#fireteam bara

For the life of him, Hakim couldn’t help but laugh at the earnest look on Ven’s face. Wide eyes gazed up at him, glancing over to the windows for a second before returning to stare, and a smile that refused to leave the moment Ven looked out the window. Hakim scooped Ven into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek as they moved away from the windows and, by extension, the snow. “Soon, habibi, soon. First we have to get dressed, and then we can go see the snow.”

“Snow?” Ven pouted at him, and pointed at the windows again.

Hakim set Ven down on his bed, and laid his clothes out beside him. He clicked his tongue when Ven squirmed on the bed, a warning for him to stay still long enough for Hakim to help slip his pants on. They were baggy, liable to get caught on anything while Ven ran around, but they were insulated and would keep him from getting cold. He watched as Ven struggled to put his shirt on, only helping to push arms through the proper holes before his hands were slapped away. The jacket was the last piece. It had long coat tails, reminiscent of Hakim’s robes and he worried that Ven would slip on them, but the hood had fur on it, and besides that, it actually fit Ven. He shushed the soft whines of impatience as he clasped the jacket closed and tied the sash around Ven’s middle.

“Snow?” Ven asked, standing on top of the mattress.

“Not yet. I have to get dressed, too.” Though, he did dress as quickly as he could manage with the thick layers that weighed him down and the ornamental sash that rested on his stomach. The ends of his robes barely touched the floor, and the large, open sleeves were collected into a knot that kept the hemming from dragging on the ground. His cowl was the last thing he put on, and his mask was tucked into an inside pocket of his outer robe. Hakim matched the grin Ven was giving him, and, without wasting another second, he picked him up, propped him on his hip, and left the apartment as soon as shoes were put on.

—

Ven tugged on his hand again. The snow was enticing, sparkling in the morning sun, and piles were just out of Ven’s reaching fingers. Hakim knew that if he stopped for every pile of snow, it would be noon by the time that he reached the observatory. As much as he wanted to let Ven play, he had a job to do, and with Null away from the Tower for the time being, he had to juggle being a parent and being the Speaker equally. It was a challenge he never looked forward to, having to put his duties as Speaker before the simple wants of his child. There had been moments where he was tempted to spend the day with Ven, catching up on time lost to the long hours he kept, but responsibility kept him from doing just that.

Guilt made his skin crawl before he could shove the feeling away. His child only had so long, and he didn’t want remorse to dictate his reason.

Quick, pattering footsteps kept up with his strides, the small hand in his squeezing his fingers as they made it through the giant door of North Tower. A few Guardians hung about, Hunters wrapped up in their cloaks and Warlocks raising the collars of their robes while Titans sported knitted scarves around their necks. The Guardians bowed to Hakim, and some waved to Ven. Snow fell out of several hands, hitting the ground with a soft splat, letting Hakim know what he had just walked in on. He sighed softly to himself as Ven’s soft laughter reached his ears. A gentle nudge was sent to Vega, and the doors to the observatory opened, signaling his arrival to the Tower proper.

Ven tugged on his hand before they could cross the bridge to the observatory. “Snow?” He asked.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to deny Ven forever. They were outside, there were piles of snow pushed out of the way and salts were laid down to make walking easier. Guardians who prepared to get into a snowball fight right outside the observatory, and Hakim knew that there were more Guardians in the Courtyard doing causing mayhem with all the snow. Ven had been undeniably patient the entire morning, and it seemed to finally start wearing off. He was tugging at his sleeve, pouting, and gazing up at him with watery eyes, seconds away from hopping in place. Behind his mask, Hakim smiled. His duties could wait a moment longer. “Snow,” he agreed, holding down the laughter in his throat as Ven squealed.

The thick layers of his robes kept the chill out as he walked Ven over to a large pile of snow and knelt down in front of it. He pulled Ven in front of him, an arm wrapped around his middle to keep him from tumbling forward, and with the other grabbed a handful of packed snow. Immediately, Ven’s hands were on the snow, and Hakim was grateful for the gloves he managed to put on Ven before they reached the outside. The child grabbed a handful of snow from Hakim, and slowly started to turn it over in his hands, smoothing out the outside as much as he could.

