Now show me what you're made of!

bael hates the way charon looks at him.

it was never a problem until recently. when charon first caught the glimpse of the face under the mask. saw how VI had changed him for the worst. replacing the skin damaged by the frostbite - how it spider webbed outwards from where his nose used to be.

how that small hint of vulnerability shifted their dynamic.

because bael sees the pity in the awoken’s bright orange eyes when they look at him. how gently the titan would touched him.

like he was a fragile thing made of glass, and one wrong move and everything would capsize.

it makes him sick.

angry.

he wasn’t some wounded animal to care after. wasn't a thing meant to be fixed. VI made that clear.

bael long since accepted the role of who he’s to be.

the hold the man has on the glass in his good hand tightens, strains, and the poor thing shatters. the bits of glass splintered across the table like the aftermath of a coldsnap grenade.

bael hisses as he digs shards of glass from out of his palm in the dark quiet of charon’s apartment. berates himself in a tone all too similar to VI’s voice as he cleans the mess and washes the blood from his hand. watching the red water run down the drain.

would VI turn these wounds to metal as well? have this become a reminder of how foolish he’s become - how far he’s fallen?

the man rummages around blindly for any form of a med-kit. then scoffs at the idea of such a thing in a guardian’s apartment. what was the need of something like that when a ghost can heal your wounds?

so giving up the search he grabs for the towel at the edge of the sink. wrapping it around his injured hand, and leans his weight against the counter.

there is the passing thought that he should leave. bael knows in himself that he’s overstayed his welcome here. that whatever hospitality the guardian has shown him would run out, eventually.

but what else is there for him out there? a father he rarely sees, a mother who no longer exists to him? what life does he have outside this apartment now?

the only one that has given him time of day was charon. who laid fast asleep in the other room, blissfully unaware of the coming and goings of the night.

maybe that’s all the man needs. some sleep and the means to pretend this night never happened. the chance to keep surviving every day like the world wasn’t ready to swallow him whole.

he would be a dead man if not for the titan’s intervention.

bile crawls up his throat.

that was it, wasn’t it? he’s allowed to live on the word of a single guardian. a guardian fresh from the grave who saw the world like a toddler - brightly colored and beautiful.

the vanguard would have exiled bael from the city - or worse - executed for everything he’s done. but they had listened to the pleads of a passionate guardian who only saw the best in him.

if there had been a different guardian in charon’s place. one who would not think twice about ending bael right then and there. like they did with the crow prince.

the leather glove protecting the prosthetic hand creaked as he balled his fist.

what happened to him?

the man was too trapped in his thoughts to hear the patting of feet against wood and tile, step, drag, step, drag. half awake and stumbling through the dark.

when charon rounds the corner into the kitchen. spotting the shadow of the other man standing on the other end.

“bael?”

the man froze at the call of his name. like a deer cornered by the wolf. his entire body tenses as charon steps closer. they flick the light switch on, bael recoils as light floods his sensitive eye.

“is everything okay?”

“i’m fine.” bael grits out, forcing his good eye to open.

through blurred vision, he sees the way charon is watching him. their eyes are focused on the towel wrapped around his hand.

there’s that look again. pity.

“what happened?” charon reaches out to take a closer inspection of bael’s hands. but he yanks it away before the awoken can touch him.

“at least let me take a look at it.”

bael sighs, a reluctant agreement. watches as charon leaves the kitchen again before reappearing a moment later. setting a small box of supplies on the table.

it makes bael laugh wetly. so there was one here. was it always part of the apartment? did his fireteam give it to them? or - as foolish as it sounds - did charon get it when he moved in with them?

as charon sits down, bael offers them his injured hand, and the titan holds it tenderly in his grasp.

bael bites down hard on the inside of his cheek as the disinfectant wipes the wounds. charon says,‘i’m sorry’ under their breath as they work.

as charon tapes down the bandage, smoothing his thumb over bael’s palm. a question stirred in the titan’s mind.

“if there is something wrong, tell me.” there’s desperation in the titan's tone.

“because what?” bael voice tittered on a knife’s edge, pulling his hand away once more. “because i’m some pet project for you? so you can feel better about yourself for helping me?”

charon says nothing, and it makes the anger boiling in bael’s chest burst.

