straighten up, soldier.

It happened, not working alongside Raven in the medical wing. Theon hated it with a passion, feeling the anxiety creep out in his veins each time she sent a look at him before going out. He never knew really if she was silently asking him to take care or wishing that he did not touch anything. He was not a doctor, nor a real medical assistant. It was all just a lie, so that they could stay together. Not much after their meeting, he had been pushed into this very room, Raven waiting for him and urging him to wear that white lab coat and to be prepared for their next surgery.

Surgery was all right, he guessed. Theon had some experience slicing up some skin, android skin, but Raven had a real talent for it. With sharp eyes he observed her, mimicking her movements when she passed him the scalpel. Raven did not speak often while working with him, too focused, but when she did, it was mostly educational. The thing was, there were others doctors, and assistants, though not much. It felt like a punishment when they kept sending the same woman in to assist Raven that week. Theon assumed they were trying to play games. Test them, or something. The only thing he could do then was work, and so he did, updating for of Raven’s cases.

Theon definitely did not think he’d get patients while the doctors were away. But then again, the prison seemed to like messing with him. Not even lifting his sandy head when he heard the door open, he only let out an exasperated sigh. The door slammed and to that, Theon jumped. Turning on his chair, frowning, his eyes automatically went to the wounded man standing in the middle of the place. A dry ‘well don’t just stand here’ died on his tongue as he recognized the bloodied face. Pyre.

“Oh.” Of course, he knew Pyre was alive. Though, the engineer did not think he’d see him. Thought they reserved him for Raven, usually. The last time he had seen him was at the ball, and he cringed internally as he remembered the awkward conversation that had taken place. He made his way to the taller man and softly placed a hand on his arm, directing Pyre to a near bed, urging him to sit. He was in a bad state. Why was he always in a bad state? “Wait here.” Theon whispered before quickly gathering medical supplies and dumping gently on the table next to Pyre.

A memory came flashing in the forefront of his mind; Eretreia sleeping next to a once again hurt Pyre, exhaustion and worry colouring her features. She had been holding his hand then, and Theon’s heart clenched at the thought of her. “Pyre.” He took a moment to examine the other man and before he knew it, he was encircling Pyre in a desperate hug. Perhaps a little bit too emotional for Theon, but he did not care much as of now. Hope that others survived flared once again in his tired heart.

In their occasional meetings, Raven had told Pyre all the details he asked for on living crew members she’d seen, and Theon was usually the main one she spoke of. It was nice to know he was alive, to hear about how he was doing, even if the news was usually less than great. But, to hear about a survivor and to see them in person were two very different things. Although the emotions Pyre was feeling was not nearly the same as the first time he saw Raven after arriving in Purgatory, it still was nearly overwhelming. 

Pyre let Theon lead him to the cot, and he took a seat. There was so much that he wanted to say to Theon, and it wasn’t the tight pain in his jaw, becoming more apparent the longer he sat, stopping him. It was that he wasn’t sure where to start. So much had happened in the month since he’d last seen Theon, and he had no idea what he knew and didn’t, from speaking to others. 

It was strange, to say the least. Pyre couldn’t remember the last time--if there were any--he was excited to talk to Theon. Most of their conversations started just as they ended: awkwardly and without meaning. But, now, this was different. Everything had changed. If anything good could come out of what had happened, maybe this was it. 

When Theon came back to the bed, dropping the tools beside him, Pyre looked up at him, opening his mouth to begin forming any words. But, before he could, Theon had stopped the examination he had just begun and was wrapping his arms around Pyre. It was a move he wasn’t expectin, but Pyre recovered quickly and enclosed Theon in a hug. Like the many words he wanted to say, it was odd, yet familiar. Good. 

“Hey, man,” Pyre smiled. His words were strong. A great first choice. “It’s good to see you. Finally. I wasn’t sure I ever would.” 

He pulled back from the hug, dropping his arms down to his side. Pyre glanced over at the tools Theon had dropped on the table. Raven had talked about Theon working beside her, but Pyre hadn’t been sure if that was valid or just to protect him. Obviously, there had been some truth to it. If anyone on the crew was smart enough to learn how to be a doctor, it was Theon. 

As he waited patiently for Theon to begin his work, the pain in his jaw and ribs returning, the words that had faded before came back to front. There was plenty he wanted to say. There was even more he wanted to ask. But, none of it really seemed right. Not after what he’d heard. 

“How are you doing?” he started, looking up at Theon from where he sat. They could discuss details of prison life later, if there was time. Pyre didn’t know how much time they would have. “Really. How are you?” 