Hakim made a guess. “A snowball?” Ven shook his head. “No? Then what are you making?”

“A snowman! Because, um, ‘cause Baba isn’t here for snow,” he explained, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ven carefully put the ball he made on top of the pile, then took another handful from Hakim and repeating the process. The second ball was stacked on top of the first with Hakim’s help, and three eyes, two on the right side and one on the left, were drawn on the head. “And it looks like Baba.”

The small snowman was lumpy, one eye was too large, making the other too seem tiny by comparison, but Ven was proud of it. He was humming to himself, already making another snowman under Hakim’s watchful gaze. The second snowman was smaller than the first, and a third joined shortly after. Ven looked over his shoulder, up at the Speaker’s mask then back to the second snowman. He drew on the face carefully, stopping every so often to glance over at the mask on his father’s face until the design on it was drawn on the snowman. For the third snowman, a smiling face was drawn on it, the mouth wide and lopsided.

“It’s us!” Ven crowed.

Sure enough, Hakim could see the resemblance in the figures. Null’s was the biggest, he watched Ven scrawl his mask’s design into the face of the middle figure, and Ven’s was the smallest by far. He smiled to himself, and complemented Ven on his craftsmanship, wiping the excess snow off his glove before tucking the child against his side. With a gentle nudge across the bond, he asked Vega to take a picture; he wanted Null to see it when they returned from the Void. He wondered how long it would take for more of the simple, little snowmen to crop up around the Tower once more Guardians started trickling through North Tower. It would make for a decent game to tire Ven out at the very least, and Hakim tucked it away for later.

“Abbi? When is Baba coming home?” Ven asked quietly.

A beat of silence passed between parent and child, then Hakim scooped Ven up in his arms, standing up smoothly while holding Ven against his chest. “Sooner than you think,” he replied. He hoped that Null wouldn’t make him a liar. “It won’t be long.”

Ven’s hands were tucked between them, and he buried the tip of his nose into Hakim’s hood. “Promise?”

The harsh whispers stopped, and when they didn’t start up again Guardian took that as their cue to finally ask what the plan was. They hopped down from the boxes, ice water splashing up their boots, and climbed the stairs to where Ana had set up her equipment. Wires led into servers that led into the data stored inside the Bray facility, which were kept separate from the amount of space Rasputin needed to even function as a complex set of algorithms stacked on algorithms. A jewel of the Golden Age that forced itself into dormancy for its own selfish reasons. Ana was standing at her computers, hands balled into fists atop the keyboard and her brow furrowed like she had more to say. Zavala stood by the window gazing out at the frozen desert, hands behind his back as if to keep some modicum of professionalism because he knew Guardian was standing at the top of the stairs.

The Hunter stayed quiet, they could outlast both Zavala and Ana when it came to being silent. The air was tense, bearing down on them when they decided to once again sit and wait. They removed their guns from the straps on their back, leaning their scout rifle and shotgun against the short wall while their sidearm stayed strapped to their leg. They hopped up onto the railing, hands curling around the cold bar to hold themself steady, and waited. Either Zavala would give in first, or Ana would, and Guardian didn't know enough about either of them to make a solid bet on who would break the silence first.

Zavala didn’t speak, but he did move. He turned away from the window, moving his unrelenting stare from the ice and snow to Guardian. The two locked eyes, and if Guardian knew him better, or knew him at all really, they would know what to do with the piercing gaze. It bore into them, as if he could find the answers to unasked questions with a single look.

So they were caught off guard when Ana spoke first. “We have to stop Xol,” she said. She kept her eyes on her computer screen, refusing to look up at Zavala or over at Guardian. “If it gets out of those chasms and tunnels then it won’t hesitate to destroy Rasputin, and the facility.”

Guardian wished they had it in them to care.

They were only on the planet because of the Hive. They didn’t care about Rasputin, not after the orbital strikes, the general lack of care about humanity, and seeing the aftermath of SIVA. Whatever Ana saw in the A.I. wasn’t enough for Guardian.

