leave the room at all when Rhen…you know.”

“Yeah. I was wondering, too,” Feldspar smiles. “I get it now.”

They spend a few moments in silence, letting the warm breeze brush over their faces. Summer is in full swing now. In a few months the heat will get worse, the rain will come closer together, and these trips out to harvest coffee cherries will be a trip that has to be saved for next spring. Feldspar takes in a breath, floral, grassy air settling deep in their lungs. They’re still not used to seeing the sky, and breathing air not tinged with smog and decay. 

Gossan rolls to standing and holds a hand out for Feldspar. “Come on, before we lose any more daylight.”

Feldspar looks at their hand. They fight the memories, taking Gossan’s hand and letting them pull until Feldspar is on their feet. There’s a twinge of pain, and then their knee buckles beneath them. Gossan is already there, bracing beneath Feldspar’s armpits so they don’t go sprawling back to the ground. Feldspar bites their lip, their eyes fluttering closed. “Shit.”

“Are you okay?” Gossan asks. They bend their knees, about to settle Feldspar back to the ground, but Feldspar holds their hand up. 

“Wait, let me catch my breath.”

It’s not that bad. It’s a quick pain, the sort that shocks you from your toes to your head in one big flash before you’re not quite sure what the big deal was in the first place. They test their knee again, standing to their full height without any issue. There’s a distinct cracking sound as they bend, but there’s nothing they can do about a bit of arthritis out in the middle of the plains. 

“Got it?” Gossan whispers, leaning down to rub at Feldspar’s knee. It hurts, but the pressure is a relief at the same time. “Come on. Let’s go home. I’ll get you some muscle relaxers and pain killers and you can sleep in an actual bed tonight.”

“I don’t know–”

“Please?” 

Feldspar doesn’t look in Gossan’s eyes. They would never be able to say no. 

“Feldspar,” Gossan turns Feldspar’s face to theirs. “One day. Just give me one day. When you feel better you can go and do whatever it is that’s so important.”

They’re going to argue, but they can’t find any reason. It would be nice to sleep in their bed for once. “I–Okay. Okay, sure! Why not? That does sound relaxing.”

“Relaxing and quiet. Come on.” 

Gossan keeps an arm wrapped around Feldspar’s back while Feldspar carries the wicker basket full of cherries. They’re limping, making the trip back a lot more slow going than the one to get there in the first place. Gossan doesn’t complain, or rush them. Their arm is a comfort, not a nudge. 

When they make it back to theirs and Gossan’s home, the first thing they do is collapse onto the couch. They try to hold back their grunt, but it spills from their lips anyway. Fuck, it hurts. Their leg hasn’t hurt this bad since they first started coming down from whatever toxin was in those centipedes that kept them from realizing how bad their injuries healed. 

“You’re sweating,” Gossan says, settling down with two vials of medication. “Is it that bad?”

“Nope!” Feldspar grits. “Not at all. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gossan pops the cork out of the first vial and holds it to Feldspar’s lips. “This one is a muscle relaxer. It’ll help your back. It’ll also help you sleep, and by help, I mean you’re going to pass out.”

“I could use a good nap,” Feldspar says. Gossan pours the vial into Feldspar’s mouth, waits for them to swallow the contents, and then grabs the other. “Take it that’s the pain killer?”

“Yep. Look at you, I knew you still had some brain cells left.”

“I’m the smartest person you’ll ever meet. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

Gossan rolls their eyes and tips the painkiller into Feldspar’s mouth, leaning over to grab a cup of water for them to chase it down with. 

The muscle relaxer starts hitting them almost instantly. Their eyes get heavy, their head droops forward. Gossan lifts them up and off the couch, settling them down in their bed. The one that they’ve shared since they built it, and yet, now, after so long, the pillows and blankets only have the lingering scent of Gossan and a hint of lavender. The same scent Feldspar always crushed into their soapwort back before they vanished. 

“Come find me when you wake up and we’ll figure out if you need more, okay?”

“Mn,” Feldspar mumbles. By the time Gossan turns the light out, they’re already asleep.

Chapter Text

GABBRO

The ceiling has two faces in it. One of them is frowning, the other is laughing. They trace the mouths with their first finger, and then the eyes, and the nose, and the ears. Their hand drops to their side, falling off the edge of the stone bench. 

What does love mean?

Gabbro’s been trying to figure it out since Feldspar said something on that strange spaceship. There’s things that are irrefutable facts. Gabbro would die for Rheniite. They wanted to help them during the loops, but didn’t know how. 

But there’s also smaller, more insignificant things. Rheniite is allergic to berries. They don’t like coffee. They only like a little sugar in their tea. Spices make their mouth hurt, they talk to the Nomai like they’re long gone friends, their passion is linguistics and they won’t stop until they know everything there is to know about everything. Rheniite isn’t ticklish, but Gabbro is, and they use that knowledge against them no matter the suffering it causes. They snore in their sleep, but it’s so quiet it’s easy to miss if you’re not listening. Their heart has a slower resting rate than Gabbro’s own. They can feel it every night when they fall asleep with their ear pressed to Rheniite’s chest.

They carried the weight of the world on their shoulders and they’re still walking without so much as a slouch, and Gabbro finds more faith in them than they ever have in any of the old stories. 

As silly as it sounds, thinking of Rheniite’s smile makes Gabbro’s heart pound, and their cheeks get hot, and they have to laugh into the crook of their elbow so they don’t implode. It feels a little like something is trying to grab them by the scruff of their neck, but they manage to duck out of the way in time. 

Gabbro thinks it’s unfair. How they can look at Rheniite and feel their heart fall out of their mouth, but Rheniite still lives their life as normal as any other?

“Maybe I’ve got some faulty wiring,” Gabbro says, talking to the faces in the ceiling. “What do you think?”

The faces don’t respond. It’s a relief, even if they would’ve liked some answers.

They trudge their way back to their ship, wishing for a couple more minutes of lying idle on the bench. They waited out the cyclones in the gravity well, which means their suit is soaked and heavy. They track water all over their still not quite dry floors, but things are getting better. Slowly but surely, the wood is turning lighter, the rust is starting to flake, the control panel is almost completely dry. 

Gabbro looks around. It’s a lot better than the first time. If they’re seeing things right, there doesn’t seem to be any water left behind at all. They use their flashlight to double check themself, then toss it back into the pile of sopping wet shirts. They slip their gloves off afterwards, needing all of the dexterity they can get. 

“Maybe this time I won’t die.”

No one is around to tell them how insane that sounds, so they reiterate how insane it is in their own head several times. 

The first time they did this, all it took was touching one of the wires and they were done for. Foam out the mouth done for. It was one of the fastest deaths they’d ever experienced – somehow quicker than hitting the rocks when they were still trying to scope out where their ship went from a high vantage point. 

First thing’s first, they poke the wire and rip their hand back toward their body. No pain. They’re not dead. Okay. All good things. 

The most important thing is insulating the fraying wires until they can figure out what to do next. They grab electrical tape from their supplies and dry it off to the best of their ability. They start with the least concerning of all the wires. They tape it until all of the frayed ends are covered, ripping the tape with a heavy sigh of relief. 

They move on to the next, wrapping that up as well. They snap the tape and acknowledge their luck. Somehow, they’re still alive. Maybe the heat lamp really did make all the difference. 

This leaves the worst of the wires. Gabbro stares at the one that sent them on a one-way trip to see their memory friend last time and a sharp pain spikes in their stomach. Maybe they should wait, or call Rheniite. Slate would have actual rubber casings to deal with it…

Nah, it’ll be fine. It’s fine, they can handle it. If they ever end up in a situation like they were in again, they’ll need to know how to take care of themself. They can’t rely on others for the rest of their life. The tape has worked so far. They’ve got it. Everything will work out. 

After sufficiently hyping themself up, they look at the cyclones and take a breath. “Is this stupid?”

The cyclones also don’t respond. It’s kinda rude. All those years and now all the sudden they start ignoring them. 

Two wires left. They take a breath and reach out with their right hand, the tape in their left. 

The instant they grip the wire, they know they screwed up. 

It feels the same. But it doesn’t. Their arm seizes, then their body. A thousand years pass in seconds. Their head buzzes, stars exploding through their vision. They hit the ground hard, their helmet cracking against the metal of their ship computer. Their stomach curdles, their head pounding. It smells like vomit, and fire, and burning flesh. 

One moment, they see nothing but static; the next, darkness consumes them. 

They wake up.

Stars, they didn’t think they were going to wake up.

The first thing they do is laugh. The pain is a buzzing fly around their head, a disembodied jitter in their arm. They can feel it, but they can’t at the same time. As if it isn’t theirs, they’re just borrowing it for the time being. Their heart is pounding; fluttering so hard it makes them cough on every skipped beat. They can still smell vomit, and fire, and burning flesh, but it’s less potent now than it was, however long ago they ate shit and ended up here.

What if their arm fell off? That would suck. To finally be free of Giant’s Deep and The Ash Twin Project and still lose a chunk of their freedom as a consolation prize. And of course it just had to be here, while the cyclones and the faces on the wall refused to answer their meaningful questions. Had Fury the Cyclone told them not to touch the wire, they would’ve still touched it, but at least they’d have heard a voice of reason beforehand.

When the room stops spinning, Gabbro uses what’s left of their strength in their left arm to push themself up to sitting. Nausea spikes, pain stabbing from the back of their head down to wrap around their back. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Calm down. Calm down.”

Their helmet comes off, and with it the smell of vomit that had been stuck in their nose. It’s not theirs. It’s just a lingering smell. It’s not them that’s using their discarded shirt to unplug their nose, and wipe their face. It’s someone else. They’re watching someone else. 

Gagging over their lap, Gabbro holds their breath and presses their finger to their throat. The pressure is gnarly, their vision blacking out before slowly coalescing back into colors, shapes, and then they can see again. 

Okay. Their arm is still attached. They can’t move it, and it keeps twitching, but it is at least connected to the rest of their body. The heart palpitations have started skipping a few seconds rather than being constant. Their head still hurts, and they think they hurt their back when they hit the ground, but it’s manageable. 

Pain killers, and then inspect the damage. 

They pop three pills into their mouth and swallow them dry. They crawl their way forward, one tiny shuffle at a time. Their head. Fuck. They settle their right hand down, hoping to get a little more momentum.

Fire shoots from the tips of their fingers to the top of their head. They scream, collapsing to the ground, their body twitching. “No. Please. No. Stop. It’s not me. I’m not here. I’m not here…”

They stare at the ceiling, their chest heaving. They’re not here. It’s not them. It’s someone else. Someone else is hurting. Someone else…somewhere else.

It’s a tricky dance. Gabbro finds themself in another world, on another planet — with flowers wrapped around chalk and a flat board in their lap. They write prose about loneliness and infinite quiet, hanging them up on trees older than their species. 

They blink, and there’s nothing. They blink, and they’re staring at the ceiling. 

Well. They feel like crying, but that’s counterproductive and won’t help anything. Instead, they roll back to their stomach, wipe their face again, and clamber up into the pilot’s chair without touching their right arm in the process. It’s far less painful, albeit the adrenaline is starting to wear off which means less painful just means painful, but instead of a stabbing headache, it’s a pounding headache. 

They peel their suit jacket off as slowly as possible. They grit their teeth, biting their tongue until they taste copper in their mouth. They groan. The sleeve peels off their arm; sticky and disgusting and covered in clear fluid. 

It takes them too long to process what they’re looking at. From their hand to their shoulder is dark purple. On their wrist, the back of their forearm, and the meat of their bicep are deep, black ringed burns. They’re still oozing clear fluid, the worst of them the burn on their wrist. Gabbro has to look away. Their chest hurts, their breathing coming in quick gasps. 

They’re not dead. They’re okay. This can be fixed. Everything is okay. 

Inhale, exhale. They listen to the sound of the waves, letting them lull them into a state somewhere between awake and asleep. I’m okay. I’m okay. Everything is okay. Just breathe. 

Once the painkillers kick in as much as they’re able, Gabbro grabs a half dry towel and some saline out of their first aid kit. They settle back down, taking a breath. 

They don’t want to be alone. They really, really don’t want to be alone.

Tears slip down Gabbro’s cheeks, but they hold their breath and try to calm down. They’re going to freak out, but they can’t freak out. They want someone with them. It hurts, and they’re…they’re scared? Maybe? And they are alone, aren’t they? Not even the cyclones will talk to them. They told Feldspar to go, but they want to go back in time and slap themself for it.

Gabbro manages to clean two of the three burns before the nausea becomes too much. They upchuck all over their nicely dried floors, perfectly over the hardest to clean cracks. They didn’t mean to. They didn’t even know they were going to throw up until they did. Stars. This is the worst. Dying was a lot easier than this.

They grab their radio and hold it tight. They could call Rheniite. They want…need to call Rheniite. 

Will they be mad at them? Upset with them? Will it make them feel guilty for leaving, or frustrated because Gabbro couldn’t wait? 

Why didn’t they just wait?

They hit the button. They don’t care. Rheniite can be mad at them all they want. “Rheniite, Gabbro to communication line four.”

That’s going to set off a chain reaction, but they can barely think enough to care. Communication line four is reserved exclusively for mayday calls. The ones that need to be answered right now, lest life and limb could be lost. 

Gabbro doesn’t think they’re going to die. They don’t think they’re going to lose their arm, either. But they do think their heart is about to beat out of their chest, and their head hurts so bad they might throw up again. That last burn, the one on their wrist, is weeping with them

A moment later, “Rheniite copies.”

“Hey,” Gabbro whispers. Their voice is hoarse. Speaking makes them feel like someone is blowing air into their ears. Echoes, popping. Their vision is shattered like glass, and then it ripples back to normal. 

“What happened? I’m on my way right now.”

“Don’t rush.”

Rheniite snorts. “When was the last time we used this communication line?”

Gabbro’s head swims. “Don’t know.”

There’s silence. Rheniite is gasping, as if they’re running.

“Stars, Gabbro. You’re scaring me. What happened?”

“Electricity.”

“You’re slurring. Did you hit your head?”

Gabbro tries to speak, but they can’t open their mouth. 

“Gabbro, answer me.”

The radio falls, clattering to the ground. 

They hear music in the distance, a drawl of their own flute. 

The cyclones finally call back to them.

“Don’t touch the wire.”

It’s a little too late for that. 

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

Hal will just have to forgive you this time.

The moment you heard that number out of Gabbro’s mouth, you were already halfway across the village. Electricity. They’re slurring their speech. They haven’t answered you for at least twenty seconds. 

It’s been a couple hours. You leave them alone for a couple hours, and they’ve already managed to hurt themself.

You barrel past Rutile. They shoot out of their chair, calling after you, but you don’t stick around to listen. 

“Gabbro, do you copy?”

Nothing. The line is dead. You’re going to lose your shit. 

You almost break an ankle jumping down to the launch pad campsite. Feldspar and Gossan are there, having just come back down the elevator. Flying past them, you call back, “Meet me on Giant’s Deep, please!”

The buttons almost fall off the keypad as you type the launch codes. Feldspar yells, “What’s going on!?”

“Gabbro!”