The only thing that Gideon hoped at this point was that the man wasn’t a crier. He had plenty of cellmates who cried themselves to sleep their first night, sometimes even their first week. Exhausting as it was, Gideon usually felt obliged to help in some way. Just as Ludo had in his first few weeks in Purgatory. The arrival into prison was, most of the time, a shock to the system. And the man sitting in front of him seemed to have gone through a great deal before arriving in their cell.

“Yeah, I can tell. You look like shit,” Gideon said, shifting on his feet. He didn’t know what the man needed from him. Would it help if he was left alone, the cell to himself for a few hours? Or did he need someone to sit with him, to listen to whatever sob story would fall from his lips? He had heard plenty of tales, not all true. But they often were a great deal of entertainment, some of the only things he could find to enjoy in the hellhole they called home for now.

“Your crew? You a pirate or something?” he asked, giving the man a once over. Though he seemed shorter than Gideon himself, the man could tell the new arrival would probably pack a punch. “Shit. I’m sorry. You sure they’re not in a different cell or something?” he asked, a glance out the cell door the only thing he could offer. “They usually split people up, so they might be…somewhere else. Different wing, maybe. Hell, they might even be in Alpha.”

“Great. Thanks,” Pyre nearly rolled his eyes. For a moment, he almost forgot about the crew. He almost forgot where he was. The part of him on the edge of tears, ready to either spill all his feelings to the man in front of him or turn and face the walls, almost shrunk to nothing. Almost. “I feel like it too,” though his body seemed to be mostly fine--surprising, considering the events at the gala--nothing about him was okay. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. Parts of his body felt heavy and numb; he felt as though his heart had been both frozen and set on fire. 

“Pirate?” Pyre couldn’t help the way the word came out, and he looked up at the man across from him, a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. For the first time, he got a good look at his companion--Gideon. “No, just...” he trailed off. In what way could he explain the crew, their mission, their Benefactor, without sounding insane? “We were hired to... do all kinds of things. Go wherever we were told. Do what to we had to. We...” he scrunched his face, shaking his head. “I’m not supposed to be here.” 

The thought had come to him earlier in the interrogation room as he pled his innocence to those who didn’t listen. Pyre didn’t do what they were saying he did. He wasn’t supposed to be here. None of them were, if any were alive. 

“Alpha. Right. That’s where I was before. They told me this, I’m just...” he trailed off, not thinking he had to explain. It had been a long day. “They could be. I just don’t know. I haven’t seen any of them.” 

Of course, it wasn’t him. All it took was for the boy to move slightly, and the magic was lost – he couldn’t be Pyre, didn’t have the same kindness in brown eyes or the usually messy, in a very calculated way, kind of hair. Eretreia swallowed and closed her eyes, her heart still beating and her legs suddenly feeling heavier, threatening to make her collapse to the floor and never get back again. The bad thing about hope is, you never really lose it, not when you love someone so much imagining them isn’t enough, and realising they are gone forever more painful than entertaining the fantasy that perhaps they aren’t close at all. Perhaps Pyre survived, somehow, away from the prison, in some other planet: that would be her new fantasy, because any other reality was too painful to fathom.

In the middle of the room, it was like everything else was slowing down, like how the air looks when a storm is coming, how it appears time is trapped only to be surrendered with the sound of thunder and rain pouring down; instead, there were drones flying overhead and a guard walking her way, heads turning for every second she stood still, eyes hollow, looking inwards instead of whatever was truly happening around her. For a second, she wasn’t in prison, and she wasn’t twenty-seven (or was it twenty-eight? she didn’t know anymore, couldn’t even guess if her birthday had already gone-by in the confusion of the aftermath); she was a little girl again, sunburned and exhausted, holding her mother’s corpses in her arms and screaming without making a sound.

Everything was silent. And then, her name.

Foreign, so far away, like she was under water and someone was trying to pull her back to shore; Eretreia, first a whisper, and then… She turned, the sounds of the prison hitting her all at once, the brightness of the lights and the angry eyes of the guards, the inmates gathering for a fight. Any other day, she would give them the show, perform like a well-trained cat on a circus, but not today, and especially not when she turned and saw him. Again. She couldn’t believe it, closing her eyes and blinking as fast as she could, but the image didn’t fade nor change, the figure running towards her had his eyes, the kindness she was searching, and his skin was the same shade, if a little bit darker from the dirt and dust. “Pyre?” his name was all that filled her mouth, her mind, her senses. She pinched herself one last time before she started running again, on the opposite direction, towards him.