“Which is where you come in, Guardian,” Zavala said. He didn’t want to be on Mars either to deal with Golden Age technology and the ramblings of a Warmind that closed itself off from humanity for centuries. He could see the dangers Rasputin would bring, and it seemed like he wished Ana would too. “You defeated the Taken King Oryx, a God in his own right. A Worm should hold no challenge.”

Guardian stared at Zavala. He knew what they were like during the Taken War. They were strung out and paranoid, falling apart at the seams and their only saving grace was Ira holding them together. “I didn’t do it on my own.”

“You won’t be alone, Rasputin will help,” Ana said, confident in her decision to trust the Warmind. “The Valkyrie will be instrumental in stopping Xol once and for all.” Guardian bit their tongue to keep from replying, allowing Ana to continue talking without a clue. “Which will be easier once I access more systems.”

Zavala’s stare was still focused on Guardian. “If you feel that you cannot—”

“I can do it,” they said. Their voice no longer shook, there was no more stuttering, but it was still raspy and quiet. It barely reached above a whisper, but it echoed off the walls. It even made Ana look at them. “But,” they continued before they could be interrupted, “but, only to stop Xol. I don’t care about Rasputin. I’ve seen too much of the aftermath of his decisions to give a damn about his safety.”

Ana’s jaw clenched, and Guardian silently dared the older Hunter to try something.

They were almost disappointed when nothing came of it.

Almost.

“Okay,” Ana breathed. Her hands relaxed, fingers stretching out over her keyboard. “Okay. But I’m not going to let you fight a Worm without some pretty powerful weapons at your disposal. The Valkyrie is going to be essential. We can deal with everything else after Xol is gone.”

Guardian accepted the hand they had been dealt with a silent nod. A giant Hive Worm was far more important than their personal feelings over a frighteningly powerful A.I., and they were more readily prepared to handle the Hive in general than Golden Age technology. They hopped off the railing and picked up their guns, returning them to the proper straps with quick hands. The guns were a welcome weight on their back, heavy enough to keep them grounded in the midst of an oncoming storm. “I’ll be outside. You two can keep talking.” They threw a half hearted salute at Zavala, and a lazy wave at Ana for good measure, before walking down the stairs.

The frigid air surrounding Clovis Bray was sharp, but it wasn’t the same kind of frost that happened on Earth. There was no needle like sensation against their skin, nothing to make goosebumps rise along their arms, and when they breathed out there were no puffs to show for it. A frozen Mars was nothing like a frozen Earth. Felwinter’s Peak put Hellas Basin to shame.

Guardian’s feet carried them to the ledge of the dam. Far enough away from the actual facility while still being close enough to burst into action if need be. They sighed heavily through their nose, and tucked their bangs behind their ear. The wind would obstruct their view when it kicked up, and Guardian didn’t want to put their helmet back on quite yet.

Heavy footsteps, the familiar comfort of Titan armor clunking along stone, reached them. The good soldier inside wanted them to stand up and properly greet the Commander. The Hunter in them kept them seated, heels bouncing off the dam wall. They patted the space next to them, and couldn’t keep the smile off their face when they saw Zavala sit next to them in their peripheral.

Silence overcome the pair. Both were grasping for words to say now that the division between Commander and soldier was shelved.

Zavala kept his eyes trained of a point far in the distance when he asked, “Are you prepared to fight a Worm God?” Guardian hummed, and brought their hands together to hold them between their legs. They stared out at the same point Zavala was, eyes focused on red, red rock.

“More or less. Xol isn’t like Oryx. I had help killing him because he went into the Ascendant Realm.” Guardian remembered the disbelief and the rage that followed them back to the Tower. In hindsight, it seemed childish to yell so loud their voice cracked as tears fell down their cheeks, but in the moment it seemed right. “But… I do wish Eris were around.”

“Her knowledge would be invaluable,” Zavala agreed softly.

