#only be

“Nothing’s on radar,” Zavala’s Ghost chimes in over the radio, having integrated with the system in order to pilot the ship for them. “I checked before we left.”

“No offense,” She says, and she truly, does not mean to offend the droid, “But I lived out this way for over a decade. The skies look like this before they drop snow.”

“It’ll be fine,” The Ghost says. “A couple centimeters of snow won’t hurt anyone.”

“It won’t be just a few centimeters,” Suraya counters. “Believe me. One time I saw five meters of snow in two days. I was in this old stable and had to hop out from the loft.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Zavala says, though she can see him checking the sky as if he’d be able to glean something from it. 

She doesn’t doubt he has some knowledge - after all, the guy gives most Warlocks a run for their money, but this is more practical application combined with instinct than something read in a book or archived on vanNet.

Resisting the urge to point out that this is her area of expertise, that these are her lands, her sky (well, it’s not hers, but... they’ll see), Suraya turns her gaze back to the clouds and watches the horizon fade from soft gray to a stern graphite.

-/

“I’m surprised you didn’t turn around,” Tyra says, when they land. “There’s a storm coming in.”

Suraya fixes Zavala with a knowing look - something just a smidge softer than an ‘I told you so’ - and steps forward to embrace Tyra. “You know how it is,” She says, and the old Cryptarch laughs, her voice like a bell as her arms come around the Clan Stewardess in a long overdue hug.

"Do I ever," She replies into Suraya's ear, but her smart, glowing eyes find Zavala's as she says it. To his credit, the stoic facade doesn't so much as shift. He maintains eye contact.

When she steps back from Suraya, she offers him a smile. He's not one for hugging on the job. She won't force him into one. "Everyone here has been looking forward to your visit."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration," Suraya muses.

Tyra leads them past familiar sights, into the patched up domicile she uses as her base of operations. "Nonsense. I don't suggest you go about trying to usher any of the Hunters back to the City, but-"

"Hunters?"

Hawthorne lays a hand on his forearm. It's neither hot or cold, just a pressure over the plating of his pauldron. "Whoa there, Commander. Don't get any ideas."

Tyra's milky gaze meets his, "A lot of the Hunters use our outpost as their base of operations. With the storm coming, it'll likely be a full house tonight."

"You've been keeping tabs on them?" Zavala asks, curious. "Ikora and I have not seen many of them, only the ones with a dedicated team tend to stay around the Tower."

She nods. "We do what we can. They usually pass through here or the EDZ, so Devrim lets me know if anything seems amiss and we report it to Suraya."

Zavala's inquisitive gaze trails to his partner for this little day trip with no less than a little awe bleeding through. Tyra laughs warmly, catching it from the corner of her eye.

"Of course, we don't account for that many of the Hunters, just a lot of the ones who were stationed on Earth leading up to the Red War."

"That's still a large number of them," Zavala crows back.

"Perhaps. It's all we can do to feed and house them overnight. This weather should do a bit for us, though I'd suggest laying low. If any of them think you might drag them back to the Tower with you, they might brave the storm." She motions for them to sit on the threadbare sofa - it's covered with a vibrant mismatching of fabrics - while she sees herself to the tiny kitchen.

Suraya shrugs. "I think I can keep him from rounding up any lost souls," She jests. "He'll have his hands full making sure I don't take off the second his back is turned."

Zavala makes a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. Sedately, he drolls, "And here I thought that was the one thing I could be sure of."

An elbow meets his side. They share a glance - a loaded one - while Tyra fixes tea. Her Ghost hovers silently beside her, facing the sitting area, allowing her to see everything.

-/

"It forms over the Shard," She shouts to him as the snow turns from fluffy soft flakes that drift in a barely-there wind to heavy, sharp-seeming precipitation that dances in a tempest's gale. Her cheeks are pink, and though the wind fights her every step she moves faster to reduce her time exposed to the elements. "It's not much different than a mountain, but the latent electrical impulses seem to make it worse, almost."

Zavala hums in acknowledgement; It's lost in a particularly brutal gust that blows back Suraya's hood.

The second they're inside the barn, she exhales heavily, breathing a bit harder from exertion and cold. "Well," She says, looking at the mostly empty space. She draws her arms around herself while he slides the door closed behind them. "This brings back memories."

"It does," He agrees, stepping around her to approach the battered workbench turned war-table. "I can practically feel my ears blistering from you ranting at me."

"Hurt your feelings that badly?" She questions coolly.

He bites back a smile, keeping his back to her as he runs his hand across the wood. "Not so much. You," He shakes his head, allowing himself the slightest modicum of a laugh, "Saw right through me in a way I never thought someone could."

She shrugs, not moving from the door as he rounds the table to stand at its head. "Honestly I'm surprised Ikora didn't drop me where I stood, last time we were here."

"She disliked that you were right almost as much as she disliked that I agreed that you were right," Zavala informs her. "People take time to come around."

"But they do," Suraya supposes, shivering. "I mean, look at us."

He abandons his place at the table to wrap his arms around her, staving off the chill with a silent wink of solar energy. Cool lips find her equally cool forehead when she ducks into the embrace, savoring the warmth.

"Y'know, I always thought we'd end up getting ourselves in trouble in here," She mentions as she pulls back. He looks down at her wry grin and raises one eyebrow in an arch that should be illegal.