When they met, it was like waves washing on the shore, her body a shipwreck and his body the ocean, embracing her with the same longing. Her two hands weren’t enough, like her brain couldn’t tell them what to do and they just travelled everywhere, searching for every familiar corner of his body, for bare skin she could touch, for the curls in his head and the line of his jaw: it still felt like a dream, like this would all end soon and he would disappear, so she ravaged, hands eagerly exploring before time would slip away. But he wasn’t gone, not yet, so Eretreia held him closer, pushing her body against his, trying to fill every inch of space between them until there was nothing left and hide her faces on the curve of his neck, heart beating so fast she could barely breath. It was then that she knew he was real: the smell on his neck could never be fabricated, not even by her own imagination.

With her eyes closed, she finally let go, laughter pouring out of her lips as breath entered her lungs, vision turning foggy from the tears that gathered and threatened to fall. She was about to say something when his lips met hers, no longer shy nor meek, instead there was only hunger and sadness and melancholy, tears falling with each motion of their lips. She kissed him until her lungs hurt and called for air, pushed against it for just another second before finally letting go, just enough to breath, holding on as close as she could for as long as they could. All this time, her eyes remained closed. “I’m afraid if I open my eyes, you won’t be you…” her voice was a whisper, words destined for him alone “… and I’ll just be a crazy girl holding on to air in the middle of a prison,” followed by laughter. “I don’t-” but the words died. Whatever she could say, wasn’t enough. Every word was futile and inadequate. There wasn’t a single word in all of the galaxy’s tongues to amount to what she was feeling right now.

Every bit of her, from the way she molded into her arms to the fire of her touch, spreading across his skin as her hands floated over his neck and shoulders, was so familiar his heart ached. Suddenly, he was nostalgic for something he hadn’t even known he was missing. For, she nearly lived in his dreams, in which sometimes they were happy and sometimes she was tearing his heart out. They all had one thing in common: Pyre always woke up alone, the ghost of her touch and her laugh haunting him as he lived. At least, he had thought then, he had the memories, locked in his brain, reappearing in his dreams. But, he knew now, with her there, living and breathing, it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t compare. 

And that was just her touch; nothing could have prepared him for their kiss. In that moment, nothing else mattered, not the guards eyeing them or the prisoners surrounding them. Everything else seemed to fade away, almost as if it was all making room for the feelings that came flooding all at once. It was like he was on fire, but getting burned didn’t matter. It was like he was drowning, but never needed to come up for air. Before they parted, his lungs begging for air, Pyre could help the smile that erupted against her lips. Even as they stood there, tears wet on his cheek, foreheads pressed together, his arms wrapped around her, there it stayed. 

“I’m right here,” Pyre mumbled. Her eyes were closed, but his were wide open, staring at her, tracing the features of her face. He too was afraid that she was just a cruel trick on his mind, but he’d never admit, not to her, not when it still seemed so possible. 

So instead, he leaned in again, pressing their lips together once more, much more gentle than before. This kiss was more reminiscent of their first, soft and meek, searching for feeling rather pushing it. Their situation then, pain mixed with happiness, wasn’t too far from the world now. It was what he wanted to tell her in the kiss; how much he cared, how much he--

A loud bang to their left made Pyre pull away quickly, his body and mind craving more, it all wanting nothing more to steal Eretreia and run that they could be alone. But, that dream could not exist in this world. He turned, and sure enough, it was the guards having noticed them, walking towards them with anger painted on their faces. This kind of behavior was not allowed, and surely they would beat it into him this later. 

Pyre turned back to Eretreia, his hand moving to cup her jaw. He searched her eyes, her face, the details, new and old, apparent and beautiful. He opened his mouth and closed it, words dying on his tongue. Was there anything right to say? Every sentences he thought of seemed wrong. 

“I...” I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead. A quick glance to the left again showed that the guards were closing in, ready with clubs to tear them apart. If he could help it, he didn’t want them to touch her. It was clear from the new marks that littered her skin, the sight of which made his skin crawl, that she had already been through plenty. It would be more to talk about later, once they were alone. If they ever got that. His thumbs brushed against her cheekbone and suddenly the other thing that mattered to say became clear. 

“I love you,” he said so quiet he was sure she was the only one who could hear him. He pressed his lips to her forehead, letting her be the only thought in his mind, if only for a second. “I need you to know that.” 

With that, not acknowledging the weight of his words or her response, Pyre stepped away, just as the guards became close. His eyes didn’t leave her--if she disappeared, he wanted it to be before him. He only tore his hand away from her skin to put his hands above him head. If there was a blow coming from one of the guards, of which he was sure, there’s no way he would have seen it coming. And so he waited, for the yelling or the fight or to be taken away. 

