Missing

Two Days Ago:

"—Stop fussing over the damned inscriptions, Dekarios. They're fine."

Adella was, as she often is, at the ends of her wits with Gale. She had a sneaking suspicion that he existed simply to needle her. Root into every crevices of her being and replace all her rational thoughts with frustration. It was an untested theory, but all current evidence pointed to her hypothesis being true.

There might have been a brief moment in time when she wasn't always annoyed by him. Perhaps when they first met all those years ago as naive, gentle undergraduates. Pushed together by the same pre-requisite course, required for all students of Magic.

They had both sat in the front row of the lecture hall, pressed together shoulder to shoulder, crowded in by other students burning with ambition just as bright as theirs.

Indeed, Adella might have not been annoyed by him at all, back then. Might have even taken a moment to appreciate the boyish excitement in his profile. Then he had turned to her, and spoke. And well, she supposed the rest was well-documented history.

"Impatience unbecomes you, Adella." She rolled her eyes. "I'm only making sure the rudimentary runes are drawn correctly."

Those words, spoken so matter-of-factly from him, always sounded like condescension to Adella's ears. An undercurrent of I know better than you that made Adella's teeth set on edge.

It was for that reason that she felt the need to argue.

"I've drawn it a hundred times. The portal won't change. Will you please just set the diamond down and get over here so we can map out our trajectory?"

It was a true statement after all. Ever since they began their research together —begrudgingly at the behest of their joint advisor, and with much protest from Adella— in third year, Adella had drawn and erased and redrawn the familiar swooping curves of an interplanar portal enough times to be able to do it in her sleep.

Certain details may change depending on the location of the portal, but all the components were similar enough for it to not matter.

Sometimes, she would find herself recounting the components of a portal as a method of calming. Runes and lines fleeting through her mind, lulling her to sleep like sheep.

Normally, she would argue but still let Gale hover, double-checking and triple-checking to his little heart's content, but time was slowly ticking out of their project. They were supposed to present their findings on the Unified Planar Portals Theory in two measly weeks. They didn't have time for Gale Dekarios's normal brand of thoroughness.

But here was the thing about doing something —like drawing a portal on floorboards— enough times to fuse it into your memories. When the task at hand eventually became muscle memory, it was very easy for all your memories of it to blend together.

After all, it didn't matter if it had been day or night, the beginning or the end of the week. A portal only consisted of so many lines and runes.

The activation runes.

The material component slots.

The safeguard glyphs to keep the portal from activating.

She'd gone through the motions as usual. As always. Except, she had confused the memory of drawing the safeguard glyphs from yesterday to a memory of doing it today. A slip of the mind. An easy enough mistake for any tired, cranky, overworked graduate student to make. But disastrous nonetheless.

"After all this, you know, I believe I might even miss your bad mann—"

Gale didn't get to finish that sentence, because when he set the diamond down in the correct slot, the portal woke and swallowed him whole. Sans safeguard glyph. Which was supposed to prevent exactly that.

But perhaps swallowed was the wrong word. It brought to mind a beastly thing with fangs and drool. The portal to the hells was quiet, nearly imperceptible from its dormant state.

It's almost unfair, how peaceful it all looked.

Gale was simply there one moment, obnoxious and frustrating, and then gone the next.

Vaguely, Adella recalled the sound of her spell book clattering to the floor when she looked up at the empty space where Gale had been.

And even before she had gathered enough of her wits to examine the portal swirling steadily atop the floorboards, Adella knew, with an ingrained instinct, that it was her fault.

Chapters: 5/?

Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders

Characters: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gale/Tav (Baldur's Gate), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Gale (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: POV Third Person, Canon Compliant, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Sorcerer versus Wizard beef, Named Tav (Baldur's Gate), Tav is named Adella in this one, Sorcerer Tav (Baldur's Gate), Shadow Sorcerer Tav (Baldur's Gate), Tav is Bad at Feelings (Baldur's Gate), Gale is Trying (Baldur's Gate), Spells & Enchantments, Actual DnD Mechanics go out the window, So sorry to all my players out there, Tav is a Little Shit (Baldur's Gate) Summary:

He’d once told her about his old spellbook, a massive, celestial thing of leather and silver he’d left behind in Waterdeep. It contained some of the most advanced spells and rituals a mortal could cast, a keystone to a thing as close to divinity that a person could reach.

Now, Gale’s spellbook was a ratty little thing, perpetually tucked up his sleeve and barely any bigger than the palm of his hand, just a collection of scrap parchment they collected on their journey.

---

You are whole.

You are happy. 

You have recovered the fragmented pieces of your heart and freed yourself from the ever-spinning rock that is the Earth. 

