#pixie writes

Technically I was supposed to this post this yesterday but assignments got in the way 😬.

Mumbo had been sitting in the sand with Grian in his arms for a few solid minutes by now, awaiting Xisuma’s return, when he registered just how quiet and still Grian had been for the past minute or so.

“Grian? Mate?” He murmured his friend’s name quietly, waiting for some kind of answer, but when he received none he sighed. He craned his neck to try and glance over his shoulder. “Hey - X? You nearby?”

“Hm…?” Footsteps approached from behind him and Xisuma’s armor-clad legs came into view. “How can I help, my friend?”

“Ah - I think he’s fallen asleep,” Mumbo admitted, squinting against the afternoon sun to smile sheepishly at the admin. “I reckon he’s been through the wringer recently.”

“I’d come to a similar conclusion myself,” Xisuma hummed thoughtfully, crouching near the pair and leaning forward to get a better look at Grian’s wings without touching. “I’ve just received a bit of a recap on what I missed prior to my arrival. Scar said your friend seemed anxious from the moment he and Iskall stepped through the portal, and that the growing crowd seemed to exacerbate things, but he made no move to fly out of range. So either he was too panicked to do so, or…”

“…or he couldn’t,” Mumbo finished, a grimace appearing on his face. “I’m thinking it’s the latter. I almost touched one of his wings a bit ago, and he reacted like it was going to hurt him.”

“Hmm.” Beneath the visor of his helmet, Mumbo saw the admin’s brow pull into a frown. “Nobody has a base yet. There isn’t anywhere we can bring him to just yet, and I hesitate to bring him through the portal to the previous season in case the trip agitates any injuries he might have.”

“He - I mean he can stay with me,” Mumbo blurted out. “Once I build up a starter base, that is.”

“Scar?” Xisuma called out, and Mumbo heard footsteps approaching from behind.

“What’s up Xisuma?”

“Where are you settling down this season?”

“Oh!” Scar came into view, and Mumbo caught his bright smile out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve got my eye on Pirate Island.”

“That’s not too far from the Futuristic District,” Xisuma mused, and Mumbo began to see where X was going with this train of thought. “If I teleport you along with us, would you be able to help us set up a starter base for Mumbo? He’s keeping an eye on our new friend while he’s recovering, and I’d rather get him somewhere safe before nightfall.”

“Yeah, o’ course! I’d be happy to!” Mumbo saw him give Grian an inquisitive look, his curiosity palpable, but thankfully he didn’t pester about the avian directly. Scar may have had a horrible poker face sometimes but at least he had tact. “…d’you want me to start gathering resources before we go, or–”

“No need.” Xisuma got to his feet, brushing sand from his knees and reaching out into the air, pulling up a holographic admin panel. “I don’t exploit my administrative abilities too often, but I figure summoning in some building supplies might make this a little easier.”

Mumbo gaped up at him, spluttering out half-formed protests before he finally managed to compile them into sentences.

“Nono, wait - X, you don’t have to do that,” he shook his head, frowning up at the admin. “Truly. You already have to teleport four people to my starter island as it is, and we jumped servers today. I can just help Scar collect materials. It’s for my starter base, after all–”

“I appreciate the sentiment, my friend,” Xisuma chuckled, “but don’t fret over it too much. Supplying something as simple as wood and a few beds to ensure our guest is well taken care of isn’t going to wear me out.”

“I was gonna keep it modest anyway,” Scar added with a smile and a shrug. “It’s only a starter base, right? It won’t take that much to make it!”

…and Mumbo couldn’t really argue with that, could he? Building was the one thing Scar knew better than anything else in the world. He sighed, shifting Grian slightly in his grip, and he stilled when he heard a quiet noise leave the sleeping player. It wasn’t one of pain exactly, but he would definitely classify it as one of discomfort, and Xisuma pulled his eyes away from the admin panel to exchange a worried look with Mumbo.