Gideon had cycled through plenty of cell mates in his few years in Purgatory. Whether it was fights with his fellow bunk mates or wasted skills, he had become used to being moved around every two weeks during his first year. The guards tried to figure out exactly what he was good at, with no cooperation from Gideon himself. With the realization that he had technical skills, he had been in this cell for what seemed like a permanent stay. The cells in Level Beta seemed to look mostly the same, and his few possessions were dragged to each new cot as if they could make the place feel more like home. It was unlikely, however, that he could ever find home in a place where his sister was absent. So, he settled into each cot as if it could give him a sliver of comfort, trying his best to get along with each new bunk mate thrown into his cell.

On that particular day, Gideon was relaxing in his cot when he heard his cell door clang open. He wasn’t normally disturbed during his free period, or what could pass for that in prison, so he peeked his head out of the bunk as a new prisoner was shoved into the room. The other bed had only been empty for two nights, but that was far longer than he usually got to prepare for a new cell mate. Often, prisoners were shuffled around enough that he had a new bunk mate within hours. 

Once the guards left the pair alone, Gideon pushed himself out of the cot. The other man had barely noticed that he was here, which was somewhat of a surprise. Though, once Gideon got closer, he could see why. The other man looked, for lack of a better word, broken. There were tears threatening to spill from his eyes, which brought a chuckle to Gideon’s lips. He had seen plenty of prisoners, but none looked as scared as this man did. “Gideon,” he said in response, not moving from his spot in front of the other’s bunk. “What the hell happened to you?” He didn’t have time to take care of a new cell mate, and desperately hoped that the man could pull himself together.

One look at the man in front of him--Gideon, as he replied--and Pyre’s instincts returned to survival. He attempted to push the crew out of his mind, at least for the conversation and night ahead of him. Tomorrow, he could reflect when he was alone, if he ever got to be. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to sit up straight and look up at Gideon without more tears appearing in his vision, not when the crew was still the only thing on his mind, no matter what he did. 

“It’s been a long week,” Pyre muttered, running his hand over his face and leaning back. There, he paused slightly. Had it been a week? How long had he been in Purgatory? How long ago had they all been at the Benefactor’s mansion? These were questions he should’ve asked. More questions he probably wouldn’t have received answers to me. 

“My crew,” he answered as loud as his voice could carry, mostly succeeding to keep his voice steady. “I think they’re all...gone.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that word that was his greatest fear; something the pessimistic side of him couldn’t help but believe given the situation. Dead. 

location: purgatory medical bay date: november 11 status: closed to @pyrecoren

Raven Ayres was tired. She was tired and her joints ached, and as she looked at herself in the reflection of a first aid kit, she couldn’t help but wince. It looked as though her face was covered in one big bruise, and it nearly was. There was a faded yellowed bruise on her jaw, dark purple circles under her eyes from a broken nose, and a deep thick scab from a split lip. Lucky, she thought, that none of it had required stitches. That none of it would scar. At least, not as far as she could tell.

But the hardest part of her reflection wasn’t the violence marked on her face, but the uncertainty in her expression. In her posture, in her bones. She looked like a stranger, and it made her wonder: how did I get here? How did Raven Ayres go from nearly dead to rotting on Earth I? How did she get wrapped up in this mess? How had she let herself be vulnerable again — after all, she had always known how this would end. Before, she had nothing to lose, and now, she had everything.

The crew of the Concord had dug their way under her skin. In running from her home, she had found a new one and for a moment, just a moment, she had almost felt alive again. Like a person. Whole. But now, there was no knowing what had happened to them. No way of finding easy answers. The last thing she could remember was the sound of an explosion, and then nothing. And then Purgatory. Fitting, it seemed, for a woman who had joined the mission just to die. God, but for a woman who had ached for death, she had fought so hard against it time and time again. She could only hope that the rest of them had the same instincts. The same gut punch instinct to survive.

Slowly but surely, Raven was starting to form a list in her head of who was alive and who was dead. As the list of dead or supposed dead shrunk, she felt a weight lifted off of her chest. But the heaviest possibilities still weighed her down on her lungs. She had found Theon first, and she was nearly certain she had seen a glimpse of Alyx, but what did that mean for the others? What did that mean for Thane, for Kallia, for Gus, and Pyre, and Fox? She had picked at her cuticles until her fingers were bloodied and covered in band-aids.

It had been a lifetime since Raven had felt like this — alone, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It reminded her of waiting for Lena to die, and her father’s lingering death soon after. She wondered if it would feel any different this time if an unexpected death would hurt her more or less. But that kind of thinking did ease any anxiety, it didn’t make her any less on edge or any less jumpy. All it did was make her feel tired and exposed, and it made her hate the Benefactor even more.