The flight is painful. Your chest is tight, your hands shaking. With your head pressed to the bend of your wrists, you try to calm down. They were talking to you. Five minutes ago, they were at least alive. Alive means breathing. Their heart is still beating. They can fix alive. 

There’s chatter over the radio, but you turned it down. Hearing everyone else’s panic isn’t helping your own. Riebeck offered to fly out to Giant’s Deep, but Feldspar told them to stay where they are. Hornfels is calling you over the line, trying to get information. You don’t have any to give. All you know is Gabbro still isn’t talking to you, and every minute that ticks by is another you’re wasting.

“Rheniite, Feldspar to line three.”

You switch the communications line from main to three. “Rheniite copies.”

“They were on the construction yard when I left them. We’re getting supplies from Gneiss and Tektite, it might be a second before we meet up with you. When you get there, call me and tell me exactly what you need and I’ll bring it.”

“Okay,” You say, pressing the palm of your hand beneath your eye. “Okay, thank you.”

“Gossan is already in my ship. They’re ready as soon as I get back.”

“Gossan?”

Feldspar chuckles. “Yeah, Gossan. You know, your beloved flight coach that you haven’t visited since you came and swept me out of my peaceful new abode?”

You know very well, thank you. 

“I’m about to land. I’ll see you soon.” You say, cutting off the line. The last thing you need is guilt compounding with the anxiety you’re already feeling. 

The first island you see when you break through the cloud cover is Statue Island. You zip around, flying over Gabbro’s Island, the Bramble Island, Statue Island again. You can’t find it. It must be up right now. 

You cautiously hover near one of the other islands that aren’t near the cyclones, hoping you don’t get smashed upon descent. It drops a few kilometers ahead. You see Gabbro’s ship, but no Gabbro. Once the island settles, you land on Statue Island and jump into the water, using your jetpack to propel you through the current. 

You clamber your way up and onto the shore, your boots slipping out from underneath you. You catch yourself with outstretched hands, shoving yourself back to your feet. The hatch is closed, the lock bent. A shock of panic ghosts up your spine and out with your breath. The hatch comes right open. 

Gabbro is lying in a heap by the control panel. You drop to your knees beside them, rolling them over and patting them on the back. A trickle of vomit comes spilling onto the floor, tinged dark with blood. 

“Oh stars.” Your stomach is in your throat. You grab for your radio. “Gabbro. Hey, come on. Gabbro, wake up.”

Their head lolls to the side. You cradle their cheek in your hand, your thumb tracing over sticky dried tear tracks. You can’t look at their arm. You’ve only managed to glance at it, and it’s making you sick. 

“Gabbro, please. Please. Wake up. Come on.” You press on their chest, shaking them as hard as you can without hurting them more. Their heart is still beating. They’re breathing. They just won’t wake up. 

You hold your radio up, trying to keep your voice level. “Rheniite to communication line four.”

Instantly, a chorus of responses.

“Feldspar copies.”

“Slate copies.”

“Chert copies.”

“They’re not waking up. I can’t…I can’t get them to wake up.”

Feldspar takes control of the line. “Are they breathing?” 

You put your head to their chest. You can feel as it rises and falls, their heart steady and then skipping. “Yes. They’re breathing. Their heart is skipping beats.”

“Are they injured?”

“They have burns from their hand to their shoulder on their right arm. It looks like they cleaned two of them, but the third is still bad. They threw up…” You grimace, looking around their ship. “A lot. I don’t see anything else.”

Slate’s voice startles you out of your panic. “Stay away from whatever they shocked themself with. It’s still live. Until we find what it was, assume everything made of metal is conducting electricity.”

You scoot yourself and Gabbro farther away from the metal paneling. You’re about to speak, but then Gabbro’s eyes start to flutter, their body jerking. It’s not violent, nor is it especially long lived, but understanding dawns on you. They’re biting their tongue. That’s where the blood is coming from.

“I think they’re seizing.”

“We’re coming, Rhen,” Gossan says. “Make sure they don’t hit their head, but don’t hold them down.”

“It’s not like that. Their eyes…their eyes are fluttering, and they’re jerking a little, but it’s not like that.”

“Good. That’s good,” Gossan says. “Is there any way you can get them to your ship?”

“Not without trying to swim with them.”

“I’d probably not do that,” Slate says. “I gave Feldspar droughts that might help with convulsions. Have them take one the second you can.”

“I will.” 

“And Rheniite,” Slate says. “I mean it. Don’t touch anything. Nothing metal, do you understand?”

“I understand,” You say. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard Slate sound this choked. 

“Esker and I will be there soon.”

You sigh. Gabbro had been insistent on not having any help, and that went to shit real fast. “I—“

“We’ll only fix the things that could kill them. Everything else is up to them.”

You press your nose to Gabbro’s cheek, nuzzling up and below their ear. “Thank you.”

“No wires, either,” Chert pipes up. “Last thing we need is for you to touch a live wire on a water planet.”

Wires…why does that…?

That dumbass . The wire that killed them during the loops. They touched the wire that killed them during the loops!

“For star’s sake, Gabbro!” You feel like shaking them. “How can you yell at me for doing stupid things and you touch a wire that killed you before you knew anything happened?”

Their breath ghosts over your cheek. “Wha—?”

You shoot up, all of your anger washed away the moment you see their eyes open. Their gaze is far away, glazed and unfocused. You don’t know what to do. They look at you, and your chest seizes, and you brush your lips lightly over their jaw as you hold them. “Gabbro?”

“I—Where?”

“Hey,” You say, catching their eyes. “ Hey, you scared the shit out of me.”

Gabbro’s eyes water, their lip wobbling. It hurts you so bad you feel like crying with them. “Rhen?”

“I’m here. I’ve got you,” You sigh, pulling them into your arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I—“ Gabbro lays their head on your shoulder, their left arm wrapping tight around your back. Their right arm stays dead by their side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I thought it would be fine.”

“You idiot,” You nuzzle them. “You’re so stupid. Why would you touch that wire? Why didn’t you just wait for me?”

“I’m sorry,” Gabbro whispers. 

You go to pull away, but Gabbro grips your suit jacket and doesn’t let you go. 

“Are you in pain?” You ask.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

A resounding yes. For Gabbro to admit to it at all is a statement in itself. 

Their arm twitches. You ghost your hand over theirs, watching their every facial expression as you grip their fingers and bring them up so you can better examine them. 

Three distinct patches of discoloration, one of which is still ringed by black, dead skin. You swallow, nodding toward the raw patches. “Did you…did you debride these by yourself?”

“These two, yeah. That one…I couldn’t,” Gabbro says.

“Okay,” You close your eyes. “Gossan and Feldspar are on their way—“

“What?” Gabbro jerks, pulling away. You startle, letting them go but still hovering a hand over their shoulder. 

“Gabbro, you called mayday.”

“And? I—“ They hold their head in their hands. You shuffle them until your legs are tangled together, their chest pressed to yours. “I shouldn’t have. I can clean it myself.”

“Huh?” Your jaw drops. “Buddy, this isn’t just a burn. This isn’t just an; I can clean it or not. You could lose your arm. This is serious.”

“It’s not that bad.”

You can’t believe this. “It is that bad. Have you seen these?”

Gabbro looks at the burns and swallows. “I don’t—“

“Does your chest hurt? Are you having trouble breathing? Your heart was skipping beats, Gabbro. You…you had a seizure. In my arms. Even if it’s not serious to you, or bad to you, it’s serious to me. You scared me. You’re still scaring me, I…”

“I don’t need help for every little thing,” Gabbro pulls back. “It’s not like anyone ever cared before, why should everyone start caring now?”

They had to have hit their head. You lean forward, brushing your hand carefully over the back of their skull. Gabbro’s eyes flutter closed. You don’t feel anything. They’re okay. Then where the fuck is all of this coming from?

“I know that it’s easy to forget what life was like before the Ash Twin Project, but they cared about you. Everyone cared about you. They still do,” You say. Gabbro chuckles mirthlessly. “You just had different interests than everyone else. No one really understood what you were doing, but that doesn’t mean no one cared about you.”

“Rhen, what was it you asked me when all this ended? Why is no one ever worried about me, when they’re all worried about you?”

You did ask that, didn’t you?

You’d love to go one week without sticking your foot in your mouth.

“I’ve been out here a lot longer than the Ash Twin Project was a thing. It’s been almost four years for me, and how much did you see my face back home? How much did you hear my name?”

You think about it. Hal talked about Gabbro, at least right before you left and they asked you to say hi to them if you happened to pass by. Riebeck, too, back before they launched and holed up on Brittle Hollow. Hornfels made sure to let you know what Gabbro was up to, at least chore wise. 

“Look, it’s fine. I’ve been treating my own injuries for as long as you trained in the space program.”

You guide their face with your words. “Buddy, look at me.”

They do. Their eyes are rimmed with fire.

“You had a seizure. Your heart is skipping beats. I’m not going to sit here and watch you be stupid and try to tough your way through this. This is real now, remember? There’s no more do overs, and I’m not losing you. Especially not…not to you.”

Gabbro lays down on your chest, their hand shaking. “Rhen?”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

They swallow, “I—I don’t feel good.”

It would be fantastic if Gossan and Feldspar could hurry it along. There’s nowhere for you to lay them down — their clothes and blankets are a sopping pile in the corner, the wood is splintering and warped. Gabbro’s body becomes heavier and heavier. You shuffle, hoisting them back up so they can rest their head comfortably in the crook of your neck. 

There’s an option. If you can find a way to get them to your ship, you have blankets, pillows, basic painkillers. You have burn salves and heating lamps, and a gravity crystal that’ll mitigate the fall from the cyclones rather than having to hope for the best when they come back around. “Hey, buddy?”

Gabbro hums. 

“What are the odds of you being able to make it back to my ship?”

Their body is weak and feverish, but nothing is going to get better if you stay here. You run the tips of your fingers up and down their spine, and their breath evens out and settles. That might be a no, but it also might be exactly what you need. 

Every ten minutes or so, the Construction Yard is sent up and into the atmosphere. Every twenty minutes or so, another island coasts by close enough you might be able to swim with Gabbro, even if they’re too out of it to make it themself. The odds of both islands being sent up at the same time is slim to none, meaning your only real option is to swim and hope you don’t end up halfway across the planet before you make it there. 

Riskier things have been done. It’s not like you’ve never jumped islands before. That’s how you got here in the first place. But do you trust yourself enough to make it with Gabbro’s weight added to your own?  It would be rich to talk about how you’re not going to lose them to their own stupidity, and then their body slips from your grip and you lose them to the ocean instead. 

“Gabbro?” You try to rouse them. They’re warm — their forehead burning against the exposed side of your neck. There’s nothing for you to put over them to help the tremors. Nowhere for you to lay them down so they can rest. Nowhere for you to get them water, or thicker clothes, or bandages for the burns. “Shit. I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Gabbro doesn’t respond. You hadn’t expected them to. You grab your radio and say, “Feldspar or Gossan, Rheniite to communication line three.”

“Gossan copies.”

Your heart stops. You have to take a breath. How long has it been since you’ve last spoken to them one on one like this? “What is your ETA?”

“Gneiss has ten more minutes on the extra droughts that’ll help their seizures. Why? Is something wrong?”

You close your eyes. “Can you bring droughts for fevers and infections?”

“What? It’s that bad already?”

Gabbro jerks, whining in your hold. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s that bad. I think I need to get them back to my ship.”

“And where is that for you to need to warn me?”

You look out the cockpit window. It’ll be another few minutes before the island will be close enough to try swimming the gap. “Because we have to swim there.”

“Let me offer you another option,” Gossan says. “Wait. Just, wait for us to get there. In fact, why don’t I tell Riebeck to come get you? They offered. Yeah, I’m going to call them right—“

“Gossan, I have a shot in two minutes and I’m going to take it.” It may seem stupid in hindsight, but as of now, it makes total sense. If the loops were still a thing they wouldn’t even question it. They’d already be out the door. They’ve got enough experience doing questionable things under their belt. “They’re getting worse fast. I can’t keep these clean, or covered – nothing. They’re running a fever and they don’t have any dry clothes or blankets. What am I supposed to do?”

“I get it, Rhen. I do,” Gossan audibly swallows. “But what happens if you lose them in the current?”

“I won’t.”

“Rheniite,” They hold their breath. “Please, just wait.”

It’s not like you didn’t know how Gossan and Feldspar would feel about your choice. It’s already made. There’s no point in continuing to circle around each other. “Bring more blankets, please.”

“Are you staying in Gabbro’s ship?”

You look down at Gabbro’s face. Their cheeks are bright pink, sweat dripping from their temples down to their neckline. Their breathing is labored; deep and slow, so strong you can feel it against your own chest. The red rings around the burns have started getting deeper and more vibrant, purple and black clinging to the outer edges. 

Their nose brushes the dip of your jaw. Your stomach rolls. They’re so pale. You haven’t seen them like this since… 

You hold their head to yours. “Gabbro?”

Their eyes flutter open. 

“Hey. I missed you.”

They loll backwards, but they smile. You nuzzle your face to the tilt of their lips, and they speak against your cheek, “It’s cold.”

“Am I not good enough to warm you up?” You tease. “Should I let you go, then?”

Gabbro grips you by the scruff of your shirt. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’m right here,” You promise. “I’ve got you.”

They hum. “Is it snowing?” 

“Huh? It’s raining, that’s for sure.”

“Rain?”

They sound lost. Like they don’t know where they are. “Yeah, buddy. We’re on Giant’s Deep, remember?”

Gabbro chuckles and pats you on the back. “No. We’re not there anymore. We’re on Brittle Hollow. It’s cold.”

Damn. You stop ignoring Gossan to say, “They don’t know where we are.”

Gossan clears their throat. “We’ll be there soon. I promise. Just hold on for me, okay?”

“I—“ You trail off. Gabbro is twirling your scarf around their finger. You take their hand and squeeze it, and they squeeze back before flipping your hand palm up. They spend the next few moments idly drawing shapes over the veins in your wrist. 

“Just hold on, Rhen.”

“Okay.”

The static clears. Gossan’s gone. It’s just you and Gabbro again. 

Lightning flashes, turning your vision bright-white. Red clings to the metallic hull of Gabbro’s ship, melting away as the rain hits the windshield. The cyclones are coming. You put your helmet back on, then Gabbro’s. They don’t fight you, but they don’t seem to understand what’s happening. Their eyes lid, staring. You don’t know what they see. 

Gabbro’s not wearing a shirt, but there’s none to put on that won’t end up tacked to their skin by the time you make it to your ship. Gently, you slip their suit jacket over their good arm, then achingly slow over their bad arm. Gabbro isn’t breathing. Your heart shoots into your throat, but they jerk as the sleeve reaches the curve of their shoulder. Still alive. Cool. 

“Buddy, we’ve gotta get back to my ship so I can get you something for your fever.”

“Wha–?”

You run your hand over their helmet. “I need you to stick with me, okay?”

“With you?” They ask. Out of breath, far away. 

“With me.”

They blink open their eyes. “With you. Okay.”

You stand, wrapping Gabbro’s arm around your shoulders. They can stand. That’s a good start. Now you just have to avoid the whole drowning thing. 