“Her way might involve a lot more Hive magic though,” Guardian said. “And after Crota and Oryx and that huge Shrieker on Titan, I’d rather just… not.” There were other Guardians that could handle the Hive, that knew more about the intricacies of Sword Logic; Shaxx had unwound the mysteries long before anyone else did. Meanwhile, Guardian simply made their will to live stronger than the Hive’s will to kill them because they had to, because death to the Hive was unacceptable.

Their death was unacceptable.

And it seemed to work in their favor more often than not.

“Have you come to regret the things you’ve done, Guardian?” Zavala tore his eyes away from the far off point to look at the Hunter. To him, they were impossibly young for such an accomplished Guardian. Time was not their teacher, but the never ending battle they were risen to fight, and they learned the lessons without complaint.

Guardian looked at him. “Do you?”

The question didn’t catch Zaval off guard as much as Guardian hoped. The Commander answered with a prompt, “No, I do not.” Which left Guardian to flounder in their own head.

“Do you think I do?”

That earned Guardian a contemplative silence.

“No,” Zavala said quietly. “No, I don’t think you do. You’ve done many things since you were risen what seems like a lifetime ago. You destroyed the Black Heart, defeated Crota and Oryx, and contained the SIVA outbreak to the Plaguelands. Aside from a few understandable moments, there was never a time where you walked into the Vanguard Hall with nothing less than pride. You are remarkably unshakeable, Guardian. A rare trait to come across.”

The Hunter hummed to let Zavala know they had been listening as they turned his words over in their head. Zavala rarely saw them outside the Tower when it still existed and wasn’t more than a pile of bent metal and a gaping hole in the old Tower. He never made late night food runs for Ira and Jai and Apollo or sat on the highest point of the City with Hemlock and Ronin or wandered tight alleyways with Sadik and Roksana just to find the best noodle shop. He didn’t know their favorite color, their favorite food, their fears and worries that grew steadily over the months. To Zavala, they were Guardian, a dutiful Hunter that’s done the impossible time and time again as if the impossible was the only reason they were risen in the first place.

They winced inwardly. Remembering that there was more to life than being a Guardian was a concept they still struggled with.

“Not much else I can be,” Guardian said. “Guess I learned it from you.” The corner of Zavala’s mouth quirked up in the smallest smile Guardian had ever seen, but it was enough to make them cheer on the inside. “Really though. You’re always so… so-” they puffed their cheeks out, trying to find the word they wanted. Strong was cliche, as was inspirational, even if those words were true. Moments like this was when Guardian missed Ira the most. He always knew what to say; a word or six tucked away to use.

Just as Zavala turned his head, Guardian settled on a word. “Resolute,” they said, then whispered to themself, “yeah, that seems right. Right?”

“It’s kind of you to say,” Zavala commented lightly. “There are those who would say the opposite of me, especially during the Red War.” Guardian snorted softly, turning to meet the Commander head on. Bright orange met with ice blue as they stared each other down.

“When I saw you on Titan, I felt relief.” They had felt calm when Willow announced their arrival to the Rigs, but seeing Zavala walking up to them in the rain made their knees weak and tears well up. “I woke up in the City in a crater. By all rights, I should’ve died when Ghaul kicked me off his ship, but I didn’t. I got my Light back from the shard in the EDZ because a vision told me to, and was given the runaround to help refugees to the Farm. I was told that the City, my home, was gone, and that I shouldn’t go after you, but I did because— because I needed to make sure you were okay.” Guardian tore their eyes away from Zavala’s. Saying things out loud made them too real, and it made Guardian nervous. Added with the fact that they couldn’t read the Titan at all, they were fighting to keep the ball of anxiety stay in the pit of their stomach. “Even if you don’t feel like it, or you think that your time on Titan was a waste, seeing you there gave me a lot of hope. And I really needed it.”

Guardian kept just how much they needed that hope seeing Zavala gave them a secret. In the blur that was those first few days of having their Light back, even hearing the Titan Vanguard was soothing. He made things seem normal, like they could pick themself up from the dirt and move on just because they knew he was alive. He might not have been on Earth, but hearing his voice had been enough.