There is a part of you that once had a name, you do not remember it now. Now, you are Vaanu. Whole.

You tell yourself you are happy. 

You are a modicum of space itself, you bend only to the rushing tidal wave of time.

You are extraterrestrial. 

But there’s a part of you that feels too Earthly. 

It pulls and rages at the fabric of your being, aches and sorrows. 

There’s a corner of your heart that yearns, that hopes and fears and grows too unfamiliar to keep. 

You are happy. Not quite happy. 

You are whole.

It’s a mistake.

___

A year. That was how long it's been since La Huerta, since Rourke. Since Summer. 

Jake couldn’t quite comprehend it. Three-hundred and sixty odd days slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. Yet the few weeks he spent stranded on La Huerta had felt like a lifetime, a million years condensed into mere days. 

He stared at the suitcase haphazardly opened in front of him before tossing in another piece of clothing. 

I must be damn insane to go back to that island. 

Jacob McKenzie was the furthest thing from a sane man. 

“Hey, Grandpa!” Mike's head popped into view from the doorway. “Is this shirt yours or mine?” 

Jake startled, whipping around to catch the bundle of fabric Mike tossed at his head. 

“Jesus, kid, didn't anybody ever teach you manners? Stop trying to give me a heart attack.” 

He tossed the shirt into the suitcase and reached out ruffle Mike’s hair. Mike had grown it out over the past year, preferring to keep it as far away from the typical regulation buzzcut as possible. 

Jake couldn't blame him. Even though Lundgren had been sentenced and thrown into jail for life without parole a month earlier, there were still days when Mike couldn't shake the cloying blankness that the commander once instilled in him. 

Sometimes, on particularly morose days, Jake could almost feel the lingering aftertaste of a Havana cigar in the back of his throat. 

Mike shoved his hand away with a lighthearted grumble before dropping into the small couch in the corner of the room. They'd been sharing a two room apartment for the better part of the year. It wasn't much unlike the time they'd shared quarters while serving in the army, it was comforting, the way some things just never changed.

“So…you're really going back to La Huerta, huh?” Mike nodded towards the suitcase.

“Yeah well, the Odd Squad wants a reunion and needs a plane. A beach vacation doesn't sound half bad right now.”

Mike threw his head back and laughed, as if Jake had made the funniest joke he'd ever heard. 

“You're a shit liar, Old Man. You want to see them again. Because they're your friends.” Mike crossed his arms, his face smug and mocking. 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, kid. Respect your elders.” Jake rolled his eyes but there was little heat to his words. He supposed Mike was right. They were his friends, the Catalysts, the Odd Squad, or whatever they were calling themselves now. 

They haven't talked much over the past few months, but every now and then, a Hartfeld postcard makes its way into his mailbox. He sent back Louisiana postcards, and told himself it was only politeness that made him do it. 

Mike's droning on, something about can't wait to have the whole place to himself, as Jake turned to shuffle through a drawer. He shook his head, eyes crinkling with a light sort of amusement before his fingers caught onto a thin ribbon of fabric, tucked away for safekeeping in the back.

He pulled out the strip of silk and heard Mike sober in the same moment. 

“Is that-” 

“Yeah. Yeah. It is.”

He swallowed, a lump suddenly stuck in throat. Flashes of memories went off like bullets in his head. Staring down the aisle of Elyys'tel's throne room. Sweating, trembling fingers carefully holding the ribbon. His hand, intertwined with another, wrapping the fabric around each other's wrists. 

His wedding. It felt a million years away. It felt like yesterday. Jake had hidden the handfasting ribbon away, lacking the strength to remember what he had lost. And here he was, staring down at it in his hands. Only this time, there was no one else to tie it together. 

A grimace settled on his face and something suspiciously like tears clogged his throat. 

It was as if the ribbon had opened a floodgates to the grief that he tried his hardest to keep in the back of his mind most days. 

Blonde hair falling over a pale shoulder. Blue eyes alighting with mischief. A gentle hand brushing hair from his forehead. Red lips pulled in a smile. Tittering laughter in his ears. 

Summer. 

On normal days, he tried to move on and live his best life without her. Like she had wanted him to do. On others, he sees her hovering in the corner of his peripheral vision and believes that if he turned around fast enough, she would be standing there, smiling and beckoning him closer.

He wrapped the ribbon around his wrist, the movements mechanical, absentminded. Suddenly, Mike was in front of him, hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey-” Jake shrugged him off, a scowl forming on his face. “Shove off, kid, I’m fine.”

Mike rolled his eyes, disbelieving, and carried on. 