"I don't think so, Suraya."

"I doubt anyone's coming in here looking for us, y'know…"

"I think I can live with their assumptions," He informs her, deadpan.

That shakes her out of her playful tone immediately. "What assumptions?" Her eyes narrow. "Explain."

"You know which assumptions." He looks away, suddenly finding interest in the table. "Plenty of the Guardians here assumed we were-" He coughs.

"Go on," She goads, the smirk evident in her tone.

"Suraya…"

"I know, I know." She tilts his head back to face her, cupping his cheeks and jaw with gun-worn hands. "I know, I know. How could we have become friends, much less this," She smiles, and though she's not someone he'd call sweet, this smile definitely is. Her eyes hold his in a way that makes breathing a conscious decision, "If we were only talking war strats and fighting about morals we already shared, right?"

This time, his laugh is low and smooth, richer and more decadent than a chocolate cake. "They underestimate us," He informs her. "I won't be doing anything terribly inappropriate at this table," He informs her, maintaining that serious expression that seems to be his default. She knows better, though. "But I would very much like to kiss you now."

"By all means," She removes her hands from his face and locks them behind his neck just in time for him to close the space between their lips.

-/

"There is no way we're getting off the ground. Maybe if we'd left before we checked in with the troops but even then, it would've defeated the purpose in coming here."

Zavala looks to the sky. Suraya isn't stupid, she knows he's talking to his Ghost.

"It's not safe to pilot a ship," One of the officers informs them. "We've grounded everyone for the time being. Too many ships will be coming in, it won't be safe to send anyone out in this weather."

"I am certain my Ghost could-"

"Sir, I don't doubt you or your Ghost's abilities," The man looks sheepish, he doesn't take his eyes off the satellite report projected in front of him, "It's everyone else I'm worried about."

"You'd have Amanda close down the hangar if it got this bad," Suraya reminds him.

Zavala groans, no doubt thinking about all the work he has left to do. "I'll inform Ikora," He says, and shuffles out of the command center. It's still the dilapidated house with the too-large antenna on top of it, but the inside has been reinforced quite nicely, Suraya thinks.

"You made the right call," She says to the officer, watching as his posture eases. "He'll get over it, he doesn't know how to not be busy," She jokes. "Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?"

The soldiers all agree, and she sees herself out to the elements.

Tyra's house is warm, and she sidles past Zavala, who is murmuring quietly to Ikora through his Ghost, to join the Cryptarch in her study. There are candles lit as this room does not have working power. It isn't a necessity; Tyra can likely read in the dark thanks to her heritage (Suraya remembers Zavala suggesting something similar of his own eyesight), but it's a cozy, intimate touch.

"He doesn't know when to quit," Tyra says, without looking up.

Suraya drops into a chair adjacent to the older woman. "He means well."

"He does." She closes her book. "Devrim said you two are close," The skin around her eyes crinkles. "Partners in more ways than one."

"Devrim didn't say anything. You're supposing."

"I am not," She rasps, bringing a warm cup of tea to her mouth. "I'm quite secure in what I know."

"Oh?" Suraya crosses one leg over the other. "Which is what?"

Tyra levels her with an all-knowing gaze. "He loves you."

Suraya tells herself it's the swell of the Cryptarch’s Light that makes her blush, she's close to her, can feel the latent heat on her cheeks. She swallows, but doesn't make a sound. When he says it, it sounds right. She knows it, feels it in her soul. When other people say it on his behalf, it's strange.

"Yes?"

The Clan Stewardess sighs. "We're keeping it under wraps," She tells Tyra. "Of course Dev knows, and plenty of other people, too, but this isn't something I want the world involved in."

Setting her mug aside, Tyra asks, "And if they do find out? It's only a matter of time. Though I pride myself on my curiosity, others are far more inquisitive with significantly less tact."

"There's a difference between people knowing and people being involved. I'm not-" She huffs. "People are going to find out. I'd invite you back for the holiday - we're having a fancy dinner-thing, but I know you'd just turn me down."

"You're right," Tyra agrees, "Though I heard Saladin will be joining you. You'll have to give him my best. Two old coots at a party is one too many, and I have people here I'd like to spend time with. I'll leave him to oversee affairs. Though I would like to meet Marc one of these days, provided you could get him here."

"I'd have to drug him to get him outside the City gates." They laugh.

"I think I could send you something to help with that. Devrim deserves to see him more, don't you think?"

Suraya can't help but agree. She ignores the lingering pang at not being able to see him. She hadn't been kidding about sneaking away. She was intending to go visit him, but the weather wasn't something she wanted to contend with. On the other side of the Shard, the EDZ was likely free and clear of precipitation, but the inclimate weather at the Farm could prove fatal if one wasn't prepared (and Suraya couldn't say she was). She'd have to make another go of it, visiting her other parent once the rest of her schedule cleared, after the holiday festivities were over. Maybe they'd be able to work something out to get Devrim home for a long weekend, anything.

A creak in the floorboards breaks her train of thought. Zavala lingers in the doorway.

"Ikora said she'd handle everything until we return, but from what the Tower's sat-feeds are saying, we'll be here likely until mid-day tomorrow."

"Well, good thing we planned on feasting tonight," Tyra quips, looking to the Commander. "I'll see what we can do about finding you two a place to stay."