Despite — or in spite of — the possibility that most of them had died in the explosion or the capture or after, Raven found herself pouring over the medical records of the prisoners that they would provide her. But the list of patients always had redacted named, and the resources she had beyond the single examination room they allowed her were few. Still, despite the missing bits of information, Raven had been able to piece together a man who might have been Thane and a woman who might have been Cairo. Still, there was room for error and she wasn’t one to get her hopes up for nothing.

Raven jumped when the door opened suddenly. Without thinking, she covered the worst of her face with her hand and jolted up to her feet. The guards that waited outside her door almost never entered without reason, and she wasn’t typically the go-to doctor they went to when there was a choice. It was slowly becoming clear that she was only the top choice when there was a secret to hide or a prisoner with a habit of biting back. She was, after all, expendable.

She steeled herself for whatever was about to come when suddenly — her heart nearly stopped, she felt herself take a sharp inhale of breath and then stand back. As if to put herself at a distance from her own relief; her own emotion. Just behind the guard, but in plain sight, was Pyre Coren. Raven did her best to keep a stoic expression, but she had never been much good at lying.

He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and she wondered if this was why they had sent her to him. Almost certainly, the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked, but the blood was enough to take her breath away. She wanted to know who had done that to him, and she wanted to make them sorry.

Wordlessly, Raven Ayres crossed another name off the list of the dead.

“Do what you do, and keep quiet,” said the first guard harshly. Raven’s mouth opened but sealed shut the moment she thought better of it. The first guard left, and then, after what seemed like a lifetime, the second followed suit.

She waited for the loud thwack of the door locking from the outside before moving towards her cabinet of supplies. Her fingers felt numb as she fumbled for the disinfectant and the swabs, every piece of her struggled to keep from shaking — even her hands, her unshakable hands, seemed to fail her. The relief was palpable, but a new fear arose. The same fears she had for Theon. Now that she knew they were alive, how could she protect them?

She held a bottle of iodine in her hand for a heartbeat before letting it drop onto the counter and rushing towards him.

Thank god, she wanted to say.

So she did.

His entire body hurt, aching more and more by the second with every new punch that was thrown his way. There were two guards holding his arms and another throwing the hits, the jackets to their sleek uniforms, familiar in an unsettling way, thrown off to the side to not get tainted. It was obvious from the spit at his feet and the cheap, hate-laced insults that left their mouths why these guards had picked him out to beat on. According to record, Pyre must have been with a decade-long military man with overwatcher training on his record. He knew he must have also been a man who abandoned his post to travel the galaxy, only to show up months later and kill dozens at a gala. No, it wasn’t a question of why they were beating him--his only question was when it would be over. 

As his senses dulled and faded, the pain changing from unbearable to numbing, his thoughts floated elsewhere, to the only other thing--rather, people--on his mind. No matter where he was or what he was doing, Pyre’s thoughts always went to them. It had only been a few days since his arrival in Purgatory, but their separation felt like an eternity. Especially in moments like this. 

Pyre’s mind floated to Fox, to their fight in the desert, to the raged misunderstanding that had clawed from Pyre’s throat. The guilt ate at him, adding to the numbness he was feeling; Pyre had looked Fox in the eye and said that he wished he was the man with the pressed jacket tossed to the side to not get dirtied with blood. His mind floated then, strangely, to Thane, to their training sessions in the cargo bay of the Concord. Right now, Pyre was going against every basic instinct Thane had engrained in him fight back no matter the costs. He was sure a twisted hint of a smile must have appeared on his face. It seemed crazy, even now, the amount that he missed Thane. The man who had threatened him relentlessly for--Eretreia. 

And then, she was dancing and smiling in his thoughts and--no, he didn’t want to think. Not anymore. Not of them, not of her. Why couldn’t it all just stop? 

A strong next punch, one causing him to stumble back against the weight of the men holding him up, seemed to be an answer to his prayers. If his vision going dizzy and his skull stinging from the blow weren’t enough of a sign of the severity of the blow, Pyre could feel the blood seeping down his forehead in the next moment, mixing with the sweat that was already there. There were muttered curses from the guards holding him, and at a point they dropped him, clearly arguing with their companion, though their words were muddled to Pyre. 