“I’m just saying, do you really think it’s a good idea to go back there?” 

Eyes averted, Jake unwounded the handfasting ribbon from his wrist. Carefully folded it up and placed it into the suitcase. 

“What, did you suddenly turn into a shrink when I turned around?” 

“No. But you clearly need one.” 

“I’m a widower at 28, junior. I have a shrink, and you ain’t him.” 

“Why do you want to go back so bad? And don’t lie to me, Grandpa.” 

With a glare, Jake dropped onto the bed, haphazardly shoving away the piles of clothes on top. 

“Hell, what do you want me to say? It ain’t been an easy year for either of us. And I know you never want to step foot on that island again. I get it, but it’s the last place I ever saw her, alright?” He ran a hand down his face, suddenly weary. “We never even had a body to bury, Mike. I just want to…have closure. I guess.” 

Mike crossed his arms, his expression sympathetic. He had replaced the cyborg eye with a normal prosthetic a few months ago, and now, they both fixed on Jake. 

“I know. I know that. It’s just, I saw you, you know. After you and the others found me in the rubble. You tried to act like you were fine for me, but I saw you. I mean, you could barely even get out of bed, Jake.” 

He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and he brushed it away. 

“I know, kid, it’s not going to be any easier. But…I need to be there. I need to see the island again.” 

A defeated sigh was his only response until he saw Mike move closer, closing up the suitcase on the bed and placing it on the floor.

“Then go, man. Go and come back, alright? Can’t have my brother gone for too long.” 

The tension broke like the shattering of a mirror. Jake could still feel the sharp stab of grief in his chest, but then it dulled to an ache. If he breathed slowly, it almost felt…manageable. 

He stuck out a leg to nudge Mike in the ankle. 

“Didn’t need your permission, kid. But fine. Now, get out of my room. As much as I love having heart to heart, I’ve got a plane waiting to take off in a couple hours.” 

Mike shook his head with a laugh, but listened. The man paused, halfway out of the room. 

“She was good for you…You’re more honest. I wish I got to know her better.” 

Jake met his eyes with a smile, not quite happy, tinged with grief that might never be shaken. 

“I know. I’m glad you’re alive, kid.”

“Me too, Grandpa.” 

___

“Yes, Becca, I know. I’ll call you when I land…Careful’s my middle name. Tell Ma I’ll visit when I come back. Bye.” 

Jake tucked the phone into his pocket and grinned as his sister's voice faded out. His relationship with his sister and mother was still in that uncertain, limbo state of rebuilding. After all, it wasn’t easy to put himself back into their lives after they had spent the last three years trying to distance themselves from him. But they were trying, and he could never even have imagined that, just a year prior. 

He rocked his weight back on the soles of his feet as he stared out towards the empty airstrip. He didn’t fly much these days. It took him six months to even consider renewing his pilot license. But in the end, he couldn’t resist. After all, it was what he did best. 

A blot of shadow morphed into view from the horizon and Jake squinted his eyes, hand moving up to block the sun. 

“Pop Culture Pete! Is that you?” He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice as he called out. Then suddenly, he had an armful of Diego to keep a hold of.

“Jake! My man!” 

A startled laugh escaped his mouth and he patted Diego’s back, then pushed him away to look at him. 

“Excited, aren’t you?” 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that we haven’t seen you in months, Jake.” 

He huffed out a breath and tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Sorry, kiddo, been a little caught up.” And Jake was surprised to find that he meant the apology. 

They hadn’t been allowed to leave La Huerta immediately after the collapse of the Celestial.

The two days following it were hell. 

The ten of them had been bombarded with questions by the Coast Guard on the first night, then released once officials realized they were all too shell-shocked to properly answer. 

Jake had gone for a smoke sometime around midnight, his eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. It had seemed futile to try and sleep, when his- their bed would feel empty forever on. 

He’d found Diego there, tear tracks on his face, and offered him another cigarette. They didn’t talk much that night, but Jake remembered when the younger man had broken the silence. 

“It doesn’t seem fair.” Diego’s voice was a mangled, broken, barely alive thing. 

“What?” 

“The fact that she’s just gone. She was a person, she had…hopes. Dreams. She was someone great, not just a part of something greater. It’s not fair.” 

And Jake had thought about a little house on an islet somewhere off the coast, with a garden filled with roses and tulips, and replied. 

“No. It ain’t.”

The rest of them will miss Summer, will mourn her, will carry that grief with them, but they will move on. 

He and Diego were the only people who will spend the rest of their lives in the shadow of all the love they could’ve given and feel the ache of its lack for as long as they lived.

Guilt tasted sour in his mouth. 