Zavala had an unreadable expression on his face as he mulled over Guardian’s words. Then, he smiled. Nothing so grand as a full blown grin, or fake as a slight quirk of the corner of his mouth, but an honest smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, the grooves around his mouth deepened momentarily as he smiled. His eyes seemed to glow a touch brighter, and his posture relaxed marginally. “Thank you, Guardian.”

If Zavala were Shaxx, they’d lean over and slug him in the arm, but he wasn’t and that left Guardian scrambling with what to do with the thanks. They managed to whisper a weak, “You’re welcome,” then looked anywhere but at Zavala.

The conversation stilled, leaving Guardian to grasp at straws. They wondered if they should continue onto a new topic, or let it end where it stopped. This was a moment where they missed having Ira by their side. He was a natural at keeping a conversation going, but he had other matters to attend to and Guardian-

Guardian went off on their own like they always did.

Bad things happened when they went off on their own.

Like apparently the emergence of a Hive Worm God.

The ground below rumbled, rocks and ice cracked as something moved beneath the surface. Guardian watched as the ground splintered and listened to the Hive screech louder and louder in the distance. Xol, it seemed, was not going to wait.

“Do you think I can beat Xol?” They asked softly.

“I have every confidence that you can.”

Guardian’s heart squeezed in their chest, anxiety making their limbs tingle as they imagined what fighting a Worm would be like. Frightening, yes. Necessary, absolutely.

Alone, maybe.

“The EDZ,” they answered. “I tried to find his family, or- or a Ketch, but…” Guardian trailed off, eyes downcast and fingers clutching the fabric of their cloak a little tighter. A small thing found in the rusted carcass of a Golden Age vehicle, no one around for miles on end, the sun in the sky, all components of nostalgia for a simpler time, when the biggest threat was a Fallen Captain ready to kill them as a newly risen Guardian. They couldn’t leave the infant alone.

They couldn’t.

With a soft sigh, Apollo considered the cloak and the Hunter in front of him. Guardian was skittish, ready to bolt and hide, but they wouldn’t because they had someone that relied on them. They were out of their element, unaware of how to proceed, and not thinking of the consequences a well meaning decision like this would bring. He would rather not think of how the Vanguard or the Consensus would come down on Guardian, of how they wouldn’t be able to find the words to fight back. “What do you plan on doing with him?” At Guardian’s look of confusion, he continued. “Do you plan on finding the nearest Captain and handing him over? Or do you plan on keeping him, raising him yourself? Whatever decision you make, Guardian, I’ll help you. No one will know until you’re ready.” And, Traveler willing, he’s had time to prepare as well.

Guardian chewed their bottom lip, eyes darting from Apollo to the door to their bundled cloak and back again. “Help?” Their voice was hushed, on the verge of cracking, and Apollo nodded.

“A name would be appropriate for him first. We can’t just call him pup, or Eliksni, or Fallen. I know there’s a few dictionaries on Eliksni linguistics and naming conventions, perhaps we can-“

“Ozzy,” Guardian cut in shyly.

“Ozzy?” The name threw Apollo off. If Guardian was hoping for a name that would help the infant, he was sure that Ozzy wasn’t it.

“Ozymandias. From the poem you read a while ago.” They held their cloak up higher to their face so Apollo couldn’t see their expression.

Guardian smiled to themself. It wasn’t the first time Ozzy had pretended to sew along with them, and it wouldn’t be the last, but his hands were too small, too unsteady, still. Once he grew they would pass him a needle and show him the stitches used to repair cloaks with a reverence saved for hushed nights under the floating figure of the Traveler. They would teach him how to mend fraying edges just as they were doing now, and how to save the stories and promises in the stitches. And they would show him how to bear those oaths with squared shoulders and an iron spine.

When he was older, of course, and more prepared for the heavy weight of a cloak.

Idly, they wondered what he would have thought about Ozzy. Would he be proud? Curious? Indulgent but weary? Or perhaps something else entirely?

He was nothing at all, Guardian thought. The dead weren’t anything.