“We’re going to swim to Statue Island, okay? It should be pretty–”

The island, which had once been a quick jaunt across a thin canal of water, is unceremoniously shot into the atmosphere. Your mouth is still open, but the words are up past the clouds along with your ship. 

The lightning gets faster, the thunder louder. This island is about to get sent up, too.

You hoist their arm tighter. “Come on, we have to go now!” 

The hatch comes off as you kick it open, both of you dropping out and onto the ground as the cyclone grabs you. The pressure is so heavy it makes your eyes feel close to bulging. Gabbro’s head lolls forward, their grip loosening, but you keep yours firm. You have a few seconds to make this. Seems easier than trying to get to the vessel with the warp core within twenty-two minutes. 

The instant you feel gravity lessen its hold, you jump. 

Chapter Text

Weightless. You’re completely, utterly weightless. The orbital probe cannon carves its path above you, purple light glimmering off its gravity well. That’s not the one you’re aiming for. The one you need is already slowing its ascent, and in less than a breath, it will begin to fall. 

You hit your forward thrusters, angling your body towards your ship’s elevator. Gabbro mimics your movement, their boots tapping against yours. When you look over, they’re focused on the same end goal as you. If you don’t make it to the elevator, you have to at least make it to the gravity well. If you don’t make it to either, you’re stuck in the Wilds and you’ll have to crawl back to Gossan for rescue.

The island falls. You fall with it. 

Through the cloud cover. Your body touches the purple glow just as the gravity of Giant’s Deep begins to suck you down faster than you can counter. The hatch latches closed as the island submerges, water battering against the cockpit. 

You’re shaking. Inhale, exhale, a pain through your chest down to the soles of your feet. Gabbro is still standing beside you, but their entire weight is held up by your body alone. That was so close. That was so stupid. It…

It was everything you’ve been missing since the time loops ended.

“You still with me?” You exhale. Your heart rate calms as Gabbro nods.

“That was…”

“Awesome?” 

They snort. “A little nerve wracking.”

You help them sit in your pilot’s chair. Gabbro’s bag is on your second shelf from the top, and you clamber up to grab it. You ruffle through, pulling out a t-shirt and a jacket. In the corner, shoved behind the gravity crystal and a spattering of unidentifiable wires, is your first-aid kit. The real one. For the injuries that require a trip home but you’re too far out to make it. A single bottle of fever reducer, a large roll of bandages, burn salves, saline and tweezers. You drop everything by Gabbro’s feet, making sure to keep the bandages and tweezers off the ground so they don’t get covered in whatever you’ve tracked in here over time. 

“Do you feel okay enough for me to try and clean those?” You ask, helping them slip their helmet off. You set it gently next to the hatch, then remove yours and hang it up. 

Gabbro looks down at their covered arm and swallows. They lean forward, and you help them unzip their jacket. It takes a long, painful minute to get it all the way off. In the time it took to get from their ship to yours, their wounds had already begun to stick to the fabric of their suit. You have to peel it off each individual burn, one at a time, until the jacket clatters to the ground and Gabbro is soaked in sweat. 

“Hold on.” There’s towels in a pile by your suit rack. You grab one. “Let me dry you off a bit, okay?”

One arm wrapped around their back, you pull until their chest is pressed flush with yours. They don’t move. You wipe the towel up their back, around the waistband of their pants, down their sides. You have to pull away to get their chest and their good arm. Once they’re dry, you lean over, grab their shirt, and help them put it on. 

It’s an older one. The shirt is huge on them, but that makes it easier to get the sleeve over their bad arm. White, with multicolored patches over ripped holes into the sides. You brush your hand over the one you helped sow into it, back when you were first training in the space program and Gabbro came back with this tattered old shirt and asked for help fixing it up. 

You take the jacket and lay it over their back like a blanket, then grab the fever reducer and pop the cork off the bottle. “Take this, it’s a fast acting one. Gossan and Feldspar will have the good stuff when they get here.”

They knock the whole thing back in one go. You take the empty bottle and toss it into the pile of towels so it doesn’t shatter and cause anymore problems. 

“Is this one of the ones that’ll make me tired?” Gabbro asks. It’s the first coherent sentence you’ve heard from them in far too long. 

“I hope so.” You take a piece of gauze and fold it twice until you have a small square just big enough to work with. The tweezers are on the flimsy side–plastic rather than metal, but they’ll serve their purpose. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Gabbro smiles. They lean forward, their nose brushing beneath your ear. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

You crane your neck, just enough you can nuzzle them back. Gabbro’s body relaxes, the tension bleeding out and into the thick, heavy air around your ship. You can’t feel it so much in here, but after spending enough time on Giant’s Deep, you never really forget what it feels like.

You can’t help it. You lay your head on their knee and take some deep breaths. They run a hand over the back of your head, comforting you when you should be comforting them. You go to pull away, running your lips over their knee cap as you do. 

“Ready?” You ask.

“Hit me.”

You dip the gauze in the salt water and pray to the Eye that this won’t be as bad as you think it will be. 

The first touch is the worst. Gabbro jerks, their legs kicking you in the chest as they try to pull away. Having expected it, you manage to right yourself quickly. You hold their arm steady, your hand tracing careful strokes over the center of the wound. You go from the inside out, pulling all the old debris and dead skin and scales out. As you get closer to the edge, you switch to a coarser gauze and apply more pressure to get the more stubborn necrotic skin off. 

Gabbro is taking this well. A bit too well. You know the stories of what they suffered during the loops, but never could you have imagined the level of calm Gabbro could front when faced with pain such as this. 

They’re looking away from you, their hand up and covering their mouth. They’re shaking, tears falling silently down their cheeks and pooling on their fingers. They control their fidgeting well despite it all. They jerk as you get closer to the outside of the wound, their shoulders so tense they’re almost touching their chin. You take a moment and rub their knee, letting them breathe so they don’t pass out from holding their breath too long. 

“You’re good, yeah? You got it,” You whisper. Gabbro’s breathing is so labored you’re not sure if they’re really getting any air. “You’re going to faint if you keep breathing like that. Remember what you taught me. In, and out. In, and out.”

You can see instantly why Gabbro had been holding their breath. The second they start following your directions, the tears flow thick right along with it.

“It’s okay, buddy,” You ghost your lips over the palm of their hand. “I’ve got you, alright? I’ve got you.” 

Gabbro grips your hand. You don’t know what to do, so you press your forehead to their leg and run your finger in circles over their kneecap. Soon, their breathing is back to normal and the tears have run their course. You look at them, waiting for a nod to continue. When you get it, you go back to work.

It doesn’t end up taking that long. Soon enough, all the debris and dead skin have been cleaned off. You toss your gauze and tweezers and grab your roll of bandages. You take your time wrapping them up, watching for any sign of pain that’s too unbearable. You tie off the end before you know it. 

You nudge them. “Now, we can both take a breath.” 

“That we can,” Gabbro says.

While they get their bearings back, you lay out their sleeping bag over the hatch. It’s their favorite spot, stars know why – and you want them to get some real sleep. “Gabbro, come here.”

“Hmm?” They mumble, looking over the side of the chair. Their eyes are still red and watery. It makes your chest flip uncomfortably. 

“Come here. Lay down,” You say, patting the sleeping bag. “Before I have to move you once Feldspar and Gossan get here.”

Like a slug in the desert, Gabbro slithers out of the chair and flops down face first. Their neck is crooked, their chin resting on the wood while the rest of their body is bent into the hatch. It hurts you viscerally. You move their neck until it’s curled down into the hatch with the rest of their body, their left cheek resting against their palm. 

They fall asleep in the time it takes for lightning to strike the water. You lay down beside them, your face inches from theirs, just watching them breathe as you trace the bumps of their freckles down to the dimple in their left cheek. You missed them so much. Their voice, their laugh, their smile. Their slow, yet long gait. The way they speak like a dying lightbulb early in the morning–a monotone buzzing rather than their naturally smooth, breathy tone. Back when you were hatchlings you didn’t have a lot to say to each other, but Gabbro was always there. They always found you.

And here they are, burning like the sun and just as far away from you as they were back on the Stranger. When you couldn’t understand their motivation behind leaving you to die alone again, and again, and again. How could they do this to themself? Don’t they understand how important they are? 

You play idly with their hand. Gentle brushes of your thumb over theirs, before you dot stars into their palm with the tip of your fingernail. Their teeth clack together, their eyelids fluttering, and you hold them as they seize and you hold them when it’s over. 

When ten minutes go by and Gabbro doesn’t stir, you push yourself up and amble your way to your logs. The only things left that are incomplete are the Stranger, and you don’t want to bother with any of that. Two times you’ve been there, and two times you’ve been burned. Maybe there are just some mysteries better left unsolved in this universe. 

The red light on your console is flashing. You settle down in your pilot’s seat and turn on your comms.

“Rheniite, Feldspar to communication line three.”

You switch. “Rheniite copies.”

“I take it you did exactly what Gossan told you not to do?”

You look around your ship. “Well, not exactly.”

“I don’t need to know the details. Well, I do, but you can tell me that when Gossan isn’t leaning over my shoulder– ow! Quit hitting me!”

You snort. “Are you almost here?”

“We would’ve already been there, but you and Gabbro are shockingly not in Gabbro’s ship. Oh, and their hatch is gone?”

“Might be my fault. I’ll find it later.”

Feldspar hums. “Where are you, then?”

“Statue Island. It’s the one with the broken natural bridge.”

“Okay, I see it. We’ll be there in a minute tops.”

“Copy.”

The line dies. 

You plop down onto the floor, leaning back against your pilot’s chair. “Alright, lazy sack of bones. Up you go.” 

Gabbro grumbles as you lift them up and into your lap, but one brush of your thumb against the edges of their eyes is enough for their face to smooth back out. It’s so easy. How can you look at them, hold them, want to do everything for them, but only when they’re not awake and looking back at you?

It’s not that everything’s different then. It’s that when Gabbro is awake, looking at you, waiting for you…suddenly, you have to face questions you haven’t answered. Gabbro may have told you everything, but outside of your discoveries, have you given them the same in return?

You don’t know if you love them, but you want them to be safe. You want them to be happy. Serene. You want to hear them laugh because they can’t help it. Because they remember what it’s like to be startled by something so fantastic that all they can do is hold their stomach and try not to make stupid noises that get mocked for the next ten years of their life. 

In a different life, the one where you had your first launch and it wasn’t the day the universe ended, you’d have sat with them on Giant’s Deep and learned what it meant to relax in a place as cruel and magnificent as the Outer Wilds. 

Maybe you’d have helped them bring the second statue back. Or maybe you’d have gone off to meet up with Esker as is tradition. You don’t know. That you is lifetimes away, and you can’t remember what led them to make the choices they did. It’s like Cassava and Daz said back in the workshop. Is sending a being’s memories back in time effectively the same as sending the being back? You think it’s safe to say you could pass the Rheniite who said goodbye to Slate for the first time and barely recognize them. 

Gabbro shifts. They look so similar to the Gabbro who said those words to you before they left on their first solo voyage. They look exactly the same as the one who leaned over the edge of the rock face in the zero gravity cave to tell Gossan they needed a new oxygen tank. Why is it so much easier to see Gabbro as Gabbro than it is to see yourself as Rheniite?

The hatch opens and Feldspar comes floating in, landing one foot a time facing your ship logs. Their helmet hasn’t been busted for a while now. It still feels strange to see it put back together. 

“Heya, hatchling.” They’re not quiet, but Feldspar and quiet have never been two words often put together. A moment later, Gossan arrives, too. 

“Welcome,” you say, tacitly avoiding Gossan’s eyes. 

“We brought the stuff. More bandages, saline, pain-killers,” Feldspar says, dumping their supplies to your left. 

Gossan has a pillow under their left arm and two blue bottles in their hand. “We have droughts for the seizures, too. Have they had any more since the first one?”

“A couple. They had one a few minutes ago, but it’s still just the teeth clacking, eye fluttering kind. Nothing big.”

“Big as in important, or big as in movement?” Gossan settles down, popping the cork and handing you the bottle. 

“Big as in movement,” You nod, jostling Gabbro awake enough they can take the drought and go back to sleep. Once it’s down, you hand the bottle back to Gossan. 

It hadn’t hit you quite yet, but as of now, there’s a heavy handed bat beating you upside the head. The last time you had a conversation with Gossan was your third to last loop. The one right before you destroyed the universe for fifteen seconds, if that. They’d been the same as always. Cleaning their helmet, waiting for you to swing around so they could send you off on your first solo voyage. It’s not Gossan having a big ego or being smug when they put on that note to come visit your beloved flight coach. That’s what they are. Your beloved flight coach. Your mentor. They’re your friend, at the end of the day. 

Except, it was Gossan that found you on Ember Twin, wasn’t it? Even if you told them to get lost. Even if you wanted them to stop meddling in things that didn’t involve them. You were angry. And scared. And you didn’t understand why you were still alive, and what it all meant, and if you’d wake up and it all was a really vivid dream. You still feel this way. Sometimes, all your dreams become the memory of the Eye. All you know, all you can see, is Gabbro’s face as they look right through you. A caricature. It couldn’t have been them. 

So, maybe you’ve seen Gossan since, but not as a mentor. Not as your friend. You’ve seen them as a revolving door hitting you in the shins on every revolution. The same words. The same phrases. The ghost of the one you loved so much as a hatchling. 

And now here they are, sitting right in front of you, their face a mirror image of your own. It makes you feel small, like all the sudden those years of drinking sap wine leaning against Gabbro’s hammock during the loops mean nothing. You’re still the little one that snuck into Gossan’s workshop with your green scarf clutched in your hand after Marl kicked you out of the bed for hogging the blankets.

Gossan leans forward, brushing the tip of their finger over Gabbro’s cheek. They trace the dips and curves of Gabbro’s face, up to the droop of their left ear. It’s so familiar it makes you sick. Every touch is one you can feel on your own face, but not because Gossan did the same for you. Because Feldspar did, back when you were in the medical bay with broken everything and then some. When you were somewhere between asleep and awake, it was Feldspar that was tracing their finger over your face, telling you it’s okay to sleep as long as you wake up again. 

“Whenever you two want to tell me what happened, I’m waiting. I’ve been waiting,” Gossan whispers. “Both of you…I’m worried about both of you.” 

You weigh the potential of telling them versus keeping it all tacked to the tipping towers in your own mind. Can Gossan handle the weight of seventy-some thousand deaths, and the unknown of why you’re still here, alive, when you’d watched the universe collapse? 

You’d caused it, the death of not just your species, but of every living being in the universe. You’d ended it all. And yet, despite that, you’re still here. 

You won’t even share that burden with Gabbro, let alone with Gossan. 

“You don’t want to know,” You say. Gossan nods as if they’d been expecting this. Feldspar is watching Gossan, frowning. You wonder if Feldspar told them anything. “It’s…not exactly a feel good campfire story.”

Before Gossan can reply, Gabbro shuffles restlessly. They mumble broken sentences and incomprehensible words, and without missing a beat, Gossan leans down and starts speaking to them. “It’s okay, hatchling. The medicine is going to make you feel a bit funny for a while. If it hurts, we can get you some more pain medicine, okay? We’ve got you, go back to sleep.” 