“Yeah, well, we’ll be seeing each other plenty for the next week, Petey.” He followed the statement with a good natured pat on Diego’s shoulders. 

The young man laughed for a few moments, and Jake was tempted to smile with him. 

Then Diego sobered, his eyes turning dark with worry.

“Listen, Jake, there’s something I think you should know before the others get here.”

He raised one eyebrow in question. 

Diego's hand reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket and pulled out a square of paper. A Polaroid, Jake recognized. 

It was pressed into the palm of his hand even before he could recognize the swoop of apprehension low in his stomach. 

He raised the polaroid to the level of his eyes. 

For a moment, he couldn't quite believe what he was looking at. Then- 

“It's…Summer.” A picture of her, pressed next to Diego, blue eyes crinkling with amusement and mouth open as if she was captured mid-laugh. 

Her and Diego were sitting down, bright against the black leather of a restaurant booth. Diego grinned at the camera, brandishing a hand next to his face, a bit of napkin wrapped around the base of his finger like a ring. 

Jake pressed his thumb into the picture, against the gold lock of hair that curled on her forehead, as if he could feel it beneath his fingers if he tried hard enough. 

It was almost a punch to the gut when he realized that he had forgotten the beauty mark Summer bore on the slope of her right shoulder. 

He had tried so hard to hold onto whatever memories he could of hers over the past year, and here it was, a confrontation of all the little details he had let slip through his fingers. 

“I found that tucked into a book this morning. The only thing is, I've read through that book before. And I know it wasn't there before today.” 

With a strength he didn't know he had, Jake tore his eyes away from the picture to look up at Diego. 

He recalled the months following their departure from La Huerta. Once the initial shock of grief had worn off, Jake was desperate to find any part of Summer that remained. 

In the end, there was only very little. It was as if Summer had never existed at all. There were no records of a Summer Smith enrolled at Hartfeld University. As a last resort, he and Diego had visited the younger man’s old neighborhood in Vermont, where Diego once thought he and Summer grew up together. 

We don’t have a daughter. The Smiths had said, blue eyes that were too much like hers clouded with concern. You have the wrong house. 

It was as though Summer had only ever been a figment of their imaginations. The only evidence that she had existed lied in their faulty memories, in mementos that she had once touched. Like the handfasting ribbon.

“We couldn't find a picture of her.” Jake realized and suddenly, the polaroid in his hand felt imbued with so much more meaning than a simple keepsake. Only, he didn't quite have the knowledge to discern it. 

Diego nodded, his eyes glinting with a sort of manic energy that must've been reflected in Jake's face.

“And look at the date in the photo.” 

February 14, 2017. 

Jake sucked in a breath. 

“Four months before La Huerta.” His voice was little stronger than a whisper. It was as if the world had suddenly tilted and thrown him off balance. He was staring at the looming shadow of grief, but this time, something like hope had intertwined itself with it. A golden thread in the vast darkness.

“And if I tried just a little harder. I can almost remember this day. Summer dragged me on a ‘date’ on Valentines’ day, because I had been too sad without an actual Valentine. She…pretended to propose so we could get free desserts from the restaurant.” 

There was a wistful note of nostalgia in Diego's voice and Jake was tempted to give into it. But he knew better, had learned better. 

Swallowing down the tidal wave of incomprehensible hope that threatened to swallow him whole, Jake pressed the polaroid back into Diego's hand. 

“Listen, kid, memories can play tricks on you. If you want to believe something enough, anything can feel real.” 

“But-” Diego began to protest, only to be cut short by the adamant shake of Jake's head. 

“Don't get your hopes up is all I'm saying. Disappointment can kill you faster than grief, Diego.” 

But Jake could see it in Diego's eyes, the fire of hope had been lit, and there would be no extinguishing it now. 

Diego simply looked at the pilot with something impossibly close to pity in his eyes. 

“Fine. If you say so, Jake.” But then the Polaroid pressed itself back into his hands. “Believe what you want. But at least keep the picture, that's her. That's Summer.” 

And then Diego was gone, boarding the plane with a quick squeeze of Jake's shoulder, leaving him alone on the airstrip with a photo and the uncomfortable light of hope kindling somewhere in his old, dusty heart. 

He stared at the photo for a moment longer, his eyes caught on the upturn tick of Summer’s lips. There she was, hovering in the corner of his vision, like a phantom he couldn’t shake. 

He shook his head, then tucked the photo into the pocket of his jacket, and watched the rest of the crew walk up the airstrip. 

Soon, he’s engulfed in endless hugs and well wishes. 

All through it, the phantom lingered at his shoulders, just out of his sight. She laughed in his ears, as if she knew a secret he didn’t have the privilege to understand. 