“answer me!” bael fingers curl and dig into their shoulders. the pain that shoots up his arm is a dull background noise to the emotions that run like a whirlpool inside him.

charon rises from the chair. makes their movements wide and noticeable. one arm loops around bael’s waist. the other peeling the bandaged hand from their shoulder. bringing it up to his lips and pressing a feathered kiss to the palm.

“i’m not doing this out of obligation,”

“then what?” bael argues, tasting the salty, bitter tears in his mouth. when did he start crying? “all this time, and you’ve yet to give me a proper answer.”

“i do this because i love you.”

the statement stalls the next words that were to come out of bael’s mouth.

“you’re an idiot.”

“doesn’t make it any less true.”

“i hate you,” bael spits out, the venom in his voice palpable. “stop this, or i swear to…” charon’s gaze flickers with something he couldn’t quite name.

“or?” they prompt, their voice a low rumble - a simple hum from the back of their throat.

bael swallows down the rest of the threat. he hates the way charon can unravel him with a single look, a single word. hates the power charon holds, the silent understanding that exists between them.

It’s a few hours later when the doors to the apartment hiss open, and CROW-2 hauls his feet over the threshold, muscles aching. Not even caring about the snow he drags through the apartment on the way to his room.

Instead of stewing in his emotions for the rest of the day as he planned. Ice had convinced him the best course of action was to do a few matches of the Crucible snowball fight.

A few matches then turned into a few hours. At least the activity helped dull the bubbling emotion that lay under his metallic plating.

CROW-2 shakes the remaining snow that clung to his robes before collapsing face-first onto his bed. His arms and legs dangle off the side of the mattress as he lets his optics slide shut.

The Warlock keeps a trained audial to the apartment. But all he could hear was the steady hum of the electricity that ran through it.

He expected this since Meno and Avery called in between one match. Asking if he would want to join them in the City today, no doubt looking for last-minute gifts.

CROW regrets not accepting the invitation now, having told them that he wanted to get a few games in for the day. And it felt like it was too late for the Exo to ask his fireteam if the offer was still open.

Darkness shrouds him like a blanket now that he is alone. But the Exo has no time to ruminate in them as his Ghost is the one to break the silence.

“CROW, you have one incoming call.” Ice says, mimicking the way he did back on Kepler. It reminds CROW-2 to ask where the Ghost even picked up that cadence.

The Guardian groans as he pushes himself up onto his elbow, turning over to sit up properly.

“Hey, I hope this isn’t a bad time.” The last person CROW was expecting to call him was Lodi. And hearing it is enough for all the dread he was trying to ignore to rush to the surface all over again.

Should he lie and pretend he’s out on a strike mission for the Vanguard? Or would that be too easy to disprove?

“No, not at all.” He forces the words past the viper wrapping itself around his throat. “Is everything alright?” shifting anxiously where he sat.

“I wanted to talk to you, I um.” Lodi pauses, and if CROW listens, he can hear something rustling in the background.

“Look, I’m sending some coordinates. Meet me there, I think it’s better to do this in person.”

“Sure, I can be there soon.” The Guardian’s mouth was working on autopilot.

“Great, thanks.” And just like that, the comm-line goes quiet once more.

No, no, no, no. The words repeat in his mind, and the bitter taste of panic spills over the edges. He can’t do this; he isn’t sure if he can face Lodi now.

What was he going to do?

“CROW?” The Warlock’s pink eyes blink back online, and he’s lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He threw an arm over his eyes to hide the shame on his face.

“Let’s get this over with.”

+++

Snow crunches under boots - reaching far up CROW-2’s ankles as he trudges up the hill. The Warlock left only speculating as to why Lodi wanted to meet up here, of all places. They were still within the City’s walls, but closer to the west end, where there was still space to spread out and build up when needed.

Maybe because it was free from prying eyes and ears, but still, the safety that the walls provided.

CROW-2 mumbles under his breath, rehearses the script he made for this conversation.

It would begin with apologizing for what Ice did. Then have Ice apologize for what he did, and lastly ask Lodi to forget it ever happened.

As he reaches the crest of the hilltop. Lodi is standing with his back turned to the Warlock, unaware of his arrival. So CROW musters the remaining strength he has before making his presence known.