And it’s so easy. Gabbro nods right back off..

Ah, this is why you run from the village and so rarely look back. The warmth bubbles up in your chest. The familiarity of Gossan’s words and smooth voice is enough to choke you. 

You missed them. 

“Oi, hatchling,” Gossan says, and you can’t help how your head snaps to look at them. “What do I have to do to get you to talk to me again? You promised you’d come see your old flight coach once you made it out here. I’m not getting any younger, you know.” 

“Don’t say that,” You shake your head. You can’t think about Gossan getting older. You can’t think about them dying, and you having to live in a world without them. At least when the world was ending you never had to miss someone in that way. Everyone was still alive. As alive as someone living the same twenty-two minutes could be. 

“Rheniite,” Gossan says. You look at them, terrified you’ll see lines on their face and their freckles deeper and their arms thinner. They look the same as you’ve always known them. Still young despite their years. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. I know something did, and I know it changed a lot about you and Gabbro and how you view the world. How you see home. I just need you to know…I need you to hear me when I say that I miss you, and I care about you, and I’m here for you. Whenever you feel comfortable enough to share what happened. I’ll listen to you.” 

You feel like bawling. As if you’re no more than that little baby Gossan would wrap up and walk in circles around the den. You never knew what they were saying, you just knew their voice and that their voice meant safety. Their voice meant warmth. Their voice was all you knew, way back then. 

You hadn’t known it was Gossan until someone told you as you got older and it all clicked into place. That warmth, that comfort, that was all your dear old flight coach. 

It’s funny. Gneiss, Hornfels, Tektite, and Rutile had tried to help with you when you first hatched, but you didn’t want any of them. You’d kick and cry unless it was Gossan that held you, or Gossan that fed you, or Gossan that played with you. Gossan was still young, then, a few years out of being a hatchling themself, and yet you’d grabbed onto them like you were the sticky side of a roll of duct tape.

And when you look at them now, and you see your own face so blatantly reflected back to you…no. There’s no point. 

You’d gravitated more toward Feldspar as you got older, and then you had Gabbro when Feldspar disappeared, and then Hal and Marl growing up. Still, despite all of that, you still remember that warmth and safety Gossan gave you.

You look down at Gabbro. The only person left alive who knows you. 

“It was bad,” You whisper. Gossan gives you their undivided attention. It’s suffocating, and yet it’s the first time you’ve been able to breathe so deep it reaches the bottom of your lungs. “It was really bad. I don’t know how to be alive anymore. I don’t even really know what it means.”

Gossan throws themself up and comes around to you. They kneel down, their hand on your shoulder. “Rhen…”

“Why did it have to be us? Why me and Gabbro? Why did we have to know? Why couldn’t we just live in peace, trapped with everyone else?” You don’t know what you’re saying. Gossan looks like they’re about to have a stroke. “It was really lonely. I was really lonely.”

“What happened? ” Gossan begs. You look at Gabbro, at their bandaged arm and their pale face. Neither you nor Gabbro have gotten any better, and this is the proof. Instead of bringing their ship back for Slate or Esker to fix, Gabbro tried to do it all themself and paid the price. 

That’s all they had. For seventy-some thousand lifetimes, all they had was themselves. Who was there to ask to bandage up a scrape? Or clean a burn? Or fix a ship?

You. Just you, and no one else. 

Gabbro startles as if woken from a nightmare. They look around; dazed and confused, lost as if you’re not still here, holding them like you have been since they fell asleep. Feldspar joins you and Gossan, kneeling on your right, their hand reaching out and settling on the bend of Gabbro’s knee. 

“Rhen?” They call. 

You pull them closer, your lips ghosting over their cheek. “I’m here.”

“Don’t leave. Don’t…time. We have time left…”

“I’m not going to leave you. I’m here now.” You shift, trying to keep your grip on them firm, but Gabbro panics and grips your scarf. 

“My ship. I have to get my ship,” They mumble. 

“We’re fixing your ship, remember? You just got impatient and didn’t want to wait for me.”

They don’t listen. “Gotta get my ship. Gotta help. Gotta help Rhen. Gotta…Gotta…” 

They fall back to sleep. You lay your head down on their shoulder and squeeze them close to you. How much more of this can you take?

“The statue opened its eyes and looked at me.”

Chapter Text

Your first-first solo launch is more vivid than any of the launches that followed in its footsteps. The first time you compared your ship to a flying coffin with Slate, the first time you tried out Mica’s new model-rocket, the first time Moraine explained the signalscope to you. You hadn’t cared then. You needed to go. To get out of this claustrophobic little village and out into the great, uncharted expanse of the Outer Wilds.

Gossan had asked if you wanted extra zero gravity training, but you’d brushed them off. You knew what you were doing. It had taken four years for you to get there, but it had been at least a week since the last time you fell face first into a geyser. Basically a master of your craft. Besides, it made sense to save the quote-unquote, zero gravity training, for Mica. They’d need to learn how to fix up one of Gossan’s satellites one day, anyway. 

Even the statue wasn’t enough to stop you in your tracks. Sure, it was weird. Weirder things had happened. Probably. Hal told you it was a colorful hallucination, and even if it did happen it didn’t make sense. You hadn’t slept well that night, and you trusted Hal, so you brushed it off and hopped your way back to the camp with the launch codes in hand. 

Slate told you not to crash your ship, you didn’t promise anything. There was one destination you had in mind, and you kept your signalscope pointing at that familiar flute music like it was a beacon. They said they would wait for you, and even when the flute puttered out and all you had was a hopeful feeling in your gut that Gabbro hadn’t left, you still charged forth. 

Landing was a bit complicated. You only cracked the cockpit a little, which according to Esker was perhaps the least amount of damage done to a ship by a green pilot since Chert’s first launch. Gabbro was leaned back against a rock wall across the broken natural bridge, and you only sorta overestimated the power you needed. Tripping was a lot less embarrassing than eating sand right in front of the person you’d been waiting to see on a planet other than Timber Hearth since you were eight. 

You brushed the sand off your pants. “Ten out of ten landing, am I right?” 

“Gotta get out the measuring tape. I think you only made a hole as deep as Chert’s boot.” 

“Oh, shut up,” You wrapped your arm around their shoulders, patting them on the back. Gabbro rolled their eyes and twirled around until they could give you a real, rib breaking hug. Through the pain, you said, “Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

“I didn’t.”

That fell flat, especially considering their next move was to lift you up and walk you over to the statue laying on its side by a busted door. 

“What was that about not missing me?” You became deadweight, but Gabbro had no problem shucking you along. You swore one day you’d return the favor. 

“Look,” Gabbro plopped you down. “This is my new friend. I think. I had a strange spiritual experience with this beauty.” 

You startled. “Spiritual experience?”

“Yeah,” Gabbro crossed their arms, twirling their flute around in one hand. “I was just looking it over to make sure it wasn’t too busted for Hornfels, and then its eyes opened. They were glowing, isn’t that wild? And then, all I saw was purple, and all of the things I’d just done replayed like it was looking through my eyes.” 

That was the first time you thought maybe things were a little more complex than you and Hal assumed back at the museum. “That happened to me. Back at the Observatory.”

“You too, huh? I doubt it’s anything bad, but why would we be the only ones that saw it happen?”

“No idea. Hal told me it was just a hallucination because I didn’t sleep last night.”

Gabbro snorted. “Hal doesn’t like looking into things that might seem supernatural. What did you think they were going to say?”

You didn’t know then, and you’re not entirely sure now. You said, “Did you try telling anyone?”

“Well, I tried telling Hornfels. They told me I must’ve nodded off. We talked about dreams until they told me to refill my oxygen tank before I talked myself to death.”

Leaning back against the statue, you smirked. “Hornfels doesn’t like looking into things that might seem supernatural. What did you think they were going to say?”

Gabbro held up a hand. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, smarty pants. Anyway, you’re here! Your first solo voyage! How does it feel?” 

The two of you spoke for ten minutes, just wandering around statue island. There wasn’t much Gabbro didn’t already know. Gossan hadn’t changed up their training regime since they took over when Chert was first training. The rain splattered on your visor, clouding your vision. Gabbro wiped their faceplate with the back of their hand. 

“What’s up with this planet?” You asked. It was the first time you’d ever seen the cyclones up close. Gabbro held up a hand and waved.

“I know, right?”

You stared at them. 

They blinked. “Oh, you mean, for real.”

“Yeah, genius.”

Gabbro slapped your shoulder. So, the moment passed and you learned Giant’s Deep is everything you’d already observed. Big, covered in deep water. There was a current that Gabbro couldn’t pass, but Spinel had told you about that ad nauseum. The cyclones, apparently, tossed the islands up into the atmosphere. Gabbro’s bright advice had been to land in the water. Admitting that off-hand comment kept you alive more than you can count is something you won’t do even on your deathbed. 

Their ship was somewhere out in the ocean. You didn’t see it, but it was clear Gabbro assumed it was a passing issue. They waved off your concern and instead started telling you about the statues and how Hornfels wanted the broken one, in addition to any others that could be found. 

“There’s a way you can see into some sort of workshop from the houses on that top cliff. Looks like there’s more. Unfortunate for me, but great for Hornfels.”

“Sounds like you could use a hand?” 

Instead of hitting you this time, they tapped your shoulders together. “That’d be cool. Don’t you feel sorry for me, getting all of Hornfels’s busy work?”

“Isn’t Chert mapping stars for them?”

“Chert loves mapping stars. You think I just love carting big hunks of stone on the back of my beloved ship?”

You rolled your eyes, jumping up onto the gravity crystal wall. “Do you love anything that isn’t coated in sugar or in the deep recesses of a forest?”

“Sweet and silent. The perfect combo. I knew out of everyone, you knew me best.”

It was so simple. Everything was easy. Gabbro pulled their backpack out from behind the statue and motioned for you to follow. They landed on an island a little ways across the water, their steps long and confident as they rounded a cave filled with ghost matter crystals to dump their bag next to a pile of open cans and turned over bottles. They shook out their hammock, and you helped them hook one side to the tree closest to the water while they took care of the other. When it was secure, Gabbro sat on it like it was a swing made for sitting in, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.

“Sit with me?” They asked.

You settled down beside them, letting the rocking motion lull you. For a little while (and a little while it had to have been, even if your memory holds the moment so tightly it feels like it lasted forever), Gabbro played their flute while you dozed with your eyes closed. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had settled back like this together. Perhaps it had been a few years, but it felt natural. As easy as it was sneaking into Hal’s bed in the hatchling cabin and stealing their blankets, working on the translator tool with flashlights through hushed whispers. 

“So,” You lean back, holding your head in the palms of your hands. “What do you think I should explore on this planet?”

Gabbro sets their flute down. “I mean, there’s the current. I couldn’t figure it out, but I’m sure you could. There’s also that workshop with all the statues in it. There’s another island, it has…”

You never got to hear what the next island was. You assume it was The Construction Yard, or maybe Bramble Island. By the time you saw Gabbro again, you didn’t feel it was the right time to ask them to repeat themself. 

The sky darkened to a deep, oppressive black. There’s never been a more painful realization in your twenty-five living years. Twenty-two, somehow, if you’re supposed to pretend this moment, and all the subsequent moments, never happened. In the swirling green clouds of Giant’s Deep’s atmosphere, there was a flash of blue light, and then a dim sort of glow in its wake. You looked at Gabbro. They had taken their helmet off. Their glove, still hovering by their left ear, was soaked with blood. 

“Gabbro?” You called them, but they didn’t look at you. The blue light was getting brighter. “Gabbro! Gabbro!” 

You don’t know if it was the vibration in your voice, or if they finally remembered you were with them, but Gabbro’s eyes caught yours just as the light filled your vision. It didn’t hurt. At least, you don’t remember it hurting. Maybe for a split second did you feel the searing agony of thousands of nuclear reactions in your cells. But before you could understand what was happening, you were opening your eyes back in the campsite, the orbital probe cannon firing once again. 

You didn’t understand it at first. It took you a long time to understand what was happening. You’d assumed it was a dream. A horrible, hyper realistic dream about hanging out with Gabbro and then dying as you looked in their eyes. You’d stood up, wobbled as you readjusted to being awake. Slate was staring at you. When you asked them if you died, they asked if you were having nightmares. 

Back then, you’d thought you were. Now, you realize with no question that yes. You were having nightmares. Over and over, every twenty-two minutes. A never-ending orbit around an astral body you couldn’t hope to understand. 

And you tell Gossan about it. All of it – from the moment you woke up believing it had all been a dream, to the very last loop where you landed on the Eye of the universe and chose to kill everyone you love because there was no other choice. In your heart, you knew that it was infinitely more merciful to let it go than to force your friends to relive the same doomsday for the rest of eternity. 

You’d said goodbye to the echoes of the travelers. To the echo of your time buddy. Your friend. You collapsed the possibilities, and in the process, you wished for something you never should’ve been allowed to have.

And then you woke up. A caricature. An unnamed shadow in the place of the person that should’ve been laying in that familiar sleeping bag. 

For the first time since this all started, with unwavering confidence, someone looks at you and says, “I believe you.”

It takes a moment. A lapse in judgment long enough you have already wrapped an arm around Gossan’s shoulders. One hand stays pressed to Gabbro’s slowly moving chest, the other gripping Gossan’s suit jacket so tight it’s bound to rip. 

In a voice teetering on hysterical, you cry, “You believe me?”

And Gossan, as sure as the rising sun, says, “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Out of everyone, the only person you never tried to tell was Gossan. All that wasted time. How different could things have been had you told them back when all of this first started? When Hornfels, Slate, and Hal were making a business out of brushing you off?

“I can show you,” You suck in a shaky inhale. “I can show you the sun station. And the Vessel. I could even take you to the Ash Twin Project. We can go together.”

Gossan chuckles, cradling the back of your head in the palm of their hand. “You don’t have to show me for me to believe you.”

You feel faint. As if one wayward breeze would be enough to knock you over. You trail your hand down Gabbro’s chest, across their abdomen. You find their uninjured hand hooked over their leg, and you intertwine your fingers so you don’t go flying off into the murky atmosphere above you.

“It’s so easy? You just take my word for it?” You ask. 

“Yes,” Gossan nods, brushing a stray tear off the side of your neck. “I know you. I could tell that something was wrong. Something a lot worse than getting tossed up by cyclones and chased by anglerfish.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s nothing,” You sniffle. “Typical day for us.”

“This,” Gossan says, motioning toward yours and Gabbro’s intertwined fingers. “Is great. I’m so glad that you have each other. But…You have us, too. No questions asked.”

“I don’t want you to know how this feels.” 

There’s wetness on your cheek, but Gossan doesn’t let you pull away. “I’m so proud of you for making it through. Now, it’s time to let some of that weight off your shoulders. I’m ready to help carry it.”