“This is not a cloak,” Ozzy said. His words were halting, each word sounded out carefully as they always were. English was not made for young Eliksni mouths, but Ozzy was trying. “Your scarf?”

Guardian hummed an affirming tone, light and short. Their fingers moved mechanically now, allowing half of their attention to be devoted to Ozzy and his questions. “It’s old,” they told him. “It wasn’t mine to begin with, and I’m not using it right.”

“It is a scarf,” Ozzy pointed out. His lower hands made an aborted move to grab Guardian’s work before he tucked his hands against his stomach.

“It wasn’t always one.” There was a time when their scarf was a cowl, granting anonymity to a masked man who had given them a mission. Someone who had believed in them the moment they stepped into his study, fresh from death and marveling at a sleeping God. A man who never minded when they sat with their back to a corner and played with Guardian-less Ghosts. The scarf reminded them of heady incense, of late chess nights, of the whispers in the Light when they looked upon the once sleeping form of the Traveler. “It was a hood.”

“A cloak?”

The image of a cloaked figure rather than a hooded one crossed Guardian’s mind, and they couldn’t contain their amused huff. He might not have minded, but they were sure many others would have. “A cowl,” they corrected gently.

“Whose was it?” So young, and, between Guardian, Hemlock, and Ronin, Ozzy understood the type of promise made by wearing a deceptively weightless item.

Guardian refused to think of a time when Ozzy would wear their cloak, and what kind of promise he would make to them.

For a moment, they were quiet. The frays were repaired mindlessly, the thread being tied off and Guardian used a sharp canine to snap the leftovers off the knot. They wound the thread around the spool, stuck their needle in it, and took it out of Ozzy’s hands to place it on the side table. With a gentleness they save for Ozzy, they turn the scarf inside out to show the white symbol.

“I knew him as the Speaker,” they started. “He wore a mask all the time, and wore a cowl to keep himself a secret. He spoke for the Traveler, so he was always… always kinda serious, but he was kind. He always knew what to say to make me feel better.” All four of Ozzy’s hands held the scarf, eyes focused on the symbol. He chirped, and Guardian continued. “I liked him, still, uh, still do I guess. It hurts, sometimes, to think of him, but it’s because I cared for him.”

“Will the hurt go away?” Ozzy asked.

Guardian sighed through their nose. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you if it does. I think he was always halfway stuck in the Light. He noticed things no one else did.”

“What happened to him?” The trepidation was clear in his voice, as if he knew the ending of the story before he even thought to ask.

“He died,” they plainly said. “He was captured by Ghaul, and he died just before the City was taken back.” Guardian’s voice grew softer, strained, and they hoped Ozzy couldn’t hear them. “He was there, below my feet, and he died alone.”

Ozzy pulled them back with one more question. “What promise did you make?”

Guardian flipped the scarf inside out again, and wrapped it around their neck. They lifted Ozzy up to their shoulder next, not minding how his claws dug into their shirt and scratched their skin. “To always find the road that leads to home.”

Her favorite person to kiss, however, is Saladin. Sometimes she’ll hold his face in her hands, fingers tilting his head down, and other times she’ll lean against him until he has an arm wrapped around her waist and his attention is on her. She always starts with a kiss to his cheek, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to feel the scratch of his stubble on her chin. Then she works lower, making a trail until she reaches his mouth and he meets her with a deep, rumbling chuckle. Her lipstick stains his lips and she grins before kissing him again.

Saladin, for all his bark (and considerable bite), is gentle when he kisses her back. There’s a warmth that has long since settled underneath his skin, tempered by time and trials, and Roksana draws it in greedily, chasing after the heat with every kiss. He burns like a controlled fire, holds it deep in his chest while flares snake through his fingers, and she knows how well he can direct his flames as he kisses her for minutes at a time until she pulls back and rubs her thumb over the bright red stain on his lips. A gift from her to him. The simplest gesture of deeply held love and affection.

He retaliates of course, kisses her cheeks until there’s smeared lipstick all over her face and neck, and she’s laughing loud and clear against his temple.