“...I’ll get us to the island,” he murmured softly. “Then I’ll see if I can take a look at him while you both work on a shelter. Alright?” 

“Yeah,” Mumbo agreed on a breath. “Yeah. Alright. Thank you.”

The admin nodded, then with a few practiced hand motions across the admin panel, the four of them vanished without a sound.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Grian’s player code was unlike any Xisuma had ever seen. Large chunks were familiar, of course, as all player coding was built up from the same groundwork. The lists of former servers, the traits of hybridity (or lack thereof), current health status and hunger level and XP level and inventory contents and on and on and on. But while Xisuma could scroll through the average player’s coding with practiced efficiency, muscle memory bringing him to exactly the right line of code more often than not, Grian’s coding text was a disjointed and semi-incomprehensible amalgamation of common and galactic, the galactic - more often than not - showing up as a distorted and corrupted mess of letters that would take a long time to decipher. The admin pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and sighing against the oncoming headache he could feel building. His helmet sat off to the side on a spare spruce log he had summoned there temporarily, his admin panel expanded before him and illuminating his chosen spot as well as the bed that had been placed beside him. Running a hand through his hair, Xisuma cast a troubled look toward said bed and the still-unconscious avian who was asleep upon it. Grian was lying on his front with his wings neatly folded against his back, his face turned toward Xisuma and a blanket pulled up to a point just below the joints of his wings.

Not long after arriving on the small island Mumbo had chosen for his starter base, Xisuma had summoned a few stacks of blocks for Scar to begin building with and had set about laying out a foundation alongside him, its placement loosely guided by Mumbo’s instruction. It was only once the first room was partially complete and a bed had been laid down that both X and Scar had hurried over to help move Grian off of Mumbo’s lap. Between the three of them, they were able to migrate Grian to the new bed without waking him, Mumbo taking it upon himself to carefully arrange Grian’s wings in a way that wouldn’t become uncomfortable for him in the long run. The moment they were done, Xisuma had pulled up a seat at the avian’s side and the other two had dashed off to complete some semblance of a house before the sun had a chance to set.

Now, with the muffled sound of blocks being placed reaching Xisuma’s ears from somewhere overhead, the admin took a moment to eye the newest addition to the server (temporary or otherwise) with a heavy dose of concern. Even though it had been hard to distinguish certain aspects of Grian’s code - a massive mystery to be sure, but not the most pressing matter at the moment - Xisuma had managed to track down his health status fairly easily amidst the chaos. Scar hadn’t been wrong about his initial assumption that Grian was injured. Some of his injuries were minor, of course. A few scuffs and scrapes, exhausted muscles, a bruise here and there. Wondering what had caused them was a concern without a doubt, but healing them would be simple.

But there were others.

The burns on his face were odd. It wasn’t a sunburn, even if it looked it from a certain angle. Bright, angry red discoloration blotched across his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. It created a shape that was far too distinct to be accidental, an oval-escque outline that traced the very edge of Grian’s hairline and trailed down around both temples. The burn gave off residual magical energy, and if Xisuma didn’t know any better he would have immediately pegged it as void magic. He was more than familiar with that sort of thing, and he was more than a little inclined to still follow that assumption, but jumping to conclusions without speaking to Grian first would get him nowhere.

One of his wings, too, had a similar burn, though Xisuma wouldn’t have been able to spot that one if it hadn’t appeared in Grian’s code. It was buried beneath unkempt feathers, the skin warmer to the touch than it should have been, and it, too, gave off a similar energy to the burns on Grian’s face. Similar, but not identical. Void-based, again, was his first assumption.