You let Gossan hold onto you until the day has waned and your wakefulness escapes you. You push yourself away and readjust Gabbro back in the hatch, shoving a pillow under their head so they don’t pinch a nerve in their neck. When they look comfortable enough, you slip down with them, laying your head on the curve of their shoulder. You wrap your arm around their chest, your fingers curling in the loose fabric of their suit. They’re still uncomfortably warm, but you need the closeness before your heart melts out of your mouth and you can’t keep going. 

Feldspar puts a hand to your back. You had almost forgotten they were there. They heard everything, too.

“For what it’s worth,” Feldspar says. “I believe you, too.”

You press your eyes closed and soak Gabbro’s shirt. 

You’re startled awake by the feeling of Gabbro shaking below you. You push yourself up, and you’re slammed with worry as you take in the sight of Gabbro’s eyes clenched shut and their cheeks covered in tears. It takes you a moment to come back to yourself, but then you see Gossan and Feldspar on Gabbro’s right, working on cleaning the wounds on their arm.

“Sorry,” Gabbro exhales, their teeth clenched. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

You flick them. “Shut up. Of all the things to worry about.” 

They chuckle, covering their mouth with their hand. You lean over, your face dangerously close to theirs. A whisper against their cheek, you continue, “Do you want to see the Quantum Moon when you’re done sloughing off scales?”

“Been waiting for months,” They’re wheezing. You get closer, your lips hovering centimeters from theirs. You wish you could share some of your air with them, just so for once neither of you would have to suffer this much. 

“When you gave up…why didn’t you tell me?” 

Gabbro’s chest stutters, their breath ghosting against your lips. You press your noses together, exhaling just enough you can pretend you’re giving that precious ghost of life back to them. 

“I didn’t…” They jerk. You hold their face in both hands. “I didn’t want you to know I’m a failure.”

You can feel their heart pounding.

Throughout it all, there’s one thing you’ve been sure of. Gabbro, despite whatever shortcomings they may have, has never done anything less than they’ve set out to do. “You’re not a failure.”

“I just wanted to help you.” 

Gabbro cries out. You hold them closer. You don’t want to let them go.

“Tell you what,” You say. “I’ll fly. Forget your ship for now, we can worry about it later.”

And they chuckle, their lips brushing yours. “No way. My ship will be lonely if I leave them all alone like this.”

If that isn’t the most Gabbro thing Gabbro has said to you today.

“Thank you,” You whisper. “I thought you’d forgotten about me, and you didn’t.”

They’re shaking, and you shift until your face is buried in the crook of their neck. You don’t want to see them cry. You’ve had enough of being the cause of it. 

“I missed you,” They whisper.

“I should’ve come back more. I was so caught up in the Vessel and the warp core that I just let time slip away from me. I didn’t realize how long it had really been. That was awful of me. I know I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” Gabbro says.

“No. How am I…how are you supposed to ever forgive me if I’m not honest with you?”

Gabbro breathes in deep. “We both had shit circumstances. Neither of us are really at fault, right?” 

You close your eyes. 

“Do you forgive me?” You ask. 

“I never was upset with you. ”

“That’s not an answer.” You let Gabbro sit on it. You had to forgive them. You had to come to terms with the effort they put in despite all the years you swallowed down resentment and loathing and the thought that they abandoned you despite their knowledge. 

Gabbro thought the same. That you’d abandoned them, despite knowing they were there, waiting. 

And yet, despite all of it, they pull your head up until you’re looking right in their eyes as they say, “I forgive you.”

You feel something break like a dam in your chest. A mix of relief, and sorrow, and the longing to go back in time and have this conversation earlier. While the loops were still a thing, and you were just each other against a gargantuan reality that even a whole species hadn’t been able to handle.

And you remember, back when Feldspar explained it all to you. That love is abstract and hard to pin and different for everyone, but you don’t think they got it quite right and you can’t explain how. All you know is that Gabbro makes you sick every time you see them, and it’s not in a bad way. It just is. And you keep coming back because when they’re not there you miss them.

But you’re not like Avens and Mallow. You’re not like Cassava and Daz. Nor are you like Yarrow and Clary.

You don’t know who to look to. No one seems to understand how you feel. Not even you. All you know is that you want to give your arm to them, you want to bake under this lamp for them. You want to fix their ship and give them their freedom back. 

“I think the Eye tied our consciousness together,” You whisper, just quiet enough that Feldspar and Gossan wouldn’t be able to make it out.

“You’ll always be my time pebble,” Gabbro smiles, sighing in relief as Gossan bandages their wounds back up. 

“Next time, can you please wait until I’m here before you try to kill yourself again?” The room is too heavy, the air too thick. You can’t help but flick Gabbro’s ear as you say it.

“It’s not my fault you abandoned me to go be a sweeping super star. You’ve had your invitation, you know.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head against their chest, trying to remember what it was like to breathe before Gabbro taught you how. 

Chapter Text

Over the next several days, things stay the same. Gossan makes the executive choice to bring Gabbro back to Timber Hearth somewhere around the twelve hour mark after their last seizure, then drops them in the medical bay and scrounges up enough pain medicine and neuro droughts to keep them stable for six hour intervals. Feldspar hovers around — usually settled on the window pane, holding their arm out to get a taste of the rain on their fingers. Sometimes they leave, but they return with food, water and things for you to occupy your mind with that aren’t counting the seconds between Gabbro’s breaths. 

It’s different from the last time you were here, but that’s because this time you’re aware of every passing second. On average, Gabbro takes eighteen breaths a minute. Their heart beats eighty times, give or take some. Before their seizures — sometimes hours before, sometimes minutes, their heart beats a hundred and twenty times. Sometimes more, if it’s even possible. You think you’re counting wrong, but after a week of the same observations you’ve hit the point you can’t deny it. 

There’s an itch under your skin. A persistent voice in the base of your skull telling you to run away. If you’re not here, then it’s not happening. Gabbro is still back on Giant’s Deep, playing their flute, with their body whole and healed after the Ash Twin Project calls them back. But if you leave, then you can’t know if they’re breathing. Or if their heart is beating. And even if you can pretend that they’re fine, what happens when they’re not and you’re moping on some other planet, kilometers away from them?

Today, Feldspar is out. This means that you get full reign of the coveted windowsill spot. The humidity hasn’t waned even a fraction since the last time you were here. From your hand to your shoulder is soaked in warm rain. If you were more gullible, someone could convince you the drops turn to steam the moment they touch the ground. Gliding your hand through thick air, you do mental contortions to convince yourself that this is relaxing. You’re having a swell time. 

Technically, you could hop out of this window just like last time and go careening off into a manic sprint. It had been exhilarating, even despite all that happened afterwards. The rain hitting your face, the wind pushing you back. Maybe you could even check on the status of the bramble seed…

Gabbro shuffles, a soft whine spilling from their lips. Never have you moved faster. Before their hand can get more than a few centimeters off the bed, you’re intertwining your fingers with theirs. 

“Hey,” You whisper. The lights are already off, but there isn’t much to be done about the window. The rain clouds mitigate the sharp glare of the sun, making it easier for Gabbro’s eyes to flutter open. “Headache, or are you okay?”

“Headache,” Gabbro answers. “But not bad. I actually don’t feel too horrible.”

“That’s a good change.” You nudge them, and they smile. A painful, bubbling feeling rises in your chest, choking out your words and the last of your common sense. Without thinking, you lean down and press your lips to their forehead, lingering there long enough Gabbro’s eyes slip closed. “I wish I could take it from you. And give it to Marl.”

Gabbro startles out a laugh. You pull away, hiding your shaking hands in the pockets of your coat. 

“I feel a little better now,” Gabbro whispers. You give up the ruse, leaning forward to trace your thumb over their cheek. 

Thunder cracks, lightning spilling across the sky. Gabbro tenses, and you slip down until you’re laying beside them. You toss your arm over their chest, and they slowly turn until they can wrap their body around yours like a cocoon. 

You sigh, content. “You’re clingy today.”

“I don’t feel good. Be nice to me,” Gabbro pouts. You flick them. 

“I thought you said you were feeling better?”

Dramatic and all too predictably, Gabbro grips their chest and clenches their eyes closed. They whine, drawn out and long, then peek open their top right eye to make sure you’re watching before slamming it closed again. “Ow, my chest hurts. Help me.”

“How can I help you, oh pitiful time buddy of mine?”

“I require coffee. With a lot of sugar.”

You roll your eyes. “How about some tea with no sugar?”

“I changed my mind. Can you call Chert to come sit with me instead?”

“Sure. Why don’t I call Riebeck while I’m at it? I’m pretty sure they just deciphered one of the Nomai texts on Brittle Hollow without the translator tool…”

“Shh, can’t you tell I’m trying to sleep?” 

You want to laugh, but you can see the exhaustion in their face the longer they’re awake. The way their eyes droop, their body laxing, the slow drawl to their already slow manner of speech. They’re better than they were a week ago, when every minute was punctuated by assuring their heart never beat more than eighty times a minute. 

“Sleep, then,” You say, nuzzling your nose to the bridge of theirs. Gabbro’s eyes roll back, their eyes closing without their influence. You lean into it, using the pads of your fingers to coax them the rest of the way closed. Before the lightning can strike again, Gabbro is already asleep.

Feldspar opens the door a few minutes later, dripping water and carrying a felt bag that looks more full than usual. 

There’s a clear spot on the table, a half circle amidst Gabbro’s plethora of pain and seizure medications. You look at the deep blue bottles and wonder if Gabbro will have to use them forever. 

“I made fish and vegetables. Well, Gossan did. I just helped by holding whatever utensil they didn’t need at the time. I’d say that deserves some credit.”

You untangle yourself from Gabbro’s spindly limbs and push yourself up. “A master of your craft.”

“Glad someone sees it.”

Feldspar sets three containers on the windowsill. You grab one and set it on the side table by Gabbro’s bed, then another for yourself. Feldspar takes the last one, hopping up and sitting with their back to the rain. They pop off the lid, and you’re hit with a powerful sense of nostalgia. 

“It’s been a long time since we ate this together,” You say, opening up your own. It’s simple — just a bowl of carrots, celery, potatoes and two large pieces of fish. There’s not a lot of seasoning in yours, but both Feldspar’s and Gabbro’s fish look closer to the color of the deep red bowls than the white the fish started as. 

Feldspar takes a bite. “It’s been a hot second since I’ve had fish not covered in salty oil, myself. The dried stuff is good in a pinch, but there’s nothing like Spinel’s fresh catches.”

“Yeah,” You say, taking a bite of the cooked carrot. “You know, it’s the same thing we used to eat together when I was a hatchling, but it never tasted the same when I got older.”

“Oh?” Feldspar’s chewing slows. “How so?”

“I don’t know. It just used to taste sweeter. Maybe it’s just rose-filters over my memories.”

The silence settles, and then Feldspar sets their bowl down and hops off the ledge. “Here, let me have this.”

There’s not a chance for you to hand it over. Before Feldspar even finished their sentence, they’d already taken the bowl out of your hands and walked out. You chew the last of the bite in your mouth and swallow, trying to use the interim time to figure out what just happened. 

Five minutes later, Feldspar returns. The food they hand you is the same, bite taken out and all, but now the vegetables have a slight sheen to them that they didn’t have before. You look up, eyes wide, but Feldspar just settles back down and eats an entire piece of fish in one bite.

“Thanks?” You say, looking at a piece of potato in the light. It looks suspicious, but also familiar. You take a tentative bite out of it, and the powerful nostalgia turns into a sucker punch. It’s enough to make your eyes water. “What? How…it—!”

“Thank me later, thank me later. I know, I’m the best cook in the village. Eat it before it gets cold and solidifies.”

You have no idea what that means, but you eat the entire meal faster than you’ve eaten anything in your life. By the time you’ve finished (and by that you mean scrape the bowl until there’s nothing left but a slight sheen left behind), you’ve already almost burst into tears twice over a couple vegetables and some fish. 

But it tasted just like it did when you were a hatchling. Just like…”It never tasted the same after you left.”

Feldspar taps their bowl twice with their spoon. Their gaze is far away, and then they smile at their lap. “It’s because Gossan may be good at making sure the potatoes cook all the way through, but taste? No one knows what you like better than I do.”

The end is whispered, so quiet you can barely make it out. You settle the bowl down and shove your hands back in your pockets. “Thank you. It was…you know, nice to have that again.”

“Anytime. Well, not anytime. It’s not the easiest to get the ingredients, and my arms get tired holding the spatula. I’m getting older, after all.”

Dropping your spoon, you swallow hard and try not to choke. “Yeah. But not that old. You’ve got a few more years left in you.”

And maybe Feldspar sees what it did to you. The slap across the mouth that all the sudden your friends are getting older, and one day they’ll be gone, and you have to learn to live with it just like you’ve had to learn to live with everything else. They stand, taking the bowl and spoon and stacking them with theirs before setting everything aside so you can sit next to each other. They put a hand on your kneecap. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I have more than a few years left in me. You think I’m going to keel over now after I finally remembered what fresh air and good fish tastes like? Come on, hatchling. You trying to get rid of me or what?”

“No.” You pick at the fraying hole in your pants. “You have a long time to make up for. If I get rid of you now, I’ll never get to have that again. And who would race me?”

“I would say Gossan, but they’re not as rambunctious as they used to be,” Feldspar laughs. They lean out of the window, opening their mouth to catch raindrops on their tongue. “It’s so much better than that stale canned stuff.”

You grip the edge and lean back, copying their pose. The rain is cold as it touches your face, but that makes it all the better as it hits your tongue. Suddenly, Feldspar’s hand is on your back, keeping you from toppling backwards but giving you just enough freedom to tip your head all the way, letting your eyes slip closed as the rain washes the week of stress off your face. It drips down, splashing small puddles into the bushes you crushed the last time you were here.

Wind dances over your face, and you open your eyes just so you can see the trees waving. Leaves fall from the branches, brushing your arm before landing in a pile on the grass. You’re alive. Feldspar is alive. Gabbro is alive. Right now, in this moment, everyone is still here. You’re not alone. You still have your friends. 

Tears trickle out of your eyes, meeting the rain and the leaves – a broken conglomeration of time that has been passing you by so fast it feels slippery in your grasp. You’re so relieved you can hardly breathe. You want to stay in this moment forever. 

“Rhen?” Feldspar says. You widen your eyes and roll your tongue around your mouth, trying to stop your tears but submitting to them all at once. That hand on your back becomes an arm, and then you’re being tugged forward. Your chest to theirs, they hold you in a way that feels achingly familiar and yet so far removed from who you are now that it makes the tears fall faster. “I’m here now. Even if I leave again, I’ll always come back for you.”

“Why?” You whisper. The wind attempts to carry the word away, but Feldspar snatches it back before it can go too far. 

“Because you…” They stumble. It must be a record, making Feldspar lose their words like this. “You matter to me. I care about you. And you’re right, I do have a lot of time to make up for. So, how can I go running off and leave you behind when you’re finally old enough to help me with the grunt work?”

“You want me to put pieces of rock on my brand new ship?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“What if it scratches the paint?”

Feldspar pulls back, their forehead wrinkled. “Then it sounds like you’ll get a stern talking to from Slate about taking care of your ship in my stead. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Define awesome?”

Feldspar pulls your ear and then pokes you in the side all in one fell swoop. You end up in a heap on the floor trying to get away. They snort, saying, “I thought you weren’t ticklish?”