But, before he could stumble back completely against the wall to rest or take a moment to register the aches of his body and mind, his arms were being grabbed again, only this time he was being dragged down the hall and in an unfamiliar direction. Soon enough, he was being shoved into a room, and through the brief glimpse of it he got through the curls and blood dripping in front of his eyes, it appears to be a doctor’s office. One of the pushed him in the direction of a cot, and Pyre didn’t hesitate to sit on it, his bones aching in protest to the shift. They were spitting instructions at someone Pyre assumed to be a doctor, and then spitting at him not to try anything, as if he was capable of it after what they’d done to him. 

In the next second, they were gone, and suddenly it was just Pyre, the mystery doctor, and the silence that spanned between them left in the room, in which he could hear said doctor rummaging through things across the space. With the silence, came the pain, and then the thoughts. Back to the crew, Always the crew. Eretreia, Thane, Fox, Orion, Raven--

“Thank god,” he heard, and his entire body was numbed to the core. It suddenly became impossible to breath. Pyre knew that voice, and his head snapped up as fast as it could manage to see the figure in front of him, swinging his hair out of his vision so that he could see and be sure. 

Raven. 

It was her, in the flesh, and despite the blurring of his vision that hadn’t completely subsided, Pyre had not a shadow of a doubt that yes, it was her. She looked different from the last time he had seen her at the ball, hair pinned up and a loose smile on her face teasing him, but it was Raven nonetheless. Alive. Here, in Purgatory. 

“Raven,” Pyre let out a breath, his voice shaky and uneven, not entirely a result of the beating. He could feel the tears alright pricking his eyes. His worst fear was that they were all gone and he was truly alone. Here was proof that it had not come true. “Raven, I--you--you’re alive.” It was the most intelligible thing he could manage in the moment. “I thought--oh god--you’re alive.” 

date/time: january 12, 2179. location: level beta, purgatory prison with: @pyrecoren

The last thing Eretreia remembers was a flash of light so bright, brighter than anything she’d ever witnessed, and a heat against her cheeks, like the sun was shining directly above her, if not for the time that it was, where the only thing in the sky were the stars and the darkness. It wasn’t the sun, she would then come to understand. An explosion, and then, this place. Another cage, but unlike the ones she was used to be put in and crawl out of, this one would test her resilience and her skills more than any other. She would like to believe she was up for the challenge, but her skin was now marked with freshly made scars, barely scabbing, threatening to open up and pour blood all over her shirt; however, she managed to get out. Not entirely, of course, but enough that she could walk freely and sit by a table without having the guards threaten her life (all hollow words, perhaps, as she cast upon them a look with bare teeth and they would look, if only for a second, scared).

Level Beta was bigger and brighter, the sounds too loud after almost a month confined to dark cells and even darker chambers of horror, Eretreia couldn’t help but flinch at the loud buzz of the door opening and the light that shone directly in her face: a drone, scanning her vitals, making sure she was in the right place. She bit the inside of her cheek for a second, commanded her heart to calm down. This is where you need to be, this is where you need to be… She repeated it so she would believe it – so they would, too. When it flew away to scan someone else, she let go of her breath, not even realising she was holding it all this time.

When she woke up in a cell without very little recollection of what was going on, there was an almost faded smile on her lips and a single word–a name–on her mind: Pyre. Pyre, dressed in green velvet and waltzing her around a garden, the warmth of his hands holding on to her, spinning her around as they danced. But as she looked around and took her surroundings, the memory turned into a scream. Are they alive? She had asked then, her only concern, unanswered.

Every time a new prisoner arrived, she would hold on to the bars of her cell harder than before, wide-eyed and waiting to see him standing there – alive, at least. After a month, hope faded into an angry abidance: he is gone. Being on Level Beta was not a reward, only another proof that she was beginning to falter.

Yet, Eretreia couldn’t help but scan the crowd for familiar faces, almost jumping whenever someone with curly hair appeared before her, gasping when someone looked just like him, before she blinked and the resemblance was gone. ‘He is gone’, she whispered under her breath, clenching her hands into fists, hiding them on her sides, eyes closed. When she opened them again, something extraordinary came into view.

On the other side of the room, through masses of people, was a boy, hunching over tangled wires and an open circuit, and she knew. She closed her eyes again, blinked once and twice, but the image didn’t fade. Her heart beat furiously on her ribcage, the blood on her veins rushing so quickly she could almost feel it move on her veins, vision blurring for a second – enough that she could swear she would fall and wake up again in her cell, having dreamed all of this. Another stupid dream, another trick her mind was playing on her.

Before she knew it, she felt her body move towards him, the slow walk turning into a run, before coming to a stop a few feet behind the figure. She thought about shouting his name but her throat closed in on her, barely allowing her to breath, let alone speak, so what came out was instead a whisper, so frail she herself couldn’t hear it. “Pyre?” but the boy didn’t move, and her hands couldn’t stop shaking.