___

Later, he stood on the edge of an islet cliff and wondered if this whole trip was an awful mistake. 

The ocean below was calm, waves blowing in the wind and painted in the pink and orange hues of the approaching sunset. 

It was strange to not feel afraid of the island anymore. But even without the constant threat of danger looming in the back of his mind, La Huerta had felt empty in a way it never did before. 

If he closed his eyes and listened for the waves, Jake could almost imagine that he had been transported back to a year and a day ago. Standing on the hull of the Dorado with a future ahead of him, and a vision of a house on an islet cliff flashing behind his eyelids. 

If he was a more sentimental man, he might've eulogized to the wind and pretended Summer was there beside him to hear. 

Instead, Jake turned on his heels and walked back towards the visage of the Celestial in the distance. Leaving behind the patch of land that felt too riddled with images of what could have been. 

___

“-I completely fumbled, fell down and all. And when I got back up, I saw my coach, right there on the sidelines, staring at me like he wished he never picked me.” 

Sean finished his anecdote to the sound of laughter from the rest of the crew gathered around the campfire. 

Jake leaned against the log at his back and stretched his boots out towards the flames. 

The island night air was chilly, but the warmth of the fire and the steady ruckus of conversation kept him content. There was a smile on his face, it felt genuine.

“I do not know much about sporting terms, but I am sure that your advisor did not wish he never picked you. Based on statistics alone, you are an admirable player. And furthermore, ‘fumbles’ are simply stepping stones to future successes.” 

Aleister chimed in from across the fire, Grace was beside him, head rested on his shoulder. Aleister's voice was alcohol-dampened, and happy. Happier than all the time they had spent together on La Huerta last year. 

Sean laughed, a hand coming up scratch the back of his neck. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I guess you're right, Aleister.” 

“Nah bro, everyone has dry spells. You'll be crushing it in no time.” Craig interjected as he bumped his shoulder against Sean. 

“I just can't believe the draft people called you ‘The talent of a generation.’” Jake directed the statement to Sean, a mocking tone in his voice as he raised his hands to make quotes in the air. 

His teasing derision has the opposite effect than he intended when Sean's smile turned mischievous. 

“You watched me get drafted?” 

Jake's eyes widened and he brought the can of beer in his hand up, as if to defend himself with it. 

“No- No- Not you, specifically. I'm just a football guy.” 

“Whatever you say, Jake…Maybe I'll even manage to get seasonal tickets for such a dedicated fan.” 

Jake rolled his eyes. 

“I am not-” Then suddenly, he thought better of it. “You know what, I ain't going to say no to seasonal tickets, Cap.” 

The sound of whooping echoed in the air as Jake took a swig of beer to hide his smile. Craig leaned over with an impish grin, his hand outstretched for a high five. Jake returned it. 

“Yes, yes, we all know Jacob is a liar. That's not new.” 

“Watch it, Katniss.” 

Estela only replied with a smirk. Then a squeal emitted from Quinn besides her and she nudged her friend. 

“Estela! You should tell everyone what's new with you.”

Estela's eyes widened, and she suddenly ducked her head, as if shy. 

“Well. Same old, same old, you know.” She paused for a moment, then sighed, resigned. 

“I…bought an apartment.” In the dim light, even Estela’s stoic face looked as though it might hold the slightest hint of a smile. 

After Rourke was locked up in prison, Aleister became the sole heir of all his fortunes. He'd spent the better part of the year desperate to convince Estela to take what she was owed as a daughter and victim of Everette Rourke. 

It came as a surprise to no one that Estela had refused the sum in its entirety and cursed anyone who even suggested that she should accept.

In the end, Aleister had conceded, instead using whatever portion of unimaginable wealth he had wanted to push onto Estela to fund various philanthropic projects and charities.

For a while, they had wondered if the ordeal might’ve further estranged the already tentative bond between the strangest half-siblings on the planet. But when Estela had stood by her refusal, Aleister seemed to respect her even more for it. 

“And Tio Nicolas is moving in with me later this year.” There was a true and honest grin on her face by the time she finished, not just a trick of flickering shadows.

Quinn squealed again, before throwing her arms around Estela in a hug. 

“I'm so happy for you.”

Michelle followed suit on Estela's other side, wrapping Estela in a one armed hug. 

“Guys, enough.” Estela shrugged them off, but the effect was lost with the happy glint in her eyes and the laughing lilt to her words. 

“And Aleister and I have decided to move to a place nearby too! It's important for sibling bonding.”

“We'll see.” Estela. 

“Er- that wasn't strictly the only reason.” Aleister. 