“I’m not!” You stand, brushing your pants off. “You just startled me.”

“Uh, huh,” Feldspar hums. “Got it.”

Chapter Text

For your own sanity, you step out to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Tektite is sitting at the table, and you nod in acknowledgement before swiping a can of water from the icebox sitting at their side. You settle down, cracking open the can and offering it to Tektite. 

“Huh?” They say. 

You shrug, leaning back. “You look like you need it.”

Spread across the table are two rolls of bandages and packages of gauze. Each finger on Tektite’s hand is rubbed raw from the tips to their palm. Angry red and weeping, rimmed red around deep blisters. They take a bottle of alcohol and dump copious amounts of the stuff over the worst of it, before slapping some gauze on and wrapping the bandages around to seal it off. They take the can of water and drink it without letting it touch their lips before passing the rest back to you. 

“Thanks," They say. “Sorry, I’m kinda exhausted if you want the truth.”

“The bramble seed still giving you trouble?”

Tektite falls back in their chair, pressing the heel of their palms to their bottom eyes. “Yeah. Which sucks, because I really thought we caught it in time.”

So much for their favorite crater. You tap your fingers on the table, trying to figure out where to go from here. You sat down, so you should have something to say. Or at least, you’d hoped Tektite would so they could carry the conversation. Deciding to pretend you’d visited the crater at some point, you say, “I actually stopped by for a few a month or so ago. Did you ever bring a scout launcher to see how deep it is?”

A strange look passes over Tektite’s face. “I did. Tuff and I saw it’s pretty deep. Not sure if it’s even possible to cut it out now that the thing has an interdimensional core, but it was silly to not even try.”

“So, you’re going to keep trying, right?”

You don’t know why you bothered asking. In the air, thick and heavy, is Tektite’s resignation. Their shoulders slump, and even as they open their mouth, the only thing that comes out is a long sigh. 

Maybe it’s your fault for thinking things could be simple. After all, wasn’t the end of the world supposed to be the worst-case scenario? What’s a little seed in the light of a supernova? Except, the supernova never happened – not really, and that leaves Hal and Marl with their shoes and supplies falling apart and Tektite with their hands bleeding raw. All for them to plop down in that chair at a table that isn’t even theirs, their eyes vacant. You always knew one thing for certain: Tektite will speak only when they're convinced every word is true. 

“Is this it, then?” You ask. Thunder cracks, lightning illuminating the living room before every light sputters out. The buzzing of the light fixtures breaks the silence, before the thunder claps a second time and the lights come back on all at once. “You’re just going to give up? Let some stupid seed best you? I thought you said there was no one better to get rid of a stubborn weed than a treekeeper, and now all of a sudden Hal and Marl aren’t good enough?”

“Hal and Marl have done an incredible job.” Tektite takes a deep breath. “They’ve worked day and night for weeks trying to come up with new ways to get rid of the thing before it can regrow and send us back to square one. Do you understand the threat we’re facing?”

Better than Tektite might think. “I know that it’s bad enough you can’t just leave it to do whatever it wants! It’s alive, Tektite. The bramble is alive. It’s a parasite . If we don’t fix it now, what happens when Timber Hearth becomes Dark Bramble? Where will we go? How will we survive?”

“That’s jumping a bit far in the future, hatchling.”

“Is it?” You lean forward. “Is it jumping a bit far? Did we figure out the timeline between Dark Bramble being a beautiful ice planet to that freak of nature?"

“Rhen–”

“Did you try explosives? Did you try setting the thing on fire? Did you try to poison it?”

“Yes, we did–”

“Then, why didn’t you try drowning it? Or, why didn’t you ask me for my help? We could tie my ship to one of the brambles and try ripping it out of the ground. We can’t just leave it there!” 

“Rheniite,” Tektite rubs their hand over their face. “I have a headache, and you’re not making it any better.”

You snap your mouth closed. Fury licks up your spine like the blue flames of a campfire. You’d trusted Tektite, and that was a mistake. From the very start you should’ve been more involved. All that work just for your people to die anyway? That’s not going to happen. 

“Fine. Since you’ve given up, I’ll go do something productive. Riebeck’s been wanting to rebuild some of the Nomai settlements. When the bramble seed destroys our home, at least we’ll have somewhere else to go.”

Tektite doesn’t chase after you when you leave. The front door slams closed behind you. You flinch, startled. Fuck. You really need to learn how to shut your mouth when you still have the chance. 

Wholly unwilling to turn around and try to salvage the situation, you plop down on the wet stairs. Gabbro is still asleep; at least, they should be, unless you woke them up with your dramatic exit. Feldspar will still be there if they do happen to wake up, and maybe it’ll be enough to pretend there’s nothing wrong and you just stepped out for a moment of air. You didn’t rip Tektite a new one over something they can’t control and abandon your best friend all in one fell swoop. 

The rain turns from a trickle to a downpour. Wet season may only last for a few months out of the year, but it’s a long few months for just about everyone. Porphy has to move their cauldron inside, the hatchlings have to go from village-wide hide and seek to hopefully everyone forgets this hiding spot hide and seek, training moves into the zero-G cave (if Gossan is in a good mood), and the astronauts tend to pack up and go so they aren’t holed up in their homes doing nothing with valuable exploration time. 

At least, until Hornfels gets wind of the astronauts having fun while everyone else is cooped up. That’s when the chores really start rolling in. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re getting soaked down to your bones for the second time in recent memory rather than making a translation journal. 

Slate’s lights are on, and if you squint hard enough, you can see them bent over their workbench. Next door, Gossan and Feldspar’s house is quiet and dark. You stand, heading back toward the geysers. You stomp in puddles and trace your boots through the dirt. The Nomai may have a complicated writing system compared to your own, but you know how to write simple things like morning, hot, cold, wet. You write wet in the mud, swipe your boot over it to erase it, then write tired in its place. 

By the time you get to where you’re going, it’s almost completely dark outside. You feel your belt. Once again, you’ve managed to leave your radio behind. Gabbro is going to start thinking you do it on purpose. At least you don’t intend to go too far this time. If anything, it might be the easiest place to look in the entire star system. 

Okay. Easy. Put your hand on the handle, turn it, and…

“It’s raining.”

You jump so hard you slip down three stairs and end up almost taking out the railing to keep yourself from falling the rest of the way down. Galena is standing on the opposite rail, staring at you with a poorly concealed smile. Hand on your heart, your breaths coming as fast as if you’d run ten kilometers without pause, you say, “What are you doing there? Get down before you fall!”

“Like you?” Galena asks, hopping down. You blink. They blink back. “It’s raining.”

“I know. We’ve had this conversation before, believe it or not.”

“You still don’t bring an umbrella.”

If you bring an umbrella, how could you outwardly show your inner turmoil to all that have the misfortune of seeing you? Wiping the water off your face, you’re about to say as such, but when you open your eyes Galena is holding an umbrella made out of sticks and twine. 

“I made it,” They say. “For you. Because you never bring an umbrella.”

There’s a frog in your throat. Probably the one you stepped on back at the cliff faces when you were trying to escape the village. You take it, holding it up and above your head. It doesn’t work all that well, but it’s pretty good for something with this many gaps and holes. “Thank you. How long did it take you to make this?”

“I don’t know.”

Fair enough. “Well, I think you should be getting home before the storms start again.”

“Okay. Use your umbrella.” 

They hop the stairs two at a time before bolting off in the direction of the hatchling cabin. You drop the stick umbrella and look it over with a smirk. “Maybe they’ll be an artist like Gabbro.”

Settling the umbrella down beneath the awning, you take a breath. The door opens with no resistance, creaking on unoiled hinges. You wonder if Hal and Marl left it unlocked for you.

Chapter Text

You close the door behind you. There are boots haphazardly kicked off to the left of the doorframe, both Marl’s and Hal’s, covered in dirt from their time spent trying to hack up the Dark Bramble seed. You don’t add to the mess. Instead, you drop your bag on the floor and take the two steps up to the common room. 

Footsteps come from above you, and you trace the sound with your eyes as Hal comes down the stairs from the top floor. You give them a half smile as you pull off your restitched jacket and finally take your boots off to put them in the proper place. Hal smiles back, but it’s as half-baked as yours. 

“How have you been?” Hal asks, taking a seat at the table as if this isn’t the first time you’ve been here since your launch. You take a seat beside them.

“Not too bad. Still finding a whole bunch of new stuff. Gotta put that translator to use, all that time we spent on it,” You chuckle.

Hal nods but doesn’t say anything. They’re looking at you, sizing you up. After an uncomfortable pause, they lean back in their chair. “How is Gabbro?”

You clear your throat. “Better. A lot better. The medicines are keeping the pain and the…you know, the seizures from being a huge problem. We still don’t know if they’ll ever regain use of that arm again, but. Well, at least they’re alive.”

“That’s good,” Hal says. “That’s really good.”

It is. So many things could’ve happened that never came to pass. The neurodroughts had the potential to not help the seizures at all. The pain medicines could’ve not been strong enough to even put a dent in their discomfort. The antibiotic creams could’ve been useless, and Gabbro could’ve lost their arm. All of these together, and they could’ve died. 

But they’re still alive. Right now, in this moment, Gabbro is still alive, and so is Feldspar, and Gossan, and Hal isn’t mad at you, yet. 

Hal leans their chair back. “What have you been up to? Other than the obvious.”

“Well,” You knock your hand a few times on your thigh. “Visiting Riebeck on Brittle Hollow, and Chert on Ember Twin. We made coffee with the last of Gossan’s coffee beans which they apparently blamed Slate for.”

“Oh, yes,” Hal chuckles. “They absolutely blamed Slate for that, my friend. Even if Slate had stolen them after all? I’d still feel sorry for them.”

“Those two have really gotta figure themselves out.”

“Maybe when the sun explodes.”

You look down at your lap. “Honestly, probably not even then.”

Hal snorts. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

All of a sudden you’re hyper aware of the dents and cracks in the wooden chair; all the splintered edges and cored out centers. If you rock forward slightly to your left the chair will move with you, and if you drop back the chair rocks to its side before settling out. Hal watches you with their arms crossed. There’s nothing to say.

Just then, Marl comes bounding down the stairs. They’re whistling, drying their neck off as they come swinging around the rail and into the kitchen. “Hey, Hal. Hey, Rhen.”

“Hey,” Hal responds. You don’t say anything. 

Marl takes a small jug of wine out of the fridge and drops it onto the counter, then grabs three small glasses and one piece of ice for each. When they have everything, they throw the towel over their shoulder and bring the jug and the glasses back to the dining table, setting everything in the center. “It’s grapes this time, don’t worry. Not trying to kill you on your first visit home in months. That would be a bit rude of me.”

“I suppose,” You say, taking the proffered glass out of Marl’s hand. They pour the dark purple wine up to the very top before doing the same for theirs and Hal’s. “Thanks.”

“Pleasure’s mine.” Marl leans forward, and you toast your glasses before they knock back half the wine in one long gulp. “Stuff is hard today. Don’t you think, Hal?”

Hal hums, taking a sip. “Porphy always makes it strong.”

Looking between the two of you, Marl slams down the last of the wine before saying, “So. Remember when we were hatchlings and the two of you got into a fight over who ripped Rhen’s favorite scarf?” Both you and Hal take a singular glance at each other before looking away. Marl continues, “Hal, put your hand here.”

“What?” Hal doesn’t have time to question it further. Marl takes Hal's hand and lays it face up on the table, then leans over and grabs your arm by the sleeve so they can tug it forward. Thus, your hand ends up wrapped around Hal’s with Marl’s on top to make sure neither of you can pull away. 

Marl smirks. “I’m calling it. Game over. You two are killing me, and if I can’t kill Rhen with strawberry wine, you can’t kill me with the silent treatment.”

“We’re not giving each other the silent treatment.” Hal rolls their eyes.

“I can’t hear you over the sound of you two crying hysterically and making up for lost time. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drink the rest of that wine and try to see if I can get the dirt off my boots.”

“Please do that outside,” Hal says, but Marl is already gone.

Chapter Text

FELDSPAR

An hour has passed since Rheniite left, and Gabbro still hasn't stirred. 

Though they keep it to themself, Feldspar hopes Gabbro won't wake up for the rest of the evening. Considering the bitter medicines, seizures, pain while cleaning their arm, and the fact that Rheniite stormed out to go stars-knows-where after getting into it with Tektite, it might be better for Gabbro to sleep through it all. Not everyone will agree with this, but Feldspar has had good ideas in the past, and they might just have another one someday.

As much as Feldspar cares about both of them, they’re not equipped with the same comfort skill as Gossan has. If Gabbro were to wake up and realize Rheniite had left them, there’s no telling what Feldspar would, or even could, say. Yeah, your totally-not-partner hashed it out with the resident fun police and now they’re gone. It might be blunt, but it’s honest. 

The front door opens and closes. Tektite must have left. Feldspar sighs, watching as the rain hits the leaves. It’s been so many years since the last time they’ve seen rain. They don’t want to know how many. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” Feldspar whispers, slipping off the ledge just in case they weren’t heard. The instant they see the face on the other side, they know they needn’t have worried. “Gossan?”

“Hey,” Gossan smiles, pursing their lips. Feldspar waits, giving them a moment to process what's on their mind. After a brief pause, Gossan leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Feldspar’s cheek. “I came to make sure you didn’t give Gabbro the wrong medicine.”

“Me? Give them the wrong medicine?” Feldspar scoffs, standing a bit taller to seem more confident. They kiss Gossan near their lips before adding, “I take my own medicinal cocktail every day. At this point, I’m probably the most trustworthy when it comes to looking after them.”

“Oh yeah?” Gossan rolls their eyes, wrapping an arm around Feldspar’s back. “What color is your muscle relaxer?”

Feldspar clears their throat, a hint of uncertainty in their voice. “Uh, green?”

Gossan chuckles, then kisses them directly on the lips. “You're going to kill me—or yourself. It's a good thing I won't miss you too much.” They step back, laying out another set of medications that don't resemble Gabbro's. Feldspar watches as Gossan uncorks one bottle and hands it to them. “This blue one is your muscle relaxer, which you missed this morning. The green one is your pain medicine. Got it?”

Okay,” Feldspar nods, downing both vials in one go. “Rhen’s not here. Who’s going to sit with Gabbro if I end up passed out on the floor?”

“I’ll stay with them,” Gossan responds “You need to head home and rest.”

“You’re sending me away and you’re not even coming with me?” Feldspar pouts, though there's a hint of jest in their voice.

Gossan playfully punches Feldspar’s chest, then soothes the sting with a gentle rub. “Yes. We can't leave Gabbro here alone while Rhen is out there working through things with Hal and Marl.”

“Is that where they went?”

Humming, Gossan nods. “I saw them drenched and sad outside the door. They weren’t there when I grabbed your medicine, so I assume they actually went inside. Their ship is still here.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Feldspar’s head is starting to feel light. They know if they stay any longer, they might actually faint on the floor. “Hey, if you’re staying , how about I also stay and then I can use you as a really lumpy pillow?”

Gossan whacks them. “What do you mean by lumpy?”

