mai

ebbs and flows | 3.0k words, rated t | an angsty/fluffy jaya two-shot on memory and skybound trauma

the biggest baller in ninjago | 2.3k words, rated g | series: ninjago's star athletes | this was so so goofy it's practically a crack!fic but imagine nya is so so good at basketball and jay wants to learn from her, one-shot

nonsense | 1.6k words, rated t | nya has high expectations of sora/wyldfyre/arin -- too high. angsty/i don't think nya is actually likely to do this because we've seen she's more likely to sacrifice herself over others but i wanted to pretend for a little, one-shot

to be known | 9.2k+ words, rated t | i personally think there are nya and jordana parallels that i wanted to explore here so that's what this is. initially intended as a one-shot but somebody commented for more and i am easily peer pressured soooooooo it now has (edit: 07/28/2026) four chapters LMAO. i'm weak in the knees!

taking legend of sea and storm | 2.2k+ words, rated t | i'm in a d&d campaign and based my character off of what i'd imagine a jay and nya kid could look like, one-shot

in the ashes | 2.1k words, rated t | jaya on my mind like all the time but this one is nya tired of losing/anticipating losing the people she loves (it's exhausting), one-shot

Zane was still learning things like how to pat his head and rub his belly at the same time when his father handed him a bat and made him walk 50 paces away from him in the summer (still snowy) woods. They started easy: underhanded tosses of an old baseball, slow pitches, no running. Just a simple catch and release. To even his own surprise, unlike soccer, Zane picked this up quickly. He attributed it to the sport being played with extensions of the body rather than direct contact itself. Any hurtling baseball would strike the bat instead of his body, largely avoiding his concerns with sports like soccer after accidentally kicking himself in the head with the ball.

But when he learned about sabermetrics? Oh, Zane was gone. No other sport had been quantified so closely, with such detail and precision. Keep track of players, keep track of teams, and strategize according to the numbers. Empiricism at its finest, wrestling baseball under a thumb of carefully counted strategy. Zane’s first year getting into sabermetrics, he started by watching the major leagues.

The Birchwood Beavers were not a particularly strong team, but Zane abided by the rules of hometown fandom. The Beavers, anyways, played with their full chests until the game was officially over, making for a solid game of heart regardless of the outcome. Zane would sit glued to the television for the first few games he watched, but eventually, he would mute it in favor of the local radio’s more direct assessment of the plays. At first, he would just listen, then record the official scorer’s box score at the end of the game. After the Beavers’ first season, Zane had filled a small notebook with data.

The second year Zane got into baseball, he tried to track the box score himself, then compare it against the final box score to check his answers. In the off-season, he went through other teams’ box scores, and assembled an ideal roster for the Beavers under Field Manager Uri Uplo. It was a fantasy team that Zane felt very satisfied with when four of his six active trade recommendations were actualized. Zane was just starting to feel like he was in his element when the Beavers suddenly fired Uri for insider trading in the Ninjago sports betting market, and despite the relative strength of the team just a season ago, the new roster crumbled under its new coach.

So for his fourth year getting into baseball, Zane added manager statistics to his calculations. Then coaches, then ballparks themselves. The Birchwood Forest’s climate put out players just as unique as its own terrain (compared to the rest of Ninjago), and Zane realized that strategizing could get expanded even further when thinking so closely about ballparks and location. The Beavers were nearly guaranteed to lose if they were scheduled against the Desert Doomers in the summer for an away game, but the inverse was true, too.

Though his father had absolutely no clue what kinds of calculations Zane was running, he knew that his son had the game down even better than most people actually playing. Such talent had to be put to good use.

The Birchwood Kits was a kind of informal assemblage, a local Little League team that always needed more volunteers. Dr. Julien saw a flyer for them when out in town for groceries, and plucked it from the billboard to rush home to Zane. He threw the front door open excitedly, produce nearly spilling from his grocery bags.

“Zane! You will love this,” he said, grin widening. “It’s perfect for you.”

The first month was a little less than perfect. Zane’s initial attempts to record player statistics (the players in question being ages 7-12) were wholly imprecise, because many of them were still learning to hit the ball. But pulling from his own lessons, Zane jumped in, teaching them about form, where the strike zone lay, and the importance of following through. It was an impressive reminder of how much kids’ brains were like sponges. After the first month, their performances started to even out (still improving, but not as rapidly), and Zane could more clearly envision the team that was coming together. For example: Audrey was a talented hitter but was unlikely to swing unless she could do so with full confidence—Or, as Zane realized, under pressure. With that knowledge, Zane put her fourth in batting order, behind Percy, Donna, and Alex. The three of them were not quite as strong batters, but they were fast runners, so Zane trusted them, generally, to load the bases before her, so Audrey could drive the ball hard and far.