But they were both wearing the most miniscule of smiles on their faces before it smoothed out into stoicism. 

“Yuck. All of these emotions and happiness are making my eyes water.” 

“Those are called tears, Zahra.” 

“Ew. No.” Zahra brushed a lock of maroon hair out of her eyes and pushed her elbow into Craig’s side. Then instead of moving away, she just..stayed there. 

Jake swept his eyes over the crew, broken up into smaller groups of conversations, their laughter a constant buzz against the sound of waves breaking against sand. 

For a moment, he understood why Summer had left. She had given them all this. He thought about Mike, and his recovering, tentative family. The chance to start anew.

Around the campfire, they were all pressed together. Yet, next to Jake’s side, there was a sliver of space, inconspicuous at first glance but unavoidable once you noticed. It was as if everyone had unintentionally left room for someone who would never fill it. 

“Guys! Guys!” Raj pushed himself up from where he had been sitting and raised the colorful cocktail in his hand like a flag towards the sky. “Since this reunion party is going totally awesome. We should make a toast!” 

A cheer went up from the group. 

“Okay, okay, let me go first.” Raj brought his hand to the back of his neck, his eyes squinting as if deep in thought. “I toast…to good booze, good friends and…no more weird time altering magic voodoo trying to kill us!” 

“Ch-yeah, boy!” 

“A primitive, but surprisingly succinct toast.”

“Never change, Raj, never change.” 

Jake laughed, then raised his can, watching as the flames from the campfire casted shadows onto the ground.

There was a moment of silence while everyone drank their fill of their beverage. The typical smile on Raj’s face dimmed, suddenly replaced with something somber. 

“I…This just reminds me of the first time we were here. When we were all fighting and couldn’t get our heads out of our asses. I suggested the first party, but it never would’ve happened if not for…” 

“For Summer.” Jake raised his eyebrows as everyone swiveled to look at him, a collective shock descending upon their features as if they had expected him to be too grief-stricken to even speak his wife’s name. 

“Alright, Odd Squad, time for me to make a toast.” He stood, body heavy with the weight of alcohol and grief. 

He raised his drink, swept his eyes over the crew, then up, towards the sky, latching onto the brightest star blinking in the dark expanse of the night. 

“I toast to Summer. To everything she did for us and to the future she gave us.” 

“To Summer.” 

It was the loudest echo of the night, he heard the sniffles of tears and gritted his teeth against the all too familiar wave that threatened to consume him. 

Jake went willingly when Quinn tugged at his shoulders and pulled him in a hug.

“She would be proud of you, Jake.” 

He laughed, the sound catching on the edges of tears and coming out messy, broken.

“She’d be proud of all of us, Ariel.” It was the closest thing he has to a thank you.

When Quinn released him, there was a tear tracking down her face and more forming in the shiny sheen of her eyes. 

“I know. But Summer would be proudest of you.”

___

Aleister and Craig were in the middle of a deranged arm wrestling match, the last of their hastily determined brackets, when the first drop of rain fell.

Imperceptible at first, then with it came a hail of water that threatened to drown them all. 

Jake cursed as the sudden downpour snuffed out their campfire, plunging them into darkness. 

“Hell, the weather was supposed to be clear all week.” 

His shirt was beginning to stick to his body like a second skin, he swiped away the hair that had stuck to his forehead, suddenly grateful that Mike had talked him into a haircut a week earlier. 

“You know that meteorologists can’t be trusted.”

Estela shoved Aleister’s shoulder, looking for all the world like a drowned and disgruntled cat. 

“Shut up, Aleister, point us towards the cabin and let’s go already!” 

The Celestial Resort had been utterly decimated after last year, there wasn’t much to recover after they extracted Lundgren, alive but unconscious, and Mike, somehow miraculously survived, out of the rubble. 

When they all returned to the mainland, news stations reported on a freak hurricane that devastated the region of La Huerta. Aleister had taken the payout from the insurance for the Celestial to build The Imogen Environmental Conservatory, alongside with a sizable private retreat for the ten of them.

The Celestial Resort was more like a hovel under construction nowadays, but cold, and shivering in the rain, Jake would’ve taken a dirtbed instead of the stormy beach.

“Calm down, the cabin should be that way.” 

Through the sleet of rain, Jake saw Aleister pointed, then suddenly retracted his hand. 

“Er…or this way.”

“Are you telling me you don’t know where your own cabin is? We didn’t travel that far! My hair is getting all tangled up!” Michelle shrieked, huddling into Quinn’s side to keep warmth as she covered her head with one hand. 