“Hey,” CROW-2 greets, and the Emissary turns and gives him a warm smile.

CROW-2 hates himself for how just the look alone makes something flutter in his chest.

“Lodi, I want to say,” CROW-2 begins as he walks closer, but doesn’t get the rest of the apology, because there is a familiar-looking box being handed towards him.

Oh no.

Was Lodi returning the cookies?

Was this his way of letting him down easy?

“I felt bad not having a gift for you in return,” Lodi begins. “So I asked Ms. Levante to show me how you guardians make the cookies.” He chuckles nervously before continuing.

“I’d been a little hesitant after learning the ingredients, but she reassured me it’s completely edible.”

The Guardian’s pink optics flicked between the man standing before him and the box in his outstretched hands. This was not in his script, and as the seconds ticked on without him doing anything. That script unravels all the same.

“So, you aren’t mad at me?” CROW-2 asked, hesitantly reaching for the box to take from Lodi’s hands. Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu from earlier this morning.

“I’ll admit, it caught me off guard,” Lodi’s cheeks dust a bright shade of pink. CROW-2 told himself it was only from the bitter cold. “But it was Mr. Ice who gave me the idea.”

“Oh, which reminds me,” Lodi holds a finger up for a moment as he searches through the pouches on his robe. “Ms. Everis said her uncle sent in a shipment of these.” Pulling a bundle of green and red out.

CROW-2’s optics widen as Lodi dangles the mistletoe over his head.

“You know, the berries are poisonous, and commercially they’d replace the berries with plastic ones.”

“What,” The blue biolights that bubble from the Exo’s throat burn brighter. “Are you doing?”

Lodi’s brows pinch in confusion, motioning with the mistletoe over his head again. “As I said, Mr. Ice gave me the idea.”

This can’t be real; this has to be a dream. But CROW-2 knows himself, and he knows that he isn’t this kind to himself in his dreams.

“Unless I was reading this wrong, and oh,” Lodi’s hand drops to the side, guilt flashing across his features as the mistletoe drops into the snow. “I am, aren’t I?”

The box twinkles in blue light as it disappears into Ice’s inventory. CROW-2 then crosses the remaining distance between them. He took Lodi’s hands in his own and gave them a gentle squeeze.

Whatever apologies that spilled from Lodi stopped short as he clamped his mouth shut, tilting his head upwards. Even if CROW only stood four inches taller than Lodi. This close up, he notices the difference between them.

The Warlock didn’t look away this time at the sight of Lodi’s eyes as he spoke. “I thought I was the one who needed to apologize for misreading.”

“I was mad at Ice for what he did, because I didn’t know if you,” His words trailed off.

“You’ve already been through so much this year, and I didn’t think you would be open to something like this.”

“A relationship?” Lodi questions, and CROW-2 nods.

“So I will ask.” CROW takes a deep breath, lets it settle in his chest, and lets it out. “Lodi, can I kiss you?”

“Yes,”

They meet halfway. The kiss isn’t perfect by any means. This was Lodi’s first time kissing an Exo, and their lips met with a clink of Lodi’s teeth against the Warlock’s mouth plate.

Yet there is laughter that bubbles up from CROW when the kiss breaks.

They steady themselves, each hand finding purchase on the other’s arm. A genuine smile, surprisingly warm, spreads across the Warlock’s faceplate, and Lodi feels the flush creep up their neck.

“That was different.”

“You’ll get used to it.” CROW-2 jokes and doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t acknowledge that what he said would mean there would be another kiss after this, that this meant anything more than what was being presented.

“Well, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.” Lodi laughs.

The Festival of the Lost has taken on different meanings for Ciro over the years. Whether it’s remembering the loss of those she cared about, celebrating life, or the good fun of collecting candy. 

Whatever it might be, the holiday was always something the Exo looked forward to, and this year was no exception.

“I know my old masks are here somewhere.” Ciro mused aloud as she balanced upon two stacked crates. Even then, she was struggling to peer into the overhead compartment on her ship.

Erint hovered above to shine a light into the storage area. “Your hoarding knows no bounds.” The Ghost said sarcastically, which got her a swat with the stick end of the broom.

It takes the Guardian a few more tries until the broom hooks around the edge of the box. A harsh tug brought the box tittering off the edge. Ignoring the strain in her legs and shoulders, she reached up to grab it. 