“You have more limbs than a pillow, Gossan.” Feldspar lays their head on Gossan’s shoulder, their eyes heavy. Without hesitation, Gossan wraps their arms around Feldspar’s back to hold them up. “I’m so tired.”

“Come here, let’s sit down. I shouldn’t have let you take those until you were home already.”

“Don’t lie, you just wanted to keep me around.”

Gossan gently nuzzles beneath Feldspar’s ear, guiding them both to settle on the floor beside the window. Time seems to stop as Gossan tenderly runs their thumb along the curve of Feldspar’s cheek. The touch is comforting, achingly familiar.

Back on Dark Bramble, Feldspar remembered a constant chill—a haze from the strange centipedes, the fog, or perhaps the lack of oxygen. Toward the end, they thought they were never going home. The warmth they had once known seemed like a distant memory, an elusive dream slipping through their fingers. They’d never again feel the comfort of Gossan's hold, or feel the soothing touch of their hands as they trace patterns over Feldspar's skin. A star, a circle, a spiral. Feldspar knows Gossan’s touch better than they know their own name. 

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Feldspar whispers. They’re too tired, too close to sleep to understand the gravity of what they’re saying. Gossan turns their face to theirs and presses their lips together. It means more. It’s longer, less playful. “I never forgot your face. Even when you were mad at me.”

“Feldspar…” Gossan sighs. “I was only ever mad that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“You and Slate…”

“There was no me and Slate. I was drunk, and we kissed, but nothing else happened.”

Feldspar chuckles softly. “You know I wouldn’t have blamed you?” Gossan swallows, nodding once. Maybe they believe them, maybe they don’t. All Feldspar knows is that if Gossan had someone to care for them in their absence, they would have been able to rest even in the belly of an anglerfish. Feldspar speaks up again, saying, “I mean it, Goss. I wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone forever.”

Gossan looks away, the back of their hand pressed to their mouth. When they look back, their eyes are rimmed red. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t handle the two of you trying to off yourselves at every chance. I only have energy to look after one of you.”

Feldspar blinks, a tear slipping from their eye. “And you have enough energy for me?”

Gossan wraps both of their arms around Feldspar’s shoulders, their cheek pressed to theirs. “Yes. I always have enough energy for you.”

“Did you miss me?”

A tear that isn’t Feldspar’s drips and hits the wooden floor. Gossan inhales, “Always. I never stopped missing you, and I never lost hope that you’d come home.”

“Rhen… they’re older.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

Feldspar’s eyes slip closed. “Do you think they know?”

“Go to sleep, my other half. I’ve got you, okay? You won’t wake up alone this time.”

Chapter Text

GOSSAN

Gossan’s arm is asleep. They try to shift to get some feeling back, but Feldspar shifts and it’s not worth waking them up before the muscle relaxer has time to kick in all the way. They’ll just be grouchy and sassy and all around a menace, and the last thing Gossan wants is… well, for Feldspar to be in more pain than they already are. 

It’s about time for Gabbro to take their anticonvulsant. Gossan gives it a few more minutes before they shuffle Feldspar off and lean them back against the wall. When they’re sure they’re not going to fall over, Gossan lays a threadbare blanket over them and stands, stretching their stiff limbs. 

The reason Gossan wishes that Feldspar would be more careful about the color of their medications is one, if they take the muscle relaxer at the wrong time they’re going to be in a deep sleep for a long time, and two, Gabbro’s seizure medication is almost the exact same color, just a little darker. It doesn’t take Gossan more than holding them up to the light to figure out which is which. 

Anticonvulsant, a vial of pain medicine, and the supplies to clean the burns. When everything is set up and easily accessible so they don’t have to get up and leave, Gossan settles down on the edge of the bed and nudges Gabbro awake. 

“Hey,” Gossan says, waiting for the fog to clear and for Gabbro to remember where they are. “You must’ve been sleeping good, huh, hatchling?”

“Mn,” Gabbro sighs. They shuffle, trying to lift themself in the bed. Their face contorts, a groan spilling out as they drag their bad arm across the bed. “Oh, stars.”

“You missed a dose of your pain meds. Feldspar didn’t want to wake you,” Gossan says. They pull Gabbro up until they’re leaned back against the wall. 

Their face laxes, mouth falling open, and Gossan grips them instantly so they don’t go tumbling right off the bed. Fluttering eyes, clacking teeth, and then Gabbro blinks once and looks up at them. 

Gossan feels their heart calm. “Back with me?”

“Yeah,” Gabbro says. “I’m so tired.”

“Take these and you can sleep.” Gossan hands over the pain medicine first. The taste of the seizure meds have been enough to get Gabbro throwing up before, and those days are not ones that Gossan wants to experience again. Once the pain medicine is down and Gossan is sure they’re not going to chuck it right back up, they hand over the blue vial. “Please, take it slow. Don’t knock it all back in one go because you will throw it up.”

“And you don’t want to clean it?” Gabbro chuckles. 

Gossan rolls their eyes. “I don’t want to have to give you more. You know you can only have two of these even if you destroy your freshly cleaned shirts with them.”

“Yeah,” Gabbro nods, taking a deep breath before taking the medicine. Just like Gossan told them not to, they throw it all back in one go and gag over their lap. “Okay, bad idea.”

“One day someone will listen to me the first time I say something.”

“Not today, apparently,” Gabbro tries to smile, but it’s clear they’re trying not to throw up. Their eyes are burning red, wet at the rims. They throw a hand over their mouth and gag, and the instant Gossan hears the sound that spills from their lips they’re throwing themself up to get a towel. By the time they manage to shove it in front of Gabbro’s mouth they’re already throwing up all of the medicine in three violent heaves. 

“Stars, Gabbro,” Gossan grabs a can of water and uses their teeth to pop it open. “Get it all out, it’s okay.”

Gabbro keeps heaving even when there’s nothing left to throw up. Their stomach contracts, their face soaked in tears. By the time they’re done, Gossan is sure there’s nothing from the past few days left, let alone any of the medicine they just took. 

Shaking, their hand flying to their injured arm, they cry, “Stars, it hurts. Gossan, it hurts.”

“I know,” Gossan wraps them up, running their finger over Gabbro’s shoulder. “Take some breaths. In, and out. In, and out.”

“Where’s Rhen?” Gabbro cries. The one question Gossan was hoping to avoid. 

“They stepped out to get some air. They’ll be back soon.”

“Where are they? Did they–” Gabbro’s eyes roll back, and Gossan clings to them, but they come back to them quickly. “Did they leave me again?”

Someone says, “Yeah, they left you to sulk in the rain.”

Gossan and Gabbro both look to their right. Feldspar moves the blanket off of them and lays their head on their knees. Fantastic. Now Gossan gets a Gabbro with no pain or convulsant medicines, and a Feldspar who was woken up from their muscle relaxant sleep. This is going to be the best few hours of Gossan’s entire life. 

First thing’s first, Gossan gets up to grab another vial of pain medicine and another anticonvulsant from the table. When they settle back down, Gabbro is staring off at the wall, their bottom lip between their teeth. They look seconds away from crying, so instead of waiting around for that to happen, Gossan says, “They expected you to sleep a little longer. They went to see Hal and Marl.”

“Feldspar said–”

“Feldspar says a lot of things,” Gossan sighs. “They brought their radio. Do you want to call them?”

Gabbro looks at Gossan’s radio, then out the window before saying, “They’re still here?”

“Yes,” Gossan says. “They’re still here. They didn’t leave you.”

“Then it’s fine. It’s been a while since they’ve been home.”

While Gabbro readjusts, they turn their attention to Feldspar.

“Hey,” Gossan whispers, running a soothing hand over Feldspar’s cheek. They glare, open their mouth, but they swallow down whatever spite they were going to spit. “I know, I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I feel like shit,” Feldspar sighs, pressing their eyes to their knees. Gossan looks at the sky and sighs. 

“As soon as Rhen comes back I’ll take you home, okay?” 

“S’fine,” Feldspar grumbles. 

Gossan pulls their chin up and levels them with a stare. They’re so pathetic when they’re sad like this. Gossan can’t help but lean forward to kiss them. “Are you going to survive if I pay more attention to Gabbro than you?”

Feldspar’s eyelids are heavy, blinking closed. “No.”

Hoping it’ll be enough to send Feldspar back to sleep, Gossan runs the tips of their nails up and down Feldspar’s spine. It always worked before—back when they were still new to their unspoken relationship and neither of them were sure what to do. Tired enough for their eyes to droop, but not enough to slip into sleep. 

With a touch of nerves they haven’t felt since they were eighteen, Gossan slips their hand beneath Feldspar’s shirt and rubs their back until their body laxes, their breathing slow and deep. 

“Gossan?” Gabbro’s face twists. “I feel it again.”

This goes on for ten, maybe twenty more minutes. Now that Feldspar is asleep it’s easier to focus on Gabbro. Once they’re calm, Gossan gives them their second round of medication and forces Gabbro to take them both one sip at a time. Thank the stars, it all stays down.

With both of them asleep, Gossan settles down beside Feldspar and rests their head on their shoulder. They love them, but they’re insufferable when they’re tired. Gossan’s been sleeping in the same bed as Feldspar since they were hatchlings, and it’s never gotten any easier to handle Feldspar on too little sleep.

They unclip their radio from their belt, holding it to their lips. Barely above a whisper they say, “Rheniite, Gossan to communication line three.”

Chapter Text

RHENIITE

The instant Marl's door closes, you slip your hand out of Hal’s and place it in your lap. They watch you, their hand still palm-up on the table, and it’s hard to ignore. Over the years, there’s been a time or two in which one or both of you would reach out and grip each other’s wrists, or elbows, or maybe wrap an arm around the other’s shoulders. 

The only times you've held hands have been when you were in trouble. It brings back the same sinking feeling you had as a hatchling, when saying the wrong thing would prompt Rutile to force you two to hold hands until you started talking again. It worked when you were younger. Right now, it makes you want to run.

“Rhen?” they say. 

You hum. They don’t speak, so you look up. “What?”

“What happened to you?” 

You look down at the table. You can’t look at them, not when you recognize that gaze, the tone of their voice, the meaning and the desperation behind it all. You see Hal, the Hal you always knew, and yet you still feel a thousand miles away. 

They continue, “I’m—I’m here for you, you know? Whatever happened, I’ll listen. You don’t need to run off every chance you get. You don’t have to deal with this by yourself.”

You swallow. It hurts the whole way down. 

And Hal watches you, and then they say, “Unless you… you have Gabbro, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that,” You blurt.

It’s just another lie to add to your neverending list. 

As much as Hal wants to help and wants to understand, they never will. They can be sympathetic to your circumstances and listen as you blubber on about how it feels to be effectively burned alive every twenty-two minutes for three years straight, but they didn’t live it with you. 

Even then, you just couldn’t live with yourself knowing you put all of that on Hal’s shoulders. Ignorance is bliss, and you don’t want to hurt this person—this incredible, solid, smarter than a whip person, with the knowledge of what you’ve been through. 

You’ve seen what knowing does to someone. You’ve felt it, deep in the recesses of your heart, what knowing feels like. In the most selfish way, one that is wholly unfair and undercut and tired, you wish you had never known how many times Gabbro died for you.

“I don’t really understand,” Hal says. “I knew that you were amicable, I guess. You’d spoken to each other. That thing with Feldspar…Whatever, I don’t know. I just don’t understand how you woke up one day and suddenly we barely know each other and Gabbro is your, well. What are they?” 

“They’re my friend,” You say.

“Right. Yeah, okay,” Hal looks down and exhales loudly through their nose. “Gabbro isn’t anything like us. I mean, they didn’t even really hang around us even when we all lived in the hatchling cabin together! It’s like saying you’re best friends with Chert or something. I get the whole Feldspar thing, but, really, Rhen? What do you two even have in common?”

You have to stop yourself from snapping and saying things that shouldn’t be said. “Too much.” 

“Enlighten me? Just once?” Hal says. You can’t. You can’t, and you want to. You want to. You want to tell them everything, from the moment that statue looked into your eyes and stole your future from right under your feet. 

But Hal doesn’t deserve that burden. You can’t slam an island on someone’s back and expect them to hold it. Gabbro is your testament, and you can’t allow anyone else to hurt like Gabbro has been hurt for you. 

You can’t allow anyone else to be hurt like you.

Hal gets up. You think they’re going to leave, that they’re done with your silence and your lies. You close your eyes, swallowing back your tears, and then there’s the sound of shuffling in front of you and a hand on your knee, and you still can’t force your eyes back open. 

“Tell me how I can help you, because I feel like everything is falling apart watching you like this. Please, Rhen, trust me.” 

In your head you hear Gabbro's voice. Trust me, I’ll be right behind you. 

After all this time, how are you supposed to have this much trust left in you?

In the midst of all of it: the statue, Gabbro, the Nomai, the Ash Twin Project, the Sun Station, the Eye of the universe… all of the insignificant and yet vastly important places like The Sunless City, The Hanging City, the Old Settlement, the High Energy Lab, the Black Hole Forge. The Quantum Moon… between all of it, and all of the things that happened, and the loneliness and fear and dread you felt, you’re supposed to find trust still buried in your heart. 

You’ve done it before. With Gabbro. With Gossan, and Feldspar. You can do it again, can’t you? Who are you if not the one person in the entire universe that made the ultimate choice? Of all the things that should be easy, talking to your friend should be one of them. 

“The statue opened its eyes and looked at me.”

Hal sits back, their face twisting in confusion. They look almost annoyed with you, like they’re going to argue that there’s no way that happened because the eyes opened before you’d ever seen the statue. They must see the look on your face, or hear the brokenness of your voice, because they don’t shut you down immediately. 

“I saw my memories. They were small at first and everything…everything was glowing, and they kept getting bigger and bigger and then they faded away and it was just the statue and I. And I found you. And I told you, and you told me that I needed to be grounded for medical reasons.”

You can see it still, playing out in detail in your head. 

“That sounds…like something I would say,” Hal says. “Since I kinda want to say it right now.”

And there’s a moment where that fear turns to longing. A bone deep ache that begs for you to reach out, to take Hal’s hand and pretend none of this ever happened. You were everything to each other at one point. You, and Hal, and Marl were supposed to grow old as best friends who sometimes caught important documents on fire, and sometimes actually did the work you were assigned to do without causing some form of destruction. 

In a world beyond this one, you and Hal are sitting at this table, pouring over Nomai texts and exploring the universe together. You've had countless conversations in your mind, but in reality, there are thousands you and Hal should have shared but never will. The excitement and amazement of discovering Cassava on multiple astral bodies died with the version of you that first found them.

There was a version of you that climbed trees, built houses out of sticks, and made a pretend rocket out of damp wood and leaves you found floating on the river. When you flew to the moon in that little rocket, you never imagined that one day your boots would touch the ground, and your footprints would disappear within moments. 

As you are now, you've only been to the Attlerock once, on that trip with Hal and Marl clinging to your back. You steered with a bent stick, while Marl made the sounds of a thruster, and Hal sat back, describing how beautiful every planet looked as you flew by.