They’d been in Purgatory for two months as of a few days ago. Pyre used to keep track religiously, counting in his sleep the time he’d spent locked up, tracking on the wall by his cot with a piece of chalk he’d managed to scrap up. Still, the more time that passed, the less it seemed to matter to keep track, almost as if he was getting comfortable in prison, as if this could be his new home. And sure, now it wasn’t as bad as in the beginning--there was some of the living crew, surrounding him in his every day life, and some others not too far away. In a way, he was almost starting to make a name for himself, getting beaten on less as the guards grew tired of their games, working constantly to fit into this new world. With every day that passed, the stinging loss of the Concord, of the people that went with it, seemed to hurt less. Still, there were moments when the pain would feel fresh, when the reminders would come and leave him crippled and broken. 

Moments like this, wandering back to the canteen with a couple guys in his usual work crew: a few he’d found that weren’t the worst of what Purgatory had to offer. A crude joke left the mouth of one, resulting in arguing from the other, and ultimately Pyre standing to the side of them, laughter on his lips. Without thinking, he turned, wanting to whisper in the ear of a companion to make fun of them. In his mind, it was always her standing there, a giggle on her lips and a hand slapping him in the shoulder. Instead, there was nothing. 

She was gone, and it had been over two months since he’d seen her. 

A pat on his back brought him out of his thoughts, and Pyre realized they had entered a main canteen. He reacted to the voice of his companion with a nod when he said they were going to turn their equipment in before lunch, and even began to move to join them. But, as he turned, he saw her. 

Pyre’s entire body froze when he saw her, the girl standing not ten feet away across the crowd, hovering in front of hunched over man. It felt like his muscles had been both iced and turned to mush, all other senses fading away from him, from voice in his throat to the sounds in the air. He blinked and blinked, tears already pricking his eyes, trying to decide if this was his mind toying with him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thought he’d seen her when she wasn’t really there; when he felt most vulnerable, his mind seemed to enjoy playing tricks on him. 

Then, he knew he saw her form the word and he thought he must have heard it, hardly a whisper, his name on her lips. Pyre. Just like the night they kissed after the polygraphs, molding their pain together for the first time. Just like in the room in Wrotham, the air around them on fire, her hands tracing every inch of his skin, their bodies close but never close enough. Just like the gardens at the mansion, her twirling in his arms, a smile on her face behind the mask. Pyre. 

Without even realizing, his fingers went slack and the equipment in his fingers dropped to the floor with a loud clang, sending silence to the room and all eyes to him for a brief moment before they turned away. All eyes but her’s. They turned to him and became all he saw, almost in slow motion. As soon as he saw her fully, Pyre knew. The woman in front of him, wild hair and new, littered scars, gaunt face and eyes--seeming to match him in shock and emotion, couldn’t be a dream. His mind wasn’t that cruel. 

Eretreia. His mind formed the word before his mouth could. She’s alive. She’s here. 

And then, his feet were moving as fast as they could carry him, pushing through the people who stood in his way, the equipment left on the ground, forgotten. Nothing mattered but getting to her--Eretreia. Nothing mattered but confirming the truth: she was here. She was alive. 

Her name on his tongue, their memories in his mind, his body on fire, Pyre crashed into her, just as he had a hundred times before. His arms had wrapped around her body, crushing her as close as he could, not thinking in the slightest about being careful. His face was buried in her shoulder, the tears in his eyes overflowing down to his cheeks. The reality of the situation hit him then--this was real, she was alive--and he couldn’t help the smile that took over his face or the laugh that escaped his throat. This was a moment he had dreamed about, consciously and not, one that seemed so far away with every day that passed. 

“Eretreia,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “Eretreia.” He pulled away to see her face, to see if it was littered with tears just like his, to see if the expression on her face mirrored his own. 

Even though the skin on his hand was throbbing and he could feel warm blood dripping down his chin, Pyre couldn’t help the smile that began to cross his face. He ducked his head down, trying to keep it hidden from the two guards leading him down the hallway; surely he didn’t need to give them a reason to throw another punch. But then again, getting hit meant getting taken to Raven. It meant getting to see a rare member of the crew that had been the closest thing to family he’d had in forever, and ever since that fact became clear, Pyre had found himself fighting back less and less when others picked him out as deserving a beating. 