The noise of Ciro dropping the box down onto the floor startles Selene awake. The War Beast gives the room a once over before curling back asleep as if nothing happened.

“You could have asked me to grab that for you,” Erint comments as her shell retracts to her core - the light fading. 

The Exo ignores the statement, rolling her eyes as she jumps down off the crates. Yet as her hands reach the latches. Something in her chest tightens with an emotion she can’t quite place. It’s quickly pushed aside with a click and the slide of the lid. 

Inside the box were her Festival of the Lost decorations accumulated over the years. Engram lanterns, purple candles, and all the paper-mâché and cardboard masks. All of them were flattened for better storage.

“You have a lot more than I remember,” Erint asks as Ciro digs in. “Do you have any idea what you want to wear? Oryx? Or is that too fresh in people’s minds?” The rest of her statement trails off as Ciro pulls something out from the bottom of the pile.

The air stills as both of their attention draws to it.

It was in the shape of Calus’ face. Not his haunted form, or as a Disciple, but one that was made in the same image as his decoys once used.

“I remember the year you made that,” Erint floats closer as Ciro turns the mask over in her hands. “You walked proudly onto his ship with your best imitation of him, even mimicking the summoning clap.”

“He said he found it charming,” Ciro replied, eyes downcast. “Praised me for the craftsmanship, and we both had a good laugh about it.” The phantom taste of wine and a kiss flood the Exo’s system. Warmth tangles with the icy dread.

“Let’s see if there are any others in here.” The Ghost doesn’t try to hide behind the mask of being subtle. Pushing herself into the box for examination.

“No, I want to wear this one.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Erint bobs back up to look at Ciro.

“I’ll be fine,” The Ghost has known her guardian long enough to know that ‘I’m fine’ is code for ‘Please don’t ask me about it right now.’

CROW-2’s nonexisting heart climbs higher and higher upwards into his throat with each step through the Towers' archives. His hands shake as they clutch onto the blue and silver package, careful not to damage the contents inside.

The Warlock forces his shoulders to relax when he sees a familiar mop of black hair - the owner’s head bent over, scrolling through a datapad.

“You aren’t an easy person to track down, you know,” CROW-2 announces as he crosses the room before stopping in front of the table. And Lodi lifts his head, and CROW tries not to stare at the black and blue eyes that look up at him.

“Sorry, I’ve been a little occupied,” Lodi replies sheepishly and sets the datapad aside.

“It’s fine,” the Warlock waves off the concern before nervously thrusting the blue box he had been carrying toward Lodi’s. “Happy Dawning,”

The emissary’s eyes widen as they dart between the box and CROW-2’s face. 

“Ms. Rey informed me about the celebrations.” It’s close enough for him to long for Christmas with his family. The sound of his nieces and nephews rushing down the stairs ⸺ trying to be the first one to open their gifts. While all the adults sat crowded around the table and laughed as they watched.

The the smell of coffee brewing and the tearing of wrapping paper fades into the background as he takes the gift from the Warlock.

“I didn’t know what you would like, so I modified the recipe that was for Dean Rebecca.” CROW-2 shifts the weight to his other foot. 

Lodi reaches into the box to pull out a cookie, inspects it briefly, and then takes a bite out of it.

“These are wonderful, thank you again, CROW.”

“It’s the least I could do.” The Exo’s jaw slants to the side to give the emissary a smile. “I can only imagine how rough it’s been for you.”

“But I don’t have anything to give you?”

“You shouldn’t worry yourself with it; you have more than enough on your plate.”

The pair lapses into comfortable silence for a moment. Only for it to be broken as Ice pops in over the pair.

The blue flecks of the Ghost’s shell caught the light, and hanging above the triangular shell was the mistletoe projection.

CROW felt the plunge of cold throughout his system as he stared up in horror.  “Ice!” CROW-2 grits out through a clenched jaw. “What are you doing!”

“Me?” Ice feigns innocence as the nodes of his shell spun. “I’m not doing anything. Eva gave me this projection, so I thought it would be nice to show it off.” Ice tilts down towards Lodi. 

“What do you think?”

Lodi brings his hand to his mouth to stifle the chuckle, as well to hide the growing blush on his cheeks. “It’s uh, good to know certain traditions survived all these years.”