There were times when Roksana’s lips weren’t red, when she had nothing to leave a mark behind. When the Iron Temple was attacked she wiped it off only an hour before the Cabal rained hellfire on the temple. Saladin fought valiantly to protect what was left of the Iron Lords, but when the Light was ripped away, Roksana pulls him away, fearful for his life. They stumble across the frozen Plaguelands, only half of Saladin’s wolf pack making the journey with them. When Roksana kisses him then, she can taste copper and grief, but not the salt of tears. She tastes resolve, and the fire that burns beneath flares violently to life, clashing with the chill from the snow, and the ice in her that was left behind by the void. The wolves fit their heads in the few spaces between them, and she feels more than hears a deep chuckle. In that moment she was content to know she had not lost him again.

His first gift to her when the Light returns and the City is won back is red lipstick. His face is covered in marks as thanks, and then she goes off to find others, reapplying her favorite shade of red over and over. From Zavala’s cheek and Shaxx’s helmet to Apollo and Hemlock’s forehead, she leaves behind red marks on people whom she loves, and is thanked for each kiss. She makes her way through the Tower until she finds Saladin again, staring out over the City, a pensive look on his face that’s interrupted by a half smile when she winds her arm through his.

“Will you return to Felwinter’s Peak with me?” He asks.

“Hoping to rebuild the temple?” At his nod, she leans her head agains his shoulder, and gazed out over the lights of the City. “Of course I will.”

Saladin shifts, moving his arm out of her grasp and curls it around her shoulders, drawing her into a typical bone crushing hug. Through his armor, Roksana can feel the warmth she had missed during the War. He tips her chin up, and kisses her forehead. In return, she kisses the underside of his jaw, and wrinkles her nose at how much Saladin has let his facial hair grow.

(He is still falling, will fall, will always be falling-)

(He must fall before he can walk.)

(He must exist before he is made.)

(He was dead before he was alive.)

He only wanted answers.

Either he’ll be digitized down to nothing and the Vex will be that much closer in understanding the Light, or he turns on them, rips them apart from the inside out until he got what he wanted. He only needs to know his own outcome before he can track the steps that must be taken to reach it.

The Vex are paradoxical. Ira could work with that.

His head will feel like exploding( still does feel like exploding, will always feel that way), but he can work with what he is either given or what he has to take for himself.

Hopefully before Guardian runs to Osiris and begs for his help, and long before they tell Asher and Edix that he’s gone and done something exceedingly stupid.

“Ira?”

Silence.

“… Ira?”

Silence.

“Rayner? Ira?”

“Guardian. They’re- they’re not here. I can’t find them.”

“Oh.”

“They won’t be lost for long. We can ask Osiris for help.”

“Mhm.”

“Guardian?”

“I miss him, Willow.”

There were habits Guardian was taking the time to break, however, there were some habits that stubbornly refused to go away. Holding their hands to their stomach, twisting and worrying their fingers, was one habit that crept up on them still. They weren’t afraid of Asher, he was peevish and prone to snapping, but he had a reason to be that way. He was dying, and it was because he was dying Ira-

It would be easier, maybe, if Edix wasn’t with Asher, so they could tell him what had happened, and let Edix carry the message to Asher.

At least Edix had a smile for them when they walked up, holding their hands in front of their stomach and feeling nausea rise up in their throat. Asher held little warmth for them, but that was fine.

He would have no warmth to give them at all after this.

They took comfort from Willow wedging himself in their hood, the points of his shell dug into their skin and tangled in their hair painfully.

“Wasn’t Ira with you, Guardian?” Edix asked.

Words stuck in their throat. They could feel Asher glaring over his equipment at them while Edix was nothing but pleasant and kind and-

(Ira is falling, was falling, will always be falling, and it’s because he loves you both to a point where he’ll carry the weight of the universe on his shoulders-

why won’t he do that for me?)

“Yes.”

“Oh.” They watched Edix falter with that information. “Did he get sidetracked?”

“No.” Yes.

(Ira sees so much except for what’s right in front of him, and he’s damned himself to an existence of suffering.

He’s so much like Osiris it’s terrifying.)