And then there was the entire right side of his body, patches of his shoulder and arm and torso and face (some of which X could see, some of which he only knew was there because of Grian’s code) that had a distinct pattern of light burning that Xisuma identified immediately. Tiny galactic symbols appeared here and there across the burn marks, clear signs of somebody forcing their way past a server wall that had been meant to keep unfamiliar players out. Burns like those hurt, were meant to hurt to dissuade hackers and intruders, and yet here Grian sat with massive patchworks of them woven across his skin. The worst of them covered the palms of his hands, and Xisuma reached over to gently lift the avian’s wrist to examine his injury in the warm light of the temporary bedroom. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. Only someone who was truly desperate would withstand that kind of pain to bypass a closed server wall.

Footsteps and the opening of a door alerted Xisuma to someone approaching, and he looked over his shoulder to see Mumbo ducking his head into the room. He looked a little unkempt, his suit jacket missing and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Clearly he had been hard at work. The redstoner’s eyes darted between Xisuma and Grian for a moment, lingering longer on the latter than on the former.

“How…how is he?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I imagine he’s been better,” Xisuma sighed softly. He summoned a second chair at Grian’s bedside and gestured for Mumbo to sit. “He has quite a few burns that will need treatment, some of which he gained when he bypassed Hermitcraft’s border. Various bruises, minor surface injuries…potions can take care of those. But this–” He stood, reaching out to carefully lift Grian’s closest wing with gentle movements. Grian scrunched up his face in his sleep, a sign of his mild discomfort, but he didn’t wake. Xisuma shifted the limb until the underside of the wing was visible to Mumbo, a patch of the feathers noticeably darker than the white and purple ones around them, a dark reddish-brown that had Mumbo gasping sharply and going a bit pale.

“Oh my word,” he breathed, making an aborted movement with his hand as though he wanted to reach out.

“Mmm.” Xisuma hummed in agreement. He carefully tucked Grian’s wing back against his body and stepped back, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s…well. It isn’t the worst injury I’ve seen, but it needs attention and I don’t know enough about avian anatomy to even attempt medical treatment. At the very least I can treat the burns, and his leg, but–”

“What happened to his leg?” Mambo blurted out, looking as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The question added another layer to the tension behind Xisuma’s eyes and he took a slow breath. He reached forward for a second time, this time leaning across the bed and tugging back the blanket covering Grian’s other leg. The cuff of his pants was already rucked up to reveal a canvas of mottled purple and green bruising around his ankle, half-healed lacerations leaving marks up and down the bottom half of his calf.

“Void…” Mumbo pressed a fist to his mouth, looking ill. “That’s - that’s not fresh, is it?”

“Unfortunately, no.” With the flick of a wrist, the blanket was back where it belonged, and Xisuma sank back into his chair with the air of a man who was at a loss for answers. “I’ve already asked Stress to come meet us here, but I imagine I may need to reach out to False as well. I’m unsure how knowledgeable Stress is in regards to wing anatomy.”

“Good plan,” Mumbo agreed hoarsely, pulling his eyes away from Grian. He swallowed, shaking himself slightly. “D’you know when she’ll be here?”

“Soon I imagine.” With a brief glance toward his admin panel to check the time, Xisuma nodded to himself. “Yeah…soon. She’s a bit far - she and Iskall have set themselves up in that ice biome to the south - but I messaged her not long after we moved your friend indoors. I’m planning on summoning in the potions and supplies she’ll need, so she volunteered to boat here herself to save me the trouble of teleporting her over.”

A knock at the door drew both Hermits’ attention, and this time when Xisuma looked over his shoulder it was Scar who was ducking his head through the door.

“Hey there Xisuma!” he said brightly. “Hi Mumbo! I thought I’d find you here.”

“Afternoon my friend,” X greeted him with a tired smile. “How goes the building?”

“It’s goin’ amazin’! I’d normally do a bit more detailing, but I figured that function over form was a little more important for right now.”

“Scar, it was already fantastic before I came inside,” Mumbo informed him in fond exasperation. “It’s already leaps and bounds better than my starter base was going to be. I was going to settle for a compact tree house before Grian came along.”