When the guards stopped, Pyre halted immediately, still unable to look at them. His smile was growing wider, a laugh threatening to spill out, and when the guards glanced his way, Pyre clutched his side and feigned a pained sigh to get them to look back away. It wasn’t until they unlocked the door and shoved him inside, yelling rough instructions, did Pyre realize that this wasn’t the room he was usually taken to. In this room, there was no Raven--there was no one but a figure hunched over the desk in the corner, one that was clearly not a dark-haired woman. But, before he fully turn and ask about it, the door was slammed back and the guards were gone. 

Pyre pivoted, his face turning from confusion to shock when he realized who he had been left alone with. The figure moved towards him, and Pyre held his ground until he came forward fully; Pyre wanted confirmation before he said or did anything else. When the truth became clear, Pyre was sure he looked like an idiot standing there, his jaw agape and eyes wide. 

“Theon?” 

Pyre had at least known the other man was alive from his sessions with Raven; part of the reason he looked forward to them so much was the swapping of news on the crew the other had heard in their time apart. Still all of the information in the world could not have prepared Pyre for seeing Theon alive again for the first time since the explosion. They had never been close, but after everything they had been through, Pyre couldn’t help but feel kinship towards him. They were crew. They were family. 

On the way down the long hallway of cells, Pyre nearly tripped over his feet. Twice. It was hard to focus on the ground beneath him when his mind was still so far away, still on the interview he just came out of. His brain could not seem to leave the words that left their lips: calling him guilty for a crime he was the victim of. It could not steer away from the unanswered questions, pleading for information on if he was the only one who had survived. If he was being blamed for killing his entire crew. 

Instead of answers, all he got were pointed glances and smirks, snide remarks and rough hands pulling him from his chair, throwing him in the room over to change into his new uniform. And now, he was silent as they led him to his new cell, his hands cuffed together. There was no use speaking, not when the inevitable glares to shut him up would lead to more grief. 

They were dead. They were all dead. 

Abruptly, the guards leading him stopped, and Pyre nearly tripped for the third time before realizing. Upon unlocking the door, they shoved him roughly inside, unlocking his cuffs and pushing a roll of items and a pillow into his arms before locking it back and walking away, crude remarks on their tongue he hardly heard. 

After a moment, he let out a sigh, dropping the items he’d been given on the floor with a clang, shuffling backwards until his legs hit a cot he moved to sit on. Pyre pressed his hands to his face, his brain replaying all of the moments from the day. It was all in a loop--thoughts of the crew, thoughts of their deaths--numbing him with sadness to the core. Tear began to pool up in his eyes, tears he knew it would be silly to fight. At least now that he was alone, no would see him cry. 

And then, there was a sound in front of him, the clear shuffling of someone else. Pyre’s head snapped up, and sure enough, there was a man standing in front of him, arms crossed and an expression unreadable. How he had not noticed the other man in the cell was a mystery, but then again, life seemed to be all mystery for him nowadays. For a brief moment, Pyre’s mind shifted from the crew to something else: survival. This was his cell mate. This was his new life, for now. 

“Hey,” Pyre felt the words leaving his mouth after there were a few moments of awkward silence between them. “I’m Pyre.” 

aries: what are you passionate about?taurus: name 3 of your favorite books.

gemini: what was the last text you sent?

cancer: if you could choose your child's zodiac sign, what would it be?

leo: name something you love about yourself.

virgo: what's your #1 pet peeve?

libra: describe your dream partner.

scorpio: do you trust easily?

sagittarius: if you could travel to any place in the world, where would it be?

capricorn: what's your dream job?

aquarius: do you believe in aliens?

pisces: describe someone you love.

sun: describe yourself in 3 words.

moon: what's your favorite song?

rising/asc: how would you describe your style?

mars: are you easily angered?

venus: what's your aesthetic?

mercury: what color do you talk in?

jupiter: what moral do you live by?

saturn: what's your biggest fear?

uranus: are you rebellious?

neptune: share one of your dreams.

pluto: what's the biggest thing you've learned by far in your life?

lilith: do you have any guilty pleasures?

chiron: have you ever broken a bone?

ceres: are you a momfriend?

pallas: do you have a good relationship with your parents?

juno: do you believe in soul mates?

1st house: are you confident?

2nd house: if you could only keep one of your personal items, what would you choose?

3rd house: do you like to read?

4th house: what does your bedroom look like?

5th house: name your favorite movie or show.

6th house: do you participate in community service?

7th house: if you could choose, what zodiac sign would you like your dream partner to be?

8th house: do you believe in reincarnation?

9th house: what's your favorite quote?

10th house: are you good at public speaking?

11th house: what sign(s) is your best friend/squad?

Pyre: Eretreia no

Eretreia: (ง'̀-'́)ง

Pyre:

Pyre: sighs