“Spit it out, Guardian,” Asher cut in, incensed and tired of them dancing around the question. “Where is he?”

Here was where they started making their retrea, taking a step back with every word as Willow prepared to transmat them away. “He’s lost. He went to the Vex for answers, and I can’t find him. Maybe you will, Asher. He let himself fall for you.”

There was always someone with them, checking on their wings for feather growth and to keep them from scratching the rash on their back. Guardian hated that second part. The rash itched something awful.

Cayde took a small measure of pity on them at least. He didn’t scratch their back like they wanted him to, but he did the same trick Hemlock does and let Solar energy collect in his palm to soothe the ache.

“Lemme tell you some stuff Andal,” Cayde said.

Guardian raised a brow. Andal? The previous Hunter Vanguard, a jovial man who died tragically, and a mystery to Guardian. Oh, they might have worn the cloak of his killer, but they knew nothing of who the man was.  

They knew he was loved by many. Guardian always wanted to meet him, or at least see him, but Osiris would always steer them away from simulations that might hold the legendary Hunter without really saying why, and would ignore their silent huffs.

Carefully, Guardian placed their head on Cayde’s thigh, silently urging him on.

“Don’t look at me like that. I wouldn’t have brought him up if I wasn’t gonna talk about him,” Cayde scolded.

Their expression didn’t change.

Leaning against the wall, boots off, wings held loosely at his side, Cayde began to talk about his dearest friend.

“Andal was a good man, but you already know that. Pretty sure Hemlock and Ronin have talked about him.”

Guardian wanted to say no. Hemlock never mentioned Andal except for when he took them along to kill Taniks, and sometimes it seemed that Ronin decided that he had ever existed. Maybe Hemlock and Ronin talked about Andal to the rest of the team, but never to Guardian.

That didn’t bother them until Cayde said something. Typical. They held their tongue anyway.

“He had these sleek, black raven wings, made his cloak look like tail feathers when they were against his back. Always did like to pull at his cloak just to see him get riled up. Way less fun with Zavala though. A crack shot with just about any gun (til I came around of course), and knew how to play the Consensus like a fiddle.” Cayde had started to stroke Guardian’s spine, his leather gloves making enough friction to satisfy some of the urge to scratch. If he was going to reminisce then they would let him.

After all, how often did Cayde get to even mention Andal?

“I didn’t meet him until well after his wings came in and mine weren’t even around. Found me skulking around a Fallen camp with a rusty tire iron, don’t ask, you’re not getting that story.” He laughed when the excitement in their shoulders relaxed out of disappointment. “When my wings started growing, Andal would go out of his way to find metal that my Ghost could graft to the skeleton. Pretty sure it’s because of him that I have crow wings and not something else.” At that, the soft tinkling of shifting metal could be heard. “Probably didn’t want me to get something more colorful, but hey, I make these things work.”

Cayde wasn’t someone who sighed, but Guardian imagined the silence that followed had a very long, very deep, and very regretful sigh fill the air. They wrapped an arm around his thigh and squeezed. The hand on their back stilled between their wings for a second before starting again.

“He always had these wild ideas. Like the time he said in front of Zavala that I was Rasputin. At the time it wasn’t so funny, but looking back on it now, I can tell that he was trying to give some hope to Big Blue, you know? Osiris and Saint were his Vangaurd, and they worked pretty well together until Osiris was banished and Saint followed him. Not much he could’ve done about that.”

What could he do, indeed. Andal was a bridge between the new and old Vanguard, and that had to be an awful place to fill. Guardian almost pitied him, but a twist in their gut left them feeling like he would’ve hated that. He had a job and he did it well, and he trusted Cayde enough, more than enough, to take his place.

Another moment of silence passed.

“Andal would’ve liked you, Guardian,” Cayde said. “You’re good people. He always had an eye for good people.”

Guardian hugged his leg again, and whispered into the coarse fabric of his pants, “You’re good people too.”

Cayde chuckled, and continued stroking up and down their spine. He stayed for longer than either Zavala or Ikora, and only left when Apollo had poked his head into the room and switched places with the Vanguard.