Blinking was beginning to become difficult, everytime Jake opened his eyes, rain streamed onto his face. The sky lit up with a bolt of lightning and in its footstep was a rumble of thunder that shook the very ground beneath their feet. 

The ocean churned, dark, cloudy waves battering faster and faster onto the sandy shore.

A pit opened in Jake’s stomach and he felt the familiar lump of apprehension in his throat. 

Danger was coming. 

“Come on, Malfoy, use that big brain of yours and tell us where the cabin is.” 

Through the blurry haze of rain, he saw Aleister spun around once more. Then stopped. 

“I don’t know! It’s impossible to see anything in this damned weather!” 

With a resigned sort of recognition, Jake knew Aleister was right. 

“Guys! What the hell is that?!” Raj shrieked, then pointed to the horizon. Where a massive wave was approaching them like a towering behemoth. 

“Time to go! Get to higher ground, hurry!” And Sean was the first one off, leading everyone in a charge into the forest. 

“I thought this island was supposed to be normal now.” Diego moaned with despair. “This is just like The Day After Tomorrow.” 

Jake laughed, suddenly giddy in an ironic sort of way. Everything changes, until nothing does.

He clapped Diego’s shoulders. 

“I’m starting to think this is normal on this island.”

He tossed his head back, breathing in the coolness of the rain for a moment. Jake opened his eyes, intending to catch up with everyone. And that was when he saw it.

Lightning, circulating into spheres of light that burst open like fireworks. 

Just like the lightning he saw, a long year ago, when he first flew into La Huerta. 

___

They followed the terrain and went wherever was most uphill. They stumbled every now and then, a curse ringing up into the rain-drenched sky until they righted themselves or someone lent a hand. 

Through immense survival skills, or perhaps just pure luck, the forest trees eventually thinned, not into the entrance of the cabin like they had expected, but to a cliff's edge. 

Jake was tempted to laugh once he realized that he had already visited the clearing earlier. It was as if the island was conspiring to keep him there, in the place where he would’ve built a home. 

In the distance, where the island turned to a harsh drop into the ocean, a shadow caught his eyes.

It was moving, hazy through the screen of rain. 

“What in the…” He muttered, then shoved past the rest of the crew into the clearing, trying to catch another glimpse of shadow. 

Jake shrugged off Diego’s concerned touch on his forearm, Sean called out his name, but it all faded into the pattering of rain echoing in his ears. 

Something about that shadow was calling to him. 

He inched closer, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. His heart was pounding, like a live animal thrashing to escape a cage. 

Closer, and closer, and closer. Until he was at the apex of the cliff’s edge, staring up at the shadow standing there. 

Not a shadow. Not a shadow at all, but a person with their back turned to him.

They swayed on their feet, unsteady and shivering from the rain. 

It was a ghost. 

Jake recognized her. In the rain, in the dark he recognized her. He would recognize her even if he had no sight, no human sensations. 

He would know her anywhere, just like a part of his heart, so integrated with who he was that there is no separating where he ended and she began. 

Even if there was no physical part of him that remained, his unsightly soul would still know her name. 

“Summer!” His voice was hoarse, disbelieving as he called out to the ghost. He didn’t know whether the dampness on his face was from tears or the rain battering against his skin.

The phantom gasped as if taking a breath after a long time underwater, and turned on its heels.

Her eyes blew open wide, piercing. Blue. Blue. Blue like the ocean, blue like the rain, blue like the light that took her away. 

There was a desperation in his body that Jake doesn't feel equipped for, that he thought might kill him. He needed to touch her, to know that she was real. 

If this was a ghost, a trick of the island, a siren of the seas, he would have followed it all the way to his watery grave. 

His hand unfurled, fingers reaching out for her. 

He registered the panicked, terror-filled glint in her eyes a split second before it became too late. 

The rain-soaked phantom that looked like Summer retreated, her heels catching on the eroded soil and she teetered back. Too close to the edge of the cliff. 

“No!” The word ripped itself from his lips as his body lunged forward without command, hands closing around Summer's forearm. 

Real. Warm. Alive. 

He pulled her back from the brink of certain death and stumbled on the way down, dragging her with him. 

There was blessed silence as they caught their breaths on the dirt. The rain had finally seized. 

And then Jake was turning, eyes impossibly wide as he roamed over the side of Summer's face. Because it was her. Impossible to deny when they were this close. 

There was the beauty mark on the slope of her right shoulder. 

Real. Warm. Alive. 

“Summer?” His breaths had abandoned him. 

She gasped, her eyes twisted shut as if pained before they flew open. 

Blue. Blue. Blue. 

They latched onto Jake. 

“...Who are you?” 

And then she collapsed, a dead weight in his arms. 