“There’s nothing wrong with appreciating aesthetics!” Scar defended himself. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, Mr. Jumbo, and I intend to live up to it!”

“Alright, alright!” Mumbo held up his hands in surrender. “I never said you couldn’t add detail, just that you didn’t need to.” There was a pause, and he smiled softly. “Thank you though. For your help. I couldn’t’ve built anything this complete this quickly without you.”

“Nah, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Scar waved it off with a smile of his own. “I’m just helpin’ a friend.”

A beep sounded from Xisuma’s communicator, and he pulled it from his inventory to read the message.

“Stress is close,” he told them both, rising from his chair. “I’m going to flag her down and fill her in. Keep an eye on our guest for me, would you?”

He was out of the room before either Mumbo or Scar could answer, but he didn’t really need one. From what he had seen thus far, Mumbo was already worried for Grian’s wellbeing, and Scar was one of the most caring people on the server. Their newest resident avian would be in good hands for the brief span of time Xisuma would be out of the room.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

“Mind holdin’ this for me, love?”

“Oh, of course!” Scar took the open bottle of fire resistance potion from Stress, holding it carefully while the other player gently dabbed a potion-soaked cloth against the harsh red burns all along Grian’s shoulder and arm.

They had carefully removed the purple tunic Grian had been wearing not long after Stress arrived, leaving him uncovered from the waist up so she could better treat his wounds. She had already applied healing potions and bandage wraps to the avian’s ankle, and his bloodied feathers had been carefully cleaned in the area around the wound. Stress had also shot out a message to False to ask if there was anything she needed to be mindful of when handling a wing injury, and seeing as the other avian hadn’t responded just yet Stress had taken it upon herself to focus on the burns she could treat without fully disrobing Grian.

She was still a stranger to him, after all. The rest of his burns would need to be seen to eventually as well but they weren’t serious enough to warrant emergency treatment. She would ask Grian for permission to help him once he was awake again.

“...is that galactic?” Scar asked, squinting from where he was standing across the bed to try and make out the odd pattern on the side and back of Grian’s shoulder.

“Mhm.” Stress winced, glancing up at him briefly. “Yeah, that’s what Xisuma said. ‘S what happens when someone forces past a server wall they’re not meant to get through. X finks Mumbo’s friend must’ve been real desperate to try an’ bust through like ‘e did.”

“Oh gosh…” Scar frowned, worry crawling up his chest. He was beginning to see why both X and Mumbo had looked so concerned when he had come in earlier. Neither were in the room at the moment, Xisuma having pulled Mumbo out into the main part of the little starter base so he didn’t have to stare at his injured friend while Stress tended to his injuries. “D’you think he was running from someone?”

“Something, more like,” Stress agreed. She held a hand out for the fire resistance potion and Scar handed it over so she could resoak the cloth she’d been using. Then she handed it back with a sigh. “Now - I know we don’ ask questions, and that everyone’s allowed their secrets on the server, but I can’t help worryin’. Poor love’s been through a right mess I’d bet. Lord, the tension in ‘is back alone tells me he’d been stressin’ for a long long while before he showed up here.”

“Lucky he ended up on Hermitcraft then.” Scar’s smile was strained but genuine, one he shared with Stress when she looked up at him. “He could’ve ended up anywhere. There are some pretty awful servers out there, but he managed to get into one with people who’ll actually help him out. Plus what are the odds that he ended up on the same server as someone he’s friends with?”

“Astronomical,” Stress told him sagely, an exaggerated depth to the word that had Scar snorting out quiet laughter.

“Definitely astronomical,” Scar agreed, grinning. He tossed a look toward the closed door, thoughtful. “D’you think Mumbo has any idea what happened to Grian?”