The thing about sabermetrics to Zane is that his goal with the numbers wasn’t necessarily to improve individual player statistics, but overall team performance. For him, keeping track of Milo’s batting average or Lea’s strike rates wasn’t to hold them accountable to such data—he didn’t give that information out to them anyways—but to figure out a combination of strategies and plays that would result in the strongest possible outcome. And while the Birchwood Kits’ first season was relatively weak, their second season with Zane led them all the way to the quarterfinals. They would’ve gone further, Zane grumbled, if he had access to the other teams’ metrics. But realistically, the Birchwood Kits were the only Little League with that kind of data, courtesy of Zane’s seriousness around the game.

And the kids loved him. Zane was always reassuring, and his straightforwardness wasn’t off-putting; it was clear and kind. It helped, too, that the more Zane attended to their game strategy, the more they won. And the more they won, the more Zane gave them pizza parties, according to an agreement he made in week two with the Kits after a particularly bad day of practice.

After seven years of managing the Kits, Zane sat the team down in a big circle. It was his second season without any of the kids he started with, but the team was as strong as ever, and more parents had gotten involved as the Kits’ reputation grew. It was this latter point that made Zane comfortable enough to step away, at least temporarily.

“My father is getting ill,” he explained, looking each of them in the eyes as he talked. “And that means he needs someone at home to help him. So after this season ends, I am going to be gone for a bit.” The kids gasped, even if it seemed a tad dramatic to Zane. He’d spend however long he needed to with his father, but he loved them like his own, too.

“For how long?” One of the younger players, Pietra, demanded. Pietra was 9, having joined the team after seeing her older brother’s affection for Zane and the game. Her lower lip trembled. “Not too long, right? Because we need you!”

Several of her teammates nodded furiously, but they were otherwise all still attentive to Zane’s words, not causing much more of a ruckus.

“I am… Not sure,” he confessed. “But you are in good hands. Coach Iona will help you all keep doing your best.” Iona was Milo’s mother, and had stayed with the team even as Milo grew out of baseball to take up martial arts instead. “I am sorry to leave so suddenly,” Zane said. “But all will be well.”

The enthusiasm that Zane brought to baseball was nearly matched by Iona, but where he was driven by numbers, she was driven by vibes and conviction. Both were needed, and he was grateful she was willing to—in many ways—take over the team upon his departure.

Zane went home with a heavy heart. These were the closest, most meaningful connections he’d built over the last years outside of his father, but he had clear priorities and obligations beyond baseball, too.

Later that week, Dr. Julien lay in bed, skinny and pale. Zane stood over his bedside, keeping him company while his breath started to labor. But Zane was frozen in place, not sure what to do or what would come after.

“The only reason I’m about to do this is because I love you,” Zane’s father said, before pulling open Zane’s panel, and decisively flicking off his memory.

--

Pietra had aged out of the Birchwood Kits team years and years ago. She hadn’t seen Zane since, and by now had matured and gotten over her initial grudge of him choosing his dad over the team. She understood now, after losing her own parents to the Great Devourer.

She thought about him today. The Birchwood Beavers were holding invite-only tryouts, and some secretive scout had passed her name on to the Beavers’ general manager.

She rolled her shoulders as she stepped up to bat, loosening her grip a little before taking a light squat. The first ball whizzed just outside her strike zone, and Pietra let out a nervous exhale as her bat stayed steady, poised up and behind her. Her second attempt hit the ball out. But the third ball cracked against the bat—follow through, follow through, follow through—and sailed through the air, bouncing in the far outfield and rolling just far enough away from the left fielder to make them look clumsy. Pietra bolted for first base, then barely made second.

This, Nya scowled, was definitely not Jay. He was just some other guy. Who looked like him. Who sounded like him. Who moved like him.

It infuriated her. Mostly because it just wasn’t him. He didn’t have the intentions of an impostor, but he sure acted like one.