The Warlock reaches out and snatches the Ghost mid-air, tugging him to his chest in a swift motion. “Happy Dawning again,” and in a twinkle of blue light, the Guardian and Ghost transmit out of the archives.

It now leaves Lodi with a box of cookies and a question on his mind.

+++

“What were you thinking!” CROW yells once they are in the privacy of his ship. The warlock paces around in tight circles while fiddling with the sleeves of his robes. The Ghost watches him with each turn and lets out a long, dramatic sigh.

“I was helping because I know you wouldn’t do it yourself.”

“What made you think I wanted any help!” CROW-2 stops his pacing to glare at his Ghost. “You ruined everything!”

Ice zips straight right into CROW’s face. His single blue optic is burning with such an intensity that the Exo hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Then answer me one question: do you like him?”

CROW-2 falls silent for a long moment after. His eyes drifted anywhere else but the Ghost in front of him. Finding a corner of the room to be much more pleasant to look at.

The Exo debates with himself whether he should respond to the Ghost’s question.

He doesn’t want this to be a repeat of what happened when it was Meno who had been the one to hold CROW-2’s affection.

“And what if I do?” His tone sounded all but defeated.

“CROW,” Ice says his name softly as he floats back, giving CROW distance. “You know.”

“I know.” The Warlock is quick to cut him off. Because sometimes he can’t help the overwhelming guilt that eats away at him. Even if he and Meno parted on mutual terms. CROW still yearns for that familiar warmth.

He doesn’t want Lodi to become a replacement.

And even if their time together on Kepler had been brief in the grand scheme of things. CROW-2 can’t help but hope for something more. That maybe, maybe it was time he could get the chance to not screw things up.

Ice floats back to the Warlock, finding a place to rest in the feathers of CROW’s new robes. “Let’s give it a day, and then tomorrow, we'll apologize.”

CROW shoots up at that. “What do I have to apologize for, you’re the one who hung the mistletoe above us!” 

Kormac winces as Jin takes hold of his jaw, forcing the man to tilt it to the side. The Wizard leaned forward to get a better inspection of the gash that swept across his brow.

Jin reached up with his other hand, and placed it on the wound. The Templar sucks in a breath through gritted teeth as the skin begins to stitch back together again. 

“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Jin says flatly, a rie smile on his face. He pulls back, lets his arms drop to the side, and looks at the Templar. Giving the man a once over just to be sure there weren’t anymore injuries that needed mending.

Kormac only hums in response, ignoring the lingering warmth where Jin’s hands had been. 

It never got easy, the feeling of magic being able to heal his wounds. For so long, he was fine with the traditional methods. Though Kormac’s stomach still dropped at the sight of needles and thread no matter how much time has passed.

So perhaps dealing with the alternative made things easier in his heart. 

“You should be more careful, you know,” The Wizard scolds, which makes Kormac look up, and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest. 

”Last I checked, not everyone is as skilled in the Arcane as you.“ He replies. But when he takes in the other’s expression, it gives him pause. The worried lines that etch onto his forehead, the tired eyes that watch him. And whatever quip Kormac wanted to say fell silent.

”I-,“ Kormac begins, but Jin was quick to cut him off - raising a hand.

“It is alright my friend.” The Wizard states, and Kormac leaves it at that. Better to have this topic die off than have it divulge into something a lot more personal. Something that they don’t have the time for. Even sitting here in the aftermath of their recent expedition, they don’t have time. 

Silence fills the space between the two, thick, uncomfortable, and The Templar can practically hear the gears in the other’s head turning. So he jumps in to stop them.

“I was going to add was, thank you.” He says and now it’s time for Jin to look stalled. Which makes his lips curl up in a triumphant smile. 

Bringing a hand to his mouth, Jin clears his throat, eyes darting around to find anything else that was interested in the small space they were in. ”We should head back into town, I’m sure the others would want to know what we found here.“ 

In the short time that Kormac has known the Wizard, subtlety was not the man’s strong suit. But he knows better than to tease the other about it now. So he keeps whatever he wants to reply back behind his lips and stands up from the crate he’s been resting on.

His own cheeks burn in embarrassment and clears his own throat.

“That would be a good idea.” He states.