“I dunno…” With careful hands, Stress brushed some of Grian’s hair out of his face so she could reach the burns there. Grian winced in his sleep, his face screwed up in mild discomfort and a quiet whimper leaving him. “I know love, I know–” Stress murmured quiet reassurances, and once the soothing aid of fire resistance met his skin, Grian settled again with a content sigh. To Scar, she said, “I don’t fink Mumbo knows much more ‘n us, honestly. You saw ‘im at spawn. He was completely thrown by his friend even bein’ there. I think he wants answers even more ‘n we do.” Scar nodded, watching Grian bury his face more deeply into his pillow. Stress huffed and shook her head. “S’ppose I’ll have to wait to finish treating his face ‘til he wakes up. A bit hard to put potions on a burn when it’s covered wif’ a pillow.”

A quiet ping drew both of their attention and Stress leaned over toward the bedside table, reading the message that was lighting up her screen.

“Is it False?” Scar asked, and Stress nodded.

“Mhm. She’s comin’ our way to help. Says it’s a bit hard to explain unless she can see his wings in person.”

“...should I let Xisuma know?” Scar took a step toward the door, but Stress shook her head.

“Nah, I already messaged ‘im,” she said with a smile. “Besides–” She came around the bed to take the fire resistance potion from Scar’s hands, “–I think we should leave Xisuma and Mumbo be for a bit longer. Xisuma’s doing that whole Dadmin thing he does, an’ I reckon Mumbo needs it at the moment. Poor man looked frazzled when I got here. Let X work his magic, yeah?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N: Seeing as this is my first time writing - like - most of these characters, I only hope I'm keeping them in character. I've gotta say, it's kinda hard to write Scar when he's not in the midst of shenanigans lol...but I think I'm learning. ^^]

Quackity blinked as Karl got to the large cave. He really didn’t want to be here. But he was to weak to do anything about it. He closed his eyes clinging to Karl as he slithered into the cave. He flinched as Karl called out to his boyfriend. He was so loud…

Karl called out for Sapnap as he slithered deeper into the cave. He needed his help for this.

Sapnap picked his head up hearing Karl. He got up from their nest and slithered out to find Karl. He smiled seeing him. “There you are! I was getting worried what was taking you so long.”

“I got a bit distracted.” Karl chuckled softly. He moved his hands so Sapnap could see Quackity curled up against him.

“Oh….” Sapnap’s eyes widened seeing the tiny duck hybrid. He looked closer and it was obvious the poor thing was hurt. “What happened?” He asked softly.?

Quackity whimpered feeling another set of eyes on him. He didn’t want to see the other naga. He didn’t want to be here, he was going to die here…. Even if Karl actually wanted to help, there was no reason the other naga wouldn’t eat him. He kept his eyes closed shaking a little in Karl’s hold. He listened as Karl explained to Sapnap what had happened.

“That’s horrible…” Sapnap frowned as Karl finished the story.

“I know. That’s why I brought him back here so we could fix him up and he can rest for a little while and heal.” Karl said slithering to the nest. He rubbed Quackity’s back feeling him start to shake. He hated how scared he was.

Quackity hated how he leaned into Karl’s touch.

“I’ll go get some bandages.” Sapnap said going off to find stuff to help. The little hybrids wings looked in rough shape.

Karl held Quackity in front of his face. He gently pressed a finger to his wings trying to see how bad it was.

Quackity flinched as Karl touched his wings. “D-don’t…it hurts.” He mumbled.

Karl quickly pulled his finger away. “Sorry…but we need to clean your wings up so they don’t get worse.”

Quackity sighed knowing that was true. He just wished a couple of nagas weren’t the ones helping him.

“I got the bandages. And some food.” Sapnap held out a piece of bead to Quackity.

Quackity slowly took the bread. He hadn’t been able to get food in awhile. He happily bit into the food.

“I’m going to start cleaning your wings now. Ok?” Sapnap said.

“Ok…please don’t break them.” Quackity said shivering at the idea of giant fingers touching him.

“I won’t I promise.” Sapnap said.