___

She was there. Lying in a bed, all but a few steps away. Pale like a corpse. Drenched and shivering. 

Jake had long stopped being surprised by the island’s absurdities, but he could never have expected this. 

He would’ve said it’s a miracle if he was the type of man to believe in that kind of thing. 

Instead, his heart thudded the heavy, slow rhythm of disquiet. 

Who are you? 

Blue eyes, piercing and void of recognition. 

Who are you? 

Pale face, slack and fearful. 

Who are you?

Who are you? 

Who are-

“Jake!” 

He startled, then realized Michelle was staring down at him, her eyes red-rimmed, face tear-stained. She was holding onto her stethoscope like a lifeline. 

Jake doesn’t remember much after they found Summer. The storm ceased, and the eleven of them trekked back towards the cabin in stunned silence. 

When they returned, Michelle had insisted on giving Summer a check-up, but they all knew she just wanted to be sure that her friend was real and alive. 

Jake fought, lashed out with pure instincts, when they tried to take the limp form of Summer away. Painstakingly, someone shoved him into a chair in the corner while Michelle set out to do her job, and that was where he remained, stoic and silent as a statue.

There was a shock blanket draped over his shoulders, he couldn’t recall who put it there. 

“She’s alive, Jake. Alive and healthy. Now, it’s your turn, let me see that cut of yours.”

There was dried blood on his palm, he must’ve gotten the injury when he fell. The cut stung as he flexed his hand on his knee. 

But there was a note of hesitation in Michelle’s voice that he didn’t trust. She was hiding something from him. 

He flinched away when she reached out. 

“I’m fine. You just keep taking care of Summer over there, Maybelline.” 

Michelle narrowed her eyes, tossed her hair over one shoulder. 

“I’m the med student here, I’ll determine if you’re fine. Give me your hand.” 

“Then do your damn job and take care of her. Not me!” 

Michelle took the stethoscope from her neck and there was anger in her eyes when she looked at him again. 

“I can’t do my job if you don’t let me, you idiot!” She paused, sucking in a shallow breath. “I know you’re worried, Jake. I know. But you’re not the only one who cares for Summer. I do too, and so does everyone else. So believe me when I say there’s nothing more I can do for her right now. Let me take care of her, by taking care of you, alright? Or do you want to greet your wife looking half dead?” 

Silence draped over them for a single moment. 

“I really do hate it when other people are right.” Jake grumbled miserably, but relinquished his hand to Michelle, who took it with a huff. 

“I'm always right. Get used to it.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments as Michelle poked at his palm, drawing a slight hiss from Jim. 

“It's a shallow cut, but it'll need to be cleaned up.” She said, quiet and released his hand before beckoning him from the corner and closer to where she kept her medical supplies. 

Jake followed, barely having the wherewithal to see where he was going until he was staring down at Summer, prone on the guest bed. 

Her face was pale, eyes shut and breathing shallow. It was almost unnatural to see Summer's face so void of expression when he had spent the last year imprinting every single one of her emotions into his memories. 

“You sure she's alright?” Jake asked again, unable to resist even as Michelle bandaged up the cut on his palm.

Michelle bit her lips, her eyes darting away for a quick moment before returning. 

“As far as I can tell anyways.” 

“Out with it, Maybelline. You're clearly hiding something.” 

She rolled her eyes, muttering intelligibly beneath her breath. 

“...I don't have any idea what I'm dealing with here, Jake. She was dead.” Michelle's professionalism cracked for a moment, revealing fear, relief, grief, all painted on the lines of her face. “We had a funeral for her. And now she's here, alive and breathing.”

She dragged a hand down her face, looking more exhausted than Jake ever saw. 

“Normally, in circumstances like this, we're taught to inform the patient first. But…I think my attending will forgive me if I told the patient's family in this circumstance.”

It took a moment until Jake realized that Michelle had meant him. He was Summer's family, her husband. And then a different kind of ache pushed through his sternum. They had only been married a single day before she died, there was barely any time for them to be a family. 

Yet, here he was, offered another chance. He nodded for Michelle to continue. 

“Don't freak out, alright?”

“I'm freaking out more by the second if you keep scaring me like this, Maybelline.”

He curled his hands into fists, a twist of fear roiling in his stomach. 

“I couldn't find a heartbeat.” 

Jake blinked. 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” 

“I mean that Summer has no heartbeat.” 

“I've seen a lot of things in my days, but a human can't survive without a heart. So what the hell are you saying?” 

Michelle's eyes were wide, bloodshot and lost. 

“Is she even human, Jake?” 

And he couldn't answer that.

___

To be continued!