In front of you is the same face you know, now older and a bit more hardened by time and experience. This Hal has faced a similar fate as you: if they can't remove the Bramble seed, the planet will one day cease to exist. Just as you had to accept the inevitable end of the universe, Hal must accept the inevitable loss of your home.

The scales may tip, but you can't hold any resentment against them. Strangely, losing the universe feels easier to accept than losing Timber Hearth.

“I don’t think you ever believed me, no matter how much I told you. I didn’t have much time to convince you back then,” You say. Hal shuffles. You look out the window and watch as Dark Bramble crests the horizon. You channel every bit of Feldspar’s bravery into yourself. “I wanted to. I tried. I spent a bit of time with Gabbro after, but I came back to you. I tried a hundred different ways, but you were pretty convinced I’d hit my head or that I’d had a dream.”

“I—Yeah. I can see that,” Hal says. They look down and shake themself. “I think I just need more context?”

You don’t know how to dance around the truth. You can’t weave fanciful stories, or soften the blows, because your life was a fanciful story with iron knuckles. “I was trapped in a time loop for three years. Twenty-two minutes before the sun exploded.”

Hal gets up. You don’t grab for them.

“Maybe you should wait until you don’t feel like making fun of me to tell me.” 

You watch Hal turn. You say, knowing you won’t be believed, “I’m not. I’m being completely honest with you. My answer will never change, so if you don’t want to hear it now, I just won’t bring it up again.”

“Rhen.“

“Hal, I’m not making fun of you. I’m serious.” You tense up, swallowing painfully. “Gabbro and I were pulled into it at the same time. We’re the only ones who remember.”

Hal shakes their head, pressing a hand to their brow. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying it, either.”

“Fine, let’s go talk to Gabbro then,” Hal says, turning and heading right for the door. You jump up and grab their arm. 

“They’re asleep. You’re really going to bother them for this instead of just listening to me?”

“Rhen–”

“No. Just… just listen to me. You would trust Gabbro before you trust me? What was all that about how Gabbro is nothing like us?”

They pinch the bridge of their nose. “Don’t do this right now.”

“I knew it would be a lot to ask for you to believe me. I know it sounds crazy, okay? But, I’m being honest with you.”

“The sun exploding? Time loops? The statue looking at you and taking all your memories? I mean, seriously, Rhen. How can you expect me to believe that?”

Anger bubbles up and settles, heavy and hot, in your throat. It's not Hal's fault; it will never be their fault that they struggle to believe what you're telling them. If you were in their shoes, you might have rolled your eyes and told them to avoid the toxic mushroom plants. You wouldn't have believed them either.

But this is Hal. They're supposed to be your best friend, always having your back because that's what you promised each other. Why does everyone keep breaking their promises to you? First Feldspar, then Gabbro, now Hal. What do you have left?

It's not anyone's fault but your own. How can you expect something that can't be given? It's like asking for the Eye of the universe to appear right in front of you.

“The statue looked at me and opened its eyes!”

“Whoa, whoa – the statue was doing what? … Listen, no offense, but…are you sure you’re okay to launch? Like, medically speaking? … Good luck!”

Over, and over, and over. 

“I mean, if you’re saying it happened, then… maybe it did. But why?”

Because your whole life you wanted to be special, and the universe heard you.

And now, you’re the idiot. The universe’s laughing stock. Feldspar leaves you, only to tell you they’re having a great time and to take your time getting them home. Gabbro abandons you to face the end of the world alone, only for you to find out they tried to find you and died in the process. You spent years not even trying to convince Gossan, knowing they would never believe you.

For a moment, you thought Hal would believe you. You thought you could explain it, and they would understand, and things would go back to how they were. 

Hal takes a step forward and grabs your face, guiding you until you can't look away from them, until the only thing you can see is the yellow of their eyes. Your stomach sinks to your feet as everything hits you all at once. It’s familiar, and comforting, and you feel like the old version of you for the first time since it all happened. 

Hal gets as close as they can without making you run away. “Rhen, I’m scared for you.” 

“I’m not lying,” you say. “I don’t know how to tell you. I can’t even talk to you. You’re still you, and I don’t know who I am anymore, and you can’t understand.”

“Let’s go see Gneiss, yeah? Come on, let’s go get you help.” Hal pulls you close, wrapping their arms around you. You’re frozen, your arms hanging by your side. The part of you buried in the cemetery on the hill is hitting and screaming. It begs you to respond, to wrap your arms around Hal and pretend everything can be fixed.

“Gneiss can’t help me, Hal. I didn’t drink bad wine or hit my head. They can't take this away.” You swallow as Hal squeezes you so tightly you can hardly breathe. Their hand cups the back of your head like you've cracked your skull and everything is leaking out. “I died a long time ago. The Rheniite you know is gone.”

“Stop it! Stop, stop, stop .” Hal slams their fingers into their ears. “Please, you’re okay. You’re okay. You’re right here. You’re right here, Rhen.” 

“It was the Nomai. They created something that had the power to send someone’s memories back twenty-two minutes in time. They wanted to find something called the Eye of the Universe, and to do that, they had to send out a probe in random directions to try and locate it. They knew that unless they managed to freeze their aging process, they had to figure out a way to give themselves infinite tries with the probe. They discovered a way to change the length of a warp interval from nanoseconds to minutes.

“It’s called the Ash Twin Project. It’s in the core of Ash Twin, and it’s powered by the sun when it goes supernova. They were killed by the Interloper before they ever got to the Eye, but our sun reached the end of its natural life cycle and powered the project. Gabbro and I just happened to be near the statues when it all happened. We were the lucky suckers who walked right into it, and now...” 

Hal pulls back. Their eyes are deep red, their face soaked and sticky with tears. They say, “Then how are we still here? If our sun reached the end of its natural lifecycle, we would all be long gone.”

“I don’t know,” You choke. “I don’t know, and I can’t figure it out. I don’t even know if this is all real. I don’t know if you’re just a figment of my imagination, and I’m still stuck at the Eye, living all of this while everyone is dead. I don’t know. ”

Hal pulls you back in, and you wrap your arms around them, sobbing into their neck.

“You’re you, yeah? You hear me?” Hal whispers. “You’re still Rheniite. You’re still you.”

You can barely hear Hal's heartfelt reassurances, the promises woven into everything they're saying. You struggle to breathe, and not for the first time, you wish you had more time to tell them everything in the past. You wish Hal had been with you from the very beginning, beside you and listening to you.

And yet, Hal still hasn’t said they believe you. 

“How many times do you think you…?” Hal can’t finish their question. You don’t want to answer.

“Somewhere around seventy-something thousand. Gabbro and I calculated it out. Comes out to around three years or so,” You say.

You and Hal crumble together, ending up on the floor, wrapped around each other. You cry into each other's shoulders until the sun reaches its peak, and the sound of Gneiss tuning their newest instrument drifts in through the open windows. You feel lost and alone, yet seen despite everything. For the first time in three years, and the first time in seventy-some-thousand lifetimes, Hal is more than just a static image of your best friend.

Yet, you still feel like a ghost, an echo of someone they will never see again.

“Stay here with me, okay? Stay here, and we'll figure this out.” You're already shaking your head before Hal can finish. 

“I can't.”

“Please. Please, just stay. We can get it back, yeah? We’ll…we’ll upgrade the translator tool. We can make it automatic, so you don’t have to hit the button. We can…like, I don’t know, document all the translations you already have. Put them in a book for the museum that everyone can look through. We could update all of the museum exhibits and create new placards for them with all the new information you have. You must have a lot, right? That would keep us busy.”

“Hal, I’m…I’m not okay,” you say, voicing it out loud for the first time. “I get nightmares. Really bad, really violent nightmares. And I get loud when I have them. I don’t know how to talk anymore. I don’t…I barely even know what food not out of a can tastes like. Until a few days ago, I was still thinking in loops. I…I don’t even think I have an internal body clock anymore. I’m so…I don’t know.”

“I don’t care, ” Hal says. “I don’t care. So what if you get nightmares? So what if you get loud? What’s new!? You’ve never known how to talk a day in your life. You’re the one who told Marl that their tree-keeping could be done better by Slate with ten pounds of explosives! And food is just food! We can make food! Internal body clock…Please. Just…who cares about all of that? I don’t, so don’t speak for me and tell me what I can and can’t handle!”

You can’t think. Why can’t you think?

You can’t stop crying. You can’t breathe. 

“Rhen, please, let me help you. We'll fix this. We'll figure out what's going on.”

“Hal?” You say. 

“What is it?”

“Can you help me translate this new alien language I found?” 

Hal pulls back, their hand trailing from your back up to your cheek. You lean into it, closing your eyes and soaking it in. “A new language?”

“I found something before I had that accident. A new language, from a whole other species. It’s not from the Nomai,” You say. Hal sits up even straighter, their demeanor almost instantly changing. They have something to latch onto, something they can do, and you try to grasp their enthusiasm like it’s a stream of oxygen. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you bet I can. Can you get me some samples? Whatever you can find. It shouldn’t take us too long to start breaking it down together,” They say. You nod and look back out the window. The sun is bright and piercing on your eyes. It’s not red. It’s not going to engulf you in twenty-two minutes. You have time.

“Okay. When Gabbro gets better, I’ll go out with them.”

Hal tenses. You should’ve expected it. 

“Rhen, can I ask you something?” 

You wish you could run. 

“Okay.”

“You and Gabbro…” Hal trails off. They don’t want to ask as much as you don’t want to answer. “Are you…do you…”

“Are you asking me if we’re together?” You ask. Hal won’t look at you. It’s as much of an answer as you’ll get. “No. No, we’re not together like that.”

“There’s a but at the end of that statement, isn’t there?” Hal asks. You purse your lips, which curl at the edges involuntarily. Nothing ever gets past them. It's remarkable how quickly they grasp situations and make judgments. It just stings when it’s directed at you.

“Gabbro…they're important to me. We went through all of that together, and nothing can change that. I…care about them. I might…I might love them. And I can't leave them. I can't stay here like you want me to.”

You let Hal process your words. Their excitement fades, and their hands, which had slid down to your shoulders, go still. They look as if they want to pull away, as if they're doing something wrong, but you don't make any move to suggest that's what you want.

You don’t want them to go. You can work through anything, and you can pretend you can rebuild the old version of yourself with a little tender love and care. But one thing will never change: Gabbro is, and always will be, your priority.

You’ve hurt them enough. You’ve abandoned them enough. You have six thousand deaths to make up for, and you’re not backing out now.

You made a promise back when you left the Stranger, wrapped up in half your sleeping bag and half of Gabbro’s, with Feldspar snoring in the corner. You vowed you would never let Gabbro feel the way they must’ve felt when they thought that braving Giant’s Deep’s waters was the only way out.

“I don’t get it. So, you’re not together, but you love them?” Hal asks.

Over time, you’ve had this internal battle a hundred different ways. What is love? What does it mean? Is it the feeling that rises whenever Gabbro laughs so hard you can't see their eyes? Or how your heart beats in sync with theirs when they sleep, your chest pressed against theirs? Or the deep-seated need to be there for them, always, whenever they seek you out?

How many times are you going to ask yourself the same question?

Gabbro, with their bright eyes and infectious, startled laugh. The one who danced in the rain with you, even after months of trying to reach you and never getting past the atmosphere. The one who sleeps with their head on your shoulder, body wrapped around you, and begs for five more minutes just for them to talk your ear off about their dreams. The one who makes you extra food when you can’t stomach what’s already been made. The one who found you when your favorite person left you behind, hidden away, and taught you how to see light in deep, haunting darkness.

Do you love them?

You look at Hal. “Yeah. Yeah, I love them.”

Hal nods and looks down. They say, “Fine. Just, come back sometimes? This is still your home even if you’ve never really gotten to live in it. Gabbro can spare you every few months.”

“When they’re better, I’ll come around more. Right now… I don’t want them to wake up alone. Feldspar is a good conversation partner, but I’m not sure how great they’d be at the whole bedside manner thing.”

“I think they’d do okay…”

“Besides, it’s not like we spend every waking moment together. I have all kinds of stuff I do without them. Feldspar and I still have to race ships and scare Riebeck at least twice a week.”

“Poor Riebeck…”

“I should visit Esker, too. They get lonely up on the Attlerock. And Chert. They never leave Ember Twin–”

“Rhen.”

“Plus, I’ve been learning how to get through Dark Bramble without alerting the anglerfish. I don’t think there’s anything there I haven’t found, but you never know if anything new will come up.”

“Rhen!”

“Oh, and there’s the Ash Twin Project. I’ve been trying to figure out how it works, plus its connection to the Sun Station…”

“ Rhen! ”

“What?” You stop. 

“Okay, I get it. You’re not with Gabbro all the time. Sounds like you’re incredibly busy,” Hal says. 

“I mean, not any busier than I had been before. Once Gabbro gets better, we’ll go back to our Quantum Pilgrimage. Oh, and they did say they wanted to stargaze on Brittle Hollow instead of hopping around from planet to planet for once.”

“Sounds about right,” Hal says. “Why does Gabbro stay on Giant’s Deep? Couldn’t you or Feldspar bring them back and fix their ship here?”

“Gabbro…” You trail off. “It’s hard to be here sometimes. It’s like a constant reminder. It’s easier up there because we can pretend that everything is how it’s always been. Just the two of us.” 

Hal looks exhausted. They say, “It used to be the two of us , you know? Chert misses Gabbro. They could go and see them.” 

“Chert never leaves Ember Twin, either. It’s just how things are. I think we’re all just finding our groove.” 

Hal doesn’t argue. They do say, “I guess I miss them, too. We didn’t talk a lot, but they were always really chill.”

“Yeah, they’re still chill. It’s kinda scary,” You say. 

“Why is it scary?”

“Because I haven’t had any chill in two years. Gabbro cheated with all that meditation stuff they learned in the grove. I didn’t know how to do it until a year in,” You say.

“I still don’t know if you need to see Gneiss or not. I’m not completely sold on this whole thing, but I’m glad you’re here, regardless. Just, before you go, promise me you’ll actually come back.”

You get up and help Hal to their feet with you. There’s a heavy pause, and then you wrap your arms around them. “Okay.”

Okay,” Hal nods. You pull away. "And hey, for real. Come around more. Gabbro gets into people's heads with all their fanciful ideas. I'm sure that hasn't helped you get over this whole thing."

You smile bitterly at the ground. "Gabbro is the only thing that's helped me. I'm really lucky. I could've been shoved into this with anyone else, and the universe chose us." 

You don't think you're meant to hear it, but Hal whispers, under their breath, "That's too bad."

You let the silence settle before saying, "The Nomai believed their species was called here for a reason. That the Eye spoke to them because they were special. They were the ones meant to find it. It's really sad that they never got the chance to see all that work come to fruition, but in the end, Gabbro and I got to see it through for them. We were the unfortunate chosen ones." 

"And yet, here you are," Hal says. 

You slip your boots on and grab your patched up jacket before heading to the door. You pause, your hand on the door handle. There's still so much more you want to say, and yet even you know there's no use in it.

You’re startled to see Gossan on the steps, flipping their radio. “You know, if you’re going to bring your radio, you should at least keep it on.”