The nagas curled up so Sapnap could easily get to Quackity’s wings. Sapnap started with gently cleaning the wings with a wet cloth. After cleaning the wings they where both surprised to see the wings weren’t brown, but a beautiful gold.

“Oh wow…your wings are so pretty.” Karl said looking down at Quackity.

Quackity had set frozen still as Sapnap started to touch and clean his wings. He expected pain, but the naga was surprisingly gentle. He flushed pink at Karl’s comment. “Thanks…” he mumbled.

Sapnap then got some medicine to put on the cuts Quackity had on his wings. It would help numb the pain. Then finally he gently wrapped the wings up to let them heal.

“Ok, all done.” Sapnap said putting away the first aid kit.

Quackity was more relaxed now then before. Sapnap had been so careful. More careful then someone who was planning on killing him would be. He didn’t trust the nagas. But he didn’t think they wanted to hurt him. “Ok, thank you.” He sighed great full to not be in pain anymore.

Karl hummed softly seeing Quackity baby relax more. “Now you should rest. You need to heal.” He gently petted Quackity’s hair.

“I- I’m not tired.” Quackity said. He was exhausted but he didn’t want to sleep with the giant nagas around him.

“You’re a bad liar.” Sapnap chuckled. “Give him to me.” He said reaching out to pick up Quackity.

Quackity protested as Karl let Sapnap pick him up. But as soon as Sapnap’s warm hands wrapped around him he curled up into the warmth. Sapnap was so much warmer them Karl.

“There we go. Just rest I got you.” Sapnap said in a hushed tone. He softly petted Quackity putting him on his chest.

Quackity’s body betrayed him as he yawned snuggling up to the giant naga. His brain was done he just wanted to sleep.

Karl cooed at the sight. “Aww.” He giggled curling up next to Sapnap.

Sapnap shushed him as he was trying to get the duck hybrid to sleep.

Quackity closed his eyes giving up on trying to stay awake. The warmth was comforting and his wings didn’t hurt. Soon he passed out.

Sapnap sighed softly feeling Quackity fall asleep and go limp. “Stubborn little thing.”

“Can’t blame him.” Karl said softly.

“Guess not. He looked so scared.” Sapnap hummed.

“At least he’s sleeping now. And he’s safe.” Karl smiled.

Sapnap smiled happily resting a hand over Quackity and wrapping his other arm around Karl. “He’s pretty cute.” Sapnap said.

“He is.” Karl agreed. “I hope he sticks around.”

“We’re going to get lost!”

They will not, or at least that is what Nicky tells himself. He is usually the level-headed one, the pragmatic one, the one who almost seems cold.

But how could he be pragmatic, sensible, when he just saw that? When he has no idea if Joe can even come back to him?

Night falls. The jungle screeches with the sounds of its ritual darkness, and there are no crackling flames to join the cacophony. Nicky, in the end, has no choice but to stop. There is the sound of running water, it sloshes against his boots, and the river stretches sluggishly ahead of him in the moonlight, too wide to wade.

He does not start at the hand on his shoulder.

“Christ, when you want to move, nothing can stop you,” Booker mutters, wiping his nose against the back of his hand and setting his hands on his hips. He too looks at the river, sighing. “We should stay here tonight.”

Nicky finally speaks. “There are caimans here,” he says.

Booker gives a very Gallic shrug. “If we get eaten by caimans, we get eaten by caimans,” he says. He slaps at his neck with a hiss. Nicky barely notices the mosquitoes, though they are undoubtedly eating him alive.

He does not sleep. He sits, his back against a tree, heedless of the horrid dampness of everything, his arms around his knees, and stares into the darkness, hoping for a glimpse of light, the flicker of flame.

He sees nothing.

---

There is still nothing when morning arrives. He feels hollowed out, broken open and his innards scooped out and tossed aside, space now only for cold terror to settle in. He drags his fingers through his hair.

What if he never comes back?

Booker groans when he awakens, rubbing the small of his back, and he follows Nicky’s gaze into the great green swallowing depths.