The Jay she knew was kind and funny. He fought for what was good and just without a second thought, and he cared with his whole chest with a fierce loyalty that balanced his insecurities. The Jay in front of her, on the other hand, had a solid, singular wrinkle crossing his forehead, eyebrows creased so hard their edges nearly met each other in the center. She’d never seen him look so serious.

Her initial attempted examination was a bust, but all it meant was that by the time the cameras had come back on, Benthomaar had been escorted out and Jay retreated—presumably back to the viewing room. There was no re-do, but as it turned out, the examination didn’t matter all that much, because her apparent visitor was the former Elemental Master of Lightning himself, who could conduct it all on his own.

“Your little outburst forced me to fill out seven forms to explain the shot camera,” Jay grumbled, leaning back in the chair across from her. By this point, Nya had been sitting here for two hours with little to no reprieve. Another agent had made a pointed effort to re-secure her handcuffs per Jay’s direction, and they hadn’t let her up since. Fair. If she were an agent of the Administration with some notion of what she was capable of, she wouldn’t let her up, either.

“Oh, boo hoo.” Nya was getting more irritable by the minute, and was caring increasingly little about how sardonic she was sounding. Her ass hurt from the steel chair, and this Jay-not-Jay was wholly unempathetic.

She only had one upper hand on him, but he had seemed genuinely threatened by her potential to out his powers to his employers, and it made her feel a little bad. If Nya’s suspicions were correct—that he didn’t remember who he was—then however he was acting really wasn’t Jay, but not out of malice. All because he didn’t know any better. He didn’t know who else he could be; he didn’t know he had other choices. It was like Jay was locked in survival mode, where all that mattered was getting through to the next step. While she’d maybe spent 30 minutes maximum with Jay-not-Jay in the last six years, the kindest she’d heard him be was just before he whisked her away, with Jordana. So he still had the capacity. Just not for her. But for Jordana?

When they’d all been together, Jay sounded familiar with the young engineer, despite how brief of an interaction Nya’d been able to witness. Nya wondered how long they’d known each other, and where Lord Ras might fit into this, if at all. But as she started to think a little more critically and reflectively about the situation, Jay interrupted her mental gymnastics.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and picking up the tablet in front of him. On the pad, Nya caught an image of herself, still and kept from a few weeks ago. Jay swiped away to some long-winded document, and tilted the screen up towards himself. He cleared his throat.

“The Administration is concerned with your involvement with and proximity to Lloyd Garmadon, under Addendum 47-A,” Jay recited, echoing Benthomaar’s earlier script with a bored drawl. “The Administration is asking for your cooperation in peacefully disclosing Lloyd Garmadon’s whereabouts upon your release.”

Since the last security camera “malfunctioned,” Jay had brought in a new, older camera on a tripod to record their interaction.

Nya watched the security camera behind him glow, a red haze newly encircling the lens. She nodded towards it. “Is it recording?”

“Yes,” Jay answered, “all official Administration business is recorded and documented for further cataloguing.”

“And what if none of my answers are helpful?”

Jay repeated himself, and Nya had a feeling that this was not a fight she would win. Bureaucracy was never her strong suit. Nor Jay’s, but even with his apathetic tone, he still abided. To an extent, she realized. So maybe if she just made it through these next few minutes, she could pull something realer out of him after. She leaned forward.

“I am unaware of the whereabouts of Lloyd Garmadon,” she stated, drawing from the same stuffy language of the Administration. “Nor am I interested in cooperating with disclosing those whereabouts should I come into such knowledge.”

Nya was kind of proud of herself for the pedantry.

Jay shrugged. “Figures. No problem.” Nya blinked, taken aback. “No— No problem? But you made such a big fuss—“ “The requests for your cooperation are a courtesy. The Administration doesn’t require it for the information they need.”

He sounded so measured, but Nya knew what the threat really was. She had zero clue where she’d been taken, nor what the Administration did, but it was all starting to sink in that whatever the Administration was doing should have been on her radar much, much earlier than a few hours ago. If they had someone as strong as Jay in their ranks, and someone as strategic as Jordana on the ground, then whatever they were had incredible power. But maybe they didn’t realize how powerful they were, if Jay was hiding his control of lightning from them. Some semblance of hope.

“Then why ask me in the first place?” She asked. It unsettled her deeply to see Jay smirk. “You might like working here.”

Nya scoffed, pushing away from the table. “No thanks. I already have a job, which you know.”

“Everyone has a job. But not everyone’s in their place.”

What?

“All we do is bring people home,” he said, twisting concepts in a way that made Nya a little sick given who was delivering the message. “Doesn’t everyone want to belong?”

He had to have been brainwashed, Nya decided. There was no way the real Jay would say things like this so easily. His words echoed villainous monologues, deciding people’s fates for them all for a more selfish aim of control. He might just be a worker bee, but he was high enough in the organization nonetheless.

Nya’s eyes were wide. “You’re the one who’s not home, Jay,” she pleaded. “That’s why I asked you to come—“

Jay flicked his wrist, lightning darting out and striking the outer edge of the camera. It didn’t seem to break, but the red rim around the lens faded.

“You’re moving into unofficial business, lady.” “Is there a threat behind that too, or are you going to keep delivering the same lines from the Administration handbook that I’m sure every other agent has memorized?”

So he was intimidated. He had something to hide. And Nya was going to push him onto thinner and thinner ice until he broke. She’d already gotten him to blast a second camera within three hours, anyways.

“Fine,” she declared, newfound confidence in the turning dynamics. “I’ll play your game if you play mine.” Moments like this reminded her that she really was Kai’s sister, despite her own elemental mastery. “Why come visit me anonymously if you were just gonna ask the same questions as Benthomaar?” She started to grill him. “Why not shoot me earlier when you had a clear shot? I thought I was a ‘high-risk security threat.’”

Jay’s eyes narrowed, his frown deepening. He shifted in his seat.

“What do you really want to know, Jay?” Nya asked. “About being a ninja? About your friends? Who your parents are? I don’t know if you can handle learning about that again.”

She cringed at the dig—it was uncalled for. But this Jay, the more she rambled, didn’t know anything. So maybe it didn’t matter. Whatever would shake him back into the Jay she knew, she’d take that chance.

But his eyes softened, and he looked less rankled and more uneasy. His eyes seemed to brighten, but something held him back. Nya watched him reach into his pocket.

A medallion, or half of it, inverted in its gold and black coloring from her own. He dropped it onto the table. It clattered and echoed, the sound tinny against the walls, making the small room even smaller.

“You—“

Nya was interrupted by a buzz, jolting her back. Jay scrambled back for his half, shoving it back where it came from with little care. Nya’s hung heavy against her chest, held around her neck by a thin cord she’d woven together after it had fallen off her gi years ago. Jay had already been gone by then.

The door swung open, and another suited figure stood in its wake. “Agent Walker? It’s 1400. Agent Jordana is waiting for your debrief.”

Jay nodded, stern again. “I’ll meet her shortly. Thanks, Agent Lak.”

He stood, walked to the camera, and slipped a memory card out from its bottom. Jay turned back to Nya, blinking slowly. “So it’s true,” he murmured. “You’re my Yang.”

Nya couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. At some point, another agent came and took her back to her cell, but she couldn’t remember when or who moved her. Shortly after she returned, the food hatch opened, ushering in the same meals she’d been getting, along with a small plastic cylinder. Nya grabbed the unlabeled container and unscrewed the top to reveal a light blue gel with a potent, sharp smell. She cocked her head, then noticed a few words etched into the inside of the container’s lid.

Salve for electric burns.

Jay had changed so much, but his handwriting? Nya would recognize that messy scrawl anywhere.

--

“You look sick,” Jordana commented, eyeing Agent Walker up and down. “Like a pot of spoiled and boiled moss-milk!” She’d been waiting in his office, messing around in the office chair he never used until he came back from whatever meeting he told her he’d be in.

“Gee, thanks,” he replied, groaning and falling face-first into his office beanbag.

He really did look sick, in all honesty. Agent Walker already looked older than his age—Jordana thought that he was 31 at first, but he got really offended when she said that—but right now? He was a little green in the face and dejected in the eyes.

“Uh oh.” “Sorry, Jordana,” Agent Walker apologized, rolling over onto his back. “Bad timing.”

She wasn’t afraid to ask, per se, but she didn’t want to make a bad situation worse.

“Did you see her?”

Agent Walker nodded, slow and pensive. “I didn’t thank you for bringing her in, by the way,” he said. “You’ve probably guessed by now, but this was kind of an extracurricular activity.”

Jordana’s lips pressed into a thin line. The operation did have that sort of vibe to it, but after all Agent Walker had done for her, she didn’t really care. She’d do it as a kind of fulfillment of a debt owed.

“Do I get to know anything else about it?” she asked. “Not right now,” he responded. “But… I think it’s true. I think whatever she has to say to me about me is true.”

“So what?” If anything, this was good news. Might make him feel better figuring out who he was.

Jordana didn’t know how to describe it other than it felt like he was stepping back from her, deep in thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know how this would change things.”

It was like a trigger word. Jordana had just gotten comfortable with her arrangement with the Administration. She was playing Lord Ras like a fiddle, acting like the sweet servant when she was quickly becoming puppeteer. Change? No. She couldn’t let it. She wouldn’t let it. But she had to be careful with how she proceeded.

Jordana was the first person in her kindergarten class to pick up chess, then go. She was brilliant at them (for her age, her teachers would always add), and she loved the idea of a long game of strategy and smarts. You needed to see a clear future where you came out on top, and plot every potential way to make it happen. You needed to understand your opponent until you knew them better than they knew themselves, and give and take battles until you won the war.

Nya presented a new battle for Jordana, in her quest for stability and glory. A couple of weeks ago, Nya had pierced Jordana’s comfort, nearly overhauling her psyche. But Agent Walker had come just in time, reminding Jordana of her accomplishments and extensive efforts. Nya just didn’t understand—she was a stranger, after all, trying to reason with Jordana as if she knew her. Jordana practically admired that quality; Nya seemed to have a talent for unsettling those she talked to. But Jordana refused to let Agent Walker become Nya’s next victim.

There was no more Sora for Jordana to compete with. She would pave her own way in the Administration, her own name. But she knew she needed help in the form of Agent Walker, and Nya would not take him away from her.

“It doesn’t have to change things,” Jordana offered, trying to ease herself in to help Agent Walker consider his options. “She’s just a person.”

Agent Walker fiddled with the medallion, flipping it back and forth in his palms. He was stepping back further, mentally, emotionally. Jordana took it as her cue to leave. She barely heard him as the door swung closed behind her: “But she might be my person,” Agent Walker mumbled.

Jordana’s stomach clenched. She didn’t quite understand the Yin/Yang promise—Ninjago was something of a world on its own—but a dusty old relic had nothing on the promises of innovation for tomorrow.

These past few months working with Agent Walker had taught her a lot in general, but Jordana kept especially detailed notes on the technical skills she was learning. She had a few independent projects in development, but only one was ready for testing: A portable version of the vacation simulator. Except she’d figured out how to buff it.

The stationary vacation simulator targeted the connections between neurons. It changed what neurons connected, destroying old memories and creating new ones. But the stationary vacation simulator had a fatal flaw. It could easily be reversed; all you had to do was change the connections again. The portable vacation simulator targeted the neurons themselves. It severed neurons altogether, and if you were strategic with which neurons you targeted, you could permanently alter someone to the shape you wanted them to take.

Jordana hadn’t shown it to Agent Walker yet, but she was sure, with proof of concept, he would commend her yet again for her brilliance, and the Administration would promote her to their Department of Innovation. She could change the world, and have it entirely be in the palm of her hand.

Nya lay on the floor of her room, letting her back rest against the hardwood after the long day. Her eyes tracked the flecks of dust blinking by, intermittently caught in the losing glow of sunset from her window, but ever proof of how infrequently she was really here. The room was tidy, but it wasn’t clean; it was musty when she got home, so she pulled the windows open before lying down. Nya tried catching her breath, somehow still breathless even though it had been hours since dinner and things had certainly settled since then. But Nya felt like she was buzzing, adrenaline and experience making her ever too skeptical of the circumstances to settle. Things were good, then they were bad. A constant, binary ricochet that she hated being thrust between, even if this time was technically—gladly, to be clear—going up. It was what would come right after that terrified her.

He was really back, she could finally tell herself. Might still be a little slow coming to himself, but it’s really him.

Spirits, was she glad that Jay was so adamant about trying the simulation machine. Not that he needed to, because he finally trusted them all enough to weather relearning himself without those memories. But Nya felt a little selfish admitting that if the machine hadn’t worked and his memories didn’t come back, things would probably never be the same between them. They’d still be in love, sure, eventually, but the weight of Nadakhan would suddenly be hers alone, as would her recovery with and because of Jay after she merged with the sea. It would be unnerving and isolating in a way she would never really be able to explain, and they would just have to be okay with that. Should it have come to that. Thank goodness it didn't.

So there was a strange kind of anticipation prickling her skin, for things never got so good that she could just let go. It felt like she was running without putting her full body weight on her feet, afraid the earth would swallow her up if she did.

A gentle knock broke her thought train. “Nya? It’s me,” Jay mumbled through the wooden door. She sat herself up as Jay pushed the door open, messy hair short and free from the sweatband he’d worn all day. Nya’s heart skipped a little at his easy grin, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them.

He raised an eyebrow, gaze lingering on where her hair stood up flat at the back of her head. “Comfy?” He asked.

Nya shrugged. “Better than the bed, sometimes.” She pushed herself back to lean against her bed frame, making more space for him. “Sit with me?”

Jay stepped into the room and eased himself down next to her with a light grunt, before slumping all the way down. “Sheesh, I needed this.” He exhaled, and Nya watched him sink his spine into the floor. “I’m not exactly out of shape, but I’m definitely not in ninja-shape anymore.” He paused for a moment. “Not like Kai, though. He’s really slowed down.”

Nya chuckled, lightly nudging his head with her foot as soft reprimand. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not! It’s true!” “Sure, sparky.”

She rolled her eyes, but truthfully, having Kai and Jay’s banter back—as annoying as it could be—was one of the best things to have happened since Jay got his memories back. Jay babbled on about Kai’s recent lapses on the battlefield, coalescing selective evidence like a seasoned pro (which he was, especially as of recent, with how he was “choosing to remember” things). Whatever he was rambling on about, though, Nya had stopped listening to, still stuck in the mental tunnel she’d been digging just before.

Nya hadn’t realized all that could fit inside a human brain until she lost her own memories. It was like she was still a real person—as real as one could be merged with the sea—but was less of a self for no reason she could pinpoint. Then, when her memories came back, she felt actualized and whole. Yet, even that wasn’t as much of a revelation to her re: the depths of the mind as when Jay had his memories taken. With the former, she didn’t quite know what she had to grieve at first, amnesia giving her some strange reprieve. But to have Jay stare her down with that utter vacancy… It still gave her chills. It shook her confidence in them to the bone, even though she knew it wasn’t him. The stuff of nightmares. There was a real version of Jay that forgot her, that hated her, that hated the world enough to shatter his core desire to change it.

She hoped to never see that Jay again, the one entrenched in a crueler culture.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jay asked, scrambling back up into a seat. His hands reached up to cup her cheeks, and his thumbs carefully prodded just under her eyes, searching for the threat of tears. Nya wasn’t crying, but she didn’t think her thoughts were so visible on her face for it to be noticeable.

“I’m fine,” she started, exhaling and reaching for his wrists. She pulled his hands down and held them in her own, seated in her lap as she shifted to match his posture. “It’s just all so… good.”

The thought came to her briefly: A decade ago, when they were much younger and much less experienced in both matters of saving the world and of the heart, Jay would’ve taken a sentence like that and steamrolled forward. He would’ve agreed and babbled on, naive in a way he didn’t mean. Nya would’ve gotten annoyed and left, frustrated that he would listen but wouldn’t hear her. They would’ve fought, and it would take weeks before Jay understood what bothered her. But now, Jay squeezed her hands tighter, scooching closer.

“Too good,” he murmured. No question, just quiet understanding as he tilted his chin down to catch her drifting gaze. Nya nodded slowly.

Jay was always bringing her back. These past few years, it was her turn to return the favor, even if it took far longer than she would’ve liked. The sea and storm lines were corny more often than not, but they were poetic nonetheless and she let them slide because they were true: Call him an anchor, a lighthouse, a harbor—whatever, it didn’t matter. He’d always be home, not because she needed one but because she wanted it and his arms were always open.

“I’m not leaving, Nya,” he said, blue eyes holding her in place. She was still resistant.

“None of us ever think we will,” she replied. Nya averted his efforts to stare at the floor. “But then something happens and we give everything up because that’s what we do. We have to. It’s worth it.” She trailed off, voice growing quiet.

She meant what she said. It was always worth it, every single time. They’d all done it. Who else could? They were ninja. They never quit. They didn’t know how.

When Nya was 16, she felt much more empowered by this thought. Of course she was willing to fight or die trying if it meant keeping the whole world safe. It was an easy decision. But taking Arin, Sora, Wyldfyre, Frak, Euphrasia, and Riyu under her wing (in different capacities, of course) jolted her to the realities and burdens of their work. They were children, flippantly putting their lives on the line with little to no regard for what dying actually meant. Back then, she was a child doing the same thing, but this, now, felt so different. Theirs were lives she really would be held responsible for. She could justify her own death wish. Not theirs.

Nya and the other older ninja were easily more in their prime now than they were as teenagers. But ever since the merge, and especially since Jay came back, she felt herself more frequently imagining what a more normal life would be like. Just for fun. They’d all hang out at the karaoke bar every Friday night, casually, instead of as a freak exception after some crazy, barely-diverted world-ending fight. They’d have homes and apartments walking distance from each other. They’d have kids that didn’t go out every night searching the streets for problems to solve, kids who didn’t stumble upon mass corruption scandals and exploitation.

But Nya also got a little bored with that imaginary. She loved feeling like this duty she fulfilled was her accomplishment alone, an utter testament to her ability and dedication to the cause. The team needed her. They all needed each other, and in turn, the world needed them. It absolutely thrilledher. But as much as she loved it, every time she watched one of them die in one way or another—Zane, Cole, Lloyd, P.I.X.A.L., Kai, Jay—she was driven a little closer to the edge. She could only take so much grief. Even when they came back, it was a kind of insane surge of feelings. Unfathomable grief and joy, propelling them all through life. How many heartbreaks could a person take in a lifetime? How many heartbreaks was she willing to go through?

Jay was rubbing small circles into her palms with his thumbs, sitting in the silence with her, mulling over their fears and wants together. “Let me correct myself, then.” His breath fanned the stray hairs hanging in front of her face. “I will never, ever choose to leave you. As long as I’m me,” he added.

“I know,” Nya said, exasperated with herself. “It’s just that—something always happens to us.” She smiled, a little somber, finally looking back to him. “We never seem to get a break.”

A flash of recognition darted across Jay’s face, only seeming to startle him briefly. He paused.

“You know, I heard you say that.” His voice was soft. “Even though I was drowning.” Jay shook his head, as if he were trying to flick out water from his hair. “I was dying, and you gave up everything you knew to save me.” His brow creased, and his fingers flexed around hers.

“Sorry,” Nya sputtered. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s okay, Nya. They’re not all bad.” He squeezed her hands again. “Still brought me back to you. Eventually.”

They were like the fluid versions of glass-half-full vs. glass-half-empty. The ricochets Nya felt assaulted by were always anticipating the downfall, and Jay’s were always looking toward the rise. It tempered her now, here. Not a careless optimism, but a faithful one. Reverent, even, of the process of balance and life.

Nya sighed, her head feeling heavy and finding its place on Jay’s shoulder. He shifted and maneuvered an arm behind her to wrap securely around her waist, and she felt his cheek rest atop her head just after he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“We will handle whatever it is when it happens,” Jay said. “Trust me.” The gentle vibrations of his chest, the reassurance, went straight to Nya’s ears, pressed flush against him. It made her sleepy, feeling cozy and safe even if they were planted on the floor. Dusk was long gone, and the only light left came from the hallway through the inches around her cracked door, and the moonlight at their backs. Frogs croaked outside, and she could just barely hear Kai’s snores down the hall.

“What if,” Nya mumbled halfheartedly, eyelids drooping, “I don’t want to handle it anymore?”

Jay’s hand had been running up and down her side, soothing her ever further. He stilled, and though Jay could hear she’d already drifted off, he couldn’t leave something so delicate hanging. “Then you can give it to me,” he answered, resolute.

But Jay was tired, too. So he begged whoever would listen—the Source Dragons, the First Spinjitzu Master, the elements themselves—that there would be nothing for Nya to give. No more grief, for as long as they could help it. For the duration of their lifetimes, at least. A foolish wish, maybe, but Jay wasn’t afraid of wishing anymore. Risky business nonetheless.

xx

Nya woke up the next morning with a crick in her neck and her underside numb from sitting all night. She was still tucked under Jay, but he’d curled her deeper into him while they slept, cocooning her against the bed. The smell of rice and eggs wafted into her room, and she nudged Jay awake with her knuckles.

“C’mon, Jay,” Nya said. Jay yawned and rolled his shoulders back, stretching them out.

“Not our brightest idea to sleep like this,” he complained.

“Definitely not.” “Do it again tomorrow?” “Absolutely not!” Nya shoved his shoulder, laughing.