“We need to go somewhere he’ll think to go…” he suggests. “Maybe the camp?”

And how will he find it? No compass, no map, no guide, no trail or signs to follow. There is nothing but impenetrable vegetation and the damn river.

But Nicky also understands the futility of even attempting to search. The forest is vast, it is so very easy to get lost, they could walk in circles for months and never meet, or pass mere metres from each other and be none the wiser.

He is torn, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. He swallows.

“Camp,” he croaks. Booker pulls out his compass, frowning at it, and points the way they came. Nicky follows, hoping and praying for a single sound, any hint of someone walking, calling for help, for their names, but nothing comes.

They reach camp, and Andy is waiting. She eyes them hopefully, but it only lasts a moment. She strides over to Nicky, clamps his face between her palms, her eyes like steel.

“He will come back,” she says. The words mean nothing. Nicky merely slips her hands from him and walks past her, into one of the crude huts, and shuts the door behind him. In the quiet, wood-scented dark, he slides to the packed earth floor, sobbing.

---

He sits on a sawn log at the edge of camp, close to the trail that leads to the runway, and waits. He holds his vigil all day, the dog-ends slowly piling up around him, his M16 over his lap. He does not eat, but he drinks when Booker brings him coffee or boiled water and, once, a bottle of Coca-Cola. It is a testament to his focus that he does not even raise an eyebrow. He leaves only to relieve himself, and when evening falls and Andy demands he sleep. He barely does, a fitful hour and then he is back at his post, a still, silent sentinel.

Patrols walk past him, eye him suspiciously, nervously. He can hear intimidated whispers behind him, but he ignores them, does not bother catching the words. His stubble grows rough, slowly attempting to claim his moustache for a beard. He runs out of cigarettes, and resorts to an old habit he thought he broke many a century ago: biting his nails. The wounds heal too quickly now, but the pain is an anchor, the blood-taste grounding.

This happens for four days and three nights.

On the fourth night, he stands, ready to make his way to the hut for his customary hour of sleep, when he hears rustling.

His heart leaps. He stomps it down. He stands and aims his rifle at the undergrowth. On the outside he is still, aloof, alert, but on the inside his heart is hammering.

“¿Quién es?” he demands, firm, the picture of vigilance.

A man staggers from the jungle, filthy, naked, eyes wide and white in the quickly gathering darkness. They lock eyes. Nicky does not even need an answer to his question, he knows those eyes, mirrors to his soul.

The man’s arms widen, Nicky tosses his rifle aside and rushes into them.

“Nico…”

Nicky wraps his arms around him, holding him close, impossibly close, impossibly tight. He can feel Joe trembling, hear soft sobs. Nicky knows he is crying too, relief flooding him, rushing like gold through every vein, bubbling in every pore. The weight of four days of not knowing evaporates.

He pulls back, ignoring Joe’s hitched noise of protest, and cups his face.

“Yusuf,” he murmurs, his voice cracking, and nothing else matters in the world but setting his lips to Joe’s. Not the judgement of the rebels, not any potential attack, nothing at all.

Joe tastes vile, of unwashed teeth and dirty water. His lips are rough, his beard matted, his body is foul despite its newness. But that is also on the list of things that do not, could not possibly matter, not when Joe is here, in his arms.

He kisses him fiercely, urgently, madly, all clicking teeth and ravenous tongues, as if they are trying to climb into one another, to fuse, to devour each other’s souls.

“I was afraid—” Nicky attempts, in vain, between kisses “—afraid I’d lo—”

“I am here now,” Joe answers, breathless, plunging back into Nicky’s waiting mouth.

Nicky loses track of things, but eventually they crumple to the ground, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in as if oxygen can only be taken from the other’s lungs. They do not hear the rushing footsteps, the twin relieved sighs, but they do feel Andy’s hands on their shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s get you dressed,” she says